Finding an angle of repose

I've always wanted one. An angle of repose. The cheerleader in me thinks that sounds like pure delight. That angle where everything that matters comes to rest together, gracefully or not but together nonetheless. A restful harmony of sorts. All sweetness and light. I want one, or rather have always wanted one bad for my childhood. It has eluded me.

Wallace Stegner's Lyman Ward wanted one too and he went hunting, digging and scraping through the trials of his grandparent's journey into the western frontier. Surprising himself, Ward found his and I may have found mine too.

A loud, hot mess litters my childhood memories. The overachiever cheerleader in me wanted something very different, gaity, laughter and harmony. That kumbaya moment never happened, until maybe now.  

Serendipity came to play. Not unlike Lyman Ward I had to hunt, dig and scrape through a lifetime of memories. Not my memories but those of my now deceased parents. Sorting, through photos of their youth, writings, letters, newspaper clippings, stuff and more stuff and even more stuff a cascade of connection caught me off guard. It wasn't that sparkly kumbaya moment that I have always longed for but a start of my own angle of repose with a hot messy childhood that will always be mine.