Home and away

“Travel,” my mother said to me recently over the phone, “is really one of the most important things.” I was standing, as I so often am these days, on the sidelines of a soccer field. Gabe’s team was playing in a scrimmage against other members of our town’s league. It was raining, and there was a call to cancel, but they decided to do it anyway, sliding all over the field, wet hair, laughing. A few parents had jumped in to even up the numbers.

She continued, going deep. About the importance of seeing other cultures. About how this can shape a person’s world view. Nora was departing the following day for Sicily to complete the second leg of an exchange program through her high school: we, along with a group of other local families, had hosted a Sicilian student in the spring; now Nora, along with the group of participating American students, was going to stay with that student’s family. I was on edge.

Why, though? I tried to qualify it, which is a good habit in small doses, and a bad one in big, unless you’ve got a book deal on what’s to become a modern-day philosophical best-seller (hello, I am open to book deals!) I have a history of going for the latter, exploring my feelings until I’m semi-paralyzed. I’m much better at this now, which has taken work, and includes inviting you all to read my feelings, which I hope (my constant hope) feels like a connection, and not a burden.

There were obvious reasons (my child going far away without me for the first time, etc.), although I wasn’t worried that the experience would be a negative one for her. Upon exploring, it was the opposite. I was worried she would go and then, wait a second, wouldn’t they all keep going? My children will go away. And then they’ll do it again.

My question for you is this: do the things you value the most also scare you? As in, the things you truly want for you and your loved ones? The jobs, the tasks where you, and they, might excel? The experiences?

For me, yes! And then - because the relief is so often in the doing, and not in the semi-paralysis of over-analyzed emotion - no. The minute Nora was on the plane my fears, funny enough, disappeared. It was a combo of “Well, there’s nothing you can do now,” and “GO GIRL, GO.” She had, of course, an amazing time. She told me in giggly phone calls about the ruins she saw and the chocolate biscuits she ate for breakfast.

Anyway, back to my mom, and her rhapsody on travel, delivered via phone while I stood watching soccer in the rain. In addition to her words serving as inspiration on the eve of Nora’s trip, they were inspiration for our own, too, as she and I were also going to Sicily. No, not with Nora, she would have murdered us, but this week, as it happens. My mother planned this trip with two of her friends awhile back and then they graciously invited me to join them. Sicily is a hot locale this year, FYI, as those of you who’ve seen “White Lotus” undoubtedly are aware.

I have been, once again, mildly on edge, anticipating eight days away from my family. It’s not guilt I feel. I feel supported in taking this trip, and I am thankful for that, not to mention incredibly fortunate that our family has been able to travel so much recently.

It’s more ensuring everything goes to plan. So, in the spirit of doing, J and I took pens and a datebook and went out for a beer last night where we etched out the days I’ll be away and identified where he, who works almost every day onsite at his lab, might need some help; we looked at this year’s daily schedule which is prone to last minute updates and dictated by no less than three newsletters. “And on Mondays, if Venus is in retrograde, soccer practice is not at the normal field but at a slightly different field that has no address, you have to find it using your innate sense of direction alone,” I told him. Not really, but almost!

“Travel is one of the most important things,” my mom said. I agree, but I also recognize that it’s not feasible for everyone. There are prohibitive costs, schedules and many other factors. And yet I very much appreciated what she was getting at overall: the importance of broadening one’s world.

I took a walk with a friend recently. We ended up on a road at the edge of our neighborhood that winds uphill, with unique, gorgeous homes and an excellent view at the top. We talked about how good it feels to get away…even if it’s just out of your neighborhood…and remember that the world is big. How it is comforting to feel small. And still part of it all.

A strange and lovely realization that I only remember in the action phase of this ponderous existence! Yes, mom, travel, even the micro-version, is one of the most important things.

I thought that I’d attempt to explore these feelings and the undoubtedly memorable experiences ahead by writing some posts about my trip while I’m in there. (I do know it’s modern times and there is social media, and that we are not, and have not been for some time, in the heyday of blogs, but I feel most comfortable in the early 2000s internet era).

I will see you there, here. And for a walk, or philosophical phone call, anytime.

Our coffee transitional period

I have told many people that, despite it not being in our best interests logistically speaking, J and I almost always drink a cup of coffee in bed before starting our day. Before telling our children to get ready for school, before taking a shower. Sometimes we read, sometimes we look at our schedules, sometimes we talk. Often I try to do some grand or small-scale planning with him (who is going to take Gabe to soccer or maybe we should redo our living room!) and this almost never goes well because J does not like to be assaulted by my wandering mind in the early morning hours, when he is super into some new non-fiction book, or sometimes, let's be honest, looking at videos of people cleaning really dirty rugs on a Facebook video stream made for people who don’t know how to access TikTok. That is how old we are right now. That is how we consume media. 

