Notes from the Midwest

Travel Aftermath
I left at 1AM on Friday, arriving around 7 hours later. I headed south starting at 4 this morning, spending yet another 7 hours in the car with a dog and cat.

I’m due at work in another hour.

I almost fell asleep blowing my hair dry and had to firmly lecture myself to put on dress clothes instead of pajamas.

Little One
My niece – age 2½ - was sitting on the floor after Mom had hugged me hello and led me to the living room on Friday morning. She met my eyes briefly when I greeted her enthusiastically, then dipped her head and stared at the floor. I obediently went to get my overnight bag from the trunk to withdraw her presents. I was then allowed to read her a Dora book while she sat next to me on the couch.

She proceeded to chatter – and continued to talk – for the remainder of the time I saw her. She’s very opinionated and sweet. She’s also beautiful and curious and really likes cats.

“Come here, ‘Prout!” She insisted. Sprout quickly acclimates to the trips home now. A quick trip to his basement assures him he’s safe, then he returns to the family and is generally social for the rest of the trip. It’s lovely.

“Behind you!” Little One announced, giggling, as she tried to play with his laser pointer. He rarely was able to find the dot as she waved it wildly about the room, making us each squint to avoid laser light in the eye.

Early to Rise!
Though I was up very early to travel on Friday and today, yesterday at 10:30AM found me lazing about the house. Of course, by that time, we’d already been out of the house to have breakfast, stop by two banks, grocery shop, buy another trampoline, check out my old college campus, pick up tickets for Blue Man Group and stop by the mall.

We left the house at 7:15 that morning, having all been awake since 6. It’s ridiculous, but at least I come by my love of mornings honestly.

Ah…home.
“The weather should be nice and sunny!” Mom reported before I left to head north. “It’s going to be stormy on Thursday, but Friday and Saturday should be pretty.”

“You realize,” I said as we headed home after our Saturday morning of errands, “that it hasn’t stopped snowing since I’ve been home.”

Mom and Dad frowned out the window of the car.

“And,” I continued, “it’s freaking cold up here! I didn’t even bring a coat and it’s freezing!”

Yet as I stared at the window, cuddled on the couch under an afghan or helping Mom make dinner, it’s home. In some difficult-to-define way, I belong there. In the land where houses have basements and the temperatures are miserably hot in the summer and horrifically cold in the winter. Where people are as concerned with fairness as they are with kindness. You won’t find people stopping in the middle of the road to let many cars in – it isn’t fair to those behind you. If you screw up while driving, expect a honk. That is, after all, how you learn.

We’re friendly without being overly social. Helpful without going too far out of our way to do so. It’s a natural place – one I find predictable and lovely. I understand how people act and drive and interact. And – much as I enjoy the southern hospitality and warmth – I find I miss the less temperate climate of central Illinois.

“It’s not so bad.” Mom said as we lounged last night, watching a movie. When I looked at her inquisitively, she clarified. “The winter. The cold.”

I nodded and smiled, and she continued. “You get used to it. Dress warmly and park closer to where you’re going. You may not get to walk Chienne every day – it is cold – but it’s not so bad.”

"I know, Mom." I said soothingly. "I miss it. I'll be home when I can."

Obviously…
Grandma, Paw-Paw, Aunt Katie, Dad and Little One all went to Chuck E. Cheese. Mom insisted upon calling it Chunky Cheese until I corrected her.

“Chuck, Mother. Chuck E. Cheese. It’s a mouse whose name is Chuck, middle initial E., surname Cheese. OK?”

“OK.” She said, shaking her head at me. I didn’t bring up our vicious argument several years ago, but I could have.

“That’s not right.” I said, staring at her a long time ago.

“It is too!” She said passionately. “Pay Fer View.”

“Per, Mom. Pay Per View.”

“No.” She scoffed. “You pay fer the viewing.”

“Are you freaking kidding me with this crap? Fer?! Seriously?! PER. For goodness sake.”

“Oh,” she said, starting to giggle. “I guess ‘per’ does make more sense.” And we laughed and laughed.

Once we arrived at Cheese, Chuck E., Little One clung to my neck as I carted her around, exclaiming over how heavy she was getting.

“It’s OK.” I soothed. “Can you wave at Chuck E. Cheese? Wave at the mouse?”

I paused to let her bury her face in my neck.

“OK, not so much.” I said, shooing the giant costumed man away. “He’s gone now. It’s fine.”

Mom ordered pizza and Dad and Brother sat to wait for it. Little One, Mom and I went to check out the rides and games. Little One’s eyes widened in terror when the bicycle merry go round abruptly started to rise high in the air.

“All done!” She cried, reaching for me. “Katie! All done now!” So I unclipped her and scooped her out of the ride, raising my eyebrows at Mom.

“Good times.” I said, cradling her protectively.

So when she stood at a telephone game – she could talk to the mouse or an odd chicken creature with fluffy ponytails – I was trying to decide if she liked it or not. The last time we’d fed it a token, she’d backed away slowly, uncertain of the strange device.

“Are you OK?” I asked as she stared up at me.

“Katie,” she sighed, impatient, “give it money!”

Lingering sadness
Though it was a lovely trip and any residual exhaustion is well worth it, I do continue to find it strange that Uncle Ray is gone and we have so much of his stuff. We watched The Aviator last night.

“I wonder why he bought the wide screen edition.” Dad complained of his late brother’s DVD.

As we watched – and I did enjoy the movie – I found it strange that we should be watching something he selected, purchased and viewed. We hadn’t spoken to him in years, yet all his property, savings and items are being sorted by relative strangers.

As we stopped that morning to get his mail, Dad found a water bill. When we got home from running errands, he carefully opened the notice, wrote a check, addressed a clean envelope and placed a stamp carefully in the corner. It was waiting on the ledge between the dining and living rooms to be mailed tomorrow when I left.

It’s sad, I decided, tracing my fingers over the edge of the bill, that Dad takes better care of Uncle Ray after he’s gone than when he’s around. We stop by to check on the house, make sure bills are paid, make phone calls to arrange the estate. Yet when he was around, they didn’t speak at all.

So as I took a pillow in to my parents’ room so I could nap with my hand curled in Mom’s while she also rested, or as I kissed Dad’s bearded cheek goodnight or good morning, or as I touched a potato to Brother’s nose as I scrubbed before he peeled before a simple Saturday supper, I reminded myself to appreciate them. To love them as much as possible while they’re around and saying something funny or doing something endearing.

I did have a nice weekend. I hope the memory keeps me awake while I’m doing work this afternoon.