My son lives in Australia.Or he might as well.The time zone is different, the landscape is foreign and you can’t get there without a long flight.Others tell me when I moan about missing him that I should be so proud. He established his life, full of close friends, various interests and a great job. He is independent and thriving.Besides he picked a location that you will love to visit.But pride and visitation rights don’t fill the void in my heart.Like all young children, but this one in particular, he started out clinging to my hip, preferred being carried to walking. I used to think he would crawl back into my womb if given that option. His playground grew larger as he slowly learned to gain confidence and independence, and then took all that to a new level, opening himself up to the world like a flower to the sun. His desire to be his best self and find out brings him the most joy took him far away to a place of beauty, passion and awesome landscapes. A place where people sing and dance in the streets and play music everywhere. Australia it seems has lots to offer his ever expanding and creative mind. My husband and I live in New England, an often cold, and consistently mountain-less landscape devoid of the inspiring awe with nature he seeks, unless you consider the Atlantic Ocean the full monty.Australians are the lucky ones. They live full time with the most loving, curious, creative, humorous, open, sensitive, joyful person I know. While I’m only able to get him part time. Fortunately, he calls and texts often.
Always purging, going through drawers, organizing, discarding, getting rid of… in preparation for moving some day. I dread having to do it all at once.
I think I’m ready to go.
Just need lots of boxes and a professional mover.
Closets are down to a bare minimum, as is each drawer. I’ve organized art work, photos, and all the china. My clothes are pared down, only things I love remain in my closets and drawers. My children’s memory boxes are tidy and neat.
Lady Macbeth may have made washing her hands an obsession, but Lady Beth has made preparing to move an obsession…
Somehow the Christians hired a far better branding firm to promote their holidays than the Jews. The Christians got fun-filled holidays, the Jews got oppressive ones.Two cases in points:Easter vs. Passover and Christmas vs. ChanukahEasterBrand manager mission: Put a smile on every kid’s face.Execution:Chocolate Easter bunnies, a parade with beautiful hats and bright pastel colored clothing, a hunt for chocolate covered eggs, foods like ham and mashed potatoes, songs about rebirth.PassoverBrand manager mission:Stress out familiesExecution:boring Haggadah to be read responsively forcing kids to speak perfect English AND Hebrew at young ages, a hunt for matzoh, foods like chopped liver, gefilte fish and brisket, songs about slavery and freedom.ChristmasBrand manager mission: Create a warm and happy feeling.Execution:gifts like a new pony, foods like lamb and mashed potatoes, gift wrapped presents flowing under a decorated tree, songs of the savior’s birth.ChanukahBrand manager mission(in modern age only): Make Jewish kids feel almost as happy as those who are lucky enough to celebrate Christmas.Execution: gifts like books and clothing, foods like potato pancakes and brisket once again, games like spinning dreidels, songs about war and victory.
Mts are like walls
They make me feel claustrophobic
Mts are big, tall and fierce
They scare me
Mts are steep and rugged
They cause me fear
Lakes are flowy and open
They bring me peace
Oceans are wide and reflect the sun or moon
They bring me joy
Pools are blue and bright
They make me happy
Evergreens are full of life
They make me feel protected
A woman’s guide to a girlfriend break up or something a man will never experience
At the age of 60 I let things go while holding on tight.
I let go:
old love letters from boyfriends decades ago
thousands of redundant photos of our kids and other people’s kids
friends who serve no purpose
dreams of accomplishments that no longer have meaning
I held on:
our kids who live near and far away
my husband who makes life worthwhile
family and close friends
mental and physical health
I hate deadlines, but I’m quite good at keeping them.
If it’s an event, party or just a holiday family dinner, I’m all over it months in advance: planning, organizing, my e-calendar in full tilt describing each day’s chores until that day comes . “Go time” appears to others as effortless right down to the finest detail. I sweat from the minute I know the final date until the day of reckoning when I drink too much wine and let it all flow.
Moving is easy, building a community is hard.I say this, though I’ve really never truly moved as an adult, it seems easier to just rent homes all over the country without pretending to fit in somewhere new. In this way you won’t feel the sting of feeling like the outsider. Nor the pain of letting go to a home you’ve lived in for your entire adult life.My home base is my community. I’m an insider here. We raised all three kids in this tony Boston suburb. I know everyone I need to know, including the mailman, the local State rep., the police chief and the local barber who gave each of my boys their first crew cuts. That and literally thousands of local residents who I know from my children, my neighborhood, temple, volunteer world, to name a few.On my morning walk to the local coffee shop, I wave to my hair dresser, my husband’s trainer, our car mechanic, the neighbors who saw my kids grow up, and everyone in between. I know their cars before they wave, unless they’ve traded up to a Tesla. I feel like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, running through Bedford Falls announcing “Merry Christmas you wonderful old Building and Loan” as I recognize every inch of my walk over 25 plus years, blanketing each phase of my life and the lives of our kids.“Move to Boulder”, people often say, live near your 2 kids who moved away. “Stop your bellyaching about how you miss them and move there”. For one thing we have one son here in Boston. Why leave him when he is the one who stayed? He’s the loyal son, and as the eldest, most likely to take care of us. But more prescient is the fact that this is my community. Friends don’t need to be replaced, they go where you go, as I’ve learned. If they are worth keeping they are worth keeping from any distance. But a community does not grow quickly, it takes years and years to build. If I had two or three lives, I’d surely build a few communities, moving every 25 years. Time would work in my favor here.I imagine as you grow very old, your community gets smaller which makes it easier to move closer to your kids who live far away. They, and your grandchildren, become your prime focus, especially after your spouse passes on and your closest friends die off. Besides you won’t want to travel like you used to.Sometimes after a few glasses of wine, or worse yet, a martini, I imagine the courage to do something out of character breaking through that comfort zone. What might that be? For me, it’s buy a home with my better half somewhere out West: Colorado or maybe even the warmer spots of Santa Barbara or San Diego. I’ve certainly had it with winter, in this one and only life. But then I sober up and take my dog for a walk in my hood.