Waxing Celtic and Pixie Boots...a little late and incoherent

It's nearly Mid-Summer's Eve and my mystical side rears up and wants to be heard and seen. It used to be a full time thing--but the last few years I have wasted a lot of time coming to grips with entering my crone phase of life. My husband doesn't get it, and I don't have many friends my age that don't have children--so they don't understand my particular malaise either. I have a stepson, who is uncannily like me--but it's not the same--there's a reserve between us. A distance that is sometimes uncomfortable maybe because we aren't sure how we are supposed to act together; so we do much better on the phone and texting.

The point here was it is almost Mid-Summer's Eve and I usually feel a calling---to something less mundane than the world that surrounds my day to day existence. I can't or don't see myself flying to Stonehenge to partake in what I sometimes view as just a mid-summer romp or madness.