Returning from the Black Hole

Going away for the holidays is a lot like going into a black hole.  Time stands still and disappears and there are exciting, terrifying moments that occupy one's every thought and also erase one's mind.  I am back from the Black Hole and I survived it.  T-shirts to be printed in the near future.  I have done this so often that it now feels like no big deal, but the travel was done with a four year old and 20 month old in tow.  It involved airplane travel, a meandering through immigration and customs at the worst airport in the modern universe, Miami International, currency change, car rides, train rides, alternate wardrobes for daily changing seasons, snacks, games, DVDs, and a four year old and 20 month old.  Did I say that already?  I had my carry on bags packed to bursting on my shoulders, pinching my nerves, while pushing Virginie in the stroller and holding Lily's hand AND her carry on which held the portable DVD player, 4 coloring books, crayons, dolls for both girls, snacks, and a change of clothing for each as inevitably one of them has to hold her own juice and sip it from the cocktail straw provided by the flight attendant while also looking out the window and flirting with the person in the seat behind her through the tiny peep slot made between the seats.  Please note that while said bag does have wheels, its handle is too short for me to drag without hunching over like the Grinch marveling at one last piece of Christmas, so I carry that in my hand while pushing the stroller.  It was in that position that I waited for ten minutes on the immigration queue and then wrangled a SmartCart with which to pass through customs and then meet my parents.  That was on the first day.

My parents love the girls very much.  The screaming, squealing, jumping from couch to chair to couch to glass table, not so much.  They love collecting pictures from them and marveling at Lily's sticker books, but care little for marker, even washables, drawn on marble floors and stickers glued and rubbed onto the wall or on their clothes.  The constant walking inside, outside, inside, outside made them dizzy and the regular strip tease done by both ladies accustomed to complete nudity in Barbados was enough to peel their eyelids back.  I thought it might be a good idea to visit with my sister and her kids in Atlanta for a bit to give a reprieve to all.  Good idea.  One for Mommy.

While it was much cooler in Atlanta than in Florida, cooler actually than Virginie had ever experienced in her little life, we felt warmed immediately with Auntie Shayboo.  My sister is all black momma love.  Hugs and sugar and kisses and she just knows exactly what the kids want even before they do.  Don't get me wrong, she is as Fancy Nancy as I am, that is Fancy Nancy talk for "bougie" (look it up), but she is kind to babies and old people and strangers and talks to people that she doesn't know about herself and themselves and makes them feel good.  She is all rounded, smoothed out curves to my straight lines and I am not talking about what we look like, I am talking about how she feels.  I love from far away and she loves right up close.  Sure it can drive me batty out of my mind, but she is my sister.  She is supposed to do that.

We stayed for three days and visited with some family, auntie, uncle, cousins, cousins' children and replenished our souls and our hearts.  My Aunt Hallie, from whom my sister must have gotten some of her open heartedness, was a hit with the girls and her kindness, her genuine caring for me and my family was startling.  I forget sometimes how pure love can energize.  She and my Uncle G took those little girls into a room adjacent to their room where they store toys and games for their grands and played their hearts out.  I can see that playing and looking at things through a child's eyes can keep one young, at least at heart, and these two people have got that down.  They also look great too.

I returned to my parents' house still tired but rejuvenated in spirit to celebrate the new year at my mother's annual New Year's Day fete.  A catered affair with a guest list of impressive friends and relatives all doing their thing--doctors, lawyers, educators, real estate agents, executives, world travelers, thinkers, all brought down by the cuteness that is Lily and Virginie.  The girls were on their best behavior and while they are still young, I am glad for them to see people living their dreams having found their way there through education, hard work, drive, and chutzpah.  I want the girls to dream big.

After every New Year's Day comes the day where I dream and hope for my new year.  My birthday.  While I have always been asked if it seemed like a curse to have my birthday after all the year end and new year celebrations, for me, the proximity to the new year has always been magic for me.  I always knew I could start over, rewrite my story and the calendar and the universe supported it.  We returned to Barbados on the evening of my birthday, delayed by two insanely unruly passengers, but on an otherwise uneventful flight.  The two weeks gone felt like a lifetime and the immersion back into life in Barbados has been challenging.

In the rewrite, we are in place where we belong. that feels like home.  Where we love each other as we did before we got here.  My cousin, Nira, who left for Cali, Colombia a year before we came to Barbados has found a spiritual home in the place.  She loves the people, the culture.  The friends she has made are mates for life and she is even considering citizenship. 

Back from the black hole, we find ourselves in another, bigger than the previous one.  I want us to come out together.  There are small wishes.  I want to go through the airport with all of the family present.  With no one left behind.  Because as I try to figure out what the heck just happened to me, Didier, who was not with me, cannot help me and I, who missed the torture of his stay during the holidays, cannot help him.  And after all that space travel it would be a shame if we got in our own capsules and blasted off in different directions.

Definitely to be continued...

(c)  Copyright 2011.  City Mom in the Jungle.