Reflections on the Teche

When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us. — Helen Keller

 
I was sitting alone in the teacher’s lounge quietly eating my salad, when another teacher walked through and said, “It must be nice to have a quiet lunch to yourself.”
I hadn’t looked at my lunchtime that way. I travel from one school to another and scarf down my lunch in a 40 minute time period. I usually feel rushed, and often feel left out of the conversations among teachers that happen when you can stay at one school long enough. But today, this teacher made me think twice. Yes, it is nice to have quiet time to eat my lunch. Just relax and enjoy.
We don’t always see our own lot as a happy one. I have struggled with the “empty nest” syndrome. When I was raising my children, it seemed we were always busy. I was wishing for the day when I didn’t have to carpool, wash a mound of clothes, and settle sibling arguments. I wanted this day to come and now that it’s here, I feel sad for that loss. It took me a while to appreciate my new stage in life. Like the quote from Helen Keller, I looked long at the closed door of raising children before I was able to see another door. The end of the holiday season makes me feel much the same way. My daughters are safely back to their respective adult lives and I am left feeling like something is missing.
The Christmas tree is at the curb looking much like a discarded dead bush and the crèche collection is packed away in its Rubbermaid tub. My living room looks bare, and the cold air seeps in. But… a new year has begun, 2011 is here. So… I look to the year ahead with anticipation and joy. What will come next?
Here, I offer a poem reflection from New Year’s Day, 2007
A Walk Alone on New Year’s Day
I walk among the packages that litter the curb,
Remnants of holiday gifts—Tool box, Dell computer, HD TV–
We’ve opened them up, made them part
of our household furniture, warranties stored in file folders.
I walk to Joni’s Circle Game
round and round this line of homes.
Scents of gumbo, cabbage, black-eyed peas
invite me in for a bite.
I walk around cars parked at the curb
lining driveways, on the lawn.
Everyone is home while I walk
and wait for daughters’ return.
After my walk, I sip hot tea
watching the bayou sway to the tune of chickadees.
Over there, on a bare crepe myrtle branch,
father cardinal announces,
Nothing is hurried here.

Wink Gaines, "Cardinal in Winter"