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A quote: “You can only be young once. But you can always be immature.” ~~ Dave Barry
I’ll start with a story …
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I closed my son’s bedroom door behind me and sat on a chair as he glared at me from the bed. I suppressed a smile – I recognized that look, thinking “forgive me, dad.”
“Crops are in, chores are done,” he grumbled, “This is a day of rest and I.am.staying.home.”
“Not going to tell you to believe, son. But regular church is like taking a daily shower for your brain. Makes you think about the big things. Besides, Ruth was in the store yesterday and asked about you. Just like your mom, she’s a regular.”
He blushed first, then followed.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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. featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license.
Cameron says: Aunt Giselle was my family’s crazy relative that every family was obligated to have. And that’s exactly why I sought her out.
“So it’s a good college and it’s tradition but…?”
I sighed. “I don’t really have much interest. I make decent money at my writing, and I don’t mind living out of my van.”
She nodded. “I had it all years ago. But one day my daughter asked why we simply didn’t live in our vacation home since it was so nice here.” She dumped leaves on my head and smiled.
“Freedom is scary. Go ahead and enjoy it.”
Dupin says: It’s such a beautiful day. I made the trail again, only having to stop now.
I’ll do this until the weather changes and snow keeps me from my bicycle. I might have to rest more often, but hopefully the snow won’t come until late so I can keep up my daily ride.
It’s freeing, really. I still wear the wig, but no more chemo. No more radiation. Just live life to the fullest that I can manage.
They say I won’t see spring again. I’d like to fool everyone—get on my bike again then, but autumn must be enough.
Being on a bicycle again felt strange at first, but it didn’t take me long to get the hang of riding the paths that had once been so familiar. I could almost see once again the things that had brought me here, twenty years ago, a new-minted PhD with starry-eyed dreams of tenure, of the life of the mind.
In retrospect, the warning signs of infiltration were there even when I was still a grad student. I’d rolled my eyes at the first “sensitivity training” workshop TA’s had to go through, especially when the woman so earnestly exhorted us to “examine our privilege.” The only point of contact I had with her notions involved counting one’s blessings and not taking things for granted.
But it was only after I’d been here a few years, was comfortably settled into my professorial duties, that the heat started getting dialed up. For a while I was able to deflect, to make it look like I was giving them what they wanted, only a little sideways. And then I got a heads-up from a colleague, that my quiet dissent had been noticed.
From then on, everything seemed to go against me. I finally left the work I’d loved, fled the community where I’d once found a home. If it hadn’t been for my side hustle, selling stuff at antique shows and flea markets, I probably would’ve starved. Instead, I was able to turn it into a livelihood, although a lot more modest than what I’d enjoyed.
But it meant I avoided the purges and counter-purges that swept through academia in the years that followed. I found a new community of vendors and entrepreneurs, came to love the work of seeking out treasure among the trash as much as I’d loved following tantalizing bits of evidence through archives around the world.
And here I am, in the autumn of my life, riding among the falling leaves and remembering the excitement of a new school year, when those buildings now abandoned were once full of life. Indulging my nostalgia was worth the extra hotel night to come over here, instead of heading straight back to base after packing down and loading out yesterday evening.
Navig8r says: A beautiful autumn day and a beautiful girl to match. Last year I would have been tongue tied and frozen in place, vainly wishing for an attacking dragon to transform my bluejeans into shining armor and me into a gallant knight heroically riding to the rescue to fit them. What a difference some good advice and some wise investments can make. A pair of upscale cargo pants to replace the jeans yet maintain my outdoorsman sensibilities, and a couple of long hair dachshunds to take on walks, and the conversations start themselves. Thanks for the tips, Sam, wherever you are.
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