Airport 2: the return

The return always sucks. It does. Firstly you have ‘the leaving’ which is a punch in the gut.

What? I have to leave? This doesn’t go on for ever and ever? I can’t just sit and reminisce every night while the fireflies dance? No? HOW DARE YOU interject reality and flight delays into my idyll?! How fucking daaaaaare you.

But I’m here again, I’ve done this before, the leaving. It doesn’t get better and I find myself looking for ways of escaping the mundane and the daily. Its only 24 hours later. One of the ways I tried to shake it up was going to the ER for six hours last night. This was not a good idea, but my brain spent a hell of a lot of time convincing itself that I was going to go septic from an infection and die without seeing my kids again. (they are at their dad’s this whole week for their once a year ‘whole week’ with their dad.)

This is most definitely not a good way to escape, and I would not suggest this to anyone, for any reason. Between the airport and the ER, I have seen the tops and bottoms of humanity. Literally. ALthough I suppose the 1 percent at both ends don’t use public airports. true. My brain, i think, leapt on the opportunity that having the kids all tucked away provides. All of a sudden, she did the math, realized she was working every other day this week and the timesuck could only be squeezed in to the one spot, directly after disembarking. One must schedule these emergencies, you see.

you can take the kids away from the mother, but you cannot take the mother out of the mother.

Its only been a little over 24 hours since I left and I’m bumming. I spent more time with a lot of Wisconsin nurses than you’d ever believe, and it was lovely, and I have a new appreciation for how different cultures can be within a group that looks ‘just like the other one’. Nope. Not the same. I ate cheese curds and learned how to make a mojito. Very delicious, I might add. My suggestion is white rum. Or leave it out and just have the rest. Very delicious.

I miss my best friend and wish I could see her more than once a year. But I think we are lucky we can both swing that, so I guess I’ll rest there, in the morass of humanity crawling and flying at all the different stages.

And maybe I’ll get caught up on the laundry. or that book I’m supposed to be writing.

man in blue crew neck shirt wearing black framed eyeglasses
Yeah, you know this guy had to hold this pose *just too long. Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on

Airport Life.

There are a million and a half things to wonder about when you arrive at an airport two to three hours early(yes, thank you to my father, not the tsa, for this trait).

Do stewardesses have to take turns and work the desks?

Why is it so much easier for men to talk to each other? Or is it just me, that i can’t talk to strangers? I don’t think its me? Is it the shared subjects, sports, weather, man stuff?

There could be some good done in the world if we were all forced to hang out in airports once in a while. I mean, the humanity. Yes, too, the priviledge and the money-spent hanging in invisible numbers above each person’s head.

But the tremendous variety in people. Saw a daughter guiding her mother through the security checkpoints. mom, with no english, tiny and wrapped in a beautiful sari. The guards were kind and accomodating, while still doing their job.

Why would anyone ever do dip? Why? And why after the first time, a second time? Whats that about? You love the drool feeling?


Couples of color separated by a guard, for a ’check’. The resigned, the terror right below that, of anything that could happen.

I’m watching moms chase kids, some with partners, some organized to the very tips of their toes, some just kind of winging it with the help of a partner. ALthough, honestly, I bet there is no ’winging it’ in airports anymore. Maybe not even in parenting. The times, they have changed.

Whats up with bringing dogs?

I sit here and miss my kids. Even while i am completely aware of how i’ve settled into another stage in my life, just like that. I’m walking through an airport and into a trip just for myself, just like that.

There is something big in it, in this small trip.

The work is still there, the flurry of childcare and job restructure, it is there.

Why haven’t i felt like a grownup til now? I’m freaking 48, you know. I wonder what the real name for this feeling is. I miss my kids, yes, but they’re fine. its all fine. and i am here for a long weekend, in this surreal travel spot.

Airport life. It would be amazing to stay. So glad I am not.

my problem is rapture.


Rapture is a problem for me these days. I can hardly stand to make a bouquet of flowers, because each SINGLE BLOSSOM sends me into a state of rapture. The color, the intricacy, the variety? I gasp so frequently, I am left breathless.

Have you looked at flowers ever? I mean, if all things are logic, biology and scientific advantage, and survival, then what the hell is a snapdragon? Chamomile? Daisy? Hydrangea?

The weeds by the road are only that because we can’t control them. ‘Weeds’, the anarchists. Me, ‘the man’.

