We began our walk headed away from the carnival - my mom had called and it was windy, this made it quieter for her. Once we hung up, we turned around and headed back towards the carnival. What fun! And as Peter wistfully and longingly looked at each and every ride, begging to ride them, I reminded him that the carnival doesn't open until tonight and we'd need to talk with Daddy about when we could go. He quickly whipped out his imaginary cell phone, called Daddy and asked if we could go tonight. Daddy, of course, said sure!
Beyond the carnival, we paused to check for cars before crossing the street. Peter is becoming very good at remembering to stop. He and David wanted to go to the playground, so we ambled on towards Our Lady of the Lake Catholic Church's Rainbow play system. Who needs the newest, biggest and best? We are very content to play there!
Walking along our familiar route I was met with a sudden and overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. It came out of nowhere, but suddenly I was remembering all the evening strolls down to the lake, before the rains hid the beach, to let Lucy swim after her tennis ball and to introduce Peter, and later David, too, to the lake. I looked with fondness (fondness???) at the dumpy, run-down, OLD house where the "bike man" lives. He collects and fixes bikes all winter and sells them from his frightening garage all summer. Across the street stands the brown split-level house with huge lilac bushes in front. The blooms are such a beautifully stark contrast to the unkempt home and yard, and their fragrance? Oh, my... As we passed the house today, Peter asked, "Mom, why is their garage door always open?" I smiled and shrugged. Some things we will never know.
We reached the church's playground. The boys gleefully ran to the swings and we swung to our hearts' content. I tried the monkey bars. Never mind. I am terribly out of shape! Peter rode the rhino and the hippo, David threw fist-fulls of sand and Isaac slept peacefully in the stroller. When it was time to leave, I told the boys that this might be our last time playing at this playground and to say good bye to it! I choked back the tears and we ambled on.
Peter asked to go see the lake and since it was still an hour until lunchtime, I agreed. Once we got there, Peter begged to walk down the hill to throw a stick into the water so he could yell, "Stick! Stick!" (like in a book we currently have checked out from the library - except that they boy in the book has a boat, not a stick) I said yes. He walked down the hill and threw in his stick. And another. And another. And another. And then he found a rock. And then David wanted to get out, too, so I had to reign Peter back in before I had complete and utter chaos on my hands.
Walking back towards home, I gazed longingly at all the houses we passed. Even though I've never met the owners more than a quick "hello" as we walked past, I felt a connection to them now. We were practically neighbors, after all. I noticed the cactus sitting in the Coors Light can on the front step of the bachelor pad. The pretty roses lining the driveway of the freshly painted house next door. All the young toddler toys out in the yard of the next house and I wondered how old their son was now and if they'd had another over the winter? And then across the street was the pretty green split with the immaculate yard. They were getting a new roof today. We stopped at the crosswalk, crossed the street and noticed the gray house on the corner had a new, freshly paved driveway. I longed to go rollerblading on it! Next was the small, non-descript house followed by the weird, small, unkempt house which is followed by the brown split whose garage is always open. Next door is a small church where we went this past spring to watch the movie Courageous. Peter still talks about the bad men who had guns. :)
Eagle Lake Road, the busy, frightening street that we have to cross now has a crosswalk, but not everyone sees the people waiting to cross. Today is a good day, though. The drivers stop for us before we even reach the street! And then, to my left, is the cemetery. The cemetery that signals where to turn ("if you go past the cemetery, you've gone too far!"), the cemetery where we've walked as a family and the kids have climbed on old tombstones, the cemetery where I've played fetch with Lucy. Perhaps that's a bit irreverent, but no one ever said otherwise.
I decide it's getting close to lunchtime, so we head for home. But with all these memories sweeping back over me, I'm getting nervous about our upcoming move. We've lived and raised our three sons here for the past three years. Coborn's is so close. And the library. And Caribou. And the pizza place! Is it a mistake to move? We won't have the lake super close anymore! Homesick. That's what I am.
For the past three years, we've longed to move, long to get out of an apartment and back into a house with a yard and space for the kids and dog to run and play. We've longed to be closer to Luke's work, to our church. And yet now that it's here - I'm scared!
Nostalgic: wistful, longing, homesick.
