Summer vacation

There’s nothing so constant as change.

Yep, no sooner does a guy figure that things are finally under control than the future sneaks up to bite him in the butt. Upside becomes down. Topsy goes all turvey, and next thing you know life is headed in a whole new set of directions and you’re left tying your shoes, hoping, somehow, you’re gonna catch up.

Four years and a few weeks ago I found myself being congratulated on becoming a gentleman of leisure; leaving more than 30 years of deadlines and night shifts behind for a life where every day is Saturday and the only voice I had to heed was the dog at the door barking to go out.

Well, quickly enough I learned that as soon as folks get wind that once you’ve drained your morning coffee your day is pretty much free until you’re ready to head for bed, they come up with all manner of useful things to keep us old farts off the streets and out from underfoot; so much so that, as of late, I’ve seriously considered picking up a full-time job -- with mandatory overtime -- just so I could counter the next offer I shouldn’t refuse with a legitimate, “I’d love to, but I don’t have time…I have this job, y’know…”

And somewhere in the background that cosmic clock keeps on ticking.

Three score and ten…the biblical span of a man’s years. The invitation to this summer’s class reunion spells it out “The Class of ’70 turns 70.” I may not have been the valedictorian, but I get the message.

Samuel Johnson summed it up 300 years ago: “Depend upon it, Sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.” Well, I’m not literally facing a noose in two weeks’ time, but if the Good Book says I’m living on borrowed time, I figure I’d do well to make good use of the loan.

The old cliché insists that a rut is just a grave with the ends kicked out. Now I wouldn’t call my day-to-day a rut by any means, though I have to admit, over the years, the path has become pretty smooth and familiar. That is, most certainly, about to change.

Y’see, I’m gonna get married.

Ever since Gayle died a dozen years ago, I’ve been rattling around as a single guy, managing to keep myself fed, housed, and clothed in a manner at least minimally acceptable in civilized company. However, ancient wisdom has it that “it is not good for man to be alone” and the state of my underwear drawer is testimony to that truth. It’s been my blessed good fortune to have won favor with a remarkable woman who brings me laughter, purpose, and orange-currant scones on Saturday mornings. She reminds me that I still put my pants on one leg at a time, sees to it I don’t spend too much time sipping good whisky, and does her best to keep me from teaching the grandkids new bad habits. I’m a lucky man to be in love with Mary…even luckier that she took leave of good sense to be in love with me.

So here I am, feeling the future nibbling my hindquarters while I’m doing my best to catch up with life. Change looks like a line of dominoes – knock the first one over and one after another after another after another more and more follow. Then it’s time to go about setting them all back up. No doubt in somewhat of a new path, but perhaps not.

Over the next few months I’ll be tending to that. Looking back on the paths I’ve travelled and choosing where to continue, where to change direction, and where I’m finding dead ends. On top of those airy existential considerations, there are a thousand and one straightforward, nuts-and-bolts, practical life decisions to be made and stuff – lotsa stuff – to be done. For 36 years I’ve been meeting a weekly column deadline with no more than the occasional week off, but now I’m going to take advantage of a change in circumstance to go on hiatus, a protracted summer vacation, if you will. I’m going to take some time to rearrange life, finish some overdue projects, maybe find some new directions. If the gods, good fortune and a benevolent editor conspire to make it so, I’ll be back at it when the leaves now budding outside my window fall with the coming of the autumn chill.

Meanwhile, wish me luck, offer Mary your sympathy, live well and, above all, have fun.