driving alone

I received a text from my oldest son about a week ago reminding me to pick him up from college to come home for fall break. Though I do not enjoy driving, I do look forward to bringing him home.

There are three basic ways to get to his university: the major highway route which is definitely not fun and does not get one there any faster though the vehicle is driven at a higher rate of speed; the combined major highway/minor highway route that is stressful until the exit onto the smaller highway; and the backcountry road way that, much to my delight, is the shortest, most direct route and even with a certain amount of meandering, not only gets one there faster, but the beauty of the countryside soothes my mind and allows me to think.

I am grateful that my college-bound son is only an hour away from home. Just far enough for him to have his independence and not so far that he has to worry about how to get home for breaks. I am reminded of how I, as an undergraduate student, would trudge down to the bus stop with my backpack and overnight bag, and get on a bus heading north--a trip that would take close to three hours. Never wanting to completely fall asleep on a bus for fear that I would miss my stop or perhaps awaken suddenly to a new less-welcomed seat mate, I would try to entertain my mind by reliving events so I would not fall asleep. Sometimes I do that when I drive. I often sing. I also like to practice what I would say if someone asked me a particular question. To remain alert I have to remind myself of my journey at regular intervals so as not to get lost in my day dreaming and drive into a ditch.

Once we load up the minivan with the laundry bag, computer, backpack filled with books and a duffle bag containing clothes, I then have a traveling companion who fills me in on what his life is like. We can discuss roommate issues, how difficult his classes are and what he is planning to do this summer. We can update each other on different family scenarios that have been communicated through email and texts. I can ask about Facebook posts, especially ones in which there are girls involved. We drive together through the countryside until we get home.

Several days later we put those items back into the minivan and take the drive back to college. We finish our stories and try to think of anything we have forgotten to tell one another. Thanksgiving is not that far away and given the amount of work we each have in front of us, we won't have time to even count the days. I help carry the items back into the dorm room, a place where I am not responsible for making sure the bed is made or the clothes are picked up off the floor. It is not where I live; it is my son's home--for now.

Soon I am in the minivan heading back to our house. I love the way the sun is setting and how beautiful the leaves are as they are turning colors. I see cars heading toward where my son is living and wonder if these are parents taking the same trip with their college-aged sons and daughters. I see people in cars in front of me and wonder if they already said good-bye and are hoping to get to their homes before dark.

Not sure why but I always listen to the same Harry Connick, Jr. cd on my road trip and it is just the right length to get me to the dorm or back home. It is a cue that I am going to see my son, or that I am on my way home to see the rest of my family. Either way, it keeps me from driving alone.

pen pals

I remember standing in a field, writing a note, putting it into a balloon and sending it up into the air to be found by someone who would then write a letter to me. As wonderful as this sounded at the time, the practical side of me would often wonder at what point the balloon would pop. Could it make it through a rainstorm? Would it land in a lake and never be found? How many miles could it travel before being discovered by someone who would follow the instructions and be curious enough to follow through? I do not remember any of these questions ever being answered.

As a child growing up six miles from a town of about 2,000, I had dreams of going to faraway places to see what life was like for those living elsewhere. Always looking for ways to make connections with people from other places, I would give my address to new friends I would make, especially when we were on vacation, in the hope of receiving letters. When one of my first best friends from school moved to a town about 40 miles away, we sent letters back and forth for awhile. In the days before our current technology, news traveled slowly. Very slowly for a little girl with big dreams.

The other day I discovered that on my business page, dream with m.e., one of my "likes" is from someone in India. Even given today's technology, I am amazed by this. I am equally impressed that people from the United Kingdom and Russia are possibly reading this post right now, according to the statistics on my blog. It is like my own little balloon of information has been found. My words are traveling to places I have only dreamed of going and though I most likely will never meet the people who have decided to make a connection with me even by clicking a key on a computer, I get excited that my childhood dream of making contact with someone in a different place has been realized at last.

tinkerbell

Today I had a conversation with a 5-year-old. Or more accurately, she decided to have a conversation with me. After I amazed her with my ability to guess that she was in kindergarten when she told me her age, we started to get to know one another. She demonstrated her ability to spell her name and thought it would be fun if we clapped out the syllables together. She was right.

Then she told me in wide-eyed amazement the story of how three wolves at a wildlife refuge came right up to the fence where she stood, her all-I-want-for-Christmas-is-my-two-front-teeth smile transforming momentarily into a look of intensity. I told her she was brave and she agreed. I asked her about going to the zoo to see chimpanzees and was going to tell her that one time one of them came right up to the glass where I stood and kissed it, but she was already telling me about how great her leopard-print tights were and showed me a small figurine of a leopard to prove to me she knows what a real one looks like. She went on to say that her birthday is after Christmas, a day or a month, she was not sure. All she knows is that she wants a cake with elephants on it.

We moved on from there to other important matters such as the fact that she was ditching the Cinderella costume she wore last Halloween in favor of becoming Tinkerbell this year. This story is her favorite anyway, she pointed out, and besides, there will be wings! She can then take on this new persona, having a certain amount of dramatic flair already as evidenced by her sparkly sequined hat and Hello Kitty shirt, while she goes out for a night on the town collecting treats.

I met a 5-year-old boy about a month ago who confided that though he looked and acted like a regular boy, he was actually a garden fairy, who came alive when pixie dust had been sprinkled in the general vicinity of where he had emerged. I guess he figured since we were going to be friends, it was appropriate to let me in on his true identity. This fascination with an alter ego of an other-worldly being intrigues me.

I wonder if there is inherent in each one of us a desire to not only be connected with the supernatural but to actually BE supernatural. That if we clap our hands and believe in something greater than ourselves, wonderful things WILL happen. I'm fairly certain that if I were to consult my 5-year-old friends on this issue they would skip happily away, with a look of joy on their sweet faces that would in essence say, "What are you waiting for?"