trash truck

I am like a balloon deflated today, without Luke or Dave or Mom and Dad. Luke had to be peeled away from us, kicking and screaming, but I suppose it was better than the alternative of us leaving him behind. Then I had to be peeled away, weepy and mopey, from Mom and Dad at the airport as they left our sunny climes for cold and distant New Jersey. I guess feeling like a balloon doesn't quite describe it - I'm more like a peeled Meyer lemon, shriveled and drippy with nothing protecting my sweet vulnerable insides but a white bumpy skin...
Oh, but before all that, we spent some time walking around the neighborhood, hot on the trail of the trash truck (think "Trash truck! Trash truck! Trash truck" multiplied a hundred times). Out on the stoops we saw representative samples of Thanksgivings gone by - wine crates, turkey boxes, and assorted fall/Halloween decor being discarded to make room for Christmas. Then we finally caught up with a trash truck, which, symbolically enough, was broken down and unable to do any of the trash-trucking that makes it so appealing.
But lest we all get super-sad reading this post, I should point out that the trash did bring us one treasure this morning: A very cool easel, discarded by our neighbors because a little shelf on the chalkboard side had broken off. A shelf? Who needs a shelf?, we said, and we had it washed up and being drawn upon by Luke before he could even say "trash truck" (again).
What's been good about this vacation? We went to the beach almost every day. Luke developed a strong attachment to "Dama" and "Papa." We ate like kings, and we ate like white trash, and it all tasted good going down. Luke learned how to say "dustpan" ("dust [pause] PAN!") We heard some good music, and we made some extremely bad (or at least loud) music. Luke pointed to the white bearded saint in the stained-glass window in church and said "Santa!" We finally managed to scrape together enough money to buy me another earplug. We saw the funniest $2.395 million house ever built, with direct garage access from the master bathroom. We bought the most beautiful Christmas tree, the first in our Pacific house, for only $19.99. We vowed to do it all again, more frequently, in the future.
Now, after a week of being surrounded by noise and loved ones, I'm alone at work, with my office-mate gone, and it's totally quiet. I'm debating - Should I call Silvia to see how Luke is?
*brief pause while I actually call Silvia - he's fine*
While I stood out on the beach with Dad yesterday, he told me that he was thinking about how in 48 hours, he'd be thinking about how just 48 hours ago he was on the beach. So THAT'S where I got it from. Pre-retroactive disappointment. I felt that way at breakfast (our last breakfast with them!), out in the yard with mom (I'll remember that the chairs were arranged that way because they were here!), doing the dishes (they used those dishes!) - missing them before they left. Why can't I just have the gift of living in the present? Will I feel that way the entire Christmas vacation, mourning the fact that we only have x days left until it's over? No! I won't do it! I'm going to sit here at my keyboard, alone at work, relishing this moment and thinking just a little sadly, of a small guy who just woke up and probably wants to see another trash truck.