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Another birthday passes by with memories of the year before

The blanket is fuzzy and warm against my legs as the black morning dawns, and I pad around the kitchen attempting to make a strong cup of coffee as fortification for the day. This time of year brings me pause as mid-October stirs and contemplation of my year begins.

I was born under the harvest moon, and another year older has me sifting through my thoughts and deciding what to keep and what to throw away, a mental inventory if you will. I like to think the sifting, like flour through a sieve, shakes out the bugs and creates smooth surfaces, but it doesnít. When you think the coast is clear to live simply, thatís when the hammer usually drops and all heck breaks loose.

What did my 47th year bring starting last October? It saw the tail end of a solo trip to Mexico and the beginning and near ending of my novel.

It brought sickness to our family in frosty winter, gathering family around to commence a trek many have faced. It brought additional jobs and loss of them, the unraveling of certain things we took for granted.

Things and people rose to great heights, which thrilled some and affected others formidably. We saw that eyes did not see the effects. We sent two grown children back to college for their senior and junior year and watched with pride as our eldest and her business skyrocketed to success.

I mow my yard weekly and ponder the crisp lines I must make, then wonder how long I can do this without reaching for other dreams that are dangling in front of me, dreams we have together to move to another land or space, fulfilling lost moments in time that for him have never been stitched together. We act as one and move on them together yet separately.

Itís the dance of the slightly older and married, discovering that our reveries donít crawl away and die; they simply stay in stasis until we revive them. Is it for us to remain stagnant or try new things and spots in the world, throwing logic to the wind?

The winds have been strange the past year, and I turn my head to see from what direction they come. I donít question them, yet when breathed in, they donít settle well in my lungs. Itís an uneasy and unsettled feeling, as if there has been a ripping out from under my feet.

I look around and see faces I know but are unrecognizable to me. We are placed in circumstances not to stay indefinitely but to ďrise upward and amplifyĒ to quote my eldest. She, along with few, have shown me what being strong and moving upward means. She has amplified her voice through her business and life and looks back at me and says, ďMom, come on. Keep moving!Ē

So I will.

Iíll lean inward to my 48th year, and Iíll keep writing, churning out the words for the book. Iíll continue to craft poetry, scribbling lines when they come to me in the strangest of places.

My bookshelf will grow with each title I bring home, and Iíll rearrange them on my turquoise shelf to my particular liking. My husband and I will sit on the couch, watching movie after movie until we fall asleep, blending into each other as our love and its edges are honed like a sharp knife.

Weíll partake in political discourse and drink deeply while tasting different ideas and ways to live. And maybe youíll see us packed up driving off to an unknown destination, one where your preferences and being from a small town donít define you.

Until then Iíll ready the pumpkin to be carved on my porch and set a candle inside it to glow through carved eyes. I wonder what he sees from his perch on my porch, the same things I do?

And another year begins.

Published: October 13, 2016
New Article ID: 2016710139974