Tag: travel

Second Act

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Divorce Diary, Farm Life3 Comments

“Bankruptcy is not a dirty word” is followed by an image of a Staples-esque ‘easy’ button… “Considering Divorce?” is followed by a graphic of two browning, crispy roses shedding their petals… Been looking online for a local attorney to help me create a will – not that there’s anything except a few killer gowns and a handful of vintage keyboards to pass on – as I was reminded once again by my primary doc recently at my annual one-stop-shop-git-it-all-done visit that I really should, as a 49 year-old single mother, have a will in place. Yeah, made sense. After all I’d come to my doc’s to demystify my physical world, to break it down, to learn the things I must watch over more closely as I neared the half-century mark. To create the most personally important to-do list ever and to put it into action.  And if she had a sidebar tip about end-of-life planning, why not. Hey, it was a small personal success that I finally knew my cholesterol numbers, so I was ripe for more forward strides.  When she said the bit about the will, I immediately whipped out my date planner and wrote it down in the never-ending list. At least it was finally written down. A physical manifestation of my intention. A good start. It still must make its way into action, and that is why I find myself tonite, after having watched Oliver! with Elihu and finally putting him to bed, searching for attorneys to help me craft said last will and testament. Maybe not the best way to shop. But hey. It’s a start. And besides, I feel the need for an internet nightcap.

My shopping for an attorney reaches its conclusion, so I set sail for a little fun… I begin to torment myself, searching for “then and now” images of actors and musicians (as initially inspired this evening by me and my son wanting to learn more about the kids in the production we’d just seen.) Interesting indeed, heartbreaking too. I hardly remembered the chap’s name, but I can tell you that as an eight year old girl I felt the first, faintest tingles of sexual excitement watching Jack Wild on his crazy, high-70s adventures of HRPufnstuf. It was good that I finally saw him as Artful Dodger – else the poor man would had died with me only knowing the fluff that followed. I see he played football – but let’s just call it soccer – with Phil Collins, whose mom was a talent scout. Ok. I’m stuck at the idea of little Phil and even littler Jack playing soccer…I begin to imagine it… the future pop icon’s soccer mom says “Philip, sweetie, can you bring Jackie over here for a minute? His Mum and I need to speak with him about something…” Oh yeah, and that Jack Wild is even dead – that was sure news to me. You too? Just wait til ya Google him and see him looking like, to quote my son,” a ninety year old lady”. He had oral cancer, and it must have helped to shape his face in the final years. As I study the changes – the ones I hope so dearly people will overlook in me – I note how even the subtlest shifts result in a remarkably changed countenance. Tiny increments can result in a big transformation. Yikes.

I admit it; every so often I check up on folks to see how they’re aging. Lately – as in the past six months or so – I find myself thinking about aging a lot. I don’t mean this with any false modesty; I know that I don’t look bad for my age. I feel relief that I don’t – cuz in my younger years I fairly begged age to make an early home with me, indulging in hours on end of baby-oil sunbaths while sucking down Marlboros and hydrating myself with alcohol… Although that was several decades back, and it hardly seems like it should still count, I’ve heard the damage lasts. I dismiss that thought however with visions of regularly scheduled yoga classes, daily aerobic activity, disciplined portion control, and a robust daily intake of water. In this future life I also see daily meditation, an orderly, systematic approach to household chores, more delegation of such to my able-bodied son too. Oh, what a bright life this will be. This life that I will start just as soon as my house is clean and tiday. What’s that? Oh yes, my house is clean and tidy. Well then, just as soon as we get Elihu’s new violin and get him started on lessons. Then I’ll set out to get going on it all… Oh, but then there might be a day job… And I can’t possibly start drinking all that water if I have to sit at a piano all day, can I? And yoga – I can’t go because it’s too late and Elihu would need a sitter!

All joking aside, whether the hitches are mild or severe, there truly are some blips in the road that seem to make my ‘new lifestyle’ a little less than practical. I was able to do the yoga thing for a while a couple of years ago, but it just got too expensive. So I’m hoping with the little extra cash from playing piano for Waldorf, I can afford them again. But when? If not working, then it’s mom duty. No subs for mom. Grandma has to tend to Grandpa. No budget for babysitter. See? Taking action can be tricky. Still, there must be a way to live well. More research will be needed on this one.

And this aging thing – I just can’t lie down and let it take me without a fight. But that’s essentially what I’m doing. I think I’ve got a pretty healthy mental/spiritual/emotional thing goin on, and I do believe that helps to mitigate the signs of aging (cosmetic or otherwise)… but the physical part of the equation has me a little worried. Just tonite, after sitting for an hour to watch Oliver! and then getting up and trying to walk down the hill to the compost pile – OY! did I feel like a little old lady. Sheesh! Hand on my lower back, unable to stand up straight… A real mess, and just because I sat ‘wrong’ for too long. Yeeps. Now that feels old. My core muscles were hardly able to help. I slipped from right to left, each side taking the shortest turn possible in keeping me erect. I can honestly say it was kinda scary. Cuz I can tell you, just one short year ago my body never felt like that. I haven’t been using it much, and well, we all know what happens ‘when you don’t use it…’

I once found and contacted Jaye P. Morgan’s most recent producer and was this close to getting an interview with her for my radio show. This was a good ten years ago now, and back then the woman must have been in her late 70s. I’d been fascinated by how she, as a career diva, had dealt with aging. She’d even written a comic song about west coast plastic surgeons and the everyday trials of her glamorous, aging peers, so I knew she was at least able to treat the subject with some humor. But I wasn’t persistent about making the interview happen, and deep down I think she didn’t really want to get into it. And maybe I myself felt that it was too intimate a territory for me to breach. So I let it go. Besides, at a mid-thirty something, what the hell did I know about aging yet? Nothing! These days, however, I bring some experience to the table. Just this afternoon I even removed a pure white hair from my eyebrow. A first. Sigh. Miss Morgan, if you’ll indulge me, I think I’m ready for that interview now.

Years ago, I asked Fareed if he was at all worried about getting old – and ugly. He said no, because he’d always been unattractive, so getting more so wouldn’t be much of a shock. People wouldn’t treat him much different either way, he supposed. Me, however, having started out as a pretty young thing, and enjoying all the power that went with it, he proposed that aging might well hit me a lot harder. He postulated that I’d likely see changes in how people responded to me as my looks changed. Once, shortly after I’d had Elihu and was quite large, I went to the grocery store. I was exhausted, unkempt and fat. And I can tell you this too: I was invisible. I knew well what it was to be an attractive, well-dressed young woman who drew people in. And to experience the absolute opposite just these few months later – it truly blew my mind. I learned instantly and unequivocally that in youth and beauty there is power. Never did and ugly old man inspire the same feelings of warmth as a pretty young woman. Never. And yet within the outer shell of that man lives a person as complex, as human, as needing of love – if not in more need of love – than the pretty girl. How unfair is life. The moment I realized people were not even noticing me was stunning. I got it. I realized how lucky I’d been. How much love I’d been given by strangers just because of the way I looked. My heart bled for all of those who never knew that kind of immediate acceptance. Truly this is a cruel, cruel world.

