Category Archives: Filmstrips

Welcome Home

(This is part two...)

I have never understood the whole Missouri/Mississippi river thing. The first is part of the second, or not. Here's what I DO know - we crisscrossed them and all their little friends. A lot.

We were in the midst of river crossing #zabillion when the little man in the backseat shouted that the portable DVD player wasn't working. He was cranky from so many hours in the car seat, and hungry, and for the next 10 minutes as we made our way over the bridge I tried telling him in soothing tones that Mommy couldn't fix it right now, because driving off bridges is bad.

He started throwing DVD's at me.

I pulled off at the first exit on the other side of the water, and we found a McDonald's (the first we'd seen in about 6 hours). After a strong talk about hucking things at people and a threat about corporal punishment, Bear sniffed back tears of apology and we cuddled and then I attempted to fix his DVD player.

Not so much with me and the technical thing.

I admitted defeat. We trooped into MickyD's and I ordered us some food and asked for directions to the nearest WalMart or Target or wherever I could buy a new DVD player.

"Walmart? Hey, Deanne, isn't there one oh..."

Deanne, the shift manager, came up from the back. "Oh yeah. So what you want to do is get back on the highway and go about 62... maybe 63 miles. Go right at the exit and left at the light. Can't miss it."

"63 miles...?" I echoed, disbelieving.

"Yeah. I can't think of where you could buy one of those things closer."

I blinked at her for a long moment, then took my hamburger Happy Meal and milk and walked off to the play area in a daze.

"Uh, Bear..."

"Yeah, Mommy?"

"We're going to have music time when we get back in the car."

For the next hour, we scanned through the tall collection of homemade discs I'd brought. The songs that Bear and I can both agree on are an eclectic mix of Southern Rock, 80's bands like the Police, Queen and Talking Heads, Laurie Berkner, some Disco, Neil Diamond, and selected one-off's from bands like Rascal Flatts and Rusted Root.

At one point, "Another One Bites the Dust" came one and Bear immediately loved it. I ended up playing it for him a half-dozen times.

63 miles later, we found WalMart. But by then, our old DVD had miraculously self-healed. And besides, we were having fun singing along and playing car bingo.

We travelled the length of South Dakota, the depths of Iowa. CD flew out to meet us in Nebraska and from there it was the long stretch through the dusk and the dark and then the lightening back home.

Just in time to pick up my Mom from the airport (because my mom will always find the cheap ticket - even if it means getting to the airport at 4am in the blessed morning). Then it was a parade and fireworks, and a fair with a rock-climbing wall. There were training wheels to come off a bike. There were hours spent curled up in people pile on the couch, just happy to be a family together.

And then it was back in the car, for a trip to Indiana, back to Illinois, and then up to Wisconsin for the opening weekend of the Bristol Renaissance Faire.

And finally, we straggled out to the parking lot. Nothing ahead but a last drive home and then.... life, again. Unpack, finally. And clean. And back to swimming lessons and popsicles and....

Bear fell asleep in the back. I scrolled through the camera, looking at all the pictures.

"I look tired," I said, peering at one of me in a garland. "My eyes are smudged and pouchy," I complained.

"No," CD argued. "Beautiful."

I wrinkled my nose at him.

"You need a good night's rest," he admitted.

"Bear farts in his sleep," I told him. "Also? He kicks."

CD laughed. "Kept you up?"

"Yeah." I reached over and held his hand.

"Were they good trips, though?"

I nodded. And he smiled. And we went home.

Stepping Into the Light (of Paris)

I want to say this loudly and proudly... the boy did good. We landed in Paris and were met outside customs by our driver, who whisked us to a fabulous hotel (Hotel du Louvre). Our suite had TWO floor-to-ceiling doors opening to balconies that looked onto the Louvre (that is CD standing on a balcony in the 1st picture). AND they allowed us to check in early, so we could shower and change.

