"they say the owl was a baker's daughter. lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be." (Hamlet, Act IV, Scene 5)
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Sunday, November 7, 2010
We're moving in to November and I figured I better get a blog post off before my birthday hits and sweeps me reluctantly forward, adding yet another year to the passage of time. This hasn't been a typical year and there is lots to consider, plenty on which to reflect, and reflections too abundant to measure. Where to begin and what is next?
I look around and take inventory of my space.
I have a beautiful apartment in the middle of what my father refers to as "the concrete canyon". Will I ever love living here? Probably not. But, I can make the most of this area: enroll my children in an excellent school, register them for sports, and find local friends to enrich us with their company. I can also hold on to my home in New Hampshire, visit if often, and think always about its many memories. The love that was shared, the anger that was spared, the relationships that were raised and those that were razed, and the legacy that survives, evolves, and continues. Home.
I see my children. So much their own people now. Bringing home report cards, batting in home runs. We travel with a giant bin of sports equipment on the back of our car. I have thrown countless pitches, hosted endless fielding practices, punted infinite footballs, blocked, passed, served, volleyed, spiked, tackled, outrun, outwit, outlast. Their childhood. I hope it's enough.
I see my husband. I am calmed.
Turning a corner, another year, and the road continues to stretch before us. I'll probably still ignore the posted speed limit. I move at my own pace. Try to catch me. I'll consider the traffic signs and the guideposts, but chances are, I'm going to do this my way.
I feel the momentum of 35 years gathering behind me. All the mistakes. All the regrets. All the lost opportunities. All of missteps. All of the errors in judgement. Everything I've bumbled, jumbled, tumbled, and tangled. And I see it for what it is. The most imperfect road through the most perfect storm. And I have arrived at the most likely place. The place where I am. And, oh! The places I will go from here.
- ► 2011 (13)
- ▼ 2010 (8)