I’m not doing this aging thing with a lot of class. Really, I’m not. I’m uptight about it, I’m continually surprised by it, I’m offended that age should drag me along with it… As light-heartedly as I may live my life, deep down I’m wondering how this is supposed to work. Oh, I can be happy here on my back forty with my son and my chickens, but I can’t hide back here forever. Maybe til my kid graduates from high school – but what then? I need to find this new life, this new person I’m to be. It used to be about the tiny-waisted cocktail gowns or the platform boots, but those things are never coming back. So what’s next? I find myself with thirty pounds on my frame that I can’t simply ditch the way I used to. My upper arms move in two different directions. I have no jaw line anymore, and what were once slight, temporary laugh lines are now permanent contours. Although it might sound it – this is not about knowing that I’m truly, legally divorced that’s bringing this on – I’ve been keenly aware the last few years that I’ve been walking through a transition time of sorts. The past four years here in New York my son has grown a foot, and my hair has become undeniably gray. And I just can’t seem to understand it.

I’ve identified this window of age in which everyone shifts from their ‘first act’ selves to their ‘second act’ selves… (The third act seems to occur in a wider range of years, and has within it some subtle differences, as in there’s ‘old”, then there’s ‘slack-jawed-in-the-nursing-home-wearing-a-diaper’ old. Those would be the last couple of pages – and I’m not thinking about those for now, although let us open our eyes to this very personal possibility. That may be us one day – although I pray we all die sweetly in our sleep before our kids ever have to choose that fate for us.) This transition phase seems to occur sometime in the mid forties. Don’t know quite when the threshold is crossed for sure – but I can tell you from my own experience that I felt ‘ok’ and ‘youngish’ still in the first few years of my forties, but this last year I no longer can claim those feelings. I don’t necessarily feel old, but I no longer feel young. I can much more easily see over the rise ahead. Or perhaps I might say that I’ve reached the rise in the elevation and can now see the grand plateau before me…

Personally, I was never one to look forward. Never once dreamed of ‘my’ wedding, a house, a career. Knew I’d be a musician and that was pretty much it. Knew I wanted to travel, have a beautiful home and be a mother one day. But ‘one day’ never existed in real, calendar form. It existed in a far-off, fuzzy dimension I never took a moment to envision. For all my lack of energetic homework, I feel lucky to have landed in such an idyllic situation. There are times when I lament my lack of planning, wondering where instead I might have ended up had I indeed bothered to plan it all out a bit better, but in the end I know that regret does nothing. Sadly, it doesn’t even burn calories. ! I’m in a good place from which to go forward. I’m still without a social life, and my friends seem to be mostly back in the midwest, but I’m a bit more hopeful than I’ve been the past few years about our life here continuing to improve. The past four years have been my transformation time, and the process is now gently lifting to reveal a wide-open future.

There’s much to come, I’m fairly sure of it. Intermission was refreshing, but now I’m eager to see what awaits in this next act…

Leg Two Begins

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Mommy MindLeave a comment

It’s the night before our trip. Got Elihu to bed just after nine – and that is amazing. Especially in that he hasn’t been asleep any time before 1 am these past two weeks…

The sounds I hear comfort me. They are the sounds of being home, a place I love to be. The faint ticking of a clock, the purr of a small fan, the laundry gently tumbling around inside the drum, punctuated by the muffled thudding sounds of tennis balls I added to keep towels and blankets light and fluffy. But the anticipation I’m feeling gives the peaceful evening a certain sort of edge. Tomorrow we’re going away again.

Got the chicken sitter booked. The suitcase is laid out in my room on the floor, just about packed with our stuff. Preparations are much smoother this time around. Got it together much easier tonite than this time a couple weeks ago. I’d been a bit out of practice before, but I got it back. Yeah, I remember how to do this. Plus I’m working on keeping it simple. I remember the days when I had to pack for months overseas – and that I had to be able to carry it too. So I learned how to bring less. (For the most part I don’t end up wearing every outfit I’ve brought with me. Do you?) On long trips I hand wash favorites. On short trips I just wear em a bunch of times with simple air-outs in between (making sure to keep my body oft-refreshed to prevent a funk from developing.) I like traveling light, and this will be such a trip. It’s short, our belongings few. Not lots to wear. Not much reason to fret.

What does, however, end up making packing so challenging this time are the ‘extra curriculars’. In this case: phone, phone charger, camera, extra chargeable batteries, battery charger, laptop, charger for laptop, DS game, Diji too, rc helicopters and their various charging cables too. Djemebe and tip jar, just in case. Plastic bucket for pond or sea life. Oh, and books – the ones we’ll read at night and the ones that’ll be read to us as we drive. This isn’t over-the-top crazy, but it requires a skosh of organizational ability. At the very least the project requires a captian, a GC, a head chef; someone to bring all departments together in a shared game plan. And we know who that is, don’t we? I will do the best I can, facing the possible slight dissatisfaction of the lucky young man whose items I am packing. I’ll do it well, but he’ll usually show me how he thinks I could have done it better, sometimes working himself up into quite a lather about it. In a few minutes he’ll get over it, but halfway thru the trip he’ll panic that something’s been left behind. He go through all his things to discover it hasn’t. Good thing that, ultimately, I have a very appreciative young son. In the end – after a mini hissy fit here or there – he always thanks me for remembering his stuff and packing so thoughtfully. Whew.

So it’s now morning of, and I see the coop door has not opened as it’s supposed to. Strike one. I take my strong coffee with me to investigate. Never did fix the nesting boxes – I toss a couple milk crates, sideways onto the floor. That’ll work for now. I spend some time with the timer til it appears to be back on track. Then I spend a half hour going over everything, loading bins, filling water barrels. I take my coffee cup back to the kitchen for a refill, and no sooner have I come back out the door than there is a red hen, just feet away, looking up at me expectantly. “What?!” I holler. I’m packed, I’m showered, I’m ready. All to do is get the kid up and dressed and we’re outta here. Now this??

