This Desert Life

So my sister is off to the airport and on her way back to the big CO and I must say I will miss her. Yeah yeah and her husband too, even if he won’t let me take his money at poker. Back to that square state of yellowed leaves, thin air (love that skinny air), and my mother, who I saw for all of six hours this weekend when in town.

You know, there are many signs of adulthood. Many rites of passage that our society recognizes as changing a child into an adult. Bar and Batmitzah, marriage, first communion are some of the religiously affiliated events. Other societies have gauntlets and public tattooing. The more secular, and widely practiced, rituals include:

• Getting your driver's license
• Your first business card with your Sans Serif name on it
  
• Throwing up out a car window on your 21st birthday
• The first time you owe on your taxes
• Opening a 401k
• Not needing a co-signer for a major purchase
• Cooking your first turkey, all by yourself

It is amazing to me, however, how many times I stumble upon one of these moments, just how many times I look down to find, gee, yes, my shoelace is untied. Just when I thought I was mature enough to at least remember the rabbit ears tying technique. One of these moments relates back to my family, my sister, my mother—how suddenly adult you feel, how greeting card sappy, how visionary about who you are and who you were, when you realize that you truly miss them. Remember when you couldn’t wait to get out on your own? When sharing a bathroom was a world war? When you were not like your mother and never would be? Well, yes. And my jeans had to be at least 2 sizes too big and flannel was all the rage.

We all stumble upon such lucid moments when we can see the chasm that separates who we are and who we were. It’s often disturbing that I cannot relate to the younger version back there in the distance and equally disturbing that, someday, I may find my current self just as inscrutable. So yes, I miss my sister and my mom out here in the desert of Arizona and, don’t worry, that’s not a sad feeling. That’s a good thing to know, that I’ve found out about my world. Being grown up isn’t all bad and even I, the consummate child, find it happens on occasion. The sad maturity fact that I haven’t come to terms with? That I actually have to buy as many presents as I receive at Christmas. Damn it. Don’t like that one too much.