The colors are slow but tempting; the egotistical swamp Maples are dressed in brilliant, blood-red. Every post and photo is calling attention to the change that is evolving in my corner. The constant is old country music rocking the house, Julia doing the dishes and the critters comfortably ensconced on couches, chairs and dog-beds.
Even those are about to change. I’ve been a Mother for a large part of my life. That moniker should have a few letters after it. Something like PhD or MD or LLC. After having a house-mate (since that first inquiry of a place to be for a little while on June 23rd), I am about to be on my own again for a month. As a former, full-time mother, I can honestly say I found an in-between place of mutual respect since she is not ‘mine’. Suddenly, she is off to Ohio for the Quarter Horse Congress trade show. For a little girl who started working there one corporate financial quarter ago, this is a huge career move. It’s the coming home to a shift in the routine that I worry about. I wonder if I will play Pancho and Lefty (stunningly sung by Willie) and belt out the lyrics at the top of my lungs. Probably not, but I will probably listen and smile.
I will miss her horribly. The silence will take a while to get used to again. As a “recovering” Mother, I have spent this evening nagging her.
“Did you find out about this? What are you doing about that? Lay all your clothes out in the other bedroom and do your laundry!” God help her.
Growth is the goal; stagnation comes from not seeking out change. If the very trees that surround me can trust, that the shedding of all pretenses can bring life in the next season, who am I to question?