Reflections
Here we are in the holiday season with many people, including myself, groaning, "I'm not ready." The stores slowly turn to red and green, while their aisles become clogged with stacks of sparkling jewelry, warm, fuzzy gloves, and gorgeously wrapped mysteries.
It becomes a challenge to reach one's destination without stopping to check out the bargains. But first we have to go through turkey day, that holiday dedicated to excess protein masquerading as the golden, roasted turkey.
Howard and I have started a resolution for the millennium: no more cooking, toiling, cleaning and eating leftovers for the next week. We will make a reservation at a pleasant restaurant, preferably one that doesn't raid our checkbooks. We will invite a few close family members to join us. If they decline, for any reason, we will enjoy each other's company, as always. I am beginning to make other resolutions that will create a series of adventures for Y2K.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll agree to go on a freighter cruise, though that will mean a smaller ship, perhaps, oh dear, without a stabilizer! It will definitely mean meals that are healthful instead of lavish. How exciting - platters of bright orange carrots, luscious red peppers and purple-green fresh broccoli. Yum!
I can bring at least five novels to read - unless the ocean acts like a roller coaster. Howard will most assuredly meet people who want to play bridge, while I yawn and check out the available video choices for the evening.
In the next year, there will be many opportunities to market my book. I learned not to be so afraid of the television cameras after my first interview. I don't care to see myself significantly older and heavier, so I will demand that they take that camera out of my face. My publisher promises that he will find places all across the country for me to sign my book. But do I really want to fly that much? No, but do I really want to sell more copies of the book? Yes.
I have decided to slip away from an emphasis on my role as Mom. Deep down, I will always remain a worrying mother till the end of my days, but I have to acknowledge that it's time to let go. My son knows this address, for he grew up here. He also knows my phone number, but he may have to look it up. I do miss those baby years, the sweetness of a baby's hands and chubby toes, but time changes everything.
The baby becomes an adult who has his own agenda. Mothering must take its place behind friends, cousins, brother, sister, teacher, writer, and, most of all, wife. Perhaps the year 2000 will help me find deeper joys in those roles.
For that and other joys I have known, I can say, "Thank you" in the next few weeks when turkey day comes.
Charlotte K. Jarmy , a Los Altos resident, is a longtime free-lance writer for the Town Crier.