Enough for Reese Cups

October is here.  It came in so quickly, just like I always say.  You never notice the exact moment when summer relinquishes its hold and you are in the middle of autumn color and chill.

Each step of the journey wearies me, as if old age is upon me too fast. I crunch about in the day to day, weary, oh so weary.  I'm not sure if my peers and colleagues quite feel the same aches in body and soul.

I've had a lovely three day weekend, full of respite but actually not respite.  It is an annual tradition for my family to try to gather in the fall and spend a few days together.  If you are familiar with us, you might be able to picture it, if you are not so familiar you might wonder what it looks like.  The time is meant to strengthen ties, to eat lots of good food, to rest, to fulfill some wanderlust, to argue, to conquer or suffer defeat, to know that this group bound by blood is also eternally bound by friendship.

If you are not parted by distance, if you are not part of a larger family, then the scenes might not play and replay the same for you as it does for me.  I always look forward to the time, more so, as years pass.  You can't understand what it is to age in the heart until you are, in fact, aging in the heart.  The seasons continue to pass so quickly, the seasons are draining me, especially the season I will be in for the next solid 3-4 years.   Everywhere I turn, people need support.  I am the supporter, the giver, the leader meeting needs, the listener, the adviser.  I don't mind the role. I don't mind the responsibility.  I think though, that for a solid three weeks now, I'm trying to give on empty.  I'm waiting on the edge of the group, peering in, wanting to participate, but feeling unable to dive in despite my desperation for my bucket to be filled.

You must already know that I am the youngest in my family for we are dear friends.  In that role, I am cared for and protected.  I might not quite know how the world works because I am to young, but one day, I will know.  The others will help me.  It is their role to provide for me.  Into this world I step a few times per year.  Already the roles are changing and that dynamic is not nearly as pronounced as it once was.  I am more an equal, it will continue to change.

Four households converging into one is recipe for disaster.  Nothing can change that.  Four sets of house rules, four sets of shower schedules, four sets of food and beverage needs, four sets of hierarchy into one chaotic, strong willed engine that powers through the extended family experience.  What I know is this, we can, have and will survive the 45 minute whirlwind pack-up with our love for each other still intact.  If you can survive that, you can enter the gates of Mordor without fear.

Do we discard the leftover salad?

Uh, no, I think there are starving children in Africa.

Well I know that I don't have the space to take it back because all my ice is gone.

Does this sock belong to your child?

Go back in that bathroom, someone left the soap in the shower.

Who threw away my cup of coffee?!

Wait, why is this salad on the counter?

Don't throw that out!!

Where is the charger for my phone?

Where is the charger for my Kindle?

Where is the charger for my kids' phone?

Kids, go back upstairs and clean that room.

Babe, you left your sweatshirt on the dock.

Nope, not my sweatshirt.  Ask the kids.

For the love, why is the salad still not being dealt with?

No, that is not my sweatshirt.

I'm throwing the salad out, last call.

Again, no, on the sweatshirt.

Have you seen my sweatshirt?  Yep, Ryan is looking for the owner.

YOU ARE THROWING AWAY THE SALAD?!!?!?

And.....that's a wrap, we'll see you next year.

It is so much fun.  It is so much chaos.  It can also have a lot of angst in the middle. But in the end it comes out right.  It fills your bucket, even if you feel like you have to force yourself into it because you don't have the energy.

At the end, at the very end, when the house is quiet....  It's early morning. Your room is in China with the mice and cold breeze, so you trek through the dark to use the bathroom in Switzerland.  You stay in France because it's easier than going back to bed, in the dark, down the twisty stairs.  You broke your foot once trying that nonsense.

You are bundled up on the couch, reading, the light is just beginning to show over the lake.  Your mom comes in, smiles and walks over to hand you a Reese cup.  You tell yourself to remember this.  "Remember this, Angela."  You remember hearing just yesterday from your stepfather's lips that your mother loves to eat Reese cups for breakfast.  She walks over to the window. "Remember, this, Angela, remember what she looks like as she watches the sun rise.  It's just you. Her. The lake."  This snapshot of time is so tiny, so tiny, and so precious.  It doesn't really mean anything at all, and yet it does.  You are almost 40 and you are her baby and she is giving you a Reese cup at 0630 in a quiet house on Keuka Lake in NY.  And she is beautiful.

Hold onto this moment.

Do this every chance that you get.

Even if you think you are rather grumpy and not quite right.  And currently emotionally empty.

Enter the gates of Mordor without fear because the group beside you loves you.  Enough for Reese cups.