COUNTDOWN

52 days until my husband--Andrew, son--Beau and I move to St. Kitts in the Eastern Caribbean for two years and four months so that Andrew can attend veterinary school. When I tell people, I hear a lot of "life-long dream" and "fantasy" talk. Yes--this is a dream of ours in a lot of ways, but it's not without its share of nightmarish planning and hurdles. For example, I need to figure out how to move our lives down there in four 50 pound suitcases (thanks American Airlines). And lately, my "to do" lists look more like the 14 page closing checklists I used when I was working as a corporate attorney on mergers and acquisitions. When I'm not waking up at 4 AM to nurse Beau, I'm waking up wondering if I should take our kosher salt down to St. Kitts in a plastic bag, or if Glad makes some kind of multi-compartment plastic bag to haul my spices (I like to cook). But I calm my sweat-inducing nerves by remembering that in a few short weeks, I am going to be living out a dream. Sometimes when I'm pushing Beau around in his stroller on the streets of New York City, filling the long, unscheduled days before we leave, I try relaxing my eyes and picturing the blue, tropical scene that will become my day-to-day life. It's so far out of the range of my current reality, that I have to picture it like a digital image, where I see each square of Manhattan's steel and gray horizon flip over to a turquoise and green pixel. Flip-- a palm tree, flip, flip, flip, the ocean and sky spread out before me. Usually, the high pitched squeal of a taxi's brakes or the earth quaking rumble of a semi truck bouncing over a metal panel interrupt my daydream and I'm right back on the sidewalk. But I know there's only so much I can plan and imagine anyway. Like everything in life, as time passes, this adventure will suddenly be right in front of me, and I'll have to experience it then, like it or not.