Rehearsal Dinner

"Where I'll be when it's said and done." Back Where I Come From, Mac MacAnally (Simple Life, 1990).

Said and done.

The end of my police career isn't approaching any faster than it did when I first put bullets into a handgun and reported for duty on May 1, 1979. The calendar ticks over one day at a time, measured now by tasks completed as much as by minutes passing, or calls answered. The sense of "where did it all go" is less compelling than the hope I'll have said everything I came to say, and have done what I intended to do with my career. I feel this most acutely when I'm around my children, and grand children.

Some weeks ago it was popcorn and a movie with our oldest grandson. He lives with his mom, dad and brother, in a town close enough that evening baseball, weekend basketball and the occasional visit to the cinema can be arranged with little notice.

Visiting the girls, and the Baltimore gandkids takes more effort, more planning. Last weekend, we hopped on a brand new Frontier A319 (lightweight, ergonomic seats and teeny tiny "tray"), rented a car and...

Practiced.

At some point, it'll have been said and done. Others will step up. Our time will not revolve around the needs of an employer. We were afforded a glimpse of that life this week, of long stretches in close (not too close, kids. Don't freak) proximity to the things that matter. We can finally allow the near, and the far, to be all consuming. We can pack up the animals, hitch a trailer to the truck and stay somewhere close to the wonderful adults we call "kids." The air of casual we struggle for on short visits can become reality, the sense that good bye is temporary, today. Tomorrow is a new day, a time to explore anew on grandkid time, through grandkid eyes. We can structure a day around the evening baseball game in Broomfield, not race up wolfing down MacDonald's and hoping the traffic isn't too bad.

After, of course, it is finally said and done.