Barn burning

Oh, I had such a day today. I had such a day that I almost forgot to write, and then where would we be? Luckily, we don’t have to contend with the outcome of a me-not-writing day. Here I am, tapping away. Later, I can write about WHY I had such a day, but all of that is need-to-know right now, and nobody needs to know. Trust me, you’re better off. 

*****

Last week, I attended a celebration of life for a family friend, who was also the father of my younger son’s oldest friends, two brothers ages 16 and almost 18. The almost 18-year-old is graduating from high school next week, without his father. It’s heartbreaking. 

It was a celebration, not a funeral, in accordance with the wishes of the deceased. We convened at a beer garden/farm type of place in Brookeville, on a beautiful hot summer afternoon, and then we sat under a huge tent and heard funny stories about his life from his friends and his family, and we listened to Little Feat singing his favorite song, “Willin’,” and then we ate and drank and told more stories. It was rather lovely. 

As always at such gatherings, I got to see lots of people whom I haven't seen in a long time. And as always, we hugged and told one another how good it was to meet again, despite the sad circumstances. 

*****

My son's other best friend's parents, who are also my close friends, were there. We talked for a while and then we looked at a barn. Apparently, my friends want to buy a barn. It takes all kinds, doesn't it? I can't think of one single thing that I want less than a barn, but my friends include barn ownership among their fondest dreams. 

It was a nice barn, as barns go, if you like that sort of thing. The farm is both a working farm and a party venue, so the barn was sectioned into little gathering spaces with rustic furniture and decorative items. It was kind of charming, really. But not so charming that I was possessed of any desire to own it or anything like it. To each his own. I hope my friends get the barn that they hope for. 

*****

Why was it such a day, you are probably asking yourself by now. If you're not, then you suffer, as Captain von Trapp said, from an appalling lack of curiosity. Or maybe you’re just a big jerk who doesn’t care about my problems. I’m just kidding. You’re probably a lovely person, even if you don’t care about my problems. 

But let me tell you all about my problems, in veiled and mysterious terms, because my problems involve work and I can’t tell you anything about work. Except that a project that I loved abruptly ended for no reason that I can discern or understand and that a group of people whom I love are on the street, so to speak. I’m among the few survivors and I’m not particularly happy about it. I have a job, and I’ll be fine, as far as paying the bills and keeping the household running goes. But the proverbial writing is on the proverbial wall. I’m here to wind things down and I don’t like to wind things down. That’s not what I do. 

*****

It’s been a few days since all of this happened. A little over a week since the funeral and three days since the job news. I’m still reeling a little bit. My problems are minor--infinitesimal, really, when compared to those of others--but they’re still problems. I’m sad for my friend and her children, still grieving the loss of a husband and father. And the sense of loss that I feel for the work that I have loved doing for the last almost four years and the wonderful people with whom I did that work, feels a lot like grief to me. 

But I will get over it. Four years is probably a long enough time to do one thing, and it might be time to move on to the next thing. There won’t be a barn in my future; I’m pretty sure of that (but never say never, either). But there will be something else.