I tend to talk out whatever is going through my mind. He claims he does not do this, but I am here to tell you that once the full cup of coffee has landed, he does, in fact, partake in this form of impromptu chatter, although it's a slightly different brand than mine. I'll be rushing in and out of the bathroom trying to get ready for work or ensure Aidy's prepared to make the walk to school, and he's all of a sudden telling me about a new idea he's got for the air filter in our bedroom, or how he's going to paint the walls in the unfinished part of our basement, and he's got a LOT to say about these topics which are, admittedly, not my priorities (painting the unfinished part of the basement, where the mice live?). I have to work very hard to project interest, especially considering the timing of these proclamations, these mini Ted talks ("I have a theory about the air quality of our room.") 

So, to be clear, we both engage in this poorly timed loquaciousness and, at least on my end, I do find it charming in that maddening way that is the very essence of marriage. Anyway, whether we are talking at or to each other - which happens as well, when we vibe on some shared passion… decluttering...whether life is awesome (it is) - the point is that this morning coffee is an institution in our relationship, even now, when we have no business doing it as we have three children headed to three different schools at completely different start times, and should be downstairs manning the family ship. I joke with people that having coffee together each morning is one of the main reasons we are a happy couple, which always feels like a reach, but I don't know! It is an anchor in my life. It's something I look forward to every single day. It is when we are most optimistic and least plugged into the endless mania of daily family life, for better, or for worse. 

And now that you have that background, I think you will understand why it was so upsetting to me recently when we went through some changes related to this long standing routine. We tried mixing up the unmixable and experimenting with our coffee in ways that were distressing. 

[Side note: my parents, who also had a very regular morning coffee routine, always drank it black and did not deviate in the slightest, until one time, during his retirement when, I suppose, he had more hours in the day to think up schemes, my father suggested putting cinnamon or other spices in with the coffee grounds to make it more "sexy." My mother, a pragmatist and early crusader against flavored coffee of any sort, was immediately, intensely against this idea, declaring "no" and "horrible" in response to his suggestion. And that was the end of that. I reminded her of this recently. We laughed and she said, "He LOVED spices."] 

J and I had, for years, had our coffee with a small amount of half and half. I don't know when this habit began for me, but I can’t remember a time when I didn't do it. My high school coffee attempts involved both milk or cream and sugar (plenty) and in college I was eager to try all manner of espresso drinks. But at some point in newly-established adulthood I settled. Coffee, with cream (just a little) and every single morning. When J and I got together he started drinking coffee regularly, too. We made it at home. Our joint (coffee) history began, and prospered. 

I talk about coffee a fair amount but want to emphasize that I don't drink it all day. The morning cup is the most important. Sometimes I drink another half or full cup. Sometimes I have an afternoon coffee or espresso. But nothing compares to the first. Which is another reason it's important. 

There have been a few instances where we have run out of half and half and opted for black coffee, which is fine with me, if not my ultimate preference. Sometimes when this would happen, we’d declare that we "drink our coffee black now!" although it hasn't ever stuck for longer than a couple of days, when I'm able to make it to the grocery store to pick up the goods. 

That is, until recently. 

J decided that his morning cup of coffee with half and half wasn't serving him any longer. That maybe that dose of dairy wasn't the best way for him to start his day. It wasn’t a frivolous decision. Not having the half and half actually did make him feel better. So, in solidarity, I stopped too. I stopped buying it altogether. We made the black coffee declaration. 

I thought I was happy with this decision, and it went on for one week, then another. But on some deep level, one I wasn't willing to explore right away, I wasn’t happy about this decision. Everything had changed. The enthusiasm that surrounded this morning ritual - almost as important as the thing itself - was half-hearted. 

But I didn’t despair. The situation reminded me of when my friend Max proclaimed - years back, in a different stage of my life - that I was in a "transitional period." I liked that phrase. It diminished the gravity of the situation. It's fine. It's just a transitional period.  

And a week or two ago, J and I admitted to one another that neither of us was truly embracing this new chapter of our lives together. "I'm not sold on the black coffee, if I'm being honest," J told me one morning, holding his ceramic mug, and I chimed in almost before he'd finished, "ME NEITHER."  We were in it together, rejoicing in the comfortable territory of our joint morning enthusiasm. 

I decided we'd try a coconut/almond creamer, which J immediately declared a good substitute and I, following in my mother's footsteps, immediately declared horrible. I have returned to my small amount of half and half, my easily accessible joy. Our ritual is altered, but familiar. We are still getting out of bed too late, but when we do, we are very excited about the air filter, etcetera.