It is finally happening.  This weekend Son Number One will graduate from college.  It's been a whirlwind four years.  He discovered a love for rugby (God help us all), had a romance or maybe two, and started to seriously figure out what he wants to do with his life and where he wants to be.  I'm so proud of him. He's a fine young man and impressive in a million ways.  He's so impressive that he's already found a job in Washington, D.C. with the Department of Justice and he'll be moving there sometime in July.  The problem is that in my head he's still cutting out pictures with blunt edge scissors for the third grade poster of "Who I Am" in Miss Abravanel's class and I'm not sure I'm ready for this.

Washington isn't that far from Boston, and I know he can visit or we can.  But it's not the same.  And I guess that's the way it's supposed to be.  There are so many feelings rising to the top of my consciousness that I feel as though I am bobbing in a swimming pool filled with champagne.  Too many things are rushing at me at once and I can't interpret them.  I'm happy for him.  He's earned this and he's going to make a difference in the world.  I'm proud of him.  I'll miss him.  I don't know how to be the mother of a grown man. I  have no experience here.  My own college life feels like last Tuesday, but it ended 41 years ago.  There is wonder at the passage of time, both his and mine.  There is awareness of mortality (mostly mine) and that's kind of strange.  But under it all is a hum of peacefulness.  This is what's supposed to happen.  This is good.  This is a chance for the world to renew itself and move on.  

Maybe he'll be a brilliant politician who will broker world peace, while his younger brother (who goes through this next year), with his sharp scientific mind will find a way to keep the poor Blue Marble from exploding, or imploding, or whatever we're hurling towards.  I'm stunned at how much they both know.  I've stopped trying to compete or to impress them.  It's time for them to grow greater and for me to grow...not lesser, but different.  I move up a notch into the "Wisdom Figure" category, supporting him and his brother with a mountain and a half of love and having the sense to step aside and watch them soar.  But for now, can you please pass me a tissue?

I've been doing a lot of theater recently.  After starring in "On Golden Pond" in the fall, I found myself reinfected by the drama bug.  I took a course in the dead of winter.  I've been working as "Associate Producer" on a musical which opens this Friday night at our local community theater.  That has involved (among other things) gathering props, helping to build and paint sets, and just finding out what life is like on the other side of the curtain.  The actors get all the glory, but the crew makes it all possible. I've also helped out at a couple of productions with which I had no connection except to put on my tuxedo tee-shirt and serve wine and beer as I squeezed my winter-widened posterior between packed tables surrounded by folding metal chairs.  Remind me not to waitress in the real world.  It's not one of my talents.Which brings me to my theatrical lesson in reality.  

Until Friday night I thought I could sing.  I do the occasional funeral and wedding, and sing solo regularly at church, and the nice people always come up to me and tell me how wonderful I am and I try to look humble, while secretly agreeing with them.  I even get to sing the National Anthem in public once in a while, and let me tell you, THAT song is not for sissies.  People even pay me to sing.  And then I went to see a friend in a musical production of "Kiss Me, Kate".   The production was nicely staged, and the cast was "capable" and then out came my friend in the starring role, sounding like an angel and hitting notes that were never written for humans.  She was amazing.  And while I truly celebrate her talent and love her to little tiny bits, I had that "slapped in the face with a flounder" feeling as I realized how much better she is at this stuff than I am.

Now back in the days of my misspent youth this revelation would have been cause for me to feel cranky for days.  But I'm oddly OK with it now.  Sometime in the course of the last few decades I discovered the delightful concept of "Good Enough."  I don't have to be the best at anything (like housekeeping, or cooking, as everyone knows by now,  or even at things I love to do).  I just have to love to do them.  So I'll continue to sing here and there, and act in the occasional play (and hate the publicity photographs which magically make everyone else look exactly as they do in real life but always add 30 pounds to my image) and I'll enjoy the process.  This growing up stuff is taking longer than I thought it would, but it's oddly comforting.  Who knows what I'll learn next?