Are We There Yet?

I had wanted to say every moment is precious, but that isn't true at least in my experience. What every moment is, is Unique. Wonderful or dangerous or dull it is only that moment in time. There is no recreation that I know of. The struggle that I have is two fold. One is recognizing the opportunity of each breath in and out and second is remembering. I heard someone speak about the R words recently. Recognize, Reclaim, Remember, Renew... I think it was probably a whole different set of R words But I get the idea. And its not about anything more than the Re of it. All is RE deemed with the RE cognition of what and who. It is just before Christmas. Our house is full. It is a blessing. Truly. This opportunity to be with the people that mean the most to me. Being with my daughter this last year has been an amazing RE membering for me. And with this holiday that has been an even more powerful statement.

I've been reading a string of memoirs lately. I have a friend who loves to talks books and shares the ones she's enjoyed. Well, its been one dysfunctional family after another for a couple of months now. What I don't know is whether I am relieved to have had such a normal upbringing in comparison or distressed to relate to so much of it. It makes me not want to ever read another Mother and Father were a wreck and I came out okay sort of book. Or even think of writing one. We each have our treasure- that event which we wrap our life around like the oyster muscle around the pearl. Bad analogy because the pearl is a beautiful thing. The oyster a bit of smelly slime. And my life though defined in large part by yet another dysfunction junction is ordinary. Marked by tragedy. Decorated with moments of great enlightenment. Touched by family and emotion. And still going strong. Its all about the next generation now. The son and daughter and their paths. My path is well marked. And ...

I watch people. We all do. But I watch people and think, how are they coping with all of THIS? There is so much happening, so fast. And its not slowing down any time soon as far as I can see or the man on the TV can see. And for me, its overwhelming. Lots of things seem overwhelming. Is that a being 50 thing? Or is it getting crazy out there? So, the thing of it is, I worry about the kids. I watch them work so hard in school. And they seem to hate it. Its a means to an end for them. And I see less and less of them going on to college. I guess I should back up a bit. Really, the kids I am thinking about are my own. Not that for one minute, are they anyone's but their own persons. And that's the thing. They are strong individualists faced with a society in flux. The generation of Eisenhower acheivers gave way to the years I grew up in- the freedom years. Those were years where a strong middle class enabled a whole generation of white kids to do just about anything they set their...

It seems appropriate that what comes to mind these days is a the search for balance. In order to stay in each moment I need to have that balance. There is the balance of mind. To stray into the darkness or be blinded by the light is no help. And then there is the balance of the physical- too sedentary or too busy. Where is it that we find the calm of a steady pace? I am a responsible person. Have tried to do all that is required of me as a person on this planet. I recycle. Eat only a little red meat. Read the paper. Volunteer. Help friends. But there is the other extreme self destructive side- the too much caffiene, sneak a cigarette, eat a bag of potato chips, miss work deadlines kind of person that drives me crazy. Where is the balance? And instead of trying to find that balance I just feel hollowed out when those waves crash down on me.

The river creates its own weather system in the Spring and Fall. Every morning is gray and dismal, seeming to promise rain and cool. Then, as the sun rises and burns through the fog, there is this miracle of air and light that brings with it the warmth of the sun. Green fields near the river's edge steam as the first rays of sun hit their surfaces. The poplar leaves begin to quake, as the breeze picks up and the day truly begins. It's a slow start at the change of seasons. The water is brown as it turns over, sending creatures to the bottom in Fall and up to the surface as insects hatch each evening in Spring. It is such an elegant system. Far too complicated to possibly imagine. Every day I drive up the road along the river. Sometimes I think if I travel the road one more day, I'll shivel up with the sheer boredom of it all. And then I'll see an osprey dive for roadkill on the median, its head elegantly tilting to survey the landscape. Or the fields will have been haye...

I was asked what turning 50 means to me. Up to that moment, I hadn't given it much thought. Yes, there are the obvious signs- sagging butt, sore knees, gray hair and the AARP invitation- but somehow it didn't seem to mean anything much more than another day to me. The most likely reason for my nonchalance is that if I did think about it I'd be in bed, under the covers with a pillow over my head. What I do know is that 50 is my opportunity for a do-over or better said- a new beginning. A do-over implies I want to do it again. Nope. I have no desire to look back. Its done. 50 is the beginning of something new. It's my excuse to say no when I want to. As in, "Can you pay the bills tonight while I watch the ballgame?" "No", is what I'll say, "I'm going to yoga class." Now- in truth, I've been practicing this for years. Ever since our oldest child moved out, I've been testing the waters with great success. I got a good full time ...