Week-end wanderings found my little one and I as far away from the blogosphere as we could ride.
Immersed in the recent sun-filled streets of our tiny town, we rode and rode. Then we commandeered the gravel and black-tarred roads of my momma’s even tinier town–the same village where I grew tall and sturdy.
Some don’t favor waking in rooms other than their own. The different smells of linen laundered on an outside line with windows ajar, inviting in air filtered through corn fields and green ditches. The different feel of bedclothes and bed springs unaccustomed to weight turning ’round under the moon. The different sights upon first waking. In my case, a white-washed wall where a high ceiling should be, a chandelier of globed light where a simple fan should hang, a gathering of faces in frames where a dresser habitually rests. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Especially in this instance where all of the newness was strangely familiar, as I slept many nights of my late teens upon that very same mattress, housed in that very same whitewashed room.
And yet, it is quite removed from the woman I am now. How peculiar that my body knew its way to the train-sized half bath (complete with a sink rescued from an old train) in the wee hours of morning, and yet I woke a bit startled, looking ’round and ’round for a moment before realizing I was safely cocooned in memories of my youth.
Anyone traveling home for the first time in a long time can relate to all of this newness juxtaposed with memories of yesteryear.
And I am so utterly grateful to live within a crazed bike ride of my mother (a mere ten miles). Although we visit often, I can’t recall the last time I spent the entire evening there, and doing so was just what my heart palps needed. Any young mother waking in her own home knows precisely what I’m speaking of, for she sees all of the work needing to be done the second her eyes flit open. The demise of her wee ones making lay under her nose in every nook. (Not that her husband and herself do not join in making messes, but little ones are just so keen on following their mommas ’round, creating new havoc out of materials momma just remedied.). It is unavoidable. I reckon my internal parts knew that I needed a mini-vacation from our messes without telling my brain. I found myself packing an extra tank for myself, an outfit for my little, before tossing my bicycle in the back of our jeep, heading east to my momma’s house.
Ah, those whitewashed walls cleansed me after a long day–is it any wonder I have new visions of washing our interior walls white? My mother-in-law and her twin sister are the painting gurus in our family. Upon mentioning my painted dreams to my mother-in-law, she quickly offered their services. This is no surprise to me, as these twin women are always lending out their strong and capable hands to assist others. Daily, I wish that I could give to them as they give, give, give to others. Alas, I find myself in a tangent regarding these twins, which is for another post, entirely.
For now, I’ll conclude with our week-end wanderings: toiling outside in sandboxes and atop our bicycle. Our last ride of the day took us to a campsite where my sister-in-law and her partner had set up a cheery tent and a quaint fire. After filling our bellies with summer ale (for me) and summer fruits (for my tot), we jaunted back to the village to sup on summer salads with my mother and step-father. Then, on to baths and some slow-down time prior to tuck, tuck, tucking in the sun over our heads, falling asleep just as the moon clocked in.
From this venture alone, I can tell this summer is going to be a fabulous affair for my wee one and I, for the lovers and the fishers, the shoppers and the swimmers. I hope you join me in all its bounty, however pockmarked and brilliant it may be.
What filled your week-end wanderings? Did you celebrate in the sun?