between two places

I was sitting on the grass outside a large community hall. The area reminded me of the campsites of my youth, complete with dormitories and meeting places. Small groups of people were playing games on the grass: games of frisbee, games involving balls and sticks, chasing games, competitive games, and more. Some were simply running around the playing field space. Everyone was active and had something definite to do. I looked around, not sure about joining any of the activities. I felt too old to challenge any of the young ones to a running race; I knew it would be fruitless. I wanted to be able to leap around, to stretch my body and use my muscles, but I saw the energy and strength of the teenagers who were jumping about and felt daunted. I considered going for a walk through the nearby bush reserve but I was concerned about walking alone. I ventured over to where a giant canvas bag lay open on the ground. Out of it spilled the remaining balls, bats and sporting gear that wasn't in use. Behind me, I heard voices coming from inside the community hall, so I climbed the few stairs onto the verandah and went through the door, crossing from light to shade, from hot to cool. Inside were more groups of people but the average age was far greater. I could see elderly women having cups of tea and people of various ages engaging in conversation. I felt more comfortable inside although part of me still wanted to be active and adventurous; I wanted to stir the energy within. I sat with a few people and listened to their talk for a while, gradually easing into the conversation. A woman of about seventy lectured me about the virtues of marketing my business: she said that if people didn't recognise the name of a business that she owned, it would bring tears to her eyes. She was a proud and powerful woman and I liked her and knew I could learn from her. After our conversation, I went into the kitchen where I found my great grandmother making tea. I hugged her to me and she commented upon the lovely pale blue knitted top I was wearing; I reminded her that she had knitted it for me. Then my maternal grandmother, her youngest daughter, appeared beside her. I felt a rush of joy and sadness to see her again, my lovely Nanny. She too admired the top and I knew that it was her favourite colour and wondered if it was actually Nan that had knitted it. I was so pleased to see them but I also feared being judged for my life's choices.