being without…

It was so lovely to get those phone messages from my parents. I remember when they would take off on their own to either go house hunting or travel.

The first separation occurred when I was very young. They would go dancing and leave me to the whims of my older brothers and sister who had their own games of fun. I remember hiding in the barn to take solace or confusion in my current status.

When they were looking for a house in the city, they gave me over to some friends of mine who were camping for the summer. They had a Volkswagon van – the older version. The smell of that van was a delicious combination of leather and unwashed clothes. I would go through the different compartments in amazement. But oh, how I missed my parents.

Another time, I lived with my father’s parents for one summer. At their house, I wrangled the blackberry vines from around my grandfather’s rhodendrons (50 of them) and then installed a sprinkler system.

Once in college, I had to take a field trip to another town, where we stayed for two nights to explore marine life. I was 19 at the time. When I called my mother, I burst out into tears. I didn’t realize how much I missed them.

Fall back to my first step out of my home and into my apartment. I was SO GLAD to be LEAVING! I stormed to my new place and a depressive loneliness set upon me. My mother called me. I asked “what’s for dinner?”

This started many a jaunt as I went to my parents often for good food – always to begin with, “what’s for dinner?”

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