These Golden Years

I've been feeling melancholy lately. I suspect it has to do with a combo of post partum hormones and a lack of continuous sleep. And, possibly feeling like I've turned into a dairy cow, always ready for the next milking. Whatever the cause, I found myself deeply missing my childhood yesterday. Maybe it was the simplicity of it. The security of it. No hospital bills to figure out how to pay. No desire to escape our town to find adventure (and cooler temps, oh my word). It was everywhere. No sense of boredom with the everyday routine of life. All we did was play in the sunshine and life was complete. So simple.

What triggered yesterday's episode was watching Charlie Brown with Noah and hearing the tinker of the piano music come on. Something about that sound brought back memories of dining at the Officers' Club all my growing up years. There was something so warm about those days at the O Club...dimmed lights, linen table cloths, quiet conversations, family time, someone tinkering on a baby grand...warm fuzzies. And something in me yearned so deeply for those days again. I love military bases. Remind me so much of my childhood, when happy days abounded because things were easy and I felt secure.

We headed out to a shaved ice vendor on the east side of town last night. The east side, full of old brick buildings that have been there since before I was a child. Something about those reminded me of my Dad's hometown and the visits to see my Granny. I suddenly felt a longing for my Granny's old stone house with the green astroturf that covered her patio. The smells of Aquanet hairspray and Caress soap and her gas stove. The sign in her bathroom that read, "We aim to please. You aim, too, please." Crowding into her kitchen or gathering on the couch in the living room after a full meal. My Granny's quick wit and easy laugh.

So, by the time we pulled into the parking lot of the shaved ice trailer, I was near tears. Noah and Brian jumped out to get their treats while Anniston and I waited in the air conditioned car. Tyler was with my parents. As I sat there, though, something changed while I watched Noah jump around in anticipation. I soaked in the vision of his daddy lifting him into his strong arms as Noah rested his arm comfortably across his shoulder blades. His arm fit so naturally across Brian's back as his long, tanned legs dangled down Brian's side. My boy who will be six in less than two weeks and who will start his school career in less than three. I witnessed this child of mine press his face up against the glass so he could watch magic being made. (I'm sorry, Mr. Man in the booth, for the smudges his squished up nose left behind.) And, as they waited for their cups to be completed, I saw my son jump around the grass and explore, dimple in his right cheek showing up in his huge satisfied grin. He delighted in finding someone's lost pair of blue flip flops and dashed back to the car to show me what he found so that "Tyler can have some blue ones, too!" Of course, I gently told him to return them in case their owner came back and he immediately did so. I watched my boy's brown eyes dance as he dashed back to the car to show me his rainbow-colored dessert, red, green, blue and yellow. His life so complete, his joy so simple.

It was after 8:00 and there is a reason photographers call that last bit of sunlight the golden hour or the magic hour. Somehow, the lighting softened everything about what I was watching. And I felt my soul quiet. And I realized that I need not long for the old days, when things were seemingly more golden and magical. I have magic right in front of me right here, right now. Someday, I'll long for these days again. Someday, these days that are so routine and yet so complicated will be the golden years for me. Someday, I'll long for the simplicity of spontaneous trips to blow hard-earned money at shaved and flavored pieces of ice. Someday, I'll miss those dancing bright eyes.

And, my soul let loose a long sigh. Not in resignation, but in contentment, as I responded, "Okay, God, okay."

I am thankful for the lesson.