A Son’s Visit

Even with only a brief visit from my son, my house feel oddly empty after he leaves. I long to make him another cup of coffee and see him standing in my kitchen, stirring in cream and sugar.  I even miss watching the smoke drift past my living room window, as he stood outside on the back steps, smoking a cigarette.

Am I the only parent who leaves the radio station set to the music my child likes for at least a few days after he’s gone and occasionally turns back to it, just to feel closer than the many states between Minnesota and New York make physically possible?

The second day of Lain’s visit, we went to see “Les Miserables” then spent a couple hours trying to figure out what exactly that play/movie was about. I found the love story part of it obscenely stupid (fall in love because of a brief sighting of each other across the street?). Maybe I’m jaded (feelings, nothing more than feelings), but that part of the story was fairly irritating.

So we tried to redeem the movie by coming up with theories about  the symbolic rather than literal meaning of the story, like love and hope conquering all difficulties. We also pondered why the heroes and heroines seemed to end up living the rich, privileged life that the French revolution fought against. Hmmm…

The last full day that Lain was visiting, we went on a photography field trip. My son made a good model to work on portrait photography and we managed to find some other volunteers.

Then we ventured across the street to this landmark structure. I’ve never been able to figure out how this place stays in business since I rarely see anyone parked there except one car, the one that belongs to the guys that work there.

When we pulled up, there was a sign on the door that said they’d be back in 30 minutes. Not knowing when those 30 minutes started, we didn’t hang out for very long. I mean, it’s a little lot creepy. But creepy and unusual is good in photography right?

But all good visits eventually come to an end, and Monday it was back to the old work routine. Lately, I have this weird feeling where my real life – my work life – doesn’t feel real. I’ve begun to think of this as my Clark Kent by day life, followed by my Super Maery by night and weekend life.