Last week in Boulder, Colorado where I live, the heat wave broke. We had torrential rain, which is totally uncharacteristic of our desert-like climate, and vastly cooler temperatures when the sky cleared. For the most part, in a place where air conditioners are either non-existent or politically incorrect and swamp coolers rule, you'd think that relief would be the expected response. And truth be told, there was some of that. But lying just below the surface was the undeniable fact that Fall is upon us.
Now, if you've ever been to Boulder when the Aspens turn brilliant gold and the maples show off their amazing orange and magenta hues, you would think that Fall would inspire nothing less than ecstasy. But for me, despite my awe of Nature in action, Fall means fall, which my thesaurus defines as plunge, descend, plummet. Yup, that's me. And when I tell you why, I know that it's not only me; I'm in good company.
You see, although my children are grown- ages 28 and almost 23- I confess that I am still not happy that they have left the nest. Yes, please don't write unkind comments about the fact that children are supposed to grow up and leave home and be happy, functional adults, I know that. I also know I would be very concerned if that were not the case. But it is. Yet, I miss their being home with us. I confess. I long for the times when all three beds were filled. (My husband and I sleep in the same bed unless he snores.) My youngest is just about to graduate from college and I'm still not completely used to the idea that he doesn't live at home anymore. Call me a slow learner. I just don't like it.