“What’s wrong?” I asked my husband, commonly referred to here
He sighed “I’m in my What’s
it all about, Alfie mood.” This, of
course, was in reference to the song my mother always used to begin singing
whenever my brother, sisters or I would question the meaning of life. Mom has another favorite she used to pull out, too. Is that
all there is? …then let’s keep on
I understood my husband’s mood: His kids are growing up—and away
from him. He’s no longer their hero, but
more of an annoyance.
“I hope you’re not going to write about this,” Darth said.
“People will think I’m grumpy and melancholy.”
I laughed. “People think
about this all the time." I reminded him
of the bumper sticker I’d seen: What if the hokey pokey is what it’s all
I picked up a reserve from the library the other day, a book
on tiny house design. I imagined Darth
and me building our own small house; off the grid, with reclaimed materials.
I mentioned the book at dinner; told Darth it would be fun
V looked at me. “Don’t
you…you know…have to be in construction
to try something like that?”
Even my teenagers, my question-all-the-rules; don’t-ever-tell-me-no
teenage daughters are telling me I can’t. They don’t believe that their parents can build
a simple little cabin.
Perhaps they’re right.
Perhaps they’re not.
I don’t think the Hokey Pokey is what it’s all
about. And while I can’t really answer what’s it all about, I can say this: by
learning and growing and changing and dreaming,
I’m going to keep right on dancing.
And maybe someday, Darth and I will have our little cabin in
Off the grid.
Built by us.
Labels: Consumption, Daughters