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Where the Heart Is

The Bohemian juices ginger only to have the whole concoction get turned upside down. It’s not a problem. I’m entranced by the color, so vibrant I have to grab my camera.

As I snap away at the contrasting hues, he’s the one that notices the heart.

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

I do believe that home is where the heart is. And yesterday was the first day in the steady transition of melding our worlds to one abode.

Keeping his priorities clear, the Bohemian’s initial day of moving brings just a few boxes with only the essentials. Tools and kites. (And two more bags of groceries).

photo by the Bohemian ~ all rights reserved

At sunset, we eat at the table on the lawn under purple gray clouds. A single candle, the Bohemian, Jeb and I. We smile and munch on kale salad from the garden growing, nearby.

Nene geese fly low over our heads and sound their call.

“Hey, look, there are three,” the Bohemian says, looking up then back at us both.

Uh-huh. Again, I hadn’t noticed it in that way, but I think I know exactly what he means.

 

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The Sound of We

I wake to a raspy low call from Jeb’s bedroom, “Moooom.”

Two days ago he boogie boarded himself right into some sort of cold/fever thing. It’s a run-of-the-mill kind of illness that doesn’t have me worried about him – he’ll recover. But the fever is high enough, the nose runny enough, his energy sluggish enough, to put me in full-time nurse mode.

This does not bode well for my plans.

Let me pause right now and say that I am thankful that Jeb is not suffering a dire illness. Give thanks that he is strong enough to bounce back from this bug in a day or two. I realize things could be much, much worse. From this perspective my next paragraph is downright petty but I’ll write it anyway.

There are no crafted words of poetry or any interesting prose for the Archives today. I have searched my photo files and I can’t seem to even find a photograph that is worthy to spruce up this wilting, germ-laden post.

The boring truth this morning at 5:41am is I’ve got a sick kid on the couch in the dark, a work deadline looming and still that same 750 word writing assignment to start. That masterpiece is due to be shared with a roomful of prolific writers on Saturday.

Furthermore, my suitcase from the trip I returned from in 2011 is still unpacked at my feet on January 10, 2012. And I’m surrounded in my living room by four loads of laundry, folded but not yet put away.

I’m sure you don’t care to hear the mundane details. Frankly, I don’t want to write them.  Maybe they’re all just a distraction from the sweet but scary path I am carving with the Bohemian.

That in the midst of all the aforementioned, I haven’t spent a night away from him. That this morning, between temperature taking and herbal tea making, I’m browsing the classifieds looking for a dresser. Like the kind that is a permanent piece of furniture. You know, a furnishing used for clothing. Not mine. But his.

I remember when I offered him half a drawer at my place. That was big.

But this, this is too big to write about it yet. I’ll stick with complaining that my son has a cold that’s keeping me from doing my work. Right now I just can’t describe what it feels like to hear the Bohemian say words like “family”, “love” and “stay” all together.

For seven years there’s been only “I” or “me”. And I can’t say for sure right here in the Archives, because I’m just that sort of cautious.

But I think…I sense…what has just come into my life is a whole new world of “we.”

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Free Lemonade

The sound of the Casio keyboard drifts up through the open screen door to the desk where I’m working on a Sunday morning. It’s some random series of notes hitting the air in electronic glee. Almost like the sound you’d hear pumping from a ride at a carnival.

Their joy can be felt from the distance between where they play and I sit steeped in spreadsheets. It crescendos when the next car passes on the street and their collective voices (one eight years old’s, still perfecting the ‘r’ sound, and one adult man’s, still perfecting English).

“Free lemonade! Aloha! Free lemonade! Whooo wooo!”

Jeb and the Bohemian have decided to create a lemonade stand. But with the Bohemian around there is a twist, of course. He suggests they give it away. To be honest, I wouldn’t have thought to make the lemonade free and I’m pretty certain Jeb would never have gone for it had I thought of such a philanthropic idea.

But with the Bohemian making the suggestion, Jeb’s more inclined to comply. And the notion seems to be a hit. I can hear cars continually pulling over and stopping. I occasionally peek out the window to see yet another passerby sipping lemonade and smiling with them.

At one point the Bohemian comes inside to replenish supplies. He’s slightly breathless with excitement. “People love it! We’re running out!”

He needs more cups but we only had a few left over from Jeb’s birthday party and they’ve all been taken with the free handouts. He scours the shelves and begins pulling small glass jars, figuring they’ll just have to stay and visit while they enjoy their fresh-squeezed beverage.

There is a coffee tin tip jar factored into this joyous giving, which Jeb made sure to offer as an option. Apparently it works.

“He’s made something like twenty dollars already,” the Bohemian tells me, astonished. “People just put a few dollars in the jar.”

We hear a car pull up below. “Ohh…he’s got customers, I’ve got to go!” And with that, the Bohemian is out the door, recycled glass jars in hand, leaving me in the back draft of his elation.

They gave away the juice till it was gone. All told, they guessed that about 30 people came by the free lemonade stand (“minimum!” the Bohemian exclaims).

We marvel at the beauty of giving something away and experiencing what comes right back in the process. None of us had ever done a lemonade stand before (and I guess I, technically, have still not had the pleasure – only a witness this time). How fascinating to see what happiness can come from sharing squeezed lemons – for both the giver and the drive-by recipients.

They quenched the thirst of neighbors and tourists. Young and old. Men and women. All those curious enough to stop and see just what it was that the bearded Bohemian and smiling eight year old were waving about.

Lemons into lemonade with electronic keyboard tunes.  New friends and smiling faces on a Sunday morning.

Nothing like giving it away.