Happiness isn’t something you experience; it’s something you remember.
— Oscar Levant
I’ve been on holiday for three and a half weeks with the Big T and our boy-child. We’ve stayed in six cities, taken eight flights (four of them long-haul); ridden trains, trams, buses, street and cable cars; and visited galleries, museums, castles, skateboarding spots, monuments, relatives, friends … well you get the picture.
In the process we’ve laughed, cried, yelled at each other and wondered (sometimes aloud) what the hell made us think spending that much time in each others company might be a good idea.
It was difficult; we are very different people. Our interests (and body-clocks) don’t particularly coincide, and some of us (well ok, the kid and me) aren’t particularly gracious in compromise.
But it had to be done. The boy-child is now 17; graduated from high school and on his “gap year.” He has plans and dreams and a vision of a future that looks outward towards his friends and his own adventures. It’s unlikely we will all holiday together again (at least not until the boy-child is much older and needs a set of live-in vacation childminders), so this time together was vital.
We’re home now and beginning to retell our holiday stories to friends and neighbours. In the process, the rough edges are being smoothed off and the quality of the memories is improving. It’s already starting to feel like a great holiday — something to hold close and cherish forever as our child hurtles towards adulthood.
To everyone who has started following this blog while I’ve been away; many thanks. I will get over to all of your blogs to say hello and thanks properly as soon as I can.