I have survived the airport and the visit, as you can see.
However, I can tell I'm not going to survive this new key board I'm trying to use. Why must people make the space bar stiff? Do they not realize how darn often a person hits it?
Okay, that's better; apparently it had to get broken in. Also, the keyboard is ergonomic, and so it's higher at the bottom than at the top, and split down the middle at a strange angle that actually does feel comfortable, but throws my typing off.
Anyway, enough minutia of the modern writer. I could just as easy be complaining about the dullness of my quill and the cheap, watered down quality of my ink.
I was so terrified of having to drive at the airport drop-off that my mouth was actually dry. That sort of took me by surprise- it's been a while since I've been that scared.
I managed to kiss Keith, climb into the driver's seat and pull away from the curb.
My verse that day had included the phrase:
"...and all our busy rushing ends in nothing...And so, Lord, where do I put my hope? My only hope is in You." (from psalm 39)
So, I slowed my racing thoughts down, determined not to rush, and focused on one task at a time, the first of which was find to find the highway.
The roads were mostly clear of traffic and the signs were impossible to miss, and before I knew it, I was on the highway. It was so easy that I had to check the road signs to be sure that I was already exactly where I needed to be.
I must say, that Keith, already quite attractive to me, grew only more so as the weekend passed by. He is so tall! And so young! And he stands so endearingly slouched ever so slightly- not as though he is discouraged, but merely because he is easy and confident in his own space.
Which caused me also to want to be in his space, and each time I put myself there, he looked down at me with his twinkling blue eyes and welcomed me in. He likes to have me around.
This weekend he got into the pool. The children could barely be restrained from it, even at nine o'clock on a sunny morning in March. By noon, they were in, with squeals and splashes, and shortly thereafter, my intrepid husband followed them.
He was the only adult that did. In vain he attempted to persuade us that the water was "not that cold." I easily spotted his attempts to lure me toward the edge, so that he could pull me in. I know his potential, pool side treachery, and all his sweet talk could not get me any closer than three feet to the shimmering blue water, and his strong, wet arms.
Keith and I, used to the quietness and order of two adults in the house, were at times bewildered by the maze of noise, energy and motion that was constantly flowing around and in and out of the house, and left its evidence behind in every corner.
In the mornings, there were always at least two or three bodies curled up on the couches, blankets slipping off, bodies soft and loose and unguarded in sleep. And then, the wail of the youngest, a tow headed boy of two who would not be parted from his father at any time.
"Da!" he would holler urgently, his blanket clutched up under his elbow. "Da!"
He used "Yeah," for every other communication necessary.
It was a very laid back, comfortable visit. It reminded me of summer camp- people lined up to use the showers, fresh air blowing through the house, voices calling, damp towels draped over the back of the dining room chairs.
Keith and I have obviously become the stop off point for friends and family traveling further south- a way station, if you will. I like it. Travellers to the sunny shores stop here to catch their breath before tumbling on into Florida.
One of these days we'll have to try and make it down there ourselves.