Wild Winds

September 28, 2006 | Category: Family, It's a Trip

The first time I fell in love, it was autumn. I was 21. I thought I was world-weary, sage, and strong.

I was wrong.

I remember the first kiss, because in so many ways, it was my first real kiss. If I touch my lips now, I can still feel that spark.

Walking his dog after dinner, a sweater against the cool wind, we pictured our lives. Kids, jobs, house, vacations, retirement, world. We set it to music. We decorated the bedrooms. We twined up our fingers and grinned at each other as we strolled.

Ask me. I still remember our future-daughter's name.

Then a decade passed and none of it came true. You put that much love, admiration, passion into a bond and bind it with gold. Don't matter a damn. Won't get it done.

Life is half chances and half perserverance. And you never get to choose. The strangest things happen out of the blue on an ordinairy, isn't-it-warm-for-the-season Thursday afternoon.

The train pulls away, and you say goodbye.

It's autumn again.

Yet another decade gone.

Don't get so many of those that I wouldn't notice.

I remember last fall, squeezing the stuffing out of every day. So busy that my hands shook. The guy who spoke French with an Irish accent would call at 6am. Bear had to be at school by 8:30. Elia always made me wait. CD wanted dinner before karate. And the e.VP who'd ring me at 9pm looking for status on tomorrow, 'cuz he could never remember what time zone I was in.

I knew every second what I was feeling. The rush of sensation like I was being pushed through some kind of crazy neon tunnel. And each night, Bear would sleep as I watched - a day older. And I'd wonder what kind of day it had been, through his eyes and toes and ears.

You know?

I was thinking about that today. Kind of quiet day, as I sorted through some more of the endless piles I've made in my slow (some might say leisurely) scrub of the house. As I did dishes. As I picked out Bear's clothes, and cheered him on during his writing practice. And listened about how Kindergarten class went.

I watched the branches bow to the wind outside the window and I lost myself to thought in the living room.

It occurred to me, that I never had that daughter.

It occured to me that I got a hell of a first kiss.

It occured to me that I get less done in a day than I used to in an hour.

It occurred to me that, well, that's OK by me.

This is not the autumn of dreams. This is not the autumn of kisses. This is not the autumn of tears. This is not the autumn wrestling regrets as I watch my son sleep.

Now is a new season. An autumn of the next decade.

Of dusky afternoons making soup. Of ennui and fine lines. This is the season of my bright green suede jacket, and the scarf I picked up in Paris last year. Of looming disaster and waffles in the morning. This is the season of mothering, and letting go. Of knock-knock jokes and finishing long-started things. Of gusts that lift my hair, and of growing it long again. Of breezes that tug the pitches out of the strike zone, and maybe bring my husband's arms back around mine.

I love this time of year. Of pumpkins and squash and crunchy leaves and freshly sharpened pencils. I remembered that this afternoon as the steam from cooking pasta melted my face and my aged cat watched from the chair.

You know why people fight so hard to love, to marry, to become parents?

Because it's worth it.

This life, these choices, His will, a different pace. For this season.

An autumn of wild winds.

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