It’s before 8:00am and all things seem possible. Before 8:00am there’s no hatred; the mean, vicious and small minded all sleep in. Before 8:00am no one wears a face mask, fear is still in bed. While greed heads dream of more and more and more, the earth awakens and begins to shed its comforting blanket of fog. Everything feels new and refreshed. I breathe in the cold morning air and exhale miniature clouds that quickly melt away. Anger and strife hide under quilts of denial while hummingbirds, newly awakened, dart from tree to feeder, feeder to tree. Before 8:00am I feel as if I could change the world for the better with just the sheer force of my will. At this time of morning there’s no judgement, everyone and everything is accepted for whom and what they are.

The day dawns slowly and deliberately, as it has done for millennia. The yellow leaves of autumn sashay slowly to the ground, landing with an inaudible sigh. Walking barefoot through the dew soaked grass is an invigorating baptism. I crunch into a freshly picked apple and savor the impossibly sweet juice as it fills my mouth. The birdbath fountain shimmers and gurgles while it awaits its first visitors of the day, usually the chestnut backed chickadees, fearless and free as I long to be.

The quiet of this peaceful autumn morning inevitably gives way to the cacophony of another day on planet Earth. In the face of an increasingly broken world, I still somehow hold on to the hope of promise and renewal. It’s before 8:00am. I refuse to give up, I refuse to give in.

One day last spring I finally sold our daughter’s bicycle. She’s 17 now and drives a car. The bike had been collecting dust in our garage for several years now. It was time to let it go. This one was the last in the continuum of three bikes that she’s owned, and it was a real doozy! It was bright pink with floral designs on the frame, it had hand brakes and ten gears and multi-colored streamers spilling out from the ends of the handlebars. A woman bought it for her granddaughter. The little girl looked to be about ten years old, the same age as our daughter when we first bought her the bike. The joy on this girl’s face when she got out of the car and saw the bike was a beautiful sight. She quickly jumped onto the seat, gave it a test ride around our cul-de-sac and we called it a deal. I loaded the bike into their car, the girl beaming the whole time.

Last night I finally got around to selling the portable basketball hoop that we had bought for our son. I spent most of a Christmas day seven years ago assembling the thing. When we finally had it up, he and I shot hoops until well past dark. It’s been a couple of years now since he’d last used it. The hoop had since become a perch for neighborhood songbirds and an occasional resting place for fallen leaves from our oak tree. A guy bought it as a Christmas gift for his young son. We disassembled the hoop and just barely managed to fit it into the back of his mini-van. Looking out front this morning, all that’s left of the hoop is a large black spot of mud and leaves that had collected under the base. It’s a strange empty space, kind of like the void left when a tree is cut down.

Yes, it’s just a basketball hoop, but it’s also the many hours spent playing H-O-R-S-E and one -on-one with our son; the impossible 25 foot jump shots that caught nothing but net. Of course, it’s just a bicycle, but it’s also the unbridled joy on our daughter’s face, her long red braids flying out from behind her as she speeds down the street for the first time on her new bike.

It’s not the “thing” but rather the memories that are attached to it.

These past few years have been particularly active and filled with change for our two children. As they transition from tweens to teens to late teens, I’m reminded that the only thing in life that’s constant is change. This is especially evident to those of us who have children. The transition from one phase of their lives to the next is happening rapidly and right before my eyes. It’s this dynamic nature that reminds me to be present, show up for my kids and appreciate every moment that we share. On the cusp of adulthood, our children are putting away childish things and preparing to take that leap of faith into the future.