The Olympics -- and the Marking of Time

Been watching the Vancouver Winter Olympics on television. Which has brought me back to the Turin Winter Olympics in Italy four years ago.
Nothing like a big event like the Olympic games to mark time for you.
It feels like so much longer than four years ago, which is not usual, is it? Time usually races by.
I was just at the end of my raising-kids phase then. Just on the cusp of empty nesterhood, with all its changes -- both inherent and, in my case, self-imposed. So much has changed since then. It feels longer than four years ago.
My older son was at college already, but my younger son was still at home, a senior in high school four Februarys ago. He was on the high school football team -- going to the games on Friday nights was one of our funnest outings -- but had recently injured himself in a game.
He had torn the ACL in his knee -- the anterior cruciate ligament -- which is quite a big thing for a knee (not that I knew much before then). He was scheduled for complicated knee surgery, that would use some of his hamstring and make it into this ligament he had torn in his knee.
I was going off to Turin for my newspaper to blog about the area surrounding the Olympic games. I was writing for the web site of my paper then, and had proposed going to northern Italy to write a personal-travel blog with one of the website's videographers. My Italian mother was from that wine-and-truffle-rich Piedmont area of Italy and I didn't know it at all. I was thrilled they said yes. It was one of the best assignments I had at the paper.
We had scheduled the surgery right after I returned from Italy, so I could take a bit of time off to be with my son after his surgery.
That's why I remember it all so well. And it all came flooding back to me now, watching the double-luge this morning from Vancouver.
I went to Turin for my newspaper. I was still working full-time there then and not thinking about leaving. If anything, thinking about doing more there, energized by this latest assignment. Newspapers hadn't started their free-fall yet. At least management hadn't acknowledged it yet.
My son was still at home, a senior in high school. So our nest wasn't empty yet.
We were still in our family home, living the life we had led for the past decade, so it was like a comfortable old slipper.
But then it all changed.
Nobody's fault.
Just life evolving.
My son grew up and went to college. Both my sons grew up.
My newspaper started going down the drain hole. Even though, it's still there.
For how long, and in what form, is anyone's guess.
But people I worked with, even my age, are still there, although in much fewer numbers. So I could've stayed for awhile after all, I guess.
I couldn't have stopped my kids' growing up, of course.
Not that I would've wanted to. I'm not saying that.
But it's the end of an era. Hastened to its conclusion by moving here.
Which seemed like a good idea at the time.
But the jury's still out.
We've been here a year now.
What an upheaval it's been.
And it doesn't feel that permanent.
Does that matter though?
What will the rest of our life bring? What to do now?