I stay calm, I don’t let myself get dramatic about it – cuz I so very easily could – after all, what fun is being human if you can’t let yourself get swept up in the melodrama of it all once in a while? Not this morning. Gotta fix it. So I sit down with my cup of coffee in a nearby lawn chair and wait. And watch. Soon I see that one of the young Auracanas is out too. And he’s poking around trying to get back in. Now here comes old floppy comb – she’s one of the first to jump ship. I see her eyein’ a spot of fence. Mm-hmm. Think we got our breach. Yup. Some wire’s been pushed out enough for a bird to squeeze out of – but not back in. The lone hen on the outside walks past me and I lean over and snatch her up. Can’t deny that I give her a quick kiss on her head and thank her for all the wonderful eggs she gives us before I heave her over the top of the fence where she flutters back down and joins her flock. I corner the young Auracana and fling him back too. I find a lawnchair and a piece of lumber and nestle them alongside the breach. Done.

Finish my coffee inside, looking out the window to see if my fix is holding. Yup. Looking good. Get the kid up, dressed, and while I pack the car, he says his goodbyes to the frogs in our two small ponds. He does so without incident, and finally, we’re off…

Highway construction, heavy rain and alternate routes made our drive a bit longer than it might have been otherwise, but another book on tape plus my colorful monologue on the whole experience – we might call it ‘sailor in a CRV’ – these helped get us to our destination without too much undo stress.

Where are we? Well, at 2 am I am typing at my trusty and ancient G4 in a generous-sized guest room of our hosts, a family we met last summer in Saratoga who now live in West Orange, New Jersey. There is a boy one year older than Elihu, and a girl one year younger than he. The three of them have a really nice thing and play together as children should. Not all kids have such a natural groove as these three. You might even say we’ve driven 200 miles for a play date. Because after our time at the pool today, we’ll visit the wide open ocean tomorrow – zoo and aviary the next day. This time it won’t just be mom and son as usual – this time Elihu can be a full-on kid. Makes my heart happy. His too.

There’s more family to this trip than we’d even originally intended: My father grew up in nearby Passaic. My maternal grandmother was born one town over, in East Orange. My grandmother, mom and uncle Paul summered in Ocean Grove, the very town we will visit tomorrow. Not much has changed in the ocean side town; we’ll be looking upon much the same downtown streets as they did some sixty years ago. And I’ve been told to try the Breyer’s Strawberry Ice Cream. Will do.

I’ve enjoyed our recent opportunities to travel. It’s fun waking up someplace new, pulling back the shades each morning to reveal a new scene… I’m off to a peaceful sleep now, the imagined sound of the ocean luring me to my dreams…

Overwhelm

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I don’t know when ‘overwhelm’ became a noun, but it’s probably a useful thing. I could just as easily say “I feel overwhelmed”, but I will defer to the cultural climate of the day and say instead “I feel overwhelm”. I’m not besieged with some clinical sort of ADD, but I may as well be today. I am faced with the post-vacation, post-big dump project of sorting all the detritus of our trip and putting it away.

The first day back it was nearly 90 degrees in our little house, the humidity was just as high, but I was too. High on our success, high on the fact that we’d pulled it off and returned home safely. Like a robot I waded through laundry – that from before our trip and that from after – sheets towels, clothes, the gamut. And I’d sorted paper from stuff, toiletries from mementos, books from books on tape. All table space has been occupied the past two days with endless piles. Now… to put it all away.

My birds needed food this morning. Six a.m. I lay in bed, still tired, but my mind swimming with things to be done. The chickens were hungry and depended on me. As if sleepwalking, I rose from my bed and went to the car. Gone are the days when I can carry a 40 pound bag of feed to the bins – now I must drive them. I discover both the feed bin and lid have been covered in fresh, goopy chicken poop. Really? I douse them as best I can in the water left from Max’s pond. I do my best to get things squared away. The shell collection from the Cape gets unceremoniously dumped on the floor of the car and I use that bin for the bird’s calcium. Mental note to transfer it later to the correct bin. Mental note to fill water bins, replace nesting box perch. Ich. It’s this little shit that zaps me of my forward movement. I am ready for bed and I haven’t been up ten minutes.

I can’t complain – I mean, how can I? You, my friends, have just made this amazing trip possible. There’s no way I could have gone without your help. I am a lucky, cared-for woman. And yet, in moments like this, I’m tending toward a smidgen of self pity. I mean how can one person deal with all this? My son needs something to do – and it’s just me. Not only am I pooped at the thought of all yet before me, but then I have to tend to him on top of it all. I wish he had a friend. In the end it really is just the two of us, and there’s so much grownup work to be done. Guess it’s another day for the great babysitter of YouTube.

See, I have other things besides just the crap to put away. (Btw – the laundry’s done, yes, and most of it folded – but put away? Hardly…) I was the unlucky recipient of some little surprises while I was away which I need to deal with as well: I’d bought us some ice cream cones the day before we left – before the donation money had cleared and was safely in my account – and that little charge of $4.50 caused an overdraft that cost me $25. Guess I should be glad it wasn’t $35 as it usually is with my credit union. Then a few more hit too after that – my chiropractor deposited the check I’d asked them to hold for a week – and boom. Another fee. Ok. Guess that’s ok. Keep your chin up, I tell myself. It’s just money.

Then there’s the ticket thing. So there I am, literally seven blocks from the Holland tunnel, following the car ahead of me through a green light when it stops in front of me. I try to inch forward as much as possible, for the cars on either side of me slid through with no problem. My lane’s not moving. Oh well. I inch forward as best I can and watch as the commuters snake through between our bumpers. Ugh. I notice the truck I’d asked for directions that was next to me seconds before is now halfway up the next block. That’s ok. We’ll be out of here in minutes. Then there’s a tapping on my window. It’s a young cop. I roll down the window. “Can’t block the box”, he says. ?? The only other use for the word ‘box’ I know of is an off-color reference to a certain part of a woman’s body, and instantly my mind races back to the 80s on the west side of Chicago. (Anyone remember the south side’s ‘Copherbox’ II Lounge??) I look at him quizzically. He repeats. “You can’t block the box.” I finally get his meaning. “I’m not trying to block the intersection” I offer. “I’m trying to get through. The lanes on either side of me did, I naturally thought I would too. This is not intentional.” I’m not sassy. I’m not even pleading. A passerby, carrying a large light fixture under his arm, stops to assist me. The cop asks if the man is ‘trying to tell him how to do his job’ and tells him to move on. I try to convey my thanks to the man as he leaves. The young cop has already written my ticket and points some beepie thing at the sticker on my windshield. My heart sinks. “How much?” I ask. “You can read the ticket,” he tells me, then adds how lucky I am that he didn’t put any points on my record. (This business of points in New York is still new to me.) Thanks for the big favor, I think. He leaves me with this floppy scrap of paper that will cost me $115. My heart sinks again. But I will not let it get to me; we’re almost out of the city.

