October 31: "The Chairs That No One Sits In," All Hallows' Eve, Change

It is All Hallows' Eve.  Jack-o'-lanterns.  Candy.  Costumes.  Trick-or-treating.

In the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, All Hallows' Eve also means freezing rain, wind, and snow usually.  As I sit typing this blog post, it has just started snowing.  It's a little after 10 p.m., and I've spent a majority of my day thinking about how my life has changed.

Billy Collins meditates on empty chairs . . .

The Chairs That No One Sits In

by: Billy Collins

You see them on porches and on lawns
down by the lakeside,
usually arranged in pairs implying a couple

who might sit there and look out
at the water or the big shade trees.
The trouble is you never see anyone

sitting in these forlorn chairs
though at one time it must have seemed
a good place to stop and do nothing for a while.

Sometimes there is a little table
between the chairs where no one
is resting a glass or placing a book facedown.

It may not be any of my business,
but let us suppose one day
that everyone who placed those vacant chairs

on a veranda or a dock sat down in them
if only for the sake of remembering

what it was they thought deserved

to be viewed from two chairs,
side by side with a table in between.
The clouds are high and massive that day.

The woman looks up from her book.
The man takes a sip of his drink.
Then there is only the sound of their looking,

the lapping of lake water, and a call of one bird
then another, cries of joy or warning—
it passes the time to wonder which.

This poem, for me, drips with nostalgia and loss.  Two people used to sit in those chairs, perhaps an old man and woman.  They have been together so long that they no longer need words to communicate--reading each other's minds through looks or glances, body language.

This is the first Halloween in 24 years that my wife and I didn't go trick-or-treating with our kids.  Our daughter and son made their own plans, so we sort of experienced an empty nest night.  We handed out candy and walked down the street to visit our neighbor's haunted garage (an annual tradition on our street).  Then we drove to a good friend's house for hot chocolate, snacks, and conversation (another annual tradition for our family).

But there were empty chairs at our All Hallows' Eve table.  Don't get me wrong.  My wife and I enjoyed the evening, despite the shitty weather.  The trick-or-treaters were cute.  Chocolate was plentiful.  And we laughed a lot at our friend's house.  However, when we got in our car to drive home, my wife said, "It sure was strange not having the kids."

Yes, my wife and I are slowly transitioning into our days of porch sitting and world observing.  When I picked up my son tonight from his friend's house, he put his head back on the seat and fell asleep without so much as a "Happy Halloween!"

If you haven't noticed, I do not deal with change well.  This childless All Hallows' Eve was a huge change.  I missed the joy (and frozen misery) of ransacking neighborhoods for candy with my kids.  Missed painting their faces and forcing them to pose for pictures.

Saint Marty missed it all.  It's a good thing there's plenty of leftover chocolate.