After church we climbed into two cars with six bags of cut vegetables, two kinds of cheeses, a spinach quiche, and blown eggs for the hunt. We went over the meadow and through the wood to have dinner with Grandma, and since Grandpa is spending a lot of time in a wheelchair the action stayed on the first floor. Cousins and in laws set the long
tables and caught up on life since Christmas. I showed some old photographs a friend posted online to John's parents and they squinted to identify their classmates and siblings. It was an anachronism, looking at pictures from the thirties on an IPhone. I explained zooming and swiping, and they got a bit confused when words appeared and disappeared. But it made them smile to remember.
After four kinds of pie and ice cream the egg hunt began. It was a perfect spring day to
mozy through the forsythia. We found all but two and enjoyed the brightly dyed shells.
After packing left overs, we headed back, cranking up the music to stay alert. My daughter waved me in front of her. I kept rotating my attention between the speedometer, the GPS, the mirrors and my girls in the other car. Side by side, we zoomed along at sixty miles an hour. Benjamin mentioned that the first time he saw Wall-e was December 20th, 2008, and as we passed all
manner of construction vehicles he told me about Bob the Builder and his crew. At the toll booth my daughter got ahead of us, because she has an EZPass. But I was not worried. We were both headed home.
I thought about how many of us barrel through life at great speed, a lane away from the people we love. We are pointed the same direction, yet sometimes if feels like we are unable to communicate with more than a wave. There are subjects that I am unable to broach,
and doubtless there are people who have words they cannot say to me. So we keep our doors latched, and smile through the windows.
"I see you, but I cannot tell what you are saying, and even if I speak you cannot hear me. So I stopped trying."
There is sadness around the conversations that will never make it across the dotted yellow lines. People who travel a very long way in tandem, yet are always just out of
reach.
I wonder what it will be like when we both pull into the driveway, open our doors and stretch our legs. Will we quickly blurt out all the words we have been saving up for so long? Or will it be enough simply to look into each other's eyes, knowing we are finally home?
