Time makes you bolder. Children get older. I'm getting older, too.
by Stevie Nicks
When I started this enterprise a year ago now, it didn't take long to realize I needed a hook.
The 'view from the precipice of middle age' is the story of how a 53-year old guy from Manhattan, Kansas deals with the consequences of the Earth revolving around the sun.
This week's revolutions:
We traveled to Lincoln, Nebraska for a college basketball game, in the company of Jackie's
Senior Honorary kids. Many were texting throughout the entire game.
While in Lincoln, we dined at the home of some good friends, whose oldest daughter was born the night we were married. She regaled us with what she learned that day in school.
"The greed and lust for power of the city-states of Sparta and Athens and the ramifications of the Peloponnesian War."
The child is 12.
At 7, the middle kid gets Matson humor. She calls me "Bob," I call her "Alice" (that's not her name). The youngest, our godson, at 5, is all boy.
This week, my 78-year old father underwent back surgery in Wichita. Coincidentally, I had business in Doodah. I'd have gone down anyway.
After separate knee and hip replacements, Pop was still in pain. This one should do the trick.
This weekend, my 26-year old son served as a groomsman in a college roommate's wedding. I was 26 when his mother and I were married.
Recently my 75-year old mother made the decision to move in with my 55-year old sister and her life partner in Nashville. (Mom and Pop divorced in the spring of '85).
My sister's buying a house with an attached, yet separate basement apartment for Mom.
In anticipation of the move, Mom's downsizing, so today, many of her belongings were auctioned off in a hotel ballroom right here in MHK.
Among the family heirlooms on the block was an entire bedroom set that belonged to my great-grandmother and a slew of other stuff that my grandmother handed down to my Mom.
Easily rationalized. One person in a basement apartment doesn't need a lot of
But Mom's a human being, which means sometimes she leads with her heart. At one point in today's proceedings, Mom leaned over and whispered, "My mother must be rolling over in her grave."
Mom lives in Eureka and wanted to get home before dark, so she split right after the furniture sold.
I hung around a little longer.
And started thinking about my week.
Comfortable rapport with the 7-year old daughter of my wife's best friend.
My son standing up for a friend on his wedding day.
College kids texting their friends, sharing their lives. In the moment.
Helping my father maneuver his soup bowl in a hospital bed.
My sister changing her life to accommodate our mother.
My mother, reluctant to part with things her mother gave her.
Me, hanging around a hotel ballroom on a Sunday afternoon, to make sure some of those things stay in the family.
As the Earth revolves around the sun, they only seem to get stronger.
My grandmother's crystal compote and candy dish.
Added today to our dining room hutch.