Mine is a nest that is empty, but with dogs.
September 16, 2023
I’ve gotten used to the quiet without Colin or Kate; my nineteen year old and twenty three year old have both left for the summer, one for school, one for good, maybe.
I don’t automatically shout at the speaker to play the radio when I walk in the door.
I don’t feel like anything or anyone is missing when I’m home unless Sheldon has the dogs out for a walk.
I miss life ten years ago, until I remember conversations about homework, clothes on the stairs, the phone calls from school.
Then, on the ride to work, Facebook memories turn up on my phone, which I’m staring at because it’s too early for conversation. (Social media is just the right amount of human engagement before 8 am. I can quietly judge people and then step away before I’m disgusted I’m judging people.)
I want time to move backwards. I want to yell out to the adults, standing at the bus stop-“enjoy all of this. It will pass, they will drive, and then they will drive away.”
I spot tired parents, dressed for work parents, and parents who look happy to be there, who know what I know now and didn’t know then, even a little.
I don’t remember the last time I walked Katy to the bus. One day, I was holding her hand and squinting my eyes and the next, she was walking with friends.
It is fall, and I’m settling into the season. I like wearing slippers and hearing the leaves crackle under my feet while I walk in the woods, I won’t miss mud or mosquitos.
As long as no one tries to make me drink a pumpkin spice latte, I’ll be fine.
Seasons change. I have changed.
I wish I knew then what I know now, but at least I’ve learned something along the way.
I’d really like to tell you
September 16, 2023
Tonight, I’d like to tell you that sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice when I left Quincy College.
I’d love to describe what it’s like at my new job, at Massachusetts College of Pharmacy and Health Science, how it feels to have an office, with a door, and that sunflowers became my favorite flowers when I found them on my desk that first day.
I want to tell you about this summer- how awesome it was to spend time with Kate, without the shadow of Colin, in the next room or just upstairs, barking into the phone or playing video games with the volume all the way up. He was at home for a year and a half, on house arrest, because someone found a large quantity of pot in his apartment.
Since he’s been gone, I text him a few times a week. I answer his calls, even if I’m in the shower or with a student.
I set out today with my friend Alison for a final dip at Nantasket, even though the forecast called for scattered showers. When the downpour started, we both turned around and headed to Derby Street, for some mediocre mussels and a decent cucumber Margarita.
I’m grateful I had time with Alison, she was one of my best friends at QC. I like the sweater I bought at Kohls. I am coming to terms that we probably won’t go to the beach again until next year, unless it’s to watch the dogs play in the water, while we shiver on the boardwalk and wonder if summer will ever come around again.
I’d like to share what it feels like to throw my body in front of a wave and be lifted for a second or two before landing, sometimes on my feet, sometimes on my ass, when it’s done. It takes a long, long time to get used to water temperatures of 58 to 65 degrees. It can take a half an hour, at least ,with the numb all the way up my body until, slowly, my toes and my knees wake, my muscles unclench. The water feels cold and glorious, but it takes time and patience. A person shouldn’t go to the beach in Massachusetts if they are on tight schedule, unless they usually swim in Maine, where the water is much colder. I liked thinking about swimming in the ocean, tonight, while I wrote this.
It amazes me what me body and soul can get used to, when I take my time. This can be both glorious and dangerous, if you think about it.
The summer, we spent a lot of time at the beach, walking the dogs, or putting off things that need to be done.
Last week, I made a list-
Our dishwasher leaks, the ice maker is on strike, and both our cars have check engine lights blazing, 80 percent of the time.
My laptop won’t connect to the internet. My watch won’t connect to my phone.
The new espresso machine makes lousy espresso.
I just spent a half an hour in the park after dark because the dogs really needed the space and the cool night air.
It’s been hot. Or I’m cold, in a house or an office with the air conditioner dripping rivers outside the window and frost from the vents.
There has not been much time for reflection or even group exercise classes.
But there is enough for yoga in the living room, with Chanel climbing my leg Bernadette sprawling under my plank, and Jack climbing Chanel.
There is enough time for phone calls to the people I love who are far, and a walk or a meal with the people I love who are close.
There is time for sleep, and a few minutes of a an ancient Pat Conroy novel just before.
There will be time, soon enough, to deal with the ice maker, the Buick, and the lack of lattes. My priorities are different than they used to be.
I’m looking forward to tomorrow, and tomorrow is Monday, so I’d say my life is pretty damn good.
I bury the lead and ponder a little.
October 14, 2021
I’ve been working on texting with two hands lately and mildly obsessed with the trying the new dance cardio on the Peloton app. I don’t know why I want to text with two hands, I’m not twelve, and I don’t think it will impress my friends. When I finally tried the dance cardio, it made me feel dumb. My upper body is not able to move like a snake, and they never asked me to do that in jazz class a million years ago. When I touch my chest, I look silly, though I am far from the mirror because I learned in the days of group exercise to stay far away from the mirror. The whole thing made me laugh and I needed to laugh.
Colin, my 21 year old son, is home again, not his choice, and certainly not mine or my daughter’s. Katy’s eighteenth birthday was spent at a hotel because she didn’t want to entertain with Collie scowling in the background or, even worse, trying to include himself. (I believe he would have been respectful of Kate, but I am an optimist, and she liked the hotel idea.)
Work is what heals me; I work with students at a community college. The ones that are able to get through on the phone need help, and it feels good to be presented with a question- “how do I apply to the nursing program”?- that has answers that I know. I’m new there, so I don’t know all the answers, but I’m good at finding out. It’s a college so there are lots of people with answers. I use the directory often.
