I'm going in!

My First Born in a Land I'll Never See

“If you want me, I’ll be in Prague.”

This - from a male in my household who, just a couple of years ago, couldn’t find Prague if it arrived on his doorstep. 

But there he was, days later on Facebook with a travel memo and photos ...additional flesh art crawling up his arm, smiling his little self-satisfied grin having just concluded a pub crawl with colleagues.

Me? I’m just the mother with nary a postcard over the last year of my son’s journey across the pond.

I dig postcards and implore him to write. With a pen. Oh, and to use a stamp. It's an old-school thing. He prefers cyber salutations. I harass him. In a good way.

It’s mother-guilt, I know.

It’s mother love, no doubt.

It’s a little envy and a whole lot of “missing him.”

He’s traveling into spots not far from his military duties where he takes advantage of the R & R. Deep down, I know that, despite the opportunity and adventure, he really misses home.  
We tell him to “stay the course, son.” Four years is over pretty quick and there’s not much to come back to here in the dismal United States of Where-The-Hell-Are-We-Going?

The Democratic National Convention is in town this week. I’m going to observe the circus, if for no other reason than, to connect - to feel  less lost, less homesick, less forgotten.

My president’s First Lady thanked my family - and thousands like us - last night in front of millions of viewers. Our Mom-in-Chief thanked the kids serving our country. She thanked military families. I'm determined to find her and hug her for that. It's a long shot but what isn't these days?

So, son – if you want me, I’ll be uptown Charlotte.

I’m going in!

A Great Gust of Wind

Family photo taken from the bedroom window

What's the story behind those shoes dangling from telephone lines? How do they end up there?  

Strewn randomly across lines in the sky, they seem to be everywhere once you become aware of them - by schools, near tree tops, on lone highways, in fields, at parks.

Is it just pranksters pulling Pumas from gym bags, then tossing them up in the air? Or is it something more sinister that draws my attention to footwear foisted onto high wires?

My son David’s old Nike gym shoes have been suspended from the pine tree in front of our house for several seasons. 

At first, I didn't mind. He’s eighteen and I barely get to see him these days between work and school and friends and getaways.

The shoes gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling that he really enjoyed "hanging around" his family, pun intended.

One day soon, like a great gust of wind, he’ll be moving on. That makes me melancholy and moments like that don’t come with operating instructions. 

I tell myself that the shoes are a sign of a truly lived-in, comfy home. 

In reality, the ratty old sneakers have taken on all the romance of a white trash tree ornament. I want them removed. But I am powerless to eradicate the situation because another mother has entered the scene.

Earlier this year, a chickadee built her nest in them. Not in one shoe, but both of them. 

At first, I was smitten by this dangling duplex for my feathered friends. Now, not so much.

So, another season unfolds. Summer is turning into fall. Then winter will be here again.

 The birds have left. The shoes and the Man-Child son remain.

These days, it just doesn’t feel right to shake the shoes from their branches. They’ll just have to dangle. 

Demolition has been delayed and I’m left awaiting further operating instructions.

That, or a great gust of wind.