Changes in latitude

I've trying a new tea blend to sleep at night, since the Ambien found occasion to find me wandering away from my bed, even sleep-shopping.  I slept well and deep until dawn broke at 3:30 and I woke, started as one of the many cats batted at my foot, peeking out from the covers. 

In Larvik, I would occasionally be woken by screaming parties that the swifts were throwing  Apparently, this signals the swifts are mating. Tis the season for some, I suppose. I envision swifts reading poetry in smoky coffee houses, someone dancing in the corner with a lampshade on her head. 'Rhiannon' and 'You're so Vain' being played on repeat whilst the female swifts prepare for an evening out. All the pretty swifts home for the summer, dancing with their reflections in windows. 

In Colchester, I am usually woken by the quiet snuggle of the boy child and the thud and scamper of feet across the floor. 

Mugwort, lady's mantle, and fever few, with a tension tamer or Sleepytime tea bag and I can barely keep my eyes open to turn a page.  The lady's mantle since I slipped off the cliff face; I hadn't realised just how deep some of the scrapes were. There is one across my thumb as deep and straight as a knife blade or papercut. It will scar. I don't mind so much anymore the scars. 

The ferry makes quick time to Oslo and I breathe carefully against my nervousness. I have been traveling since I was 3 months old. You think I'd be used to this by now. I've missed planes, trains, and the occasional ferry. I've learned to triple check and then just once more that I have all my things and my people.  To date (touch wood) I have not forgotten either of the littles anywhere. I've managed emergency landings, accident reports, and being misplaced myself. So why do I still get anxious and cagey? And will I ever not? 

I didn't feel cagey last September but that trip was a bit of a relief. I wasn't going to see my father, I was going to see my grandmother off. I knew exactly where she was. For all of her intense quietude and brusque ways, she walked her talk and you always knew where you stood. Rereading 'The Ballad of the Sad Café,' I see Miss Amelia in her and I wonder if that is the price one pays for independence. I was raised independent - my work would appear to be about how to become more INTER-dependent. Many of the conversations this week centered around this dynamic, around child wounds. It was healing but also kicked up a lot of dust. Alot of re-examining of the recent past. I can see the miscommunications for what they are, can lean back into forgiveness, even if it isn't always pure. Trust that we cannot always care that we've hurt someone or vice versa.  

My to-the-US travel list is done. My first things will be to collect the documents I need to make sure I have them: Power of Attorney, US Passport, death certificates. US Wallet.  It's such a short trip; it could easily feel wasteful. But it is necessary. This action gives my brother autonomy and gives my nephew some sort of future stability. And takes unwanted and undeserved responsibility off of mine. He is my brother, not my child, I remind myself. 

The return trip list? I'm gonna need a bigger boat. But I did change my flights to leave on Friday evening. It gives me an added buffer, with the project pitch coming up on the 9th. What had seemed to be such a quiet month is becoming less so and that scares me. I even booked to take the kids to Somerset to catch up with an old friend. A cottage near Cricket St Thomas and I can already see the lace curtains twitching. From there we could go anywhere, really, to Fishguard to catch the ferry, drive north to visit other friends outside Liverpool. Or just be at home. Home. Which reminds me, I need to follow up with the builders. Is the the equivalent of forgetting to close the blinds?

At the airport, there is a frantic American woman and I am reminded briefly of young Alice, bouncing on the baggage scale when I flew out to Rome. I do not even risk eye contact, quickly dropping my own luggage and making my way through security. 

The lounges are open and it is quiet in a blandly comfortable way. The tomato soup is tasty and makes me feel like a well-cared for child. There is a brief moment when I close my eyes and allow myself to rest my head on the memory of my mom's shoulder, 8, sitting on the sofa in Germany, watching the snow fall.