Passages
Recently I find myself more aware of the things that are changing or slipping away. Since I pride myself on being positive and focused on the blessings in my life, this seems incongruent at best, troubling at worst. I’m not talking about the obvious cliché’s of aging but the subtle, soft passages; a son finishes his college career, a daughter working full-time is less dependent, a house becomes painfully quiet.
I first noticed the difference when I began baking. Remember when they told us that nesting was one of the signs of impending labor? I think it might be a menopause trigger, too. Suddenly I am Betty Crocker, sending care packages of cookies and brownies to a son who attends college in a capitol city where believe me, they sell plenty of baked goods. Not that he has many complaints, just questions. “Um, thanks mom, we love the food. Are you okay?” Well, maybe not. I have just made my hotel and air reservations for his graduation in May and I think the care packages have escalated accordingly. What in the world will it be like to have no children in school?
Another clue came when the stores started stocking up on Halloween candy. You know, back in August! I became surly, Grinch-like, grumbling around the candy like a demented cartoon figure. “…too commercial, bah….earlier every year…damn costumes…” I assume this has something to do with the fact that I haven’t had kids participating in Halloween for a long time. There was that nice (very short) stretch where they were too old to trick or treat but young enough to enjoy giving out the candy but that is a mere blur now. Now I worry that my kids, each in separate cities celebrating in much more adult ways, survive the holiday. While at home, I remain on a street which 364 days of the year is called “Fabulous wide suburban delight street” (obviously it’s not called that but I’m not about to tell you the real name) and one day of the year it’s called “Halloween Central.” I’m talking busloads of kids shipped in. I’m talking evil looks given to those who have the nerve to come home from work in a car between the hours of five and seven. I’m talking $75.00 dollars worth of candy even if you get the sale bags for under $2.00 or buy in bulk at Costco. The only positive thing I have to say about the holiday is that it’s a built in workout; I don’t sit down for three hours. This year I found myself checking the forecast a full week before and, I confess, praying for rain. Or an early snow. So naturally this year God has sent us the nicest day of the season for Halloween. Seventy and sunny. I guess we know whose side She’s on. So what’s All Saints for Bah Humbug? I know. Passages.
Here’s the latest tip-off that my focus is changing. On Saturdays and Sundays, I have an order for reading the New York Times. It’s been the same since I was single. Until last week. Last week I found myself in The Real Estate Section before The Book Review. And not just any part of the real estate section: vacation properties. What’s up with that? Suddenly I am fascinated by a ‘waterfront in Narragansett’ and ‘secluded island gem on Casco Bay’. Life is changing. No more stressing over the manipulative soccer coach or my daughter’s scruffy boyfriend. No more midnight trips to the 24 hour CVS to get emergency poster board for a project that was assigned two months ago. No more crying behind dark sunglasses as we drop a freshman off at the dorm. We have a new agenda; Thanksgiving in the mountains (or on the lake) with a group the size of a small republic, summers of long drives, antiquing and dining in country restaurants on eco-friendly fare prepared by burnt-out, refugee chefs from 4 star New York city restaurants, the perfect glass of Cabernet made more so because it’s sipped at dusk on the deck with ‘that view.’ It could be worse, right? At least it doesn’t involve an early bird special. Still. Things are slipping out of something into something else. I’ll just have to go with it. But first, I’ll require sustenance to deal with the most perfect Halloween on record; off to raid the candy bowl (crate) for a Kit Kat.