In spite of the raging headache, I'm feeling pretty darned good. My heart's where I like it to be, and I even got to speak with my son. My favorite part of our increasingly pleasant conversations is when he says, "Can I ask you something?" Today's question was about the Harry Potter books.
He and his father have returned to Germany this month, where they will permanently reside. I'm glad they're back in Stuttgart. While I don't waste my altruism on him, personally, I wish the ex well only for the benefit of taking decent care of my son. That's all.
In the meantime, my lovely boy is back in Stuttgart where he will have a better advantage academically than he would in Kavala, Greece. Even after only a few short weeks, his accent now sounds more like his old self than it has the last two years he's been speaking Greek. That's a bit of a relief to me. He sounds less a stranger than only one month ago.
He's begun reading the Harry Potter series, beginning with the seventh and last book. His reasoning: He'd already seen the movies and knows the story up to that point. I asked him if he would like me to send him the rest of the books in English. He said yes...
As we (he) talked about The Deathly Hallows, I was deeply struck--and touched--by this effort on his part to reach out to me. Among other things, the Harry Potter stories and films were a strong point of bonding between me and Alex, before we returned to the US and all hell broke loose. We'd watched the first three films over and over on DVD (in English!), and I had read to him the first six books. For years, we even played the EA Sports computer game based on the second film, until he and I had finally replaced it with another computer game called Fate, in 2005. So, it was lovely to be able to restore that aspect of our connection. And it was his own decision. Part of that discussion involved the fact that he had recently gotten a library card, and that was his book of choice. "I can keep it for a whole month!" he'd said.
The library was a new bond he and I had created, in the months before his abduction. You can read about it two posts back, or so. So, that connection had also been restored.
He had also asked me what I was doing, that very moment as we spoke. "I'm making lunch," I said.
"What are you making?"
"Chicken barbecue sandwich. What did you have for dinner tonight?" I responded.
"Tortellini," he said.
"Mmm. Tortellini, my favorite. No one does tortellini as tasty as Germany does. I sure wish I could get it over here. Do you think you can send me some?"
He laughed. "No... It would probably get icky."
Tortellini and pizza take-away night was also a special event in our family. We all looked forward to it wish relish, and indulged in our Saturday night fare with abandon. Seriously, the tortellini and cheese sauce we had in Germany simply cannot be seconded, anywhere. I have tried and tried to find an equally tasty replacement, but nothing I've yet come across can quite compare.
And the pizza was pretty damned good, too.
Our favorite take-away place was Pizza Phone. I wouldn't be surprised if that's where they'd gotten dinner, tonight.
Tortellini night was the one time during the week when we mostly got along well as a family. Not always, but mostly. While it shouldn't be mistaken that I miss my ex at all, I do miss the family-ness of tortellini night, the excitement, the one time we all sat down together with a sense of unity and joy.
But that sense of love and unity can be recreated with others, in different ways. Mostly, I just miss the tortellini.
And my wonderful, brilliant, wise son.