Despite the fact that it was overcast and windy, we set out for a long walk. We meandered up the streets past spraying fountains tipped in gold and ancient facades with carved fleur-de-lis. Bought me a scarf to keep out the cold. Along the way, I kept turning to CD and saying wonderfully mature and erudite things like; "That's the Seine! We're walking along the Seine!" or "Ooh! Ooh! Look! It's Notre Dame!" or CD's personal favorite, "I'm in Paris! I'm in France! I'm not wearing underpants!"

Along the road towards Notre Dame are predominately garden and pet shops, and the proprietors use the sidewalk as an extension of their stores. We made our way through orange trees and fancy displays of dog leashes. As I leaned in to take a picture of one of the more whimsical birdcage displays, CD whispered in my ear "Free the gnomes!" and started teasing me about the oppressed nature of French garden gnomes and how we should start a movement to gain their gnome suffrage.

Viva les gnomes!

My friend Dee, who was in Paris just a few weeks ago, had commented that one of the things that had struck her was the amount of penises she saw in Paris. Uh, on sculptures. And how realistically sized they seem to be.

Now, I'm not about to get into a debate on why she was going around Paris checking out the sculpture's penises (penisi?) instead of the warm-blooded variety but it was intriguing enough a comment that we decided we should check it out.

And sure enough, I am here to report that there ARE, indeed, over a dozen marble penises hanging in the wind just in the short mile or so along the Jardins and around the Champs De Lysee. And yes, they were uh, realistic. Or not. Depending on who you know.

Let's just agree that Paris is, among its many other benefits, a city of glorious nudity.

On Saturday Night, we met one of my all-time blogging heroines and her partner in REAL LIFE for dinner. This will go down as a highlight of not just the trip but of the past few years. If you look closely, you can see my wrist in the picture in the post she wrote about her visit to Paris. My wrist! On her website! How cool is that?

In case you're wondering - Helen and Angus are just as loving, funny, bright, warm, and sharp in real life as they are on her website. It was a great night. And I will be hung over for weeks as I recover.

At 12:01 she raised a toast, and as easy as that? I was 40 years old. It was light and lovely and CD and skipped up to our room kissing and silly.

I don't know what happened in the night. I should have been overjoyed. My birthday in Paris. Dinner with Helen and Angus. Good things ahead! A gift in the room safe! But no. The the next day, I woke up in tears. I have no sense of how it had shifted inside me, but I was suddenly terrified that the best of life was behind me, and shaken by who my reflection had become.

I remained as fragile as spun glass, my emotions ripping away a storm inside me. Even as I opened the gorgeous Swarovski crystal necklace and bracelet that CD had given me. Even as we traveled the Seine in a glass boat, eating gourmet courses and watching the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the night. CD tried to take care of me, but I couldn't stop shaking and crying. I don't know why. I wish I did, because it has lingered into all the days since.

The next day, after investigating the Louvre for hours and especially enjoying the ancient Egypt exhibits, we found a Hertz rental car place in the mall beneath the museum. We decided on a lark to get a car. Within minutes, we were on the roads of Paris reenacting the car chase scene from Bourne Identity. As CD zipped in and out of skinny streets with no lanes, I frantically turned the map this way and that looking for a way out of town. That we ended up on the A1 is thanks to divine intervention, and NOT my navigation skills.

Eventually we settled on a northward trajectory, and into Lille and then on to Brussels. By nightfall, we were sitting in a tiny pub with a Dutch-speaking proprietress who was trying to understand my meager French.

The map we had was of Paris with the rest of France shown only in major routes. And, as it turns out, the way to get around Brussels is to go around in this tunnel that circles the main part of the city. You go down and up, hoping that each exit will bring you back to the highway.

(Dear Belgium: Better signs. Just saying.)

Eventually, hurrah, we DID find the highway again. Except we were now on our way to Luxembourg. OK, so we turned around. And soon, we saw signs for Germany. (CD: NO! Not Germany! This is BAD!). So we turned around AGAIN. And found ourselves on N8, which was actually a road on the map we did have. And we breathed a sigh of relief.