Or not. It literally took us three and one quarter hours to get to and through the tunnel. Seriously. Now – now – I’ve seen everything. And I’m proud of us – we didn’t fight, we didn’t get cranky, and thankfully neither one of us had to pee. Rather than let it ruin us, we stayed merry, listening a second time to a book on tape, playing the alphabet game (Inside the car, that is. Elihu can’t see the signs outside. Clever, huh.) and doing our best to keep things light. Our family mantra is that everything happens as it is supposed to. Hours later a heron flew over our car. “See Mommy, this is why we had to get stuck in traffic! To see this heron!” Lemons into a sweet, summery beverage indeed. Good boy.

Ok. So we’re home. Then I check the mail. I’d forgotten about the speeding ticket I’d gotten last month on the way to pick Fareed up at the airport. (Don’t those just bother you? Everyone is going ten over – but you get pulled over. Sheesh.) There’s another $150 shot. Man, I’m working hard just to stay afloat, then this. Will there be a second leg to our trip? Will we get to Philadelphia at all? Doesn’t look it from here. I try to set it aside emotionally, and I wonder deep down what the hell it is that I’m supposed to learn from this. Seriously, I must have some deep-seated, karmically installed money issues. Keep goin, I think to myself. Although I haven’t bought a new pair of shoes in years, the Aerosoles catalogue has a particular sting this time. Can’t even rationalize fantasizing about getting a pair. I don’t even bother to find the recycling bin. Into the trash it goes.

So I guess that brings me to this moment, as I sit in my chair, wondering if I might be able to lie down again for a few minutes before the kid wakes up. The piles are everywhere. I can’t help but wonder how everyone else does it. Families with more than one kid – how is it possible? I can understand how my childless friends deal with physical crap – I managed my own for years. Daunting before and after a gig (women have not only gear and charts to deal with – but makeup and clothes and jewelry – that adds a whole nother layer to the potential chaos) but I could still stay on top of it. But right now I think I’ve lost it. Unless I can find Elihu a playdate I don’t know where I’ll get the resolve.

Wait. I remembered something. When we stopped at the convenient store our first day back I got one of those little energy shot thingees. Yes. Yes? Was that what fueled my insane initial cleanup? I think so… Seems like it. Wow, and I’d never had one before. Can’t make it a crutch, but sounds good right now. I begin to see some possibility here. Ok. Kid’s still out. I think I know what I need to do… I need to overwhelm my overwhelm. Back in five minutes. I’ll let you know…

Homecoming

Posted in An Ongoing Journal..., Farm Life, Mommy Mind1 Comment

I awoke Saturday morning, in my own bed, to the internal soundtrack of a searing Steve Lukather guitar solo, floating atop a lush bed of strings and majestic french horns, the music rising, rising, rising, lifting my soul far above the clouds into the expanse of sky… My own personal and deeply subconscious interpretation – albeit embarrassingly corny – of the bliss I felt at being home, at the triumphant conclusion of an epic journey.

I laughed when I realized the music I’d chosen. I laughed because my bed felt so good. I laughed because it felt so good to be home. I laughed because I felt I had more than come home; I had made it. Whatever that meant. And all that it meant. I’d put eight hundred miles on the car, introduced my son to the ocean, met long-lost relatives, visited the first house I’d ever lived in, rediscovered New York City. And made it back home. Not one hen lost in our absence. All was truly well. We’d been successful – and in ways we’d never even dreamed of. I lay in bed, thinking about home. What it was, how it felt, how I now identified it, how important it was to me.

On our trip folks would naturally ask me where I was from – and I was never quick with an answer. Initially my inclination was to say ‘Chicago’, but as that wasn’t quite true, and that answering so would require a little back story, I would hesitatingly offer that I was from “upstate New York”, and feel a little disappointed in my more truthful answer. Being from Chicago seemed to define who I was – what the better part of my life experiences had been to this point – but as things stood right now, I was in fact not from Chicago anymore. I thought of Army brats and how they usually chose to answer that question. “Oh, I grew up all over”. That would be that. But I didn’t grow up all over, and furthermore I was now a country gal and should probably represent myself as such. Throughout my trip I was given many opportunities to get used to the idea that yes, I was indeed from “about three hours north, in the country, just outside of Saratoga Springs.” If my questioner would look at me for more information I might add: “It’s equidistant to Montreal and New York.” And if another beat followed, I might add “I have chickens.” Ok. I could feel a small amount of pride in that I suppose, but as I didn’t feel it completed the picture accurately, mostly I’d close the conversation by saying that “in my last life I was a musician in Chicago”. That seemed to bring it all up to date with the most amount of truth.

When I first opened the door to our house upon returning, I was hit with the scent of our home. This is something I think all travelers notice first after a long journey. The smell that is unique to their home. I can almost recall the particular ways in which my other homes smelled, the emotional memories that those scents retrieved for me, but had no idea what a fresh return would tell me about this particular house. What hit my nostrils first was a slight smell of, well, ‘funk’. The air told me that this was a summer camp in need of a good airing out. It smelled like a house used only seasonally; a slight hint of must, a shadow of damp linoleum… When I told this to my mom, she agreed that she too had noticed that my house had a particular smell. Not even bad really, just kind of different. She’d wondered if after all my improvements (removal of linoleum and shag carpet, new floors and paint) it might not change the scent. But it didn’t. It smells like a 70s house. Must be in the bones. Cuz I clean it, I maintain it, I open the windows and use fans to keep the inside air fresh. “So this is what my house smells like” I thought to myself upon returning. Crazy. Sometimes visitors have told me it reminds them of a cabin… guess this is at the root of it. Ah well, 70s, slightly funky cabin though it may be, it’s home. My own personal epicenter. Didn’t feel it a week ago, but I felt it for sure now.

We hit the ground running on our first day back as we had a wedding to attend – an early one too, the ceremony was at noon. Elihu kept saying that he was excited as it was his “very first wedding”. (Maybe not entirely true – I was sure he’d been to others, but as a very young one he had likely been playing with his Thomas trains while things had been going on.) But for this wedding – of two people who live just down the road from us and whom we’ve grown to love very much these past few years – he would truly be present. When I told him that it this wedding was significant in another way – that they, as women, were only allowed very recently by law to even marry each other at all – he responded that that sounded ‘hard to believe’ and then added that nobody should be allowed to tell you who you can’t marry. Amazing how things have changed. And how deeply pleased I was that in my son’s eyes it wasn’t even an issue in the first place. As the father of one of the women said that day, “We live in interesting times”. Inspiring times, too.

