A depressing life of leisure.
It reverberates through my soul like an old forgotten hymn. It is the beating of my heart and the sweet lullaby that rocks me to sleep at night. It is there every morning and at the close of every day. It is the symphony of labor. These days I watch it from afar. An outsider . . . a foreigner. A accepted member of society, but not quite a member of the clan. The distant hum of a tractor, the chattering laughter from the fields. Though I don’t know the words, I know the language. The discourse of toil. I hear it in the still of night through my open window. A familiar tone that is heavy with worry and exhaustion. It all sounds romantic, even poetic, but the truth is somewhat less dramatic yet still dear to my heart. The loss of this familiar friend in our lives has led my wife and I into a deep depression. I think it also has to do with the dawning of a new school year. It usually marks the ending of a productive summer of farm work, but this year something is missing. Being in the middle of this working masterpiece of the wine making industry adds insult to injury. I know that complaining about a lack of work is a strange sentiment, but my wife and I are often at our best when we are at work rather than at play. I suppose it is one of our defining characteristics and how we have gotten where we have in our lives. I guess when one doesn’t have anything else to complain about in life, you invent things . . . right? That being said, we do feel the sadness of the ending of a season.
School will soon be back in full swing and once again I will face the beginning of the school year as a single parent. This is something I have become well accustomed to since the beginning of the school year lands right in the middle of my wife’s busiest travel time of the year. Ordinarily this isn’t of much consequence as the boys are well tended by their Father, but this year I feel a bit of trepidation as getting them settled into their new classrooms will be a foreign (literally) experience. I seem to be more nervous than the lads are. I suppose that is what it is to be a well adjusted kid with a maladjusted parent. All else is well in our life abroad. We are looking forward to the fall and a Christmas time visit back to the good ole USA. With the coming of fall I am reminded that there are many of my favorite childhood memories that my kids will not get to experience this year. Halloween is one of my personal favorites and I don’t think they do the door to door trick or treating here like we do back home. In addition, we will be in France during Thanksgiving which will be good for our waistbands but hard on our hearts. We have made the necessary arrangements however, to obtain all that is necessary to make our own feast. These items can be obtained here, but it takes a bit of planning. Christmas, however, promises to perhaps be one of the best we have had. There will certainly be something about THIS Christmas that will live forever in our memories. Our first return to the US since we left home so long ago and a chance to enjoy the holiday as it is meant to be spent . . . basking in the glow of family and friends.
Our weather remains phenomenal and I am beginning to understand the lure of the California life style. We have had 4, count them, 4 hot days this summer that I would say have been somewhat uncomfortable. The remainder has been a constant 70 to 80 degrees. The weather was so favorable on this the 25th day of August that the boys and I went for a 12 mile bike ride after lunch. That sounds like a lot, but on the very gentle bike trail, 20 km rolls by in a hurry. The eldest has become a fairly accomplished rider and will require an upgrade to a geared bike, while the youngest is content with short outings on his gator themed and fully training wheeled bmx and long trips in his perch on the back of Dad’s bike. I wish I had more to report, but our life has become regrettably bland and pleasant in a trip to the mall kind of way. It will shake up again as it always does, but for now Mom and Dad sing the blues. Perhaps this need to move a million miles an hour with our hair on fire is an illness, but I wouldn’t have my life any other way. Oh, by the way . . . still no internet. I hope one day that I will be afforded the luxury of getting back to my daily posts as this intermittent posting is starting to seriously bring me down. Until we talk again. R.
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