I took a break.
Well, just cause.
I watched TV.
A rerun of E.T.
E. T. phone home. One phrase. Enough to return, for a few tender moments, to the memory of my boys, fresh from their baths, clad in fuzzy footed pajamas, snuggling close, tucked under my arms, eyes wide. We are lost in a simple tale of finding one's way home. Believing in the unbelievable. Childlike wonder. And a promise. "I'll be right here".
You know those moments. The ones you, as a parent, want to last forever. The same moments, you as a child, revisit when life is difficult, to reinstall your smile.
Days since past, when changing the channel meant getting up.
Off the sofa.
Across the room.
E for effort.
I look at my now grown sons, and wonder to myself, if the world has tilted so far, that we cannot right it again. Then I watch their faces and listen to them recall the simple joys of their young lives. I know they remember how fleeting and how precious childhood is. So do I.
When I left the classroom to find my own way home, I took a break in the garden. This very subject was on my mind then, as it is now. Maybe we all need a reminder to remember to "phone home"...and to be" right there".
What happened to childhood? The growing season keeps getting shorter, too much sun to soon. In my garden, young plants are protected. The weeds are pulled out. The watering is steady. It is my job to give them a chance to grow into themselves. I wear the gloves. I pull creepy crawlies from their young stems and toss them to the weeds. This business of forced blooming is a dangerous game. Despite the aesthetic appearance of maturity, full blossoms quickly fade. We, the older folks know this. The garden needs tending.