I mention this wedding because it too was a symbol for me of home. As I met guests from different parts of the country, even from different countries, I began to feel a growing certainty of my being from this place, this small country town. The wedding was at the couple’s home which they had decorated with brilliantly colored gerber daisies and hundreds of brightly colored oragami cranes. The place looked simply stunning. The joy, the love, the sense of family was deeply felt by everyone there. I couldn’t think of a better occasion on which to return home. For me the event helped me feel more deeply my own sense of center. My own family lives here, I now have friends here, I now have a new life here – and for my son it’s really the only home he’s ever known.  In some way, both trip and wedding helped confirm for me that this place really is the center of our physical world; this is where we come from.

For the past four years I’ve had a flower on the antenna of my car. It is a subdued green, now weathered and frayed from thousands of miles on the move. I put it there before I left Chicago as a symbol of hope for the future and cheer for my aching, uncertain heart. (It also makes my run-of-the-mill gold Honda CRV much easier to locate in large parking lots.) I’ve many times thought of replacing it with something that might symbolize the future I’m moving into. I’d bought a bright, deep orange artificial gerber daisy months with the intention of affixing it to my antenna, but it never felt the right time. I realize my putting this much thought into such a thing – simply doing such a thing – may seem a bit immature (admitting it here in print makes me doubly self-conscious of that), but strangely, having that flower go before me in the world as I drive about has helped me to feel lighter. As if while all this heavy shit was going on I was still able to convey a certain lightheartedness in the world.

After leaving the party last night well past dark and then getting up this morning to go back over and help with the cleanup, it hit me. I spotted an orange oragami crane on my dashboard, a memento of the wedding. I remembered the colorful gerber daisies, the cheer they gave to the party. Then, in a flash of inspiration, I remembered the flower I’d bought months ago. I ran inside, found it, and with hardly more than one swipe with a knife brought the ratty, old flower down. In minutes the new one was up. I felt somehow refreshed. My whole spirit had been renewed; in the trip, in the wedding of friends, in the discovery of home.

The daisy goes before me in the world letting folks know (at least I hope) that I’m moving through my world with a certain good humor and lightness of heart. And at the very least, the daisy ensures that my home away from home is distinct from all others; I’m never unsure as to which car is mine. And at the end of my travels, the daisy leads me back down the long driveway to the little red chicken coop and the plain white house. I may not have believed it before, but I do now. That little white house in Greenfield Center is where we come from. Just look for the daisy…

End of the Beginning

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Although Elihu still answers “No” when asked if he might wish one day to return to New York City, my suspicion is that the seed has been planted and germinates already. It took me a 24 hour cycle to truly ‘get it’ again myself. Just now I parked my car safely in a garage (as on Friday it seems there’s no street parking to be had), and I enjoyed a moment alone in the eye of it all. A corner joint, an outside table, a coffee, a high-cholesterol breakfast sandwich and one, just one, bummed cigarette. Alone and not alone. As we’d gone to bed long after 2 am last night I know Elihu sleeps soundly a block away at our friends’ place. Finally, I am without camera, without destination, my only objective to take it all in one last time.

Private viewing of the bird house at the Bronx Zoo, feeding pigeons from the hand in Washington Square Park, front row seats at the Blue Note last night as Paquito’s guest, rooftop drum playing and merrymaking at night’s end with every tiny space in between peppered with the kinds of magic it would take chapters to convey – yesterday was a perfect New York City day.

There’s never enough time. But for now, I’m sated. And reminded, once again, that yes, there is still a big and bold world beyond our little homestead. Here’s to our safe homecoming. And here’s to many more bright and beautiful voyages beyond our driveway’s end…

Eve Of

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What thanks can I offer to all of you who’ve made this trip possible? I see the donations come in, I breathe a little easier, and yet I don’t. I’ve been given so much help from my friends over the past three – nay, almost four – years, and I begin to feel a little as if I need soon to be doing something for others. But for now I will receive all this kindness because I know you felt inspired to help. I’ll honor that by using your help to create a journey for Elihu and me that we will remember for the rest of our lives.

The eve of the journey is a tense time for me. How do I sleep? I printed out our directions, I have my maps, my car is ready, our bags are packed. Elihu was even asleep hours ago, allowing me the time to collect my thoughts and my things in the quiet of a nighttime house. Seeing all those driving directions had me a bit intimidated. Me? Afraid of getting places? Ha!

I can remember finding my way to a boat docked in a small harbor in Portugal with little more than the name of a nearby town – no language, little money (and carrying ten pounds of white flour – staples requested by the captain. Can you imagine making it through international airports carrying ten pounds of a white powdery substance? Whew. A more innocent time it was.) Once in Indonesia, not quite sure exactly where my hotel was, I navigated lanes upon lanes of traffic in Jakarta during a monsoon rain and finally arrived there by way of a trade: my western cigarettes for a one final wild ride in a Bajai that got me there safe. I’ve done hundreds of singing telegrams and in so doing was made to find every manner of crazy out-of-the-way joint you can imagine. All long before GPS. (We did, however, had GPS on the boat, that’s where I first learned of it.) And I love maps. If I lack some good bedside reading material, a map will do. Then again, it may do too well. I might be up all night reading it, cuz I just love to think about going places.

I really shouldn’t fret about the actual ‘getting there’ part. But still, that’s the part which has me up late and unable to sleep. Man, how did we do it thirty years ago? Was it so hard? Didn’t we just take the highways, take most likely looking exit and just ask local folks where to go from there? That must have been how we did it. People have been making car trips for decades without benefit of GPS… I gotta relax. Gotta remember it’s still in me. I can do this car trip thing.

Oh, but I’ve gone off on a tangent, when what I’d wanted to do in this final homemade post was to thank all of you so much. We two are so excited, so happy. Truly we are embarking on a modern day adventure. We know where we’re going, and yet we know not. It’s the little serendipitous surprises that make it so magical. So I guess it’s the anticipation of the things I know not that has me so keyed up at this late hour.

Thanks, dear friends. And now, finally, I’m off to bed. I think I’m ready to sleep now.

Travel Campaign

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Elihu and I have not yet been on a trip in our own part of the country, and have hoped to do so for the past three summers now. I have relatives I haven’t seen in years, and I’m becoming keenly aware that time continues to pass…

I’m hoping to raise some money in order to make this trip, because as things are now, I’m not sure we’ll be able to manage it. I realize everyone has financial burdens – and truly your emotional support through this past year has been worth far more than money itself – but if anyone is able to donate just a few dollars towards our trip, I think it might be much easier for us to manifest.

To that end, I’ve set up an account at GoFundMe.com if friends would like to make a donation for our Big Trip East. Just visit our page at  http://www.gofundme.com/q1ke4 and hopefully it will be easy to contribute to our account if you choose.

