Lydia was fuming when she got home, and Margie was not there to vent all the anger and frustration built up by Mr. Stephenson’s righteous indignation about their parents. Dale a good boy? Our parents badgering with their pacifist propaganda? She made herself a cup of tea and went to the rocking chair to sit and think as she rocked. If it had been her grand-mother, she would go to her Bible and find some passage of comfort. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death... How did it go? I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Well, she had her back-up team, same thing. Thy rod and staff? Perhaps the rules of right living? Those first steps of yoga, the yama, or moral code of noninjury to others, truthfulness, nonstealing, continence, and noncovetousness, and the niyama prescripts of purity of body and mind, contentment in all circumstances, self-discipline, contemplation, and devotion to God and guru of Patanjali’s eight-fold path. Lydia’s rocking slowed and the warm tea in her hands grew cold as she settled into that feeling of bringing the presence into her space. With that presence she could try to understand the strong differences of beliefs that could tear a small community apart, especially in a time of war.
War and peace. One fighting with weapons that kill. The other fighting with words, petitions, group protests. She would need to find out more about those Vietnam years. She was sure she would find lots on the internet, but she wasn’t quite ready for that, at least not today. Maybe not until they visited the gym and got a feel for what might be waiting there.