Until, dear God, we realized we were headed to Gent. And beyond that, the Netherlands.

So we turned around and went the other way. And an hour later? More signs for Gent.

So we took another road. And another one. In the dark of rural Belgium, on a cold night with only a full moon showing the way, we drove around for 3 hours.

Until, finally, we found a river. And from the river, we found the main drag. And from the main drag, we found Lille. And like that, we were in France again.

Our nerves frayed, our patience gone, we made our way with terse words back towards Paris. But somehow, by the time we approached the Rue de Versailles and made our way back to the Louvre, things had begun to settle between us.

Things long unsaid had been hauled out into that tiny car and shouted at. It had hurt, but then it had begun to feel much, much better.

Dropped the car off, walked through the cold breezes to our hotel. Savored the warm there, the steam of a hot shower. And as we crawled into bed, he reached for my hand beneath the pillow. And we fell asleep kissing distance apart.

With the alarm set so we could make the plane home in the morning.

Don't you wisht y'd go on forever?

We started traveling with him almost from the moment he was born, so I never hear things like "are we there yet?". But he's a little kid with a little bladder, so I did hear things like "I got to go potty" - and by that, he means now.

But the path to my friend's house in western Illinois was decidedly not paved with McDonald's. It was almost an hour on country roads once we exited the highway; it was farms and fields and cows and corn and, yes, at one point I think I saw a surrey with the fringe on top.

Luckily, we did keep finding potties just in time.

Then, finally, we found the "s" curve at the bottom of my directions. The nearly-hidden driveway that pulled up the steep hill. And we came to a stop right in front of the red barn. Bear looked at me and announced (as he eagerly pulled off his seat belt) "Mom! I like this place!"

5 rampaging boys made immediate friends. Through dog licks, kitten scratches, water fights, a wasp sting, bruises, running, screaming rounds of tag, tears, giggles, sharing, not sharing, stops for snacks and clothing changes, and the periodic shout to behave from my friend or I.... it was a wonderful time.

She and I had hours to visit, to chat or just sit and sip, to prepare dinner and do the chores of life, to marvel at how far our lives have come since college so long ago.

It was a whole 'nother day by the time I pulled into our driveway - in more ways than one.

By then, many decisions had begun to settle in my heart. As I watched CD carry our sleeping son to bed, the chubby hands instinctively wrapping into his father's hair, I knew the magic of the trip had worked on me. As I followed behind with the blankie and the luggage into the cool rooms, I knew the words would keep.

I took a deep breath, already missing the country air.

Now comes the work of setting vision to action. But in that moment, I was still in the medicinal peace of a day away. To a place I hope to go back again, soon.

When we hit that road, hell fer leather,
Cats and dogs'll dance in the heather,
Birds and frogs'll sing all together and the toads will hop!
The wind'll whistle as we rattle along,
The cows'll moo in the clover,
The river will ripple out a whispered song,
And whisper it over and over:
Don't you wisht y'd go on forever?
Don't you wisht y'd go on forever?
Don't you wisht y'd go on forever and ud never stop
In that shiny, little surrey with the fringe on the top!
- written by Oscar Hammerstein II, music by Richard Rodgers, originally from the musical "Oklahoma!" (1943).

The Start of Goodbye

Yesterday started the night before. We packed, and hemmed, and ironed, and organized. Collapsed into bed so late that when the alarm went of at 5:30AM, we resisted. But eventually we did pull ourselves up and into the day.

6:30AM We started for the car, although it took about 20 more minutes before we had finished running back into the house for "one more thing" and actually pulled out of the driveway.

7:00AM Bear dropped off at Elia's, we headed to Midway Airport for our flight to Boston.

8:00AM Midway security being the clusterfudge of all time, it took us over 45 minutes to get through the scan line. They were announcing our names over the loudspeaker as we scrambled to our gate.

