Halloween came and went, in a pumpkin-pulpy, sugary blur. The kids seemed stunned that we’d just knock on neighbors’ doors, asking for sweets. I guess it is strange. But so much of their new life mush seem strange to them!

They adjusted, the two year old sometimes replying “tank you” to the offered sweets, but also “more!” He immediately understood the greedy, gimme spirit of Halloween.

For a different take we braved BART (“more train! more train!” shreiked the two year old) and went to Day of the Dead in San Francisco’s Mission, a lovely celebration of all who have come before us. The candle-lit alters in Garfield park were lovely, and the playground was open. I hope the kids will always remember swinging and climbing on the play structures in near-total darkness. At least it’s the kind of thing I think I would remember!

I guess it’s the right season—this gorgeous, tragic, moody beginning of the end of the year—to feel that life’s flying, zooming, crashing by. It is!

I turn 49 this month. When our daughter turns 20 I’ll be 64. Our son, 67. That’s close to 70! While dad will hopefully reply that at 78 he still feels himself, normal, part of everything (don’t you, dad? how I hope so!), it’s also impossible to deny that my children will have a different relationship to my life cycle than I did to my parents. Or to my dad at least. I suppose for the kids it may be more like my relationship to my mom, who left us early (in her 50s) while I was in my 20s. It’s better than nothing. I’ll take this miracle of children! I will! But as Tony Kushner says in “Angels in America,” there’s always a part of us that cries out for more life, despite anything, more!

In the spirit of fall, first rain, cold fog, I can’t help but feeling sad for whatever I will miss out on in my children’s lives. Whatever the kids will miss out on.

And maybe a little daunted by this commitment! I’ve never had something in my life that I felt sure I’d be attached and committed to, involved with, the rest of my life.

So I guess like everyone else I’m humbled by parenthood. Daunted by mortality. Feeling like I need to be so present to my kids right now and for as long as I can, to give them everything I can. Which doesn’t seem like quite enough, but will have to do.