Today I started to unpack my luggage, or I should really say, I started reaching for things I had packed to wear on my trip to France this week.
I had packed with restraint, I thought, under strict advice from my sister, who was hosting me on this trip to the Dordognes. For footwear, only two pairs of shoes! (Ok, and some very flat sandals but really, they could double as cardboard to protect the art I would be bringing home.) On top you can see my watercolor paints, that I had packed hopefully, with visions of plein air painting at some point during our travels. What I predicted for my first painting: The brown nearly black soil, the purple wash of flowers in the forefront, the yellow limestone of ancient chateaus in the background. And something modern in the foreground as well--perhaps the front of the rental car, or a figure with Puma-shod feet.
I picked up my favorite gray and green striped sweater. A triangle of paper fell off the sleeve. In pencil, the unmistakable handwriting of my 11 year old son, "I miss you," and the two dots and a semi-circle of a sad face below it. Then he signed it as well, in case there would be any doubt. So, despite the fact that my much-looked-forward-to vacation has been canceled, I could not ask for a sweeter moment today . . .
I'm teary that your trip was canceled and that your son wrote you such a sweet note.
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