Summer Waxing Grandchildren Moon
As the grandchildren moon waxes, Ruth and Gabe are somewhere south of Andover, headed back home to Denver. They left about an hour ago taking their parents with 
them. Like most leave takings, this one was bittersweet. We will not see Ruth’s smile, nor hear her mischievous giggle; the house no longer rings with mymamameee as Gabe, eternally seeking his mother tries to orient himself to the star of his young life.
We will not be able to talk with Jon and Jen about their lives, their joys, the things that matter to them and therefore to us. The playhouse has lost its enlivener and no one will run up and down the slope in our front yard, shrieking and reveling in the sheer pleasure of walking barefoot in dewy grass. No uh-oh or banana grabbed and eaten, one half in one hand one in the other.
There is, too, though the truth of lives disrupted by travel, part of its purpose, but also part of its drain. The dogs lives changed, and they could not see why. Everyone’s lives are not at their smoothest because routines become difficult to realize and routine soothes, calms. So, for Gabe and Ruth, Jon and Jen, they now head back to the garden, to the plans for renovation of their home, to the friends both have made over their years in Denver. Familiar beds, couches, dogs, food, neighbors.
When Kate and I traveled in Europe, we hit on the idea of a travel day (p.s. Kate reminded me that was her idea.), a day when we just rested, weren’t trying to see some new destination, this museum or that market, this famous street or the Opera House. This kind of intense, in the home up close visit could, as Kate said, use a travel day. We’re getting ours today, but when we wake up tomorrow, there will be no mymamameee or Ruth crawling down the hall in her blanket. And we will miss them.