Scaffolding

   I had a dream at the beginning of this past birthday weekend that one of my closest friends woke me up with a big surprise. In a groggy stupor I saw my bedroom door open and one by one my childhood buddies entered my room and took a seat next to each other in a circle. Within a blurry hallucination I went clockwise and gave each one of these individuals a hug. When the metaphorical clock struck twelve I came to Jeff. His famous curly locks were grown out past his shoulders representing the passage of time. We scooped each other up in an embrace that I could feel through my skin as if it was real. Tears spooled out of my eyes and into his wild tendrils. I told him how much I missed him over and over again.

     Then I woke up.

     I met this boy on my first day in Ms. Randall's kindergarten class. I was working very hard to sit still in criss-cross applesauce amidst twenty or so fidgety five year-olds and behind this fantastic head of hair. Ignoring all rules of personal bubbles and space I couldn’t help myself and I stuck my pointer finger straight into the closest ringlet I could find. Instead of getting mad or telling me to poop myself Jeff turned around and gave me the biggest gappy toothy grin and we were buds forever after; both of us cut from a similar cloth.

     I will always miss this boy.  He came into and out of our lives like a feisty flame; this flame put out way too soon. 

     We all have a personal scaffolding of friendships and acquaintances, family and foes built carefully into the construction project that is our life. Scaffolding by definition however, is temporary; planks and poles slowly plucked away and/or embedded within us as our structure becomes stronger and more solid.

         For whatever reason and many this particular birthday hit me hard. I kind of panicked - freaked out. Turning forty-nine on the cusp of Yom Kippur; dang. Forty-nine is a culmination of what now is, hopefully, half a lifetime of memory and what will be new beginnings. I have said goodbye to both my parents; I am a great auntie seven times over; our children are adult people! How is this possible?! None of this was making any sense. And so when my husband said, “Happy Birthday” at midnight as we were driving I froze up, paralyzed. Ironically this mild panic attack happened on our way home from meeting the “party planner” in my dream after viewing the Talking Heads reunion film “Stop Making Sense.”  My mind was definitely blown, to quote my husband, after seeing this fantastic documentary. Turning forty-nine made no sense to me, but what did make sense was sharing this cuspy birthday with a friend of over 40 years and my hubby who I met at summer camp when I was nine. All these people are bound within the scaffolding of my life’s story.

    Much of our house is under construction right now; maybe that is from where this theme derives? (Come check out our porta potty in the front yard if you're bored!) Alas,  I do not think so. I think I'm having a teeny tiny yet mighty midlife temper tantrum.

    I would not be who I was, am, and will be without and because of the succulent scaffolding of people who have climbed and are climbing like a vine alongside me. Therefore,  alongside said tantrum is also deep gratitude, layered love, for every beam; every piece of wood.

And with that, L'Chaim! 

G’mar chatima tova 

“Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down

Letting the days go by, water flowing underground

Into the blue again, after the money's gone

Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground”

-Talking Heads