From The Vault: The Hopeful Curse
August, 2013
I already miss them.
They are only a few miles down the road, but the house is too quiet to enjoy, and I miss them. Elias and Ellery will be at Granna & Grandpa's this week, which means they will prove, once again, that they love grandparents more than us, and Jonathan & I will enjoy each other while missing them. But this is good. It's good to miss something, to long for something. I guess that's where the hopeful curse comes into play, the one we share with all creation. How could we long for something that never went away? How could we fully appreciate something if it has always been there? I see more detail in their faces after they come back home. I hear nuances in their giggles a little more clearly, feel them sprouting up even as I hug them, growing literally before my eyes. And I cherish these things. I cherish them more once they've gone away and returned.
The jungle birds aren't as chatty this morning. One of them seems to enjoy this and is quite giddy with his monopoly of sonic space. I say jungle because to look out on the glass doors off the back of the house, one would only assume he is having his morning coffee in a suburban jungle. Jasmine, jasmine everywhere, and a yellow rose bush, although calling it a bush is like telling a 500-lb person he's just "big-boned."
The plants have the floor, and the lattice, and parts of the wall. These rains have encouraged their rebellious growth, so I look out on green with flecks of yellow and purple, green shooting straight into the sky and spreading out over and around and through everything. It's a jungle out there, and there's one bird who loves it.
These are the things I see and hear when the noise is gone from inside the house, when the giggles are trapped in a minivan on a freeway to Florida. And I love to spread out and hear and see, spread out in the silence to explore the bustling worlds outside of our 1500 square feet of chaos on leave. But I miss them. The solo act in the jungle is beautiful, and the stillness inside cleanses my palette, but soon I'll be ready for the next course, for the chaos to return, for the giggles and screams to fill up the space.
It's the hopeful curse to miss them while they're gone.