Any launch day that begins with a second consecutive night of no sleep and a morning migraine is not off to a good start.
Add to that a completely dead battery in the van (which we are meant to be DRIVING for three more weeks) and a broken glass in the kids’ room (complete with splinter of glass embedded in Ezra’s hand… twice) and you’ve got a recipe for Mama needing a second cup of tea. Maybe a third.
In spite of the rough start, the day really couldn’t have gone better.
The kids worked like troopers. The van got packed. The house got cleaned. The van got jumped by the neighbor’s workmen. And I lay on the floor for the last thirty minutes before the landlady came doing a little yoga to ease my head and back.
Hannah did windows today, on three floors of the house. I overheard her singing to herself as she worked:
“On the road again… just can’t wait to get on the road again… the life I love is makin’ music with my friends… just can’t wait to get on the road again…”
Good ol’ Willie Nelson. It’s funny the things that resonate across generations to the heart of an almost sixteen year old girl.
We’re rolling south through Connecticut now.
The sun is setting behind steel grey clouds in a drizzle of peach.
The big boys are reading.
Ez is spinning his neon whirly toy that I got him for the trip (thanks Lois & Jordan!)
Hannah has her mandolin out and is playing along with whatever comes up on the iPod. I love that she can do that.
My friend Lee calls her the “soundtrack to life” and he’s right about that. Whatever’s happening, her music is happening in, over and around it. I know I’ll be cursing the guitar, mandolin and fiddle in a few weeks when we’re loading the whole mess on busses and planes, but the instrument rodeo is worth it for the sweetness her fingers and voice add to life.
Tonight we’ll be in Brooklyn with our traveling buddies from Breakout of Bushwick.
The next three weeks will be yet another whirlwind of friends, strangers and family as we weave our way across the heartland and then north. Every moment will be busy and precious.
But for now, for tonight, I’m tucked into my big green van with my big, bald, hero at the helm, singing along to his favourite 80′s rock, road trip music. The Atlantic Ocean is mirroring the ever darkening sky. In two hours the party starts with our first late night of wine and laughter with friends. Until then, I’m savoring the sweetness of the moment. My headache has been pushed back to the edges. The pressure of launch is off.
We did it. We moved heaven and earth one more time to unshackle from the things that threaten to bind a person in their thirties and we’re off chasing another dream. It’s a good feeling.