All told, we will be traveling about 1000 miles. We need money for gas, tolls, additional insurance, motel, food, admission tickets and parking – as well as money to pay someone to watch over our flock in our absence.

Here then is our proposed Big Trip East, to be made in two separate tours:

Leg One:  Saratoga Springs, New York to Wareham, Massachusetts via Amherst

My mom’s brother is now 84 and I haven’t seen him, my Aunt nor my cousins in over twenty years. They live in Wareham, Massachusetts, and so our hope is to meet them, swim in the Atlantic and perhaps – if we can swing it – go on a whale watching boat while we’re in the neighborhood. I know they’re pricey, but Elihu really wants to go. (I caution him that he might not be able to see them for himself, but he is determined.) I also have an old and dear friend from Chicago (whom I’ve known since she herself was Elihu’s age – and now she’s a real grown up!) who lives in Amherst, and she and her boyfriend would like to go with us to a local raptor center there. Finally, an important part of this leg is visiting Plymouth. Our very own ancient ancestor, Roger Conant, (we guestimate him to be Elihu’s great grandfather x 16) arrived there on the Mayflower in 1620. There’s a historic village complete with a reconstructed replica of the ship that we can tour too. Given my personal love of sailing, I’m very excited to show this to Elihu. And my mom is from Fall River, so we’d also like to go and see the house where she grew up as we wind our way westward along the coast.

Leg Two: Fall River, Massachusetts to New Haven, Connecticut

On to New Haven, Connecticut, where I was born, and it’s there we’ll take a peek at Silliman College of Yale University, my father’s Alma mater, and hopefully we’ll be granted entry at the secretive Elihu Society. A quick jaunt north to the suburb of Hamden to see the house I remember living in as a young girl, then back to the main route west, on to New York City.

Leg Three: New Haven, Connecticut to New York City

New York City, baby! I can remember a time when hardly six months of my life went by without my visiting this grand place. I haven’t been there since Elihu was born. About time. Too much to do here for sure. Friends we really want to see, Achromat folks to meet, perhaps a visit to the Bronx Zoo Aviary. Plus we gotta see a landmark. Not sure which, statue of Liberty or Empire State Building. Chinatown is a must, gotta see those big barrels of live bullfrogs and those crazy ducks, hanging in the store windows. Might want to head to mid town – West 57th – to see the historic building in which my father lived at the beginning of his career as a harpsichordist in NYC. Lunch at Katz’s Delicatessen? Some Chinese-Cuban fare perhaps? We also have friends I know from my old life as a musician – they were regular hosts to us when we played in the city, and we must drop in and say hello. Too much to do! At the very least we need (make that I need) to break the paralysis I feel in visiting this city. We only live three hours north and in future can ride the Megabus if we like. There is truly a ‘next time’ to be had. That should take the urgency and stress out of the mix.

The First Half concludes…

We return to Saratoga for a wedding mid July – and the welcome company of house guests all the way from Paris… Then, after we get our breath and clean out the car, we hope to embark on the second half of our summer’s journeys:

The Second Half commences…

Leg Four: New York City to Bel Mar, New Jersey with West Orange in between

We have some friends, formerly of Saratoga, who now live in Jersey. Mom Marion has recently written a book on the accordion (Squeeze This!) and her kids and Elihu have a ball together. I’ll be sure to bring my melodica along for a little music making. And, as Elihu reminds me, there is an aviary not far from their home, too. Then it’s down the coast to Bel Mar. Fareed and I always used to joke that ‘one day’ we would have a home both in Bel Mar, New Jersey, and Del Mar, California. !

Leg Five: Central Coastal New Jersey to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Philly. I have nice memories of that town. Few, but nice. And for some reason, maybe it’s all the historical novels we read last year, Elihu is resonating with the idea of a trip to that town. Seeing the Liberty bell excites him, seeing the olden day streets and buildings… But the biggest plus of this town is meeting my own cousin face-to-face as an adult. I don’t believe I’ve seen him since I was Elihu’s age – or younger. How can this be? I don’t get it myself. When we were little we saw them on holidays, but I guess as you age life gets more complicated and family spreads out all over… I do know that my father loved his big brother so very dearly, and Uncle Dave’s death was very hard on him. I mean to right the situation. It’s about time I met my cousin again. Kinda like meeting family you didn’t know you had. This will be fun…

Leg Six: Going home

Should we meander? Find our way to Deposit, New York (just outside Binghamton) to see friend Martha Carver’s childhood home? Should we stop in the Catskills? Are there points in between we might not want to miss? Or will we high-tail it back? As I have been saying to my son since he was tiny: “You never know until you go”…

Not sure if it’ll go as planned, but I gotta try. I’ve been hoping to do this since we moved here and feel I must take action. I set up our gofundme account a few weeks ago but haven’t had the guts or conviction to make my appeal til now. Not sure what I’ve been waiting for. But I gotta ask. Just a couple of bucks each from a couple hundred friends and we can get on the road. I hope you’ll consider it. My deepest thanks ahead of time should you choose to help us out.

Small World

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Hello to my friends across the globe! May we all find it within our ability to visit each other some day. WordPress tells me I have readers in the following places… wave if I call your country!

United States, Canada, Egypt, United Kingdom, Indonesia, Brazil, Germany, Ecuador, Ukraine, Slovakia, Australia, Mexico, Malaysia, Peru, Saudi Arabia, Nigeria, Belgium, Czech Republic, Argentina, Israel, Latvia and the Republic of Korea.

Wow. Thanks for joining us in our adventure here in rural, upstate New York. Please say hello on your next visit, whether real or virtual…

Bug at Home

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Guess I have today whatever bug Elihu had yesterday. In an uncomfortable sort of limbo. Not quite sick enough to throw up, but I feel each minute as if I should. Have had a constant headache since the morning. As evening falls I realize I’m quite hungry, but nothing appeals. For a brief window popcorn sounds ok. So I made a bag. Huge mistake. Not only did it not work (the chickens will thank me) but it made the whole house smell like popcorn. Yukk. I mean really yukk. I’d opened all the windows earlier today to air out the place and so I’ve kept them open to get rid of the smell. It’s getting pretty chilly now as it’s dropped to the lower forties outside again, so I need to close them up again. In what feels like a good measure of decadence, I turn the heat in the bedroom up to seventy. Usually I cut corners on the heat, but not tonite.

So here I am, hunkering down in my comfy chair, feeling a lot less than comfy, but at least I’m toasty now. Think I’ll give in and take something for this headache. If I had a bit more oomph I’d drive out to get some ginger ale, but I’ll forgo it now, as I’m dug in. I’m watching House Hunters International on HGTV, following the maps of each property search on my laptop. Thankfully, this is something that can pull me in enough to distract me from my discomfort.

