The Visit

Relatives come to visit a few times each year. The ones who live nearby drive over and enjoy a relaxing cup of coffee. Occasionally, we will go out for dinner together but mostly we sit, banter and share more than a few private jokes.  Easily skirting portentous issues they soon depart, leaving behind faint splotches on cheeks, warm hugs, lingering stale perfume and assorted mugs and dessert dishes piled up in the sink. Not a lot of clearing up to do after the visit. The worst of it is, the bathroom needs minor disinfecting.

The work comes when the out-of-towners arrive for an extended stay. Days of preparation herald the arrival of them. Meals need to be prepared, activities require careful planning, rooms have to be readied by dusting, washing, waxing.  Appointments are put off until later. Then, when in the midst of the frantic preparations, a door slam is heard outside, we know they have arrived. They bring with them endless reading material to be disbursed all around our neatly arranged house. Unwanted presents are devotedly offered and are readily accepted.  Bathrooms are hijacked.  Diapers suffuse the house with a novel, distinctive odor.  Crackers are observed making their way to off-limits places in the house.  Within hours, an immaculate house has been transformed.

I have always been amazed at the amount of time that it takes for the minute hand to make a single revolution on my watch.  Eventually, however, the suitcases are repacked. Goodbyes are stated with noticeably less enthusiasm. Then silence as the car disappears around the corner and out of view. We turn back into the house.

Heavy, and showing signs of cracking, the heart feels like it is made from stone. The aftermath is horrible.  The very walls of the house resonate with pain. Restoring the house to pre-visit cleanliness is a worthwhile, meeting list. What is the use?

It is hard to push down the swelling in the throat. Who can remain in the home that was once filled with joy that now throbs with emptiness?  

And yet.

Such is the joy of gathering and departing.  Knowing all this makes the ingathering so much more beautiful.

Living in the Now

The only thing more frightening than the past is the future.  Moving forward into uncertainty takes great courage.

Not long ago I came across maps from the sixteenth century.  Off the shores of unknown continents were written statements like, “Here are the dragons,” or “Here be the demons that devour men.”

People of that era were terrified to venture beyond the borders of the known.  Better to stay home than risk the nightmares lurking in the dark beyond.  The unknown is always scary.  That is why children imagine demons and dreadful creatures in shadowy basements and closets.  We are no different.

No one has yet ventured into tomorrow but we will all be there in twenty-four hours.  Today we churn over the imagined dragons that will be encountered.  And, paradoxically, we will wake on the next day saddened that the time has passed. 

It is the same sort of feeling we have when relatives stay with us for extended periods.  We agonize before they arrive and mourn when they are gone.

That is why living in the meantime is worthy goal.