A high-pitched scream startled me from my nap.
"Where am I?" I surveyed my surroundings through squinted eyes.
The face of a dark-haired toddler is looking back at me from several rows ahead on the Frontier jet. She had periodically pierced the air with her outbursts during our flight, letting everyone within earshot know just how bored and frustrated she was.
"You and me both, Sweetie," I thought wryly, pressing my head back against the closed window shade and my non-reclining seat back. I was tired of being wedged into this barely padded seat, and more than ready to get off the plane, too, but that was inadvisable at this elevation.
One of the hazards of living my life between two states, Utah and Illinois, is not ever being sure where I am. I pushed the shade open, and the sun blinded me momentarily. Ah, the Rockies were down below. We would be approaching the Salt Lake valley soon.
Sometimes I wake in the night, unsure where I am. I listen for the soft, steady breath of my husband, and reach toward his side of the bed, relieved to feel his chest beneath my hand, and I know I am in our bed in the west suburbs of Chicago.
Other times, the soft moans from our youngest son's dreams in the night stir me from sleep, and I reach out to discover the pillow beside mine is empty, and I remember I am in the double bed, sleeping alone in our tiny cottage in rural Utah, until I return home to my husband in Illinois.
In a couple weeks, sometime during my flight from Salt Lake to O'Hare, I might wake groggily from another nap, and momentarily wonder where I am. When I look out my window, the sight of Chicago's city lights will make me smile.
"I'm almost home," I will tell myself, where my husband will be waiting for me at the bottom of the escalator in the airport.
I know where I am, and it's exactly where I want to be.
My family also lives on the other side of the country. When I head that direction, I hear myself say, "I am going home," and when I come back, I also say, "I am going home." I understand what you mean--though I don't do it as often as you do. Still, the very best thing is seeing my husband at the base of the escalator. That is when my heart beats best. Our airport is set up the same way!
ReplyDeleteGoodbyes are so bittersweet between two worlds. Greetings are so full of love and light. I love that you relate to seeing my husband..."when my heart beats best." So cool. Thank you, Crystal!
DeleteI love the dreamy feeling to this piece and your rituals in establishing where you are in time and place. To me, it seems like you handle your shifting schedule with much grace and I wonder is every week different or do you go at particulars times, etc., to alleviate the impact of all the travel. Two beautiful pictures of your "homes" add to the mood of this piece. I love that you use the word "blogment" at your blog. Reminds me of the good times in which that word was birthed.
ReplyDelete"Blogment" is in quotes, in homage to you. It's not my word, but it reminds me of you, and the other writers, when we first began. I spend nearly two weeks at a time in one location. When Bridger is graduated, things will change, and we will navigate uncharted territory. Again.
DeleteI enjoyed how you started with waking up, and the rousing throughout, as you described your two homes even the times when you awake, literally, in-between worlds.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Via Marie, for your positive feedback. It was nice to have you visit!
DeleteThis is so gorgeous and luscious and lovely. I love the lilting, "in-between worlds" quality to this piece and that sense of saudade that colours everything. I so enjoyed this.
ReplyDeleteThank you for making the extra effort to leave your blogment. You made my day! Now, I have to go look up saudade. ;-)
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