I’ve always marveled at how many different ways there are in which to live. From my own travels – from Indonesia to Italy, I’ve seen so many corners of the world. But rather than give me a better idea of what my ideal home should be, it’s in fact done the opposite. I can never seem to identify what might feel like the perfect home. Really, for me, there is no such thing. This afternoon, as I felt so physically uncomfortable, I found myself longing for home. Silly, I know – I am home, right? Aside from the fact that I’ve been wrestling with the idea of this tiny, rural, upstate New York house feeling like home for the past three years (since I came here) there is yet another conflict inside me regarding true home. In that one moment today where I yearned for ‘home’, I paused to consider all the homes I’ve known. Which one was ‘the’ one? I played them all in my head, from the first I remember in New Haven, Connecticut to the Wilmette, Illinois home in which I lived in most of my life – and really, none was definitively home. (The closest one to my heart was still my beloved mid-century home in Evanston.)

I have nothing to complain about. Visitors take a breath when they first see the view here. There’s virtually nothing to be seen for a full three hundred and sixty degrees but trees, sky or field. And the house itself, while small, is just perfect for the two of us. My complaints might be that it’s drafty (there’s virtually no R rating to any of these fifty year old windows) and the obvious lack of landscaping in the immediate vicinity of the house (thanks to mud season, a lack of a driveway and the chickens) makes the place a little sketchy looking at first glance. And I like beautiful, not sketchy. Also, having lived all my life within spitting distance of other humans, I’m still just not used to being so alone. I’m thankful for my piano students and the families they bring along with them.

I wouldn’t mind being able to see my neighbors through the windows right now. But I think I feel like this because I’m sick. Feeling a little adrift, too, without Elihu. And since he’s with Jill and the boys in some hotel room in Indianapolis while Fareed plays a gig there (I only just learned these plans last night) it’s likely he won’t be calling me tonight. So that’s part of it.

Tomorrow this bug will be gone, and I’m sure I’ll feel more at home then.

Travel Plans

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It was to have been Elihu’s last day at Greenfield Elementary School today, but he awoke feeling sick. At first I’d wondered if this was real or exaggerated. But it turned out he really was sick. At least in the beginning of the day. Thankfully, he was feeling good by the time afternoon came, and he was fine when I drove him to the train this evening to meet his dad.

I had some errands to do in the early afternoon, and he came along with me, sitting in the back seat, quiet, patient, eager to be done. I ran in to his school to pick up the entries from the kids who want to be in the talent show, and on my way out was greeted by a couple of girls whom I’ve given piano lessons. They ran up to me and wrapped their arms around my waist – eager as much to hug me as to have their friends see them doing so. As I said goodbye to the kids (more of whom had now learned I was there and called out to me to be recognized), the principal caught me. “Is it true?” she said, eyes wide in search of the story. She spoke in a tone more like a fellow mother than an administrator. She didn’t need to finish her question, as her face told me she’d heard about Waldorf. “I’d wanted to talk to you – I didn’t mean to seem like we were just skipping out on you!” I answered. I went on to explain that it just happened so fast – it had gone from a dream to a possibility to a certain thing in what seemed to be a flash. I sputtered my best explanation as to why Elihu had chosen to attend Waldorf – the best I could do in the situation; kids were lining up to leave the noisy cafeteria, while other classes lined up to enter. Too much going on. I assured her I’d be there for the talent show – and that I hadn’t forgotten her ‘bit’, that I would coach her through it all. She laughed, and expressed her relief. (I’m planning on creating a rhythm line in which she, the school principal, plays the cowbell – the cornerstone of the ensemble – as others then add their part on top. A slight comic nod to Christopher Walken’s ‘fever for the cowbell’ bit on SNL). It was all I could do for now. Suffice to say we haven’t completely closed this chapter of our lives quite yet.

Elihu wasn’t that sentimental about missing the day either. He said he might easily have been, but he didn’t want to feel sad, so he was choosing not to dwell on it. That kid. Always so much more grown-up about things than I would be in his shoes. Or than I am in mine. ! I was kinda nostalgic all day. Glad I’d written a quick note of thanks and given it to his bus driver the day before. I’d really wanted to thank him for taking care of my son. He had a kind demeanor – evident from his simple wave good-bye as the bus departed each day, and I was grateful my child was in his charge. Glad I’d done that. Glad also that I’d be able to go back and make more thank yous and goodbyes over the next few weeks, because I truly do appreciate that place for giving Elihu his start in the world. From his kindergarten teacher we learned “you get what you get, and you don’t get upset”. Almost seems to me that it might have been the most important lesson of all that he learned there! I look back on the past four years, and realize that’s the length of a high school career, or college. Seems a good time to move on.

We two enjoyed a relaxed afternoon doing laundry, packing, setting up the incubator (which I must fill with eggs this week so that they’ll hatch in time for his upcoming 9th birthday party) and just enjoying each other in our last bit of time together before he leaves for Spring break. Elihu and I were tired today; it made both of us weak and silly. We sat in my bedroom’s cozy chair, he in my lap, making jokes and laughing over nothing at all.  Finally I needed to lie down, so I did, and he got on the bed next to me with his little diji game. It’s like a Nintendo DS, only it requires math problems be solved in order to make progress (in addition to shooting little alien guys and gobbling up point-scoring icons along the way). As I lay there watching him, I noticed the shape of his face and something rang familiar. Then immediately I flashed on an image of him as a mere babe of only a few months, and how his mouth had that same profile, that very same look – it was strange, but I could just picture him as a baby, yet at the same time I could still see him as he was. It was as if two moments in time had come together in some rare window of perception. Don’t know how to explain it better than that. It was a strangely poignant moment, one in which I felt how fleeting each moment is, and how quickly childhood becomes a memory. I lay there just looking at my beautiful child, just watching him, loving him, wishing all the most wonderful things for him in the life that lay yet ahead.

They sun was sinking, casting that warm, orange-tinged light on the neighboring fields and reminding us that we needed to get going. Elihu asked if he had time for just five minutes with his flock. I nodded, and he ran off through the trees towards them. He came back chasing the big rooster, Bald Mountain. It was comic as the boy ran after the bird, who dodged Elihu’s every lunge, leading the kid around in a fruitless chase. As I was pulling the car down the driveway, I saw the final, stop-frame moment: Elihu dove for the bird, grabbing just the very last of his tail feathers, and held on. Like a water skier pulling on a tow rope, he pulled himself along the tail, closer and closer to the prize. Finally he wrapped his arms around the bird. He had hoped I’d seen the catch, and eagerly brought the rooster to my open car window. “Awesome grab!” I said as he laughed with triumph. (That bird has attacked both of us so many times that it’s kinda nice to see the tables turned.) We smooch him, apologize for the rough treatment, then set him down. He shakes himself out, regains his composure and runs back to join his ladies. Finally we’re off to say goodbye to grandma and grandpa before we go to meet his father at the train.

