
The Motherload proved a cozy place for the weary kayak and hammock-sleeping camper, complete with a gentle rain pelting the roof! Oh, it was good for my soul, in deed, to enjoy the company of my son, a man I truly admire and whose company is a perfect fit for the odd-shaped emptiness that solo travel has carved.
I waived goodbye to him from the dock today, as I watched him recede from me in the light-infused morning. I unexpectedly experienced a dart of woe, brought on by what I can only label as "SAO" (sudden accumulative onslaught): an incident of instantaneously collected memories of a certain type. In this case, the many times I've waived to his back as he receded from my view. I remembered the day I walked him to the bus stop for his first day of kindergarten. He was wearing his navy blue shorts and matching cap. I held his hand the entire 3 blocks and talked merrily about the exciting day of adventure he would surely have. I felt, though, as if I were pulling a little wagon with square wheels. When I stopped to ask if he was OK, he said, "Yes, but my knees are kinda shaky." When I looked down at his little popcorn knees, my heart almost splattered on the sidewalk. His knees were like two rocks in a can, jangling together. I wanted to pick him up and carry him home. But when the bus arrived, he stoically stepped away from me and boarded, leaving ME weak in the knees. And there you have it: the first time he willingly receded from my protective hold. Did I cry? Enough to fill the Mississippi, but not on his watch!
No tears from ME, today, however! We'll be meeting again tomorrow at a spot downstream for more good stuff, good food and sweet times. We've decided to pick a song to practice (banjo and harmonica) for the next time we meet, and there will be many times along this watery vein of America.
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