And that’s when they tell me things
Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. First show since summer vacation began, and things were surprisingly quiet around the house. The kids were off and running on Friday already — one headed off to a cabin with a friend, one was out biking with buddies, and one was on an overnight with the gang. So there you have it. Kids reach a certain age, and when a little bit of freedom comes along, they just disappear. Just like that. Poof. Gone. And Mr. Sundberg and I are left to sort through the pile of flip flops and gather up the popcorn scattered about the porch and think about dinner for two.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not sending out invites to a pity party or any such thing. I never for a minute fooled myself into thinking that these young people were Mine, nor that they would want to stay with me forever. Nope. On the contrary. It’s a blessed good thing that Out In The World is where they wish to be, not hovering around the house hiding out from adventure and Lord knows what. As I’ve said before, we get to hear the stories when they come home, and what great fun that is.
What I have learned not to take for granted are those few and far between moments when we venture Out In The World together. Especially if I get face time in the car with only one of ’em. Just the two of us, together, for a short but lovely time. You add up those minutes with each of ’em and it doesn’t add up to much in a life, but boy, are they golden. Beautiful, shining time with the people I had a hand in making. And that’s when they tell me things. Sometimes they confess, and sometimes they dream out loud. Sometimes they lay out their plans for their lives, and sometimes all we have is some really fine silence.
Gone are the snuggly days, the blow-on-bellies, hold-hands-in-public, tuck-me-in-and-leave-the-hall-light-on days. Here, now, are the letting go days. Always knew they were coming down the pipe. Makes me grateful for all those minutes I had, and still have, on occasion, in my beautiful, fleeting life.
Seems whenever I whip up a rhubarb cake, it’s gone the day I make it. That was the case last time around, and it’s sure to be the case the next. This one is best served with homemade whipped cream and a cup of fresh coffee.
1/2 cup shortening
1/2 cup brown sugar
Add 2 cups flour,
1 tsp soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup sour milk
1 1/2 cups chopped rhubarb
1 tsp vanilla
Top with mixture of 1/2 cup sugar, 1 tsp cinnamon and 1/2 cup chopped nuts.
Bake in a greased 9 x 13 cake pan for 50 minutes at 350.