Elevator Effect

When I was a little girl, mom used to take me and maybe a sister, too, downtown to Meier and Frank to shop. At lunchtime we would take the elevator up to the 10th floor to the nice restaurant. After lunch we would take the elevator back down again.

As a small child standing in the midst of tall people, I felt queasy sensations as the elevator lifted up, and again as we traveled down. At other times in my life, even when I wasn't in an elevator, I would experience a similar sensation. I call it the "Elevator Effect . . ."

 . . . First day of school, before a doctor appointment, going off to camp, driving up in the ski bus (yes, I'm maybe a little neurotic), driving home from a week out of town shortly after the death of our first child, Brian; flying in a plane to Idaho where our son Craig had been taken by LifeFlight after being thrown out of his truck which rolled over him crushing his lungs.

. . .  And, now, after time away from my home doing whatever, I find myself in my car heading back to the house that no longer has Ted in it. Melancholy sets in.