I couldn’t sleep past 5 a.m. this morning even though my bedtime last night approached midnight. It’s good though, I wanted to see the late summer sunrise and hear the silence in my house, and I did. There is something special about the beginning of a day — the tranquil feeling of solitude, a place to connect with yourself before the rattle of the routine distracts and you become a chameleon once again. The world is somewhere in the distance and I am “alone” in it. I set goals for myself in the quietness of this morning, simple things like starting a canvas I have already created in my head and going through my overstuffed closet. Then more difficult things like completing the unending book I began nearly two decades ago, a memoir about Miss Sue, and going through old pictures and sorting them so someone, later, can make some chronological sense of it all. Who knows if any of it will be accomplished, but it’s a diligent thought that, with coffee, starts another day.

My “to do” list is somewhat interrupted by some reoccurring thought in my head though. It’s about changes, lifestyle change. I have realized, rather abruptly, that I can’t maintain the appetite of my youth – I have to let a few things go before I get weighted down with age and upkeep; I want to be proactive. I think I will begin with the garden. I have been gardening in one capacity or another since I was 15. Miss Sue taught and inspired me then. I recall, that by early June, I semi-abandoned mine. The rains came and the bugs moved in and I felt anxious about it all, about the neglect. A garden is like a child and needs a lot of attention if it is to blossom and reach its potential. As I look within myself, I realize I am not willing to give it the time it needs, at least not now. I think I will give up my garden of rows. I will limit my garden next spring to a square root box containing tomatoes, bell peppers, eggplant and cucumbers.

I “leave” the garden and think about my chickens. I do enjoy the fresh eggs, perhaps I will scale down my flock from 24 to just 4. This scale down will have to take its natural course, for I do not cull chickens. This bucolic cutback, I hope, will give me time to paint, write, help others and, occasionally, leave — just for small excursions.

Then there is the pesky question of this house, a question that lurks and penetrates the peace of the waning morning — this wonderful old house where I raised my family — what do I do? What do we do — us, who have rooted ourselves in memories and a place and now want more flexible time and less domestic work. It seems a choice between sentiment and pragmatism — which wins? I am not prepared to respond to this badgering uncertainty just now, I think more life needs to unravel before I know the answer.

It’s evening now and the late summer sun is dancing across the kitchen and my early morning thoughts are hazy and mostly incomplete.

I want to close this piece with something positive and less roving. It is, what I think, an empowering thought William shared with me on his birthday exactly 8 years ago today, a quote from Charles Eames. “I don’t believe in this ‘gifted few’ concept, just in people doing things they are really interested in doing. They have a way of getting good at whatever it is.”

Liberating perspective isn’t it? Doing what you love and sticking to it, that’s the “gift” we can ALL have. Happy Birthday William.

PAM SHENSKY is a wife and mom to five.