I choose not to be ‘the man’ this week, or in this life. SO. I make bouquets of wildflowers and lose my breath frequently as I walk through greenhouse after greenhouse of astonishment. I feel the constancy of the bursting heart. My heart is growing with the experience and I feel lucky about that.

Change is coming, and I wonder a little bit about what sort it will be. There are some clear ones coming. My children are growing and the changes of who lives with me are coming soon, and my heart is breaking daily, in preparation. Maybe it is making me more resilient in the long run. I can’t believe its already here, this time.

I don’t know much of what I want to be in my life, I just know how I want to be. I just know that I want to hang on to being overwhelmed by beauty. I just know that I want to be laughing, and making people laugh. I want to be loved and appreciated and I want to glow when I look at the people I love. (i do that already. I’m smiling at you, people i love.)

I’ve got a lot of worries, like most people. I’m confused about how to bring in more money and more stability financially. I’ve got to start doing more of all of that. AND my friends, why are we living in a society in which beauty-gazing is not a career? I kid, and I do not, all at once.

Just found out I didn’t win powerball again. This time, I had actually bought a ticket.

Sigh. Go on, tell me about the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, the breath-taker.

Go on.

Zinnias, black-eyed-susans, wild sweetpeas, chamomile, hydrangea and snapdragons, waiting to be bouquets.

Kid #kid

my kid is sitting at the table in the kitchen. He is turning seventeen tomorrow. Seventeen.

I’m astounded. I tried to type astonished, but astounded is so much better. it reverberates.

My age, his age, the time that has passed by while he has been growing and learning and changing. Man, so much change in these years. I throw sideways glances at him to catch the rumors of whats going on at any given moment. Looking too directly is a snap-back guarantee. Its a flip of the leaf with him, the back and forth of growth, the pale green underside as he moves into manhood in fits and starts. There is a long way to go, yes.

He’s slightly sunburnt, his hair over his eyebrows starting its path to bleached. He’s the dream of boys and girls everywhere, the adonis who spends his days skimboarding and jumping off boats. When he works, he tempts wedding guests with hors d’oeurves. Eventually he’ll understand the power of his looks, but it is not yet. He is literally the open-faced, open-hearted joy child in this house. He’s kind, and thinks of others often, especially young ones. Oh boy.

I love all of my kids uniquely. Today the first one is having his last day of sixteen. It feels big. tree-like.

It is beautiful to watch. I can’t believe how damn lucky I am to have been his mother.

(and uh, to keep being his mother, you know. )

LOVE LOVE, everywhere.


under construction

What are you doing to improve yourself? I am betwixt and between on this one, because I’m still actively ‘raising’ kids and I am trying to teach THEM to strive to be better, etc. and God knows, the world needs work too. What am I doing to leave things better than i found them? It’s a query, an active search for justification of myself, in my entirety.

There’s something common in it, like all the ‘wellness’ crap, love yourself first. Secure your own oxygen. It’s true, yes, and I don’t fight against it. I guess I start by noticing, right? Noticing where we stretch thin, where we are disappointed by ourselves.

For one, I’ve been highly reactive with the kids lately. My reaction time to kid-squabble-teen-bitchery is unbeatable. There is nothing faster, literally. My mouth and mother-hat are tilting wildly at windmills. At speed, mind you, which does not mesh well with health and wellness.

I need to slow down. Take a breath, ask a question, maybe ignore something. Ignoring things is a highly underestimated parenting tool. Says I, the deaf one, who inadvertently ignores a lot. Though, to be true, its not technically ignoring, if I have no idea what is going on.

Which brings me to stretchy spot number two: I had an experience this week where I was trying to explain my hearing to someone who was irritated by it. I mean. . . it wasn’t even a kid. but whatever. I had to explain how deeply exhausting it is to listen to someone with my whole entire body. Sometimes I need to stop staring at their lips, because I just can’t handle it. I look away, but it doesn’t mean that my one good ear isn’t still functioning. They were getting mad that I wasn’t ‘listening’. Insert eyeroll here, an infuriated one.

Its resolved, for me, because I talked about it. I don’t think anything will change about their irritation level. but again, whatever. Its that little improvement, for me, pride in standing up for myself, taking the space and the time to talk rather than shrink into my ‘failures’. Remembering how much work I’ve done.


Building up over here, building up.

photo of people on building under construction
Photo by Igor Starkov on