My husband Art and I have a small winter place in Tucson. The date we leave for Arizona each year isn't decided too long in advance. It depends upon when the rain arrives. This year it was Monday of this week - a wild and windy four days that included our first power outage of the season. On Tuesday I made our flight arrangements. Within two weeks we'll be gone.
I've made plans to have lunch or coffee with friends most days between now and November 1. I call these special women "sisters of my heart", and I miss them when we're gone. I'll look forward to the last two congregational services, this week and next, where I share time with like-minded others. I'll be running errands: taking old eyeglasses to an optometrist's office to be donated to the Lions Club; recycling a broken Kindle and a worn-out iPhone; picking up prescriptions and getting my flu shot. I've got reminders on my calendar to cancel the paper in Seattle and start it up in Tucson, change the car insurance to put the Washington car in storage and take the Arizona car out, change the address on our Blue Apron and Netflix accounts.
We've already got plans for Tucson: a friend waiting in the cell phone lot, dinner that night with friends, play rehearsals that begin the next day, hair appointment with my "dry climate" stylist, massages. High season - when many of the activities start - begins in January, but the slower autumn pace is relaxing too. And, after three days, neither of us feels any arthritis. It's all good.
The transition between summer and winter is familiar now, with its losses and its gains.
On a parallel note, I spent a lot of time and energy and passion this year volunteering for Do Your Part at the Oinofyta refugee camp in Greece. That project is coming to an end. It feels bittersweet, like a loss, to know we've made our last trip there. Still, I know something new will come along. I wonder what it will be!