Friday, April 22, 2011

mister, pull up a chair…

we got  in the car late on tuesday. i am not a morning person - and hadn't planned on leaving too early, anyway. but i wasn't even packed and it was already nine.

part of me was aching to stay. couldn't bring myself to climb into my silver mini full of boys and leave my family there in the state that we're currently in.

part of me couldn't get home quick enough. home to studebaker street. to andrey. to put us back together as a family of five, minus miss presley.

i decided to check the weather. it would be my deciding factor. 

there is a point on the trip home called dead man's pass. it's a twisty winding downgrade through the mountain. at several spots there are warning signs for the truckers - escape ramp! last chance!

it's the place where my mom would round us girls up from the back of the suburban and instruct us to put our seat belts on. and we'd all breathe a sign of relief when we reached the bottom. the scary behind us. full speed ahead.
dead man's pass in a snow storm is my worst fear.

weather forecast for tuesday: all good.

i threw our clothes into our suitcase, buckled up the boys and gave jade a quick squeeze goodbye. and we were off. i've done trips in a hurry that way before and they haven't gone well. but it felt a little different this time. 

my heart is heavy. these days.
and i hit the road to sort my thoughts.
miles 1 - 120 were a quiet stream of healthy tears. boys sleeping in the back.
i trucked on. i listened to adele and brandi and an episode of this american life.

we stopped in boise at the co-op for a late lunch. turkey and provolone on whole wheat. a scoop of 'p' pasta and a slice of chocolate cake to share. two hansen juice boxes for the lucas and gav and a peach izze for me. 

we asked about the nearest park.
"the orange park is just around the corner," the cashier told us.
so i decided we'd walk. fifteen blocks later we reached camel back park.

but that fifteen blocks of walk? perfection. under popcorn trees. on the perfect evening. gavin asleep in the stroller. charlie shaking his new co-op rattle. lucas practicing his whistle.

on the fifteen blocks of walk back to the car an hour later i spotted orange park tucked back behind the co-op right where it was suppose to be. i'd missed it. on purpose, i think.

press play:

the last few hours of travels required several rest stop breaks to nurse charlie grey. he was craving his bedtime snuggle. the boys were bored. i was out of new tunes. 

i filled charlie's belly up to the brim.
kissed lucas and gavin on the cheek and put on a movie.
"we're almost home, littles."

i plugged in my ipod. turned the dial to every indigo girls song ever made and hit the road, again. i was going to listen to as many as i could. let amy ray and emily sing me home. we reached the summit of the blue mountains right as the sun was going down. this is last little stretch before the lush mountains turn to sagebrush and it's beautiful. the quiet tears started again. i was nearly home and too far away from where we'd come from to turn back. 

i slipped through dead man's pass just as a. ray started in on salty south. i thought of the hundred times we've made that trip. as littles. lindsay, natalie, christine and jade. instructed by my mother to put our seat belts on.

I remember the wind
As it was settlin'
And every sun goin' down was a picture then
But we look back at 'em framed
They all look the same
There's no sense of time, no sense of pain
A thousand tides, and
A thousand waves
Takin' it all away
And it'll come back in
We'll be gone by then, oh
And it's a miracle we ever learned to give

i hit repeat until my mini full of boys and i pulled safely into the driveway. andrey was waiting for us on the porch.


  1. i'm glad you came. we needed you. and i love you so. and i still remember those trips right at the top of my head.thank YOU for everything, and for making that long trip alone, for us. LOoooooooooooove YOU so.

  2. you write so lovely. how long is that drive/ ?

  3. that part where you come up and over and everything turns to sagebrush is a favorite of mine too. and the pass? so. scary.
    i can't believe our parents let us drive that when we were high schoolers.
    miss you, Linny.

  4. I feel those tugging pains, life has its way of changing even if you aren't ready

  5. When I realized I just couldn't go at the very last minute to see Amy It really was heart breaking