[time change + 1 hour]

11:30AM It is a running joke in my family that I can't get a ride from Logan Airport. Today was no different. We caught the "Silver Line" - a bus that becomes a subway. We switched over to the red line to MIT (Kendall Square).

Met up with my mom and brother and we all grabbed a quick bite at the food court. It was easy just to chat, look through the most recent Bear pictures, and share a laugh and pretend that it was just another day.

But then it was time to head over to MIT's unique chapel for the service.

1:45PM The whole family gathered in an anteroom. The lovely obituaries mention 2 nephews and 1 niece. But families are more than common blood; marriages and children created 17 people who called this amazing man "Uncle Mike".

2PM We approached the chapel in pairs as a lone bagpiper stood in the dappled shade by the entrance and played the mourners in. It finally hit me why we were there.

Mike had attended MIT from undergraduate through doctorate and then returned to teach. The eulogists had pulled his school records going all the way back to the beginning. It was bittersweet to hear how he'd always been special, always been kind and smart, always been more interested in the questions than the answers.

Another of my uncles talked about Mike, the guy. The one who loved to laugh, who joined in on games of Rail Baron, loved crosswords and was always interested in the world.

Then my cell phone went off. It took 4 rings for me to silence it.

[insert several moments of embarressment here]

His co-workers talked about Mike's amazing teaching skills and genuine rapport and devotion to his students. One brought with him a book that contained the thousands of emails the school had received from all the people who'd heard of Mike's passing and had to reach out and tell someone how much Mike had meant to them.

Most of us count ourselves lucky if we have a pond of people whose lives we touch in any meaningful way.

Mike had a rushing, roaring river.

Mike was universally recognized for being an amazing teacher and advisor. He won the sardonic Big Screw Award, the prestigious Baker Award, and at one point he had won MIT's "Outstanding Faculty Member of the Year" for 10 years straight.

At the end of the memorial, it was announced that MIT was renaming that last award after Mike.

3PM We walked up 3 flights of stairs to the reception. A long dark-clad line of solemn faces past chattering students who watched us with curious eyes.

I pulled into a corner at one point to check my phone. It had been Elia. I quickly called back and discovered that there had been a misunderstanding about the child seat but Dee had taken care of it. As I was talking, I looked up and realized I was surrounded by a small crowd of family friends waiting express their sympathy.

We walked together into the large reception room. The food was amazing, but I couldn't taste it.

I put on what CD calls my "Chatty Cathy" persona - I was engaging and talkative and accessible.

I was miserable.

4:15PM With red eyes and wrenched hearts, a cousin, CD, & I grabbed a cab back to Logan. Windows down to the hot Boston sun, we looked out at the blue water and the brick apartment buildings as we rolled by.

5:30PM There's a Legal Seafood inside Boston's airport. As we sat down, my boss call my cell phone. I answered it long enough to tell him to go away.

Then the 3 of us ordered strong cocktails and ordered food and talked about how the rest of the family was doing. As if we were doing any better.

Well, after an hour or so, maybe we were.

[time change - 1 hour]

8:00PM We landed into the Chicago sunset. Last hugs and off to our car and home.

As we drove, CD talked about the tour Mike had given him and Bear of MIT last summer - before we knew Mike was sick. Before the end began.

They'd gone to Mike's classroom and office, had lunch in the cafeteria.

Mike told CD how there's an aisle at MIT called "the infinite corridor". In what has become a sort of ceremony ("MITHenge" [thanks, Kimberly!]), twice a year all the doors along the corridor are opened and people line the sides and then, just at the right moment, the sun will shine through from begining to end.

I would like to think that, somehow, from now on, whenever they throw open those doors, Mike's spirit will be there. Traveling the sunbeam along the rows of rapt students, teachers, and staff.

[I thought I'd done with tears, but I was wrong.]

We pulled into the driveway and Bear came racing from the backyard into my arms. As I held him tight, he whispered to me "Did you say goodbye to Uncle Mike?"

And I kissed him hard. "Not yet," I told him. "Not just yet."