Sliding Home

I spent the morning with my son at his school to rehearse and paint a set for a show at the end of the month.  It's not surprising that when they asked for volunteers to mix colors and paint, I raised my hand high. We all took our shoes off to walk over the massive mural. That part was fun, just as I imagined. I also got to see my third grader, the one who was too shy in pre-school to say "here" during a fire drill, move on the stage with confidence and a grin. That part was even more fun.

The best part of the morning, the part I wasn't expecting, was when I was all alone. On this quiet Saturday morning, no classes in session, I headed down to the art room to wash some brushes. Bright colored paper lined the halls, a collage of self-portraits and temples of Ancient Rome, and the floors shined, perhaps untouched since they were polished and buffed when the children left the day before.  This year I miss being in school, and spirits of the week's activities, the familiar laughter and chatter in the halls, the scribbling of the pencils, and the call of the teachers' voices glimmered warmly. It energized me and since no one was looking, I ran down the empty hallway, sliding in my stocking feet, and it felt like I could take flight.