Not a day in the last couple of weeks has gone by without either Ivory or me making side remarks of awe about growth, giantness and grandeur, mostly during morning coffee because that’s when the changes are most discernible, especially since I’m the one carrying the subject in question down our rather steep stairs, for “maybe just another day before he gets too big”.
It’s such an intense and thoroughly moving process to watch Young Mec grow into the connected companion he actually already is, but we still feel he needs more guidance to adjust to our idiosyncrasies. I know this is a weird and quite overdone thing to say, but the feeling compares to me going to the Venice fish market first thing in morning, simply knowing I’ll find what I’m looking for to please the family at the dinner table tonight, a familiarity that is both understandable and alienating at the same time because of its disconnectedness in reality. I don’t live in Venice, never have, but wishful thinking might dictate corporeality more than we know.
The binding factor, obviously, is beauty beyond comparison, watching these young muscles expand and pulsingly bulge is like laying on the cold marble floor of the Sala Capitolare of the Scuola Grande di San Rocco, closely following the ceiling painter’s eye for detail and shine, truly appreciating it whilst fully embracing the luck of the moment, shared with no one but yourself.
Same thing took me by surprise upon entering the Basilica di Santa Maria Assunta on Torcello, an island in the neighborhood of Venice, with its earliest remaining mosaics that will blow your mind. It’s almost like it’s too beautiful to be real and me being part of it because of my presence must be some flaw in the fabric of life.
There’s other, less rosy stuff too. The unpredictable biting, the down to earth poo eating, the constant obsession with anything food related, our future of now having to deal with whatever comes next. An unbreakable bond, that’s for sure.
