I had a great discussion over home-made waffles with home-grown blueberries (eat your heart out) with my friend JM this weekend. She will soon be, as I am, an empty nester who lives alone in the woods - her son's going off to college in the fall.
As I did, she wonders what purpose a longtime mother has when her job is "over." (She says in her birth family the rules state: "Eighteen and OUT.")
I started Pratie Place when my son Zed began his last semester of high school. It's seen me through the transition my friend is anticipating. I was very anxious not to become one of those eccentric, lonely women who talk to their cats. This is why I adamantly refuse when Zed says I should get an animal. If I don't have an animal, I won't talk to it. (This is the same way I avoid eating Oreos - I keep them out of the house.)
After Zed left for college, I sat in a haze for a couple months. I wondered if I was just "finished," period. Maybe the world had no need for this ex-mother.
It was a blogfriend who proposed, when we met for the very first time, that maybe I was just resting.
He and I were both at low points when we met in November. I was feeling washed up, he was suffering from what proved to be a run-up to congestive heart failure. For me, our lunch was restorative - and the ballet was fun, too!
Then another friend turned me on to the Artist's Way. Though I found the book a bit too touchy-feely, it started me writing in a journal every morning, which helped me move away from my obsession with morose moribundity.
When my friend and I met again, we were both doing better - post-hospitalization he could walk clear across town and enjoy it (and he did!) and I had a new life full of interesting activities to tell him about.
Well, here's the question, which I've buried down here so only people who actually read this post will see it: Is anybody outside the Alborada horde still enjoying (or at least monitoring) this blog?
Please leave me an encouraging word, if you get this far. If I get no comments, I'll assume I'm writing for myself. Which has its own charms, I suppose.
The existential discussion will be continued at a future date.
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