Changing Seasons

When we arrived here in western Pennsylvania after a year in New Mexico, we were kind of blinded by green. Everywhere we looked the world was green, very different from Albuquerque.

Lately, one by one the trees have been turning bright yellows, oranges, reds and golds, filling the scenery with blazing color - even the ground. Today we went out to Woodcock Lake and walked across the dam. The air was crisp and cool, making the warmth of the sun a welcome thing. There were a dozen or so people walking or jogging or scootering. And, yes, we even saw someone we know from church! Such is life in a small town.

Therein lies part two of the changing seasons. Rightly or wrongly, it has slowly dawned on me that, along with giving up show business as a breadwinning pursuit, along with the sudden realization that I have become a geezer, and along with trying to figure out what this geezer's next breadwinning pursuit might be in this wrecked economy, I also need to get over myself.

Many of the one or two of you who might still be reading these ramblings know me as a smart-ass with a penchant for leaping as far as necessary to drive home a smart-ass remark or a silly notion. That is who I am, it seems, and it is who I can no longer be. I can no longer be the minister's wife. I can no longer be "Damn it, Jim!" I can no longer be "old, beat up and tired" as my status. My position, under the microscope of the congregation we serve, in this small town where we cannot go anywhere without seeing someone we know (or who knows who we are) is that of the gracious, courteous and discreet minister's spouse, with a tightly reined in sense of humor.

Is it possible that I'll bite my tongue enough that it will turn bright yellow, orange and red, then fall to the ground?