Elsie's Notes from New England - THEMission edition

First frost awakes a nesting urge To cast aside the summer’s leisure, Lay in storage all life’s pleasure Readying for winter’s dirge With mindset fixed so foolish, firm I miss the fiery hands that tease My mind, so resolute, to ease And memory store, against the term When winter’s chill tempts to forget That there exists but ice and gray Oh, to recall that crisp bouquet Instead, awaiting spring’s coquette. November comes and spirit grieves For opportunity expired To warm my soul by tree-bough fire Recalling autumn leaves.

Our kids are essentially grown. I'm not quite sure how all that happened; I think I may have blinked. I remember one morning about ten years ago, as I lay in bed enjoying a few quiet moments before the day onslaughtered me, I had the most astounding thought. I had done it. My oldest son had just turned 18. I had raised a kid. How the heck did that happen? I recalled people who told me, when all five of the kids were under 10, that the teenage years were going to kill me, and while I didn’t truly believe them, a portion of me kept itself braced for torture and misery that just never came. My kids have been amazing: independent, assertive, contrary and ornery at times, but always incredibly interesting to me. They are talented, bright, capable and creative. The older they get, the more I love ‘em . . . and I was pretty whupped at birth, just for the record. The teen years were harder on some of them than others, but far worse for them than they ever were for me. My mother-in-law liv...