Family Visit
Having family with me was wonderful; having family with me was terrible.
It was wonderful to all be together. It was as if conversations resumed mid-sentence (come to think of it, some of them actually did do that). As much fun as we had tromping through new wildernesses in Yosemite, Marin County, and even here in Sacramento, it was most fun to just be together, laughing at our own family jokes, jerking chains only we know the others have, and sharing meals where food was unimportant in comparison to the feast of being with one another. My little apartment bounced--all apologies to my monkishly quiet neighbors; I once again am in the cloister, too. My Honda jumped down the road as it will when full of parents and children (did you know children in their 20s can still raise the ruckus of six year olds?). We filled social media with our daily adventures, mostly because it was us together for the first time in months, not because we are any more interesting than anyone else. The pictures serve as confirmation it all happened, something most of us need because life goes by too quickly to really take any of it within oneself.
I do not know when next I will be with all of my family at once. My children are grown, have lives all their own, and are intent on seeing all of the world that they can. That means they are rarely in one place for very long. That means they may well be in Asia or Europe as in the US, let alone in California, or, even more uncertainly, under my roof. My beloved Alison I hope to be with soon. A house needs to sell; we need to negotiate a strange, new housing market (i.e., mindblowingly expensive compared to Augusta, GA); and she needs to find meaningful employment--all these things need to happen, then we can resume being together all the time. Life is so precious and momentary. Constellations of context have to spring into being to make a lot of it happen.
And that is the terrible part. Being with them makes me miss them.
The saddest ride of all was driving back into Sacramento in a now empty, quiet car. Then came opening the door of my apartment. There it was. Chairs still in place, books on shelves, and everything as it was. And empty. Just me.
How maudlin.
I could still hear echoes of laughter, snippets of conversation, and smell the last remains of yesterday's cooking.
So I cleaned.
I put everything in order, made sure everything was where it went, and did a bunch of laundry. I vacuumed. I cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen. The smell of cleaner with bleach sharply eliminated other odors.
Then, I went for coffee.
Sitting with other people helped. I did not know a soul in the place. Their conversation burbled over me. I scribbled away in my notebook. I listened to Dexter Gordon. In the world and of the world, I reminded myself that no one is really ever alone in a crowded community. We may not know others, but others are there.
I thank the inventor of FaceTime. I can at least see my family even if I cannot actually be with them. I imagine what life might have been when all one could do was write letters to loved ones far away. A week between each side of a conversation, if not more. There are a lot of Victorian novels wherein a person's entire world shifts while they are away; their correspondence unable to keep pace with events; and the changes becoming irrevocable because time and space cement them into place. The interchanges become laced with regret, reflection, and a lot of "what might have been." FaceTime keeps that from happening, for the most part. I can speak right now to my family. I can't physically intervene, but I can be there, sort of. That eases the discomfort.
Only once during Creation did the Almighty ever intone that something was not good--
It is not good for Adam to be alone...
God has known something about us from the beginning of time. We need one another. We need others to be complete and whole. We need others to discover who it is we really are at core. We need others to be more who we want to be. We need others because it is not good to be alone. So God made us to be in families, those strange collectives who know way too much about each other, but still not enough; who know exactly what button to push to drive someone nuts, and yet miraculously refrain in momentary miracles from doing so, only to gleefully recant in the next breath; and who alone know the secrets we carry.
It was a great week, even if it did leave me longing for more, for next time, and for an end to separation.
Time will take me to that moment, thanks be to God.
It was wonderful to all be together. It was as if conversations resumed mid-sentence (come to think of it, some of them actually did do that). As much fun as we had tromping through new wildernesses in Yosemite, Marin County, and even here in Sacramento, it was most fun to just be together, laughing at our own family jokes, jerking chains only we know the others have, and sharing meals where food was unimportant in comparison to the feast of being with one another. My little apartment bounced--all apologies to my monkishly quiet neighbors; I once again am in the cloister, too. My Honda jumped down the road as it will when full of parents and children (did you know children in their 20s can still raise the ruckus of six year olds?). We filled social media with our daily adventures, mostly because it was us together for the first time in months, not because we are any more interesting than anyone else. The pictures serve as confirmation it all happened, something most of us need because life goes by too quickly to really take any of it within oneself.
I do not know when next I will be with all of my family at once. My children are grown, have lives all their own, and are intent on seeing all of the world that they can. That means they are rarely in one place for very long. That means they may well be in Asia or Europe as in the US, let alone in California, or, even more uncertainly, under my roof. My beloved Alison I hope to be with soon. A house needs to sell; we need to negotiate a strange, new housing market (i.e., mindblowingly expensive compared to Augusta, GA); and she needs to find meaningful employment--all these things need to happen, then we can resume being together all the time. Life is so precious and momentary. Constellations of context have to spring into being to make a lot of it happen.
And that is the terrible part. Being with them makes me miss them.
The saddest ride of all was driving back into Sacramento in a now empty, quiet car. Then came opening the door of my apartment. There it was. Chairs still in place, books on shelves, and everything as it was. And empty. Just me.
How maudlin.
I could still hear echoes of laughter, snippets of conversation, and smell the last remains of yesterday's cooking.
So I cleaned.
I put everything in order, made sure everything was where it went, and did a bunch of laundry. I vacuumed. I cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen. The smell of cleaner with bleach sharply eliminated other odors.
Then, I went for coffee.
Sitting with other people helped. I did not know a soul in the place. Their conversation burbled over me. I scribbled away in my notebook. I listened to Dexter Gordon. In the world and of the world, I reminded myself that no one is really ever alone in a crowded community. We may not know others, but others are there.
I thank the inventor of FaceTime. I can at least see my family even if I cannot actually be with them. I imagine what life might have been when all one could do was write letters to loved ones far away. A week between each side of a conversation, if not more. There are a lot of Victorian novels wherein a person's entire world shifts while they are away; their correspondence unable to keep pace with events; and the changes becoming irrevocable because time and space cement them into place. The interchanges become laced with regret, reflection, and a lot of "what might have been." FaceTime keeps that from happening, for the most part. I can speak right now to my family. I can't physically intervene, but I can be there, sort of. That eases the discomfort.
Only once during Creation did the Almighty ever intone that something was not good--
It is not good for Adam to be alone...
God has known something about us from the beginning of time. We need one another. We need others to be complete and whole. We need others to discover who it is we really are at core. We need others to be more who we want to be. We need others because it is not good to be alone. So God made us to be in families, those strange collectives who know way too much about each other, but still not enough; who know exactly what button to push to drive someone nuts, and yet miraculously refrain in momentary miracles from doing so, only to gleefully recant in the next breath; and who alone know the secrets we carry.
It was a great week, even if it did leave me longing for more, for next time, and for an end to separation.
Time will take me to that moment, thanks be to God.
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