Streaks of morning sun pour through the enormous glass windows in our apartment. Across the street are polished black doors with shiny nobs, vibrant overflowing flower pots upon the stoop, a Victorian street lamp. The only noise is that of fans whirring...lulling a sleeping Noodle and Daniel.
And sleep, let's pray, they both do.
Time zone travel has always come with a mixture of highs and lows.
A high -- it gives you an opportunity to explore a new environment at times of day that you might usually be asleep. A low -- insert your own variations.
This morning the clock read 5:45am. Not an unusual wake-up time for Nora...except...we are in Boston. It is three hours earlier in Long Beach. Which is why, as I brought Nora into my bed to nurse, my head and stomach felt that it was 2:45am. And at 3:15am, when she sat up in bed, squeaking and showing off her four teeth (soon to be 6...which may be why sleep alludes her), I was shocked, dismayed...and yet, intrigued.
It was a golden moment...not to be squandered by a sour face or a grimacing heart. A morning that called for me and my Huckleberry Friend to slide into our clothes, slip on the Ergo, grab some cash and chapstick and head out into Boston's South End to wander.
A purity of summer light, a verdant splash of leaves, my sandals slapping bricks, creaking swings in motion, squares from 1855, community gardens nestled behind thick black iron gates, and the waking urban chatter of Boston on a Friday morning. I heard it, smelled it, tasted it.
Ginger-peach-oatmeal muffins at Flour Bakery. Dark roast coffee with REAL cream and sugar. Icy cold water splashed across the table. Soggy oats and muffin pieces. Beady-eyed old lady with pursed lips as I set my coffee on her table in order to soak up the spilt water. Google-eyed pug dogs tethered to the cafe gate, awaiting their caffeinated-master. Nora's bewilderment and glassy-eyed stare.
And ivy. Ivy upon brick. Ivy spraying across garden trellises. Dead ivy lacing across facades like ancient cracks. Regal even in death.
Ivy in the hand of my beloved travel nymp.
I cried taking this photo. For so many years, I've photographed my own hand on trips. Starting in 1999 when I loaded my backpack, bought a one-way ticket to Germany, and began a year-long adventure through Europe.
I would weave my fingers into a tiled-nook of a Grenada cafe, the stone of a Lisbon statue, the marble toes of a voluptuous Rodin maiden in Paris or the splintered bench in a Prague square. Always awkwardly pressing the lens to my eye, positioning my hand, and knowing that the moment would be captured...a texture, a feeling, a memory.
My hand aged alone for seven years amidst the landscapes, cobblestones, and markets of Europe, Mexico, Guatemala, Morocco, and Guinea. In 2006, ten fingers were visible as Daniel's hand joined mine in the fountains of San Francisco, upon the weather veins of New York City, along the grape vines of Tuscany, and the bark of a Cascade evergreen.
Today, strong coffee pulsed the sleepy sludge from my veins, gingered-oats caught between my teeth, and tiny dog nails scraped bricks as they passed. I came upon a Boston memory.
Ivy dangling from brick. My daughter gently touching the leaves.
A monumental click.
Tears fell. Tears of absolute satisfaction (sure, perhaps sleep-deprivation-induced-delirium played a role) slid down my cheeks. I allowed their saltiness to mix with a sip of coffee and kept walking. Nora's head was soon heavy upon my chest.
"Schlaff schön, meine Reise Maus, schlaff jetzt."
("Sleep beautifully, my Travel Mouse, sleep now.")
What a beautiful memory cuz. I got a teary when you talked about the pictures and seeing little Nora's hand in the ivy. I am sad you both didn't make it to WA but so happy you are enjoying Boston.
Hugs!
-M
Posted by: Marieinthepc.wordpress.com | August 12, 2011 at 09:20 AM
I'm teary as well! Here's to many successful trips and teaching our daughters to love travel as much as we do!
Posted by: Carrie | August 12, 2011 at 10:14 AM