At home, I don’t know much. I don’t know how long Collie will be here, or what’s going to happen next. I don’t know if Sophie will eat dinner three times, or not at all. I don’t know if Katy will ever get to her college applications, put away her laundry, or watch tv with me again, because Covid ended and she’s eighteen and has a life.
I do know I’m getting better at texting with my hands, and I’ll probably go back to bike boot camp on the app.
I do know I”m tired of hearing the words “stay safe.” I know they are meant as loving or kind, but lately, they feel paranoid and dark or judgmental, like someone feels like I might go into a crowded grocery store without a mask, and spread germs on all the produce, if they forget to remind me with those cautionary words to take precautions, there is still a crisis. I know it’s still a crisis, and there is no danger of forgetting.
Maybe, I should have said those two words to Colin, starting when he was two, every time he left the room. Maybe things would have turned out differently.
This might be helpful because I’ve been there, and there too.
September 4, 2018
I drove up to Milford, NH, yesterday to get a last taste of summer with my daughter. And her friend, (Because offering to let her bring a friend just makes everything easier. And she’s got really cool friends.)
The balloons were beautiful. The food was great. There were henna tattoos, bouncy houses, beer tents, tethered rides into colorful baskets, lines as long as the dmv at lunchtime, but much friendlier, handmade jewelry, live music, a summertime sunset, and a sense of summertime bliss.
No work in the morning. No bedtime. Fried oreos.
Here’s the thing.
Summertime is going to be over. in late September, I think. Last night is a million hours ago, and Friday at 4, when the weekend began, is a century away.
Kids will attend their first day of school, be sent away to their first sleep away camp, leave for college, if we are lucky.
One day, I realized I hadn’t pushed them on the swing in three years.
One day, you’ll realize their room doesn’t smell like their room.
The seasons don’t matter. The first day, the last day, they are milestones for facebook and family and reminders that time is passing, even if your sixteen year old has only eaten macaroni and cheese since he was three.
Not everyone has children.
There is still the first grey hair, the first ma’am or sir, the serious conversation about final plans. Menopause. Midlife. Mortality.
The weather is just a backdrop.
Don’t only live summer between June and August.
Fresh starts don’t only happen in September. Or a new beginning in spring.
All that matters is the people we choose, the people that choose us, and how we choose to spend the time that we have.
FYI, , if your kid asks for a push on the swing, give them a push. Take your time.
If you have to choose between Game of Thrones, and a conversation with your best friend, have the talk. Most shows are available on demand or can be found at at the local library. Even if you are feeling pressure from your well meaning, obsessed co-workers to watch a show, insist on meaningful dialogue. As a matter a fact, forget the best friend, call those television obsessed colleagues, and share every detail of your day. And your dreams. Then ask for their advice about redecorating your attic. Don’t let them off the phone until it’s dead.
Which brings me back-
The night sky, every day of the year, has something to tell you,
So does the sun first thing in the morning,
or whenever you wake.
I didn’t need to go to Balloon Festival with Chrs to appreciate summertime, or to connect with my daughter.
But I’m glad that l did.
Summer 2018- It Ain’t Over Until It’s Over
August 21, 2018
Mid to late August, it happens.
The back to school flyers weigh more than the news/travel/ and sports section combined.
My 14 year old daughter sighs and shakes her head-“I don’t know where the time went.”
Cunningham pool posts it’s last day. Sunblock goes on sale.
I look up from everything
To wonder how the hell that happened.
The pool might close,
assignments might be due,
but the sales are going to run until it’s time for Halloween.
Summertime is time out. Time off.
A day at the beach. An hour by the barbecue. An afternoon with a good book.
Some time at the park with your kids, grandkids,
or a bunch of dogs you’re babysitting,
spying on them on the swing in the playground,
wondering where the hell time went.
I don’t know where you’re at in the journey,
but I can pass this on.
The beach doesn’t close.
The barbecue doesn’t care if it’s Monday, November, or 4 am.
Cunningham pool shuts down,
but there’s ponds, kiddie pools,
the ocean, the bay,
and the bathtub,
all offering different water temperatures and dining options.
We can move thru life
At summertime slow,
Or fall frantic.
It’s still August, my friends.
No one is going to run out of pencils.
You don’t need to start wearing fall until January,
orange is not on the runway this year.
Revel in flip flops, sundresses, and shorts of all shapes,
until knees are blue.
Stay barefoot whenever you can, have something on hand
in case you want to enter a store, a restaurant,
or have an appointment with a court officer, or a prospective employer.
There are beaches, and the water is warm.
If the sharks bother you-
There are lakes, kayaks, italian ice, baseball, drive-ins, eating outside, eating takeout from the boxes in bed while watching Netflix, bike paths, hiking trails…
These are my summer time things.
I want to say- to myself- as much as you-
It doesn’t have to end because
the bus pass came in,
or a leaf turned,
or your son graduated high school, and all his friends are going to college,
and you want him to get ready for fall.
Summer is here.
It will not leave
until we mark
it in pen
Or email a colleague
Likely to note
it’s expected departure
On the calendar.
There is time
To call your family.
Text your friends.
Light a sparkler. Go dancing.
Sing along to the radio.
Roll down the top.
Roll down the window.
Laugh out loud.
Wish on a candle.
Look at the clouds.
Buy a beach towel that
means something.
Everything else goes by so fast, everything else-
This year,
Let summer last.
We don’t need to infringe
on the Fall season-
those that love the fall,
or make their living selling leafblowers, pumpkins, and autumn colored towels-
I respect their needs too,
I am just asking for a little room
to prepare for what needs to be done
in September.
There is work to be done in September.
This year,
I need a little extra time at the beach,
Before what comes
After Summer
2018.
julierichmond 