Leaving Planet Desmond: Part Three Re-entry

Kahlil Gibran moved me when he said, "You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth."


I'll never leave Planet Desmond, no matter how far as arrows he and his mommy shoot off into the future.  Because, yes, (get ready for the sticky sweet mixed metaphors and likenings) I don't actually live on Planet Desmond. I thought I had been swept up into that crazy, whirling, wonderfully wondrous world that sprang into existence the moment Little Big Bang exploded my world, from the inside out, as it happens.  He landed in me rather than my landing on the planet him.  By the way, his mother did the same thing to me on another plane in a different season. I rejoice at this.


I guess what I'm really trying to say is that even though I wish we could live together in the same little dust-devil for many more years to come, I am truly, sincerely, reverently and unfalteringly happy about letting them THWHITTT through the air. (That's the closest I could come to onomatopoeia for an arrow being sprung from the bow.)


It's the right and natural thing and deep down I find it vicariously adventurous.  So no more lamenting the loss of quirky play and perplexing pronouncements, the little, almost imperceptible lurking in my doorway of a midnight, the lashy over-the-shoulder looks that thinly cloak some inner fantastic imaginings, the new wonder at an old ritual, the helpful unloading and unfolding of clothes in the laundry basket, purple play dough, green security suitcase bubble-popping, pink lunches and games of chase where the object is to run squealing into the chaser's arms and get caught. 


I can't write three years of living with Little Big Bang and it's not a productive exercise to embarrass language against the pith and soul-poetry of the Desmond that is our Desmond.  So it's done.  (Well, the public lamenting is over, but I'm allowing myself the lovely inner longing for a little longer.)

 This picture was taken on their last day of play at Boston Harbor Marina.  Such a fitting farewell.

Leaving Planet Desmond: Somewhere In The Middle

The kids have been gone for several days already.  I've finished up a week at work and have begun another one.  I've been pretending that there are things enough to keep me busy and happily engaged, but it's a hard job, that pretense. 
I have to say that I am genuinely happy and anticipating a future full of promise, joy and wonder for my little gone family.  Go get 'em, you guys!
But damn!  No more of this in my home right now:

Well, you get the idea.

Leaving Planet Desmond: The Beginning

(I still have grand hopes of continuing my other blog writing project, and will eventually get back to that.)


Of late, I have been so preoccupied with moving and fluffing up my empty-again nest, I haven't taken time to do much more than the essentials, like go to work, spend every other minute with Katy and Desmond, and more recently Katy and Desmond and Jesse...and now with none of them...you now, except via text and pictures and phone! And maybe watching an episode or two of some British fare on Netflix.  I really need distraction at the prospect of otherwise experiencing intense emotion.


I arranged a five-day break from work to pack and move and recuperate last week.  Jesse came out from Utah on Monday, and on Tuesday we all packed and then on Wednesday, we rented a moving truck to get our belongings down the hill into my new, smaller apartment in the same complex. 
"Somebody" misjudged the height of the truck against the top of the car port and ripped a healthy chunk of tin roof (not ice cream, more's the pity) right the hell off!  I reported it immediately, but the office said they got a lot of calls of other people reporting the incident, as well.  We had a good $521.00  laugh over that one.


Katy and Jesse did all the loading and maneuvering and figuring things out while I went back to work.  Sometimes I was available to play with Desmond in order to keep him from getting trampled or from trampling others, in the process.  One of his favorite toys these days is my carry-on green, wheeled suitcase.  Well, it's no longer mine, actually, now that we think about it.  He pushes it around the house and it accompanies him when he is engaged in other activities, sort the way most kids drag around teddy bears and soft blankets.  During the move, he discovered a big ol' full-sized rolling suitcase and tried to boss that thing around the house, too, but didn't protest very much when I found a secluded spot in the closet for it.


Of course, as has always been the case, much more often than I would have liked, we got moved into the shiny new apartment.  Wall to wall mats, mattresses, beds, bedding, boxes and other containers, linens and frozen foods.  When we headed home from being out and about, Desmond referred to the apartment as "bed" rather than home, because the sparse furnishings were inaccessible and life got lived mostly on mattresses place on the floor. 


Now comes the fun and dreamy part!  The out and abouting that we did for several days in a row.  The sun has just begun to grace our days after a really wet winter this year.  Bus rides, farmer's market jaunts, yoghurt and honey purchases, playgrounds in the forest, and the very best of all -- so best that we did it over and over--were trips to Boston Harbor Marina where we all reveled in individual and shared idyllic mellowing.  It's a feeling for me akin to sitting and stroking the warm sand on the beach in Santa Cruz with the boardwalk and carnival atmosphere in the distance behind me, the squall and squeal of seagulls overhead, water, water, so much water! within walking distance, little and larger sail boats rocking in the harbor, and not a single have-to-get-it-done nagging in the back of my head. 


The little market sells sea-salt caramels, Desmond's usual vanilla soft-serve-in-a cup, beverages and other snacks and sometimes people will bring in fresh catch from the sound and sell it while it's still wiggling.  It also reminds me of my family's summer get-togethers, so comfortable and pleasant with nothing and a lot going on at the same time.  You can overhear other people's conversations and not care at all about them, and know that they can hear you and not feel self-conscious about anything.  Desmond runs from and chases dogs and balls and other kids who magically show up in bright blue shirts with cheap plastic water guns. 


We leave after a few hours and I feel absolutely Graced.  We sometimes have plans to maybe go other places for a change and something happens to pull us back.  A tiny hailstorm, Desmond's plea for ice cream as if it's a brand new idea that he's had for a long time, a desire to recharge in a way that no other place has the same draw.  I don't know how to explain it.