© Another Day in the Country
California is a long way from Kansas! I’m reminded of that whenever my daughter comes to visit and then goes home.
Before she leaves, we tally up the days until the next trip. It’s one way of easing the pain of separation. “Would you rather come to California in October or December?” she asks. “Or is January better?”
It’s a game we play, seemingly ignoring the high price of gas and plane tickets. The miles are accentuated by the fact that we now have a grandchild who is growing and changing every few weeks. The last time he was here, he was learning to crawl. The last time I was there, he was on the verge of walking. This time, he’s walking and running and on the verge of talking.
We took them to the airport, watched them safely on the plane and drove home. I walked in the front door, went straight to the extra bedroom — their room — and began the cleaning ritual. It’s strip the sheets, gather the towels, see what they’ve left behind.
The rooster crows and I grin. That little grandson of mine thought that his Grandma’s house in Ramona was like Disneyland. He loved the chickens and was so excited when the rooster crowed. “Gobble-de-blah-do-do” he’d prattle pointing to the door to “outside” with great expectation.
This is one of the things they left behind: The sight of him as he’d toddle down the sidewalk to the hen house, full speed ahead, jabbering and pointing as he ran as if he were fearful that the rooster would stop crowing before he got there. If I let the chickens out of their pen to roam the yard, he was especially excited — standing in their midst, talking a blue streak in baby-ese.
In the distance I hear one of a jillion trains that run through Ramona. Dagfinnr (that’s my grandson) loves trains — even more than he loves roosters. While he eats his breakfast at home every morning he watches a little video about Thomas the Train. Even at 16 months, he knows the tune and cadence of the Thomas Jingle. “Do-do-doot-do, dum de dum.” Dagfinnr chants on key when he hears the train whistle in Ramona and he points toward the tracks. There’s a train coming and he’d love nothing better than to toddle off as fast as his legs can carry him toward the tracks that skirt the edge of town. Another thing they left behind.
Aunt Jess took him there one afternoon when a train was stopping on our tracks and from then on Dagfinnr knew the general direction. He could point the way. All he really needed was a willing adult for company.
“Where on earth is the salt?” I asked as I scoured the cupboards and then laughed. This was something my daughter left behind — her brand of organization as she cleaned my kitchen and cleared the decks. Who knows when I’ll find everything again — they all have new hiding places. Every time there’s something missing, I smile at the memory of having my family with me.
They’ve been gone a week now and I still don’t have everything cleaned up. There’s a stuffed pig in the corner of the office, toy cars under my desk and all kinds of chemicals that once resided on the back porch for spraying bugs on a top shelf in the pantry. Right here on my computer there’s a file saved with the heading “dkd dcggdddfffd.doc”. Guess who was messing with my laptop? He’s a child of this techno-age and getting his little hands on a remote or a cell phone is his greatest goal in life.
These mundane things are the footprints that my kids left. “Isn’t the house awful quiet after they go?” someone asked.
“Not really.” I answer, “I can still hear the constant chatter of that little boy who looks at you and talks away in some undefinable language which he is sure you must understand.” We made such wonderful memories in our time together. I’m convinced that shared time is the greatest gift we can give to those we love.
It’s another day in the country and while my loved ones are gone, their presence echoes in the halls.