Kids home, Mom away

This morning I drove out west past pastures and redwoods and tiny towns to pick up S from her Presbyterian camp. She didn't seem any taller or dirtier than she'd been when I dropped her off, but after a few hours at the pool, this girl tans like nobody's business, and her skin was a consistent shade darker than I remembered (the consistency is how I knew it wasn't dirt). She had a good time, she said, but she was definitely saddened by the fact that I was going to be leaving almost as soon as we got home, and wouldn't be back for a few days.

D took me to the airporter on his way to pick up R and her friend from their designated Girl Scout Camp bus stop a couple of hours south. Apparently, S babbled the whole drive down. And the whole drive back.

I got to the airport hours before my flight was to leave, but I didn't mind. I've probably mentioned this before, but I love to hang out at airports and people watch. I think I like the idea of seeing a concrete representation of something that's true at a metaphysical level. We're all on journeys. We're going away. We're coming home. We're leaving old for new, or vice versa. And we're not alone.

Everyone seems to be represented - old, young, all races and religions and social classes. I know there are some who can't afford to fly, some who are afraid to fly, some who are too ill or otherwise unable to fly, and some who just plain have nowhere they want or need to go via plane.

But enough of us pass through airports at one point or another that it feels like I'm seeing a cross-section of the world. And each of us brings to the gate our own story of our own journey, like some kind of internal carry-on item that we couldn't check if we wanted to.