These pics are from our walk again. My men. They are away in Drumheller right now as I type this on my lunch break from rehearsals. They are away and I am here and I miss them. This is the four week intensity time, where most of my waking hours are spent working. It's a shift I've not made my peace with yet. I know sometimes I'm screaming inside for a little stillness and time to do just what I want, but now that it's here, I feel kinda lost.
Winter came in upon us this morning. Lots of frost and ice an inch thick on the puddles. I saw a deer in a far off field this morning under the light of a full moon that had not yet gone to bed in the Western sky. I couldn't take my eyes off it as I walked. It grew more golden as the sun came up on the eastern horizon, and I walked right to the top of cemetery hill as the golden peach rays shone through the arch gateway. It was cold.
Breakfast was sausage and eggs for a change. Donovan had requested it the night before so I got up earlier than the usual "cereal for breakfast" time. We used Grandma Meltebeke's poacher and they were just right: all dark and soft in the center with the whites slippery yet firm. Cassidy Reinhardt, a cute girl in braids, raises the chickens on a nearby farm.
It was after breakfast when we noticed Donovan's lunch pail still sitting on the couch, and that's when David decided to drive it in to him with Weston after he taught his class. That meant that Donovan would of course not go hungry, but it also meant that I would miss out on seeing Weston and David for lunch. Strange. This aloneness.
Part of me is curious and excited for David and the boys to have so much time alone together and I long for it to be good. Both Dave and I have been impatient with the boys over this holiday weekend. They are a lot to compete with when they're together, and with Donovan not having school the next two days for Teacher interviews, Dave is in for it. One is much easier than two. Two starts to feel like three and then before you know it, you feel ganged up on and totally anemic as a parent.
I hope Dave can manage dinner too. I'll come as soon as I can, but I'll try and prepare the taco meat and cheese. AHHH. A sigh of needing to let go and let Daddy do things his way, even if he forgets something because he's out of practice. It'll be good. We'll survive, and meanwhile I will have other opportunities to grow in rehearsal. Theatre moves in seasons: working, not working, teaching, performing, longing for home, writing, and then domestics and longing for work again.
Here's to the men. My men. May they find joy in their independence and not hurt each other in the process.
