Memorial Days
It’s a melancholy weekend. Memorial Day. For ages it was our time at the river. The Nueces. We’d go with family and friends. When it started, we were primitive campers and derided those who needed electricity. We wanted isolation. As we aged, however, we eventually moved to the power to run our fans and coffee makers. But it was always about the river, sitting in the flowing water, watching the kids as babes, and then watching the kids with their babes, dogs underfoot, and thunderstorms at night.
Now, it feels as though that’s over, at least for me. The owner of the ranch has died. My wife has died. Others are sick. My daughter, who brought her youngsters to carry on the tradition is moving away for a while and is missing this year to plan her move. And when I went last year, the joy was missing. It was a bit of a chore and a bit of a bore, and I think if I’m going to sleep alone in a tent, I’d rather do it while backpacking in the cool of Fall on a mountain somewhere. That’s my headspace these days.
Fitting, I guess, when you find yourself alone. And I do, find myself alone. But it’s not a lonely alone. And it’s certainly not less complicated. I still like traveling with people, and that involves coordination and planning, which was my late wife’s responsibility. Now it falls to me. I have to deal with the control freaks, the inability to decide freaks, and the maybe I don’t want to go freaks. That can make me take lots of deep breaths. But as I mentioned yesterday, I’ve stood on my own two feet before, and I guess I can manage this because I still have a life to live, such as it is, and a great deal of it seems really promising.