Random ruminations on a road trip

Sorry all zero people who follow me, but this isn't a poem...

Having returned from my brother and sister-in-law's 20th anniversary, on a trip that as my sister-in-law put it, ate up 80% of my bank account (not to mention triggering a huge fibromyalgia attack, which led to an Ambien OD, sleepwalking, a broken antique table, and multiple minor injuries to Yours Truly)...

Traveling with my children refreshes my spirit much more than it taxes me. I'm not sure if this is because of my age (49) or despite it. I know being in good shape helps, but I am here to tell myself that I am in bad spiritual shape. It's REALLY been a bad year to be me, but the experiences of not having the money left to eat properly after doing what I need to do (plus a fraction of what I want to do) for my kids. I am defensive, jumpy and anxious all the time. There will be a poem going on about the serpent of my chakras getting lost and trying to digest my sternum instead of energizing my crown.

My son (see "Tall Tales for Small People") reflects on things that happen as just happening, and uses surprisingly little of it, so far, as emotional buckshot to fire when ready. One of those rare occurrences hit more like an RPG. We were all tired and increasingly cranky as the train sat in New London, as we call it, "buffering". A video that you try to "stream," that is play on your computer in real time, has an annoying habit of pausing in the worst places for the signal to get ahead of the play track and enter your RAM (not the truck or the sheep). This pausing , a video liminality between prehension and experience (sorry, dudes, I do have a master's degree) is called "buffering." So whenever we get in an experience where something by all rights should be happening, we call it buffering. So we were buffering in New London, and my son talks about wanting me to buy him dinner. Frustrated, I replied, "We've eaten everything I packed, and besides, do you see a restaurant or a fast food outlet anywhere around here?" He shot back, "Hello, ever heard of a cafe car?" with more than a bit of irritation in his not quite eight year old voice.

That missile scored a direct hit. But nothing like it occurred the rest of the trip, and I do not believe that he will tell my ex about the sleepwalking. Why? Part of it is his emotional excellence, part of it is knowing that he is not to insert himself between the feuding parties. He is a fan of Ben10 games, and unterstands being caught in a crossfire between a cryptid and a DNAlien. Mostly it's a blessing from God Herself.

Little girl story: she kept going up to everyone at the anniversary party, saying, "My Daddy!" The pride in me and the adoration in her eyes and voice impressed everyone, and will probably create a follow up to "To Be".

Department of Senseless Beauty: one of my son's best friends boarded with us, along with his brother, two sisters, and both parents. The two 8-year-olds actually read The Star Trek Chronology for about 40 minutes! That family was off to a hiking and camping trip in Oregon. See (Dang! I forgot the title, and I posted it only six days ago).

So there is joy wound up with fear, and parent-child bliss sharing a foxhole with panic. I know that if I just invited Mara to tea, some of this would dissipate. Thank God for Lyrica...