Little Kids in PJs

 About 7:30 this morning, while on my morning walk, I witnessed the sweetest family scene. A family was out in the yard seeing the dad off to work. Dad sat behind the wheel of the station wagon with his window rolled down. Before rolling down into the street, he stopped a moment and leaned out to say good-bye. Two little boys, still in their pjs, straddled their scooters beside the driveway, and the mom stood beside the boys and held a big mug of presumably coffee. 

     As Dad eased down the driveway, he waved and said, “Good-bye, I love you. I love you.” 

     The boys cried out over and over, “Bye Daddy, Bye Daddy, love you too, love you.”

      Mom watched her boys and waved goodbye to her husband. 

    The Dad started down the street, still calling “I love you. I love you.”

    I felt this scene of a young family’s love, so openly expressed, to be very moving. It seemed such a beautiful contrast to the constant barrage of negativity with which I begin most days. And it lifted my heart and my spirits.

    Granted, this scene stirred my memories of the 50s when my brother and I wore the pjs, and our dad was the one going off to work. Not that we ever stood out in the yard and sang out our love to the neighborhood. 

    I almost didn’t write about this. I am aware that this picture is one that is unfamiliar to many people - many family experiences are radically different. 

A white man and a woman and two kids, is not the only kind of family who loves each other. And there are many other reasons that others may not want to idealize the scene as I witnessed it. And, yes, this could have been one moment of peace in a troubled family, but I don’t think so.

    The point is not how the family looked or who was or wasn’t in the family. The point is that these people so obviously loved each other and began their day sending one member off to work knowing that he is loved, and joyously so, by the people who are his beloved.

    Any family, of any content or structure, could fit into this picture, where love is the theme. Love that is so beautifully and wholeheartedly expressed that it is a treasured moment to witness it. 

   Sometimes I forget that such people exist. Sometimes I think that there is precious little good in the world. I’m glad to know that I am wrong. Despite that other stuff, I am now reminded that love still lives in us human beings, and it is strong.

    I walked on by and said good morning - you have a beautiful family. The mom said, “thank you so much!” I didn’t stop to tell her how much I loved seeing them, too intrusive. But the clear, unsullied, reality of this is that there was enough love to spill over into my life, and I’m grateful I was there to receive it.

   

 Night full of Rain

Crawled into bed last night, aching from spring gardening tasks, and settled in with what began as the soothing sound of rain sprinkling on the trees and my neighbor’s metal shed roof.

My window was open to cool spring air, just right for covers. All in all, one of my favorite sleeping arrangements on a tired night.

Not to be. Not this night.

I first woke up at 2:10 a.m. to a torrent of rain that beat on the leaves and hammered on that metal roof. I got up, wandered around, looked out at the rain, and returned to bed, first tripping over a stool.

Worry as much as rain, woke me up at 3:46 a.m., “Oh, no, all that rain. It’s too much potassium, too much potassium. What is the chemical symbol for potassium anyway. Is it “K”? These matters weighed heavily on my mind, as the rain steadily continued. I needed to know that darn symbol.

G.’s potassium levels are too high, and that has been the matter of much concern and discussion in our house recently.

I tossed and turned for a while, obsessing about potassium-rich rain and the letter “K”, and finally dozed off. The heavy rain continued through the night.

I woke up at 5:30, to the very pleasant sound of birds singing and soft, dripping rain falling all around. Snuggled up under my covers,  my night-long struggle with rain seemed very silly. Though the potential for residual potassium might still be a problem.

What is it about our brains than turns perfectly ordinary events into worrisome nighttime situations that plague our dreams?

But as sung by CCR, who’ll stop the rain?

(For the record, K is the chemical symbol for potassium, and the internet did not reveal any particular relationship between potassium and rain.)