Tuesday, June 30, 2009
I've been alone for a week. Alone relatively speaking, since every now and then my younger son, that brightly colored sprite of a boy, makes an appearance between skateboarding, biking and the general revelry that is his life. My husband and older son are away until the end of July. We then go to Italy, lovely, crazy, besotted Italy. I actually miss it. I actually can't wait.
Being alone is not at all what it seems. I have taken on a huge project about medieval Italian architecture. The Italian text is erudite and challenging. The English translation is even more so. I am trudging through that place in brain where I once felt marginally intelligent, peeking around the creeping moss and ivy growing there, looking for words. I don't usually take on jobs so big in such a short time span, but this was the only way I could get through this next month. I, who love to be alone, love solitude, quiet, peace, I miss my boys horribly. Terribly.
I miss their laundry and dishes. I miss their deep voices and big hands. I miss their bickering, laughing and snoring. I miss their smell and sounds. I miss it all.
What a revelation.