It is a Wednesday and, finally, one without rain. It has been raining steadily for the past 2 weeks and this break of good fortune could not have come at a better time.
My aunt, Cherie, is flying in from Florida this evening for a surprise 80th birthday party for my mother this coming Saturday. I was supposed to bring my wheelchair-bound mother, Mary, to the Bangor International Airport to pick her up but her flight was delayed a few times. It was just over a year ago she flew in for my dad, her brother’s, funeral. The week she spent with my mother was full of hugs, tears, food and much laughter. Little Sister, as my mother calls her, had been missed in the last few decades. My parents did not travel. Rather, my father really wasn’t healthy enough to travel especially in the last ten years of his life. Heart attacks, RLS, high blood pressure…it would have been too hard on him.
My mother stayed with him, took care of him and catered to his every whim. His eyesight was steadily declining along with his weight and quality of life. I like to think now that he is free of pain looking down on us from on high with 20/20 vision.
During all 60 years they were together, my mother put my father first whether it was a television show or movie, what they ate for breakfast and dinner or who took the first shower. She did all the cooking and cleaning. In the last years she bathed him with sponge baths, cut his hair, kept his medications in order and put lotion on his dry skin. I was able to witness on more than one occasion after the lotion was well rubbed in to his hands the two meeting with a big kiss signaling the end of grooming before my mother would sit back in her wheelchair and my father back towards the kitchen table.
I miss that.
While it might not be the way of today, I try to emulate my mother in that regard. I do the cooking and cleaning in the home while my husband, Chad, takes care of the outside. He mows, weed whacks, snow blows, sprays for spiders and other bugs, keeps the cars maintained and, sometimes, will water my flowers. (I forget…a lot) He goes so far as to mow the two houses around ours as they are vacant and wants to make sure mice don’t start showing up on our doorstep. I often wonder if he would like to trade with me but I’m sure he thinks laundry is the deal breaker. I don’t blame him.
So why this little peek into my life right now?
You would think my posts on Facebook would be sufficient but those are mostly pictures of our children, posts of where my band is playing, our bass fishing happenings and cats. My cat, Charley, does make his fair share of appearances.
I do love cats.
Maybe this peek is because writing helps me put my feelings into words. I write all the time: Notes on scraps of paper, ideas on the back on an envelope, texts to myself, emails to myself so as not forget things to do, song lyrics in the middle of the night. All the time. I have notebooks lying around in every room of the house. There are so many thoughts in my head that I just need to get them out.
It could also come as I start back to school this Monday on my mother's actual 80th birthday. I have an Associate's Degree in Accounting but having a Bachelor's Degree in Creative Writing and English would serve me better. My first step toward that goal is a bit intimidating but my parents always said I could do whatever I set my mind to. Actually, my dad said I had "It". My mom says I "step in it" each time something good happens to me. In reality, it's my choices that give me what I want...with a little help from God thrown in. He has a way of steering me in the right direction.
I, as my husband says, am animated. In my walk, talk, mannerisms, voice...I am a walking, talking, singing cartoon character. With this much enthusiasm inside it has to be brought out in a creative way.
It's best not to be creative with numbers. That can get you into heaps of trouble.
Learning how to be a better writer has always been a goal of mine. Here is to a new chapter in my Book of Life I am writing: A new day, a new story, a new ending and a new beginning.