The drive to Schenectady always seems so goddam long. I don’t know why it is, but the drives one has to make around this part of the world – to get anywhere other than where you currently are – all seem to take forever. When I think of the commutes I made in Chicago, I guess they were pretty similar in length, and Lord knows there are exponentially more traffic lights to deal with there, so I can’t really say why the commutes here feel so much more tedious. I don’t know why. Can’t explain it. But every single drive seems to take forever. And I never like the return trip after dropping Elihu off at the train. With Elihu suddenly gone, everything quiet, a kind of emptiness comes over me which makes the drive even more of a drag than it already is.

In spite of the drive, and in spite of the fact that part of me still can’t believe the situation which has me driving there in the first place (when, oh when will this feel like my ‘real’ life?) – I do look forward to seeing Fareed – more specifically, to seeing Elihu see Fareed. Our routine has us meeting at a dark little restaurant and bar across the street from the Amtrak station called the Grog Shoppe. Fareed is always there before us, Guinness on the table, phone to his ear. We always try to surprise his father – Elihu loves to sneak up on him as he sits waiting, unawares – yet it doesn’t always work. But today it worked! It was fun to watch from around the corner as Elihu appeared from nowhere and Fareed jumped up at the sight. It was a joyful reunion. Elihu was one very happy boy.

In no time, we three are laughing, having fun and sharing our own private jokes. This poor kid can’t escape all the classic comic references Fareed and I have tossed back and forth for the past two decades, and we throw out first lines of bits, hoping our child will answer back with the following line. (Caddyshack gets a good amount of air play.) We’ve ordered our food, but have over an hour. Plenty of time to relax. I decide it’s time to discuss my desire to take Elihu on an east-coast trip this summer to meet some Conant relatives. I’m hoping that mom can help with the cost, because it won’t be cheap, but it feels like an important trip to make. My Uncle Paul is 84, and there’s some urgency that the trip happen soon. Fareed understands, and I relax when I see that he won’t be battling me on this. He says this is good that we’re discussing plans, because he wants to figure out when Elihu can make the trip to Chile with his folks. Huh?! “I thought I emailed you on this” Fareed said unconvincingly. Apparently not. He knew my feelings about this. I’d made my conditions about Elihu and international travel plain. NO trips out of the country without me along. I wasn’t going to let Elihu go to Pakistan or Chile without me. Period. “You’ll have to talk to my folks about that” Fareed says. I say I’ll call tonite when I get home. “You can’t.” he says. “They’re in Spain.” Again, huh?? “At their age? They’ve gone to Europe?!” I can’t believe it. Seems Elizabeth, my mother-in-law’s neice, has traveled from Chile to New York to accompany them. Wow. And I literally don’t have enough money to buy milk, let alone gas. I don’t dwell on it. It’s just part of the crazy world of Fareed. I know, I’ve lived in it for twenty five years now. You just gotta shake your head and roll with it.

If it’s that important to them, they’ll take me. They’ll take us both. As it looks from this very moment, it seems quite likely that Elihu and I will be going to South America this summer. Looks like it might be a year of travel. No one’s getting any younger, and there’s family to be met around the globe. At nine, Elihu is a good age to travel, as he’ll remember his experience and learn a lot from it. I myself remember a trip to Switzerland at the age of six. In fact, it is a bright, vivid memory full of color and details. I know this kind of an adventure will help shape Elihu’s life in a profound way. Deep down, I am glad for this sudden news. I sense the possibility of wonderful things to come.

We’ve had our meal and need to pay. Fareed has just realized that we’ve relaxed perhaps a little too much; we have under ten minutes to make the train. Thankfully, we’ve just gotten the bill. The restaurant is packed, and our poor waitress is alone on the floor. I remember those days well. I want to share her stress as if it might lighten her load somehow, but it won’t, so I cast it off. It’s her drama, I can’t share it, I don’t need it. I have my own. Fareed pays while Elihu and I gather up his guitar and bag and head out. The train is literally pulling into the station as we arrive.

On the platform we hug, and Elihu says to me what he now says to all his family upon departing or saying goodbye: “Love you so much”. It’s a sweet little phrase that he just started using one day. It conveys his intense and sincere feelings so well, and it’s always touching to hear him say it, no matter to whom. I say “Goodbye, love you” as he turns away, and then when Fareed hugs me and turns to leave, I have to edit my impulse to say the same to him. I shouldn’t say I love him, right? I mean, after the way he’s treated me, the absence of real concern for me – how can I still feel any tenderness for this man? Yet seeing him go still tugs a little. Ok. It tugs a little less. I guess that’s progress.

This time, I don’t linger on the platform, following them through the cars, waving as they glide off. I head back to the doors. One lone traveler is told by the conductor he must go back downstairs to the ticket booth and get a paper ticket before he can board. I hear the hissing of the train and see the panic in the man’s face as he runs back to the stairway. I’ve been there too. I feel his stress, and I want to share it, to lessen his load. But I can’t, so I let it go too. I have my own load.

I do end up using my cell phone as a high-end walkie talkie, calling them to see if they can see me standing on the corner, waving. No, this time they don’t. So without fanfare, we say goodbye. For the first time ever, I get in my car and leave before the train does. I guess this is progress too.

The drive is still a little empty, but the full moon helps distract me from dwelling on it. Soon I’m pulling alongside my house, the vast expanse of hills before me, stars and moon bright and crisp above me. I look up and out at the infinite. I sense the space, the possibility…  Tonight I will put off til tomorrow the chores that I might otherwise set to right away. I won’t bother with the dishes, or the post-packing mess in Elihu’s bedroom. Maybe I’ll write a post, get this crazy ‘trip to Chile out of nowhere’ bomb off my chest. I don’t know. But the wonderful thing is – I am free to do that if I please. I am also free to do absolutely nothing if I please. Truly, I am free. How lucky am I? Very lucky. And very grateful too. I love being a mother, but it sure feels good to have a moment alone every now and then. Nothing like having the house all to yourself.

Just now there was a small interruption in my first night alone, but it’s a welcome one: the phone rang. Elihu said he was calling to say goodnight. That was it. Then he said “Love you so much” and hung up. Love you too, Elihu. Sweet dreams.

One story ends, another begins. Greenfield Elementary to Waldorf of Saratoga. Cape Cod to Chile. On with the adventure…