first homecoming


i remember, not so long ago, pushing this little blue-eyed boy around in a stroller as he blew kisses at passers-by… and i remember older moms telling me how quickly those precious times would pass and how i would, in my sleep-deprived state, dismiss their sage words. suddenly he’s taller than me… taking a date to homecoming. sigh…



Six days per week, Gabe rows. This is my view for two hours every day. I bring a book, knitting, an i-pod. I listen to NPR. And I look at the water a lot and think. It’s become something I look forward to. I’m lucky to be able to spend this time waiting. Sometimes I think I should be more productive… have an important job or better yet, career. I often think I’m wasting my life, waiting. As if sitting behind a desk editing books, looking important would make me a better person in some way. More worthy of respect. I’m beginning to realize, now that I’m nearly 40, how much of life is pretense and how often I’ve allowed the perceptions of others to interfere with relishing my good fortune. I’m lucky to have this time to wait. And think. And plan for a day when I won’t have someone who needs me to wait.