With that feeling lurking, I put the last few items into my bag, wheeled it out to my brother’s car, hoisted it into the back seat and dropped myself into the front seat.
As he drove me to the airport, we talked, just as we had talked the day before with our sister as we drove her to the airport. I’m unsure now what we talked about. Perhaps we talked about bikes. Or coffee. Or music. Or KFOG. Or the weather here compared to back home in Washington–state for my sister, DC for me.
The topics and our words don’t so much matter to me now. When I was younger, I would have focused on the words, dissected them, pondered them, but now I’m think more about the content of those words. Each of them is a little cup, carrying a message, a feeling, and just like I don’t remember the cup, I remember the coffee, I remember the feeling–the weight of it, the warmth of it–not the words that carried it.
What I remember about sitting in the car on the way to the airport both times is that feeling that I love hanging out with my siblings and that I can’t wait to do it again.
Perhaps that’s why I still couldn’t quite touch that lurking feeling.
to be continued…
(Yesterday I mentioned that our home is an Eichler and meant to link out for those unfamiliar with the genre. Thanks to the innernetz you can learn more and see more. And yes, it’s OK to be jealous.)