take care

suki and lyle left today.

in a frenzy of suitcases, papers and tears, they stepped onto the coach that would take them back and away from myself and my family, into new cities,  lands and new stages of their lives. tear-stained and weary, i waved them goodbye as they left to move on.

then i woke up and realised i would have to do it all again.

the days had passed too quickly before my very own myopic eyes. it seemed suki had only moved in yesterday. and lyle just a second ago. he’d only been living with us for about- what, a week? – and here he was, packing up already. formerly messy rooms were starting to regain a sense of order, but not in any good way. suki’s cosmetics and various toiletries no longer invaded our bathroom. lyle’s perpetually unmade bed lay perfect. yet in the midst of all this change, the two were as casual as ever. lyle chatted on the phone whilst brushing his teeth. suki watched some asian drama or something. they had brunch. and i had an urge to scream, no, don’t go yet, please, we have so much more to do, and cling onto their legs. either that or drug them and imprison them in our (non-exsistent) basement. so i watched and waited for that final car journey to make its arrival.

it’s such a shame. we could have done so, so much more. i only really started talking with suki and lyle 3, maybe 4 days ago, and i don’t know why. we just seemed to open up so much more easily. i joked around with suki, and i found out that lyle was into a ton of bands i like as well. we snarked and laughed together, and if  only, if only i had taken my opportunities earlier, we could have spent more time together, while they were still in this city. as i type this, they’re probably on their way to london, in some ratty old coach. but i don’t know if they’re missing us.

so this morning we clambered into a packed car with a boot full of suitcases and set off for those final goodbyes. my heart had been in my throat the whole day – that lump just kept stabbing. i might be a cold, soulless demon child before, but i was pretty much on the verge of tears. i couldn’t get myself out of bed, let alone into that car. my mother even thought i wasn’t coming, which shocked me. how could i not go? i love suki and lyle. i love them and i cherish everything i did with them, and yet i cannot let them go. they talked nonchalantly about customs, about packages they had sent, as if this was no big deal for anybody. i stared out of the window and tried my best not to cry.

eventually we had to arrive. i offered to help them carry suitcases, to do whatever i could to delay their departure from us. but that final moment just came too quickly. i thought it would be like prolonged torture, but it was more like prolonged torture leading up to a little pinch on the arm. there were no tears. no great gestures of emotion. hardly anything.

“see you soon.”

“i’ll come and visit you sometime, yeah?”

“take care.”

 

Twelve Years Young and I Lived

…in a brand new split level home in northern Wisconsin, with my mom and dad.  That was the year, ironically, that my parents also split.  Huh, I never thought about that correlation before.  We’d lived in a duplex across the street and got to watch the house being built.  I was incredibly shocked when I found it was ours!  It seemed so huge.  You couldn’t just holler to somebody as there was too much separation between rooms and floors.

Lots of stairs in the house, with landings and a boxed corkscrew effect.  When you walked in the front door, you could either go up a few stairs to the living room that had a brick fireplace set on the diagonal, or go down a short flight of stairs to the garage entrance,  with another short staircase leading into the family room.  The family room had a fireplace directly below the one upstairs, so we thought this place was really something because we had TWO fireplaces, never having had even one before.  In the family room, we had a honkin’ big new picnic table that I helped my dad stain and paint, and it was the only movable furniture in this long room.  I wonder why? The three of us would have picnics down there when it was too hot and humid outside, as well as having picnics all winter long with a fire in the fireplace. There were also built in benches under the windows to sit on, but I didn’t like them as they were terribly boxy and straight, and not at all comfortable.  You know, I haven’t thought about how quirky and unique this house was until just now. Funny, looking back.

Also down in the lowest level was the utility/laundry room and my dad’s “bathroom” with the only shower in the house, all in one room.  The shower was cinderblock, cold, dark, and I hated it. But I hated baths more, so I’d go down there to shower anyway.  My mom still had a wringer washer she preferred using.  She had a regular washing machine too, but said the wringer washer got clothes so much cleaner.  I can’t tell you how many times my fingers got “wrung” as I helped with the laundry.  (Not by choice!!)  There were clotheslines down there too, for rainy laundry days or winter weather.  We had a fairly new dryer, but my mom preferred hanging things to dry.  I didn’t like it because of the stiffness of the dried clothing, bedding and towels.  Especially the towels.  ooooh and washcloths.  Not pleasant at all, even though we used fabric softener!

If you were up on the main level, you’d go up another small flight of stairs to the three bedrooms and main bath.  I LOVED my bedroom.  Peach walls, white sheers on the windows (three large windows, so there was a LOT of light,) with white shades for privacy and darkness.  The best part was the crazy shag carpeting.  Surprisingly colorful for my parents; dark orange (almost a rust color,) medium orange that was Halloween pumpkin-ish, and yellow orange, like butternut squash.  The amazing thing was that we found a bedspread with those exact colors.  It was meant to be, I swear!!!  I had white French provincial hand me down furniture that I never really liked from my next older sister, consisting of  a huge dresser, a headboard, and make-up table with a little chair.  Never understood why we had a  make-up table since my mom wouldn’t let us wear any.  ha!  There was also a wonderful and simple bookshelf my dad and I made out of cedar, painted a shiny white.  He tried to talk me out of the high gloss, but that was what I saw in my head.  I still have it, and my son treasures it because his Grampa and I made it together. Honestly, I’d forgotten how much I treasure it too.

The kitchen was full of new “avocado green” appliances. Even the hood over the stove and the first dishwasher we ever had.  We were living in style, we thought. But I’d have moved back to central Wisconsin in a  heartbeat. That was where we were still together, still a family.  But then I wouldn’t have my orange shag carpeting…

With warm wishes on your journey,

Nance

Simple Pleasures + 100 Happy Days = Making lists

I posted this on my blog, and want to share on the Covey View as well. I hope you enjoy the thought processes, and maybe even start the processes yourself if it’s not something you already do.

the moments matter

A recent blogging “assignment” I had was to write my blog as a list. That was something different; self brainstorming, no grammar worries, a different kind of writing. Not bloggish as we think of a blog, but a list. As I wrote on May 22nd, I also recently signed up to do the 100 Days of Happy, where I take a photo of something that made me happy during my day. Every day, for 100 days! That’s a lotta happy. A fellow blogger wrote a post about 50 simple pleasures in her life. http://lyrallya.wordpress.com/2014/05/28/50-simple-pleasures-of-life/#more-3401 All of a sudden, I’m seeing a theme going on in my world.

It seems like people are trying to find the good stuff, the stuff that makes us happy, the positive influences, figuring out what’s real and important to us individually as well as universally. This is really incredible! Those moments that matter so much…

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