The Empty-Nest-cation

So, last month the kids went off and left us alone. Eldest is working in Vancouver all summer; middle one travelled around the UK with a friend for almost 3 weeks, and the youngest volunteered as a sleepaway-camp counselor for 8 days. In other words, husband and I ended up with a full week at home without kids, which has not happened to us for over two decades. We saw it as a rehearsal for our nest emptying (sobering) and as a romantic staycation (joyful). "What shall we do with all this freedom?" we asked each other. 

We needed a list.

I love lists and make them often, sometimes multiple times daily, in a sort of obsessive-compulsive manner that gives me an illusion of being in control of my life. 'If you write it, it will happen.' Oddly, the fact that I failed yesterday does not make me any less hopeful for today.

A typical morning list might include

-get dressed

-eat breakfast

-walk dog

-call the dentist
-go to work

Super-low-hanging fruit, bar the dentist (I can do that tomorrow, right?). Sometimes I stick something on the list that I've already done, just for the pleasure of ticking it off (e.g. 'floss', since that hygiene appointment is coming up).

Once I get to work, I start a new list, buoyed by my morning success at donning clothes and feeding myself. The work list varies somewhat day-to-day because it's that kind of a job, but always includes 'check email' (as if otherwise I wouldn't) and 'finish writing paper' (as if I certainly will).

"Come on, let's make a list!" I said to husband, full of enthusiasm. He rolled his eyes. 

"Go ahead." He never makes lists, either because he has a better memory than I do, or because he lives in the moment, or, and most likely, because he is wise and knows that listing and accomplishing are very separate activities. (Alternatively, it's because his handwriting is so poor that neither of us can read what he writes, so jotting a list is futile. Long ago, when we were mere colleagues at the University of Durham, he would sometimes leave little messages in my pigeonhole. I would look at the scrap of paper covered in chicken scratch, maybe consult with someone else who happened also to be in the post-room, and then give up and telephone him to ask what he had written.)

For our empty-nest week, I made two lists: Things Not To Do, and Things To Do.

Things Not to Do: 1) cook.

Check.

Things To Do: 1) attend a book launch in a small Georgian Bay town; 2) get lots of exercise: running, riding, kayaking, dancing (NB see item (3)); 3) go to an art exhibit at the Power Plant and dance to Cuban music on the lakeshore; 4) eat at a new restaurant or cafe every night;  5) attend an outdoor film screening at a nearby park; 6) watch a movie at home all the way through without falling asleep or being interrupted; 7) celebrate our anniversary at a day spa.

Ellen Gallagher's "Nu-Nile" at the Power Plant

Check, check, check, check, check, check, and check.

Decadent, but a whole lot less costly than going away, plus NO PACKING.

We had a really great time. The eldest child called from British Columbia a few days in, solicitously, to see how we were coping. I described the activities on our list. He complimented us on managing so well. Creak, creak, creak: the sound of tables turning, or of time passing. The child is father to the man etc.

So yes, we managed. We had fun. Nonetheless, we were pretty darned happy to get our two younger kids back. It's bittersweet, though, because in ten days' time,  we have to say good-bye again.  The middle one toddles off to start university. He'll just be down the road, but he won't be under our roof.  We will have to get used to having only one of our three at the dinner table. Plus the pets, of course.

New list: appreciate the present.