there are countless memorable moments to speak of during my visit with my mother last week. to name a few: lake and river swimming, boating, a saturday night fish fry, dinners on the patio, and late night movies in the cabin. but none top the quiet hours we spent, just the two of us, relaxing on the lawn. this was my first summer visit to the virginia mountain home my mother and step-father moved into just a few years ago. and with my journey west just four weeks away it's hard to say when i'll be back east, even harder to say where i'll be out west.
with books and beverages in hand, we converged on the lawn at midday while the kids contented themselves inside watching jake and josh and hannah montana. rarely did we get any reading done but the poignant choice of literature was inspiring enough to spark conversations about beautiful places and future and past lives. on my first night on the mountain i picked driving over lemons off the shelf; a travel experience novel by chris stewart published in 1999. while on the chaise lounge to my right my mother held the acclaimed under the tuscan sun, by frances mayes. both are personal accounts of building a home in a foreign land. with mom's house behind us and a view of the next ridge through the trees, italy and spain were not far away at all.
'this is the life' not only escaped my mother's lips but was written on her face. she had arrived and the accumulation of her life experience seemed to pass peacefully through her in a breath. while our personal realities are stretched to polar extremes our appreciation of those moments were shared. 'i'm taking only two bags to california,' i stated. she went on to tell me of the adventures she and my father had in the 60's moving from place to place. these are stories i can listen to and romantacize about for hours: six months in dublin, a studio apartment in washington dc, an a-frame house in idaho where my mother gardened and my father worked as an eco-friendly lumberjack. she insists they were not hippies or beatnicks (hard to believe when their cat was named after a character in a gogol novel).
sharing her stories of the past and my optimism for the future were more than i could ask for from her. dropping one life and career in search of something new is nothing unique, but the stories are. in those few hours we shared looking over the ridge, we clutched time and praised the unknown.
with books and beverages in hand, we converged on the lawn at midday while the kids contented themselves inside watching jake and josh and hannah montana. rarely did we get any reading done but the poignant choice of literature was inspiring enough to spark conversations about beautiful places and future and past lives. on my first night on the mountain i picked driving over lemons off the shelf; a travel experience novel by chris stewart published in 1999. while on the chaise lounge to my right my mother held the acclaimed under the tuscan sun, by frances mayes. both are personal accounts of building a home in a foreign land. with mom's house behind us and a view of the next ridge through the trees, italy and spain were not far away at all.
'this is the life' not only escaped my mother's lips but was written on her face. she had arrived and the accumulation of her life experience seemed to pass peacefully through her in a breath. while our personal realities are stretched to polar extremes our appreciation of those moments were shared. 'i'm taking only two bags to california,' i stated. she went on to tell me of the adventures she and my father had in the 60's moving from place to place. these are stories i can listen to and romantacize about for hours: six months in dublin, a studio apartment in washington dc, an a-frame house in idaho where my mother gardened and my father worked as an eco-friendly lumberjack. she insists they were not hippies or beatnicks (hard to believe when their cat was named after a character in a gogol novel).
sharing her stories of the past and my optimism for the future were more than i could ask for from her. dropping one life and career in search of something new is nothing unique, but the stories are. in those few hours we shared looking over the ridge, we clutched time and praised the unknown.
broccoli
