Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Everyday ordinary

I find myself pausing and trying to absorb all of the things around me, the temperature, the way the wind caresses my skin but most of all the smells, and sounds of summer. I've heard that when you spend time out at sea you can smell land when you get back. Just thinking about being surrounded by all that ocean, I want memories of things other than just food to miss.

This weekend I was up in Revelstoke with a family who has accepted me as part of their own. They are nothing like the family I grew up in, but they have filled in a portion of my life that would otherwise have remained empty. I've learned many things from them, most of them I'm not even sure I can explain as they are things that must be experienced...

The feeling of being in the middle of organized chaos, the day to day soap opera of life... Kids running around, fighting, getting into things, learning, reading, and looking up to you. Problems with jobs, with friends, with boyfriends and money. The knowledge that there will always be something in life to worry about, and that its relative. There will always be something at the top of that list, but its the same for everyone else.

I've learned that talking about your problems doesn't always fix them, but sometimes it makes you feel better... and at very least sometimes it makes someone else feel better. That no matter what is going on, no matter how long you're away for things change and carry on without you.

This weekend I was woken up by a wet-willy, and instead of being angry it made me smile. Why you might ask? Because it reminded me of a little blond-haired boy who used to wake me up by plugging my nose, and convulse in giggles when I woke up in a minor panic and surprised him. *Every* time.

The thing is little kids, are only little for a little while. They aren't waking you up just to drive you crazy... They're waking you up because they miss you while you're sleeping. Because they are excited to *do* things with you again *smiles* So before I set off on my voyage of a lifetime, I'll treasure the memory of a wet-willy wakeup because he'll be older, and may have outgrown it when I pass this way again. He might not have either, but one never knows.