Here in DC on the Metro for my first and last time during this little blip of a trip to DC. I am filled with longing for all the things I didn’t get to do this week—didn’t get to see my friends or students or colleagues, didn’t see any family other than my mother and my brother, didn’t get to go to any museums, didn’t get to even spend much time with Mom or Will, really. A tiny moment in time, now over.
And so I am on this totally familiar subway in an unfamiliar way. I have snuck in and am sneaking out. I have spent less than 48 hours here. I have already bought too many books and too much chocolate and am struggling under the weight of the bags. And this on a trip when I brought no presents to offload once I got here (who can carry presents too?). I am weary and my arms hurt from dragging the bags. And this is just the beginning of the trip!
What of it? I did classic being-with-my-mom things, went to my favorite second-hand store (new jeans) and looked for winter coats on sale for the kids (one, for N). I had lunch at Mama Ayesha’s, a restaurant I have been going to since I was 10
, the first and last restaurant I ate in when I moved to and from DC. In the ugly grey weather, we drove around the monuments so that I could see the cherry blossoms (but we didn’t get out because Mom is so allergic to the spring). I saw tulips and flowering trees and hills of daffodils. Given where spring is in DC, I’m guessing there will be very few flowers as I head north.
My last day in 
anticipated of treats: the indoor rock-climbing wall. On this wall the kids could put on harnesses, clip themselves to a belaying rope (to which their parents were attached), and struggle their way up high rock walls. I stood, pulling in the rope as Aidan climbed (and letting it out as he belayed down), admiring their efforts up and down the wall. I watched them reach as far as they could, reach, give up, try again. Aidan would get half-way up, get scared, give up, come down, and then celebrate how far he got up (without a shred of disappointment in himself for not making it all the way). “Do you want to go up again?” I’d ask, trying to support as entirely as possible his fantastic attitude. He’d look at me like I was crazy. “Of COURSE I want to go up again!” he’d tell me. “Didn’t you see how well I did last time?”
[Here on the train, the women behind me are talking about the food allergies of their children and wondering what to do about the limited food choices during Passover. Somehow this feels very very American.]
Naomi is a different kid. She’s more anxious about not making it all the way up, feels inadequate and bad with herself when it happens, searches
for a way to rationalize it and make it ok. And, let’s face it, she pushes herself harder, tackles the hardest walls, races to beat her time again and again. It is a very mixed blessing, ambition.
And these two children are now half way around the world, and I'm the child, sleeping in a single bed in my mother's apartment, following after her and being the kid in the family again. I am a lot displaced and a little jetlagged. And so time and distance are morphing around. Gravity is losing its pull. There are starfish in a city, children climbing walls, adults becoming children. No wonder I'm dizzy with it all.
Tonight and tomorrow, I have a lovely little gig to help pay for the rock climbing wall and the lovely house I left behind. Tomorrow night I'll meet up with Dad and be in New York city. Let the displacement continue!
Pics today are obvious except the last one--a photo at the airport to register our distress at my departure.
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