Sunday, September 10, 2006
Hanging
Yes indeed we are back. These few days off were spent canning, shopping, and feeling the ankles scream from standing too much. On Wednesday Cindy and David were up for a visit. Cindy helped me prep plums for canning and David did some outside things to help me get ready for fall. He buried the cable for the satellite dish that had to be moved when the deck was replaced. He also brought the swing down to store under the deck for the winter. On the inside he closed the cupola windows because our nights have become increasingly cooler.
Les called yesterday to say we were up and running but I had to type in Jay’s blog entry for him. I read his e-mail to him and we visited the Allotment Lady’s blog. I was able to peek at a couple of my favorite people on line.
Then in looking around I saw a pile of unread newspapers, mail to open (including a checking statement to peruse and a summons for jury duty which I can refuse because I’m over 70 years old. I figure they had 50 years to call me and never have so why serve now!). Add to that a sticky kitchen floor from canning, newly canned food to go down to the food room (or canning pantry), a dryer full of clothes to fold, and a very dirty Brandy to round out some of the duties. Brandy got bathed this morning and some of the newly canned produce was taken down but the rest of the mess is still right where it was. It is calling me and derailing my train of thought. I can see the sun shining outside, the temperature is 64 degrees on the thermometer in the corner of the porch. and I feel the urge to visit the great outdoors but I can’t today.
A call from the builder Saturday informed me that someone would be out on Monday to put the handrail on the steps at one end of the deck as promised but not written in the proposal. He will also to patch a hole left when a post was removed that was fitted into the soffit. Also the Road Commission called to say they would be out Monday to do the correction on the driveway erosion. So tomorrow promises to be a busy day. Then Tuesday the beets will be in at the farm stand.
So I’m hanging in here and hope you are too.
This Mom’s Life!
In my E-mail today I received this from Skyline. Now I don’t know about you but this says exactly what my life as a mom is!
Is there a magic cutoff period when
offspring become accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful
moment when parents can become detached spectators in the lives of their
children and shrug, “It’s their life,” and feel nothing?
When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for
doctors to put a few stitches in my son’s head. I asked, “When do you
stop worrying?” The nurse said, “When they get out of the accident
stage.” My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.
When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom
and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted the
class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read
my mind, a teacher said,"Don’t worry, they all go through this stage and
then you can sit back, relax and enjoy them.” My mother just smiled
faintly
and said nothing.
When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to
ring, the cars to come home, the front door to open. A friend said,
“They’re trying to find themselves. Don’t worry, in a few years, you can
stop worrying. They’ll be adults.” My mother just smiled faintly and
said nothing.
By the time I was 50, I was sick & tired of being vulnerable. I was
still worrying over my children, but there was a new wrinkle, there was
nothing I could do about it. My mother just smiled faintly and said
nothing. I continued to anguish over their failures, be tormented by
their frustrations and absorbed in their disappointments.
My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying
and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my
mother’s warm smile and her occasional, “You look pale. Are you all
right? Call me the minute you get home. Are you depressed about
something?”
Can it be that parents are sentenced to a life time of worry? Is
concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of
human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse or is
it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?
One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, “Where
were you? I’ve been calling for 3 days, and no one answered. I was
worried.” I smiled a warm smile.
The torch has been passed.