I was walking up the hill to our house last Friday with Stephie. It was the end of a heady week. Our work together is taking on a life of it’s own. The weekend was an island we were climbing up the hill towards, to reset our clocks.
There were three people walking in front of us. One was our neighbor Eve. She was with a couple – the guy carrying a tripod case and what looked like a video shoulder bag. Eve heard us, looked around and said hi. She introduced us to her sister and her sister’s husband. She said they were working on videos. When I asked what kind of video they explained they were doing 50 short scientific films about water – and they were just finishing up a film on Fracking. “Non-political” but of course VERY political.” The man asked what I did. “I am a photographer, but doing some videos now, too.” “What is your name?” “George Lange.” The guy then said, “That is so weird. I used to know a George Lange who was a photographer. I gave him a ride from Ithaca to Vasaar and he paid me with a Joni Mitchell print. I still have the photograph hanging in my house.” Slowly I recognized the face, remembered Philip’s name. I had not seen him in 35 years. They had plans. No time for catching up, but promises.
We looked in the front window at the two boys eating in the dining room. As soon as we turned the door knob the weekend would begin. We stood staring in at our life from the outside.
Jackson lept up when he heard the door open. Running over to us he yelled out, “Daddy. Mommy. I MISSED YOU!”