Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sunset...

Those who know me know how much time I spend looking back at the past. Springstein might have been singing about me when he talked about boring stories of glory days - that kind of thing is right up my alley.

In recent days, events have conspired to force me to look back. First, a mere 2 days after dreaming about a friend's long-since-adopted son, he contacts her and arranges a meeting this summer. That of course required me to relive those days of high school and college, remembering bad poetry written to commemorate the choices Jen was making. In fact, I'm pretty sure that the tupperware container of papers at my feet contains a few of those limp verses.

Then there's the sudden re-emergence of people from the past. Out of the blue, I got a brief email from Lawrence DR. I haven't seen him since my most recent grad, almost 6 years ago. I hope he writes again - I'd look forward to hearing about his plans for world domination. I also heard from Apple Pie Dave, who has temporarily paused his entrepreneurial ventures in favour of more steady and lucrative employment. I was sad to hear it (not that I want the boy to live poor his whole life), but I remember the energy and passion he brought to our last discussion of Redwood, and I hope that he doesn't find himself forever stuck on the road more travelled. It would be a criminal waste of his potential. I also heard about the devastating car crash of the father of a high school friend of mine. Her step-mother was killed, her father horribly wounded - and I've been out of touch with her so long that I feel awkward about wandering back into her life now and offering condolences that could seem ludicrous and self-serving. Then, I got an email from Keith, an old teaching colleague of mine who wants to touch base, and a call out of the blue from Jude, to whom I've never been as good a friend as she deserved.

All of this is piled on top of the soon-to-be-completed sale of the farm, which snuck up on me at alarming speeds. Its sale will permanently close a chapter in my life that I'd never intended to open. I never anticipated owning the family farm. After dad died, we didn't want to sell immediately, fearing the flood of bargain-basement offers we'd've received. Instead, we sort of limped along, managing, scraping by, robbing Peter to pay Paul, insert your cliche here. Somewhere along the way, the damned place sunk into my bones and I'm wondering how painful it will be to extricate it. Selling will be a big wrench for a number of reasons. Not only does it break the chain of family history (I'm third generation on that patch of land; the previous generation homestead only a few miles away), but it breaks my connection to the tiny community I was born into. Once, I thought it would always be home. Then, my grandparents died, dad died, my uncle moved away, and suddenly, we've no family in the community. Selling and moving away minimizes the opportunities and reasons to return to the community.

Other people do this all the time. Their families sell and move and relocate and re-entrench, and it's no big deal. I don't know what this will mean to me (yes, it's all about me--didn't you get the memo? ;). Once all is said and done, I seriously doubt I'll ever return to Etzikom, which is both weird and reassuring all at the same time. I'll sever a link to the people I've known forever, the people with whom I have that small-town shorthand that lets me know who to be friendly toward, and whom to avoid. In a way, I suppose that gives me wings. But what good are wings if you have nowhere to land?

At the same time, looking backwards is a good way to stop moving forward, especially since you can't see where you're going. Rather than feel sorry for myself, I'm reminded of all of the positive changes this new development will have. I'm planning to buy a house (hopefully, one I'll stay in for more than 2 years at a stretch--a personal best in the last decade), and I'll have money to do more things such as travel, and more free time and that can only be good, right? Right?