Change, that scoundrel. Its meddling fingers are everywhere.

It's change that's to blame when I spend a year and a half on the other side of the world, then come back to find my little doggie too old to jump up and sleep on my bed. It's change that makes me take a bit longer to say good-bye to my grandparents, wondering what kind of shape they'll be in when I see them next. Change is why I spent New Year's Eve skiing at Poley Mountain, NB instead of Holiday Valley, NY. Change, I guess, is why I actually paid attention last week when my mom taught me to poach an egg and why I raided her recipe box.

And yet. Some things change can't touch. There are some things that are certain.

Belleisle Bay will freeze over.


Pamela will fill her suitcase with high heels and fancy tops and forget to bring socks and underwear.


Dad will ask Geoff as he walks out the door whether he's remembered to pack his power cable. Geoff will respond, "I know, I know, it's packed already!" The next morning Dad will find Geoff's power cable under Dad's chair.


Laura will present Mom with a sweater the night before she is due to leave and request that it be hand-washed.


Dad will make three 8-hour round trips to Bangor in the span of two weeks to bring his children home for Christmas. Note that 8 hours does not include the 90 minutes spent sheltering 19-year-olds who have rolled their trucks into snowy ditches and are waiting for a tow-truck.


Mom will moan, as she helps herself to a third rumball, that she has once again done far too much Christmas baking and absolutely must drop something next year. "Drop the stained glass windows," Geoff will say. "No, no," Laura will protest. "Drop the fruitcake." "Absolutely not!" Dad will exclaim. "Drop the shortbread." Next year, Mom will bake everything, including the stained glass windows, the fruitcake and the shortbread.



It's good to know that some things in this world stay the same.