kellementology

life according to me

Tag: Mothers

  • Horoscopes and Fairy Godmothers

    img_6936.JPG When I actually think to read my horror-scope, I like to read it at the end of the day. Somehow, it’s all so much more mysterious when given the day’s events, I’m able to analyze the extent to which the stars have been correct. Or at least that Holiday Mathis, who happens to write the horoscopes our daily paper prints, is correct.

    Today, mine stated, “Neither here nor there is a good place to be. It’s not that you’re undecided or wishy-washy. You’re thinking is flexible, open — just in case a better idea comes along. It will tonight.”

    It’s amazing how that works. I know it’s all about interpretation, but still. “Neither here nor there” has to do with my opinion on whether my mother should move back to California or Virginia. She drove across the country to Virginia seeking adventure last summer. She sold her casita, gave away almost all of her possessions, packed her car and left. Why Virginia? Because my sister and her family recently moved there and it makes sense that when you’re 70 years old and you want to relocate on limited resources, you might feel more confident if you know someone once you arrive. I know I would.

    But things didn’t go quite the way my mother expected and when she couldn’t face the challenges that kind of a move forces on everyone, after a few months, she drove to New York to stay with her sister. There has been no adventure. Zero. I was hoping there might be, because my mother can have quite a spirit, but I was wrong.

    I’ve been wrong before.

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    Mom, you know it’s true. But wouldn’t you have rather had me encourage you than tell you you couldn’t do it? That it wouldn’t work? That you’d never stick it out? That you’re not strong enough, or too old? If I’d believed any of that, I would have told you. I actually believe people can do things they don’t realize they’re capable of. I’ve seen it. I’ve also seen what happens when they’re suffocated by someone who thinks they can’t do anything. Can’t meet expectations. Won’t fit into whatever box has their name on it. It makes me sick.

    I’m a Pollyanna. When I believe in something, I really believe it. I believe it so much that I’m convinced that being positive can influence even the most negative circumstances. I think people struggle with this idea when they really know me, because I’m also very blunt. I haven’t seen a rule that suggests that if I’m an optimist, that I must also be coy. Or “wishy-washy.”

    I suppose some may consider that being wishy-washy is one of my characteristics because I choose not to say exactly what I believe is best at a particular moment in time with five seconds of thought on the situation. Call it the effect of working with and caring for over 1,000 students in my career, each of whom was very different from another. I’d say that being “undecided” about something is more about “flexibility” because the very best decisions are made after time spent measuring and thinking, stewing and talking.

    But that’s difficult for some. Sitting down, making eye contact, and actually talking in a constructive fashion is daunting. I’m supposed to be understanding about this, and I can when I have to, but I’m just not feeling the love right now. What could possibly happen? People might actually understand how one another feels?

    It’s annoying.

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    If I was a calm person, I’d be able to shake it off. People often tell me that. But I’m incapable of shaking anything off. If I was a dog, I’d be a flea bus. Things sit with me, or on me, nudging and poking me to pay attention to them. To argue, to fight, to figure them out…yesterday. Isn’t that ironic? You’d think I wanted to get them over with. But I can’t, because they require time, and what I’ve learned is that with time comes reason.

    Think about all the great aspects of life and living that come with time: babies are born, seeds sprout and blossom, a roast braises, a plot unfolds, wine ferments, love deepens.

    I’ve started this three times and have deleted all that I’ve written. I won’t this time because I’m tired. I shouldn’t be, but I am.

    Going back to the horoscope, as far as a “better idea coming along tonight” is concerned, I’d say yes. I vote for my Fairy Godmother to tap my head with her wand and grant me any wish to come true.

    I’d wish that you were free of worry, Mom. That you could be happy. That you could laugh and enjoy life. That you felt you deserved things…

    …for starters.

    What do you want, Mom? Do you know?

    Have you ever known?

    I can’t imagine.

  • Lavender and peace of mind

    I’ve been thinking about my mom quite a bit lately. It isn’t that I don’t think of her, because she’s always in my mind at one point or another in a days’ time for any number of reasons.

    When I leave something out of place, I hear her voice telling me to put it away. Or as I complete a task, I remember the times she explained how she would do it instead. I think of her when I cook and when I pull weeds, or when I simply think, because she does quite a bit of it herself.

    Yes, I know everyone thinks. But there are different kinds of thinking. Some are good at avoiding their thoughts. Others think solely to work through the mechanics of a day or a week. Even a lifetime — just so they have something to think about.

    There are those who keep themselves busy so they might avoid their thoughts. Perhaps moving one’s hands works as an eraser might, obliterating memories that replay themselves inhumanely.

    Some people do all of the above simultaneously.

    Relentlessly.

    I can hear her thinking right now.

    The lavender outside my back door is beautiful right now, its deep blue more intense than I’ve seen before. I let it get wild and rarely cut it to bring inside because I enjoy its cascade from the planter encroaching onto the flagstones, the long stems pushing skyward, attracting bees and butterflies. When I brush my hand over the blossoms, sweet fragrance fills the air.

    I couldn’t resist cutting a handful to put in an old vase she gave me a few years ago.

    Lavender for my mom…

    Lavender is soothing, relaxing the mind and the body, and it’s what I always want for her more than anything else.

    So on this Love Thursday, I’m thinking of this first day of spring, and fragrant flowers.

    I’m thinking of my mom.

  • Cheers to You, Family, and new Gaming PCs.

    So we made it to Virginia and after a few days of very grey skies and a refreshing chill in the air, it totally warmed up to near 60 degrees and then rained. Sheesh. And today?

    The freaking sun is out. What’s up with that? You would think that when you fly across the damn country for the holidays at least it could pretend like it was going to snow. Feh.

    That list I made before I left had to get done or we wouldn’t have been able to get on the plane. So no problem there. When the shuttle driver arrived at the front door to collect us, the house was decent, the presents for the older boys were snuggled under the tree and as an added bribe to them to take care of the house while we were gone, we had the RT open one of his presents we couldn’t take…a gamer’s computer (HP Pavilion Elite) with a 22″ flat panel monitor and a humongous graphics card (XFX GeForce 8800 GT XXX) and I have to swagger around a bit when I say that even though I have absolutely NO idea what I’m talking about) that had to have its own power source (or some kind of a fan thingy installed). We had it installed before we left the store (Fry’s Electronics, thank you very much and NOT BEST BUY Bwhahahahahahaha Losers…) by a sales/tech guy who was completely cool, talked the entire time he was putting it in and answered everyone else’s questions at the same time — including “The Wife” on his cell a couple of times regarding being home on time for a change. The guy works 16 hour days. Amazing. We came home with a fist full of rebates I now have to complete so we can actually have a few checks in the mail at some point in the next century. I’ve done them before and I swear we never get anything out of them — most likely because I forgot to cross a “t” or dot an “i.”

    Now the cool thing about this computer is that it also functions as a TV, so that helps us out a bit in the area of ensuring that we can all be in separate rooms watching different programs and never see each other ever again. Trick. AND (drum roll…) now neither the MoH or the RT has to use my Mac. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT.

    Seriously. It’s mine, mine, mine. ALLLLLLLLLLL mine and they don’t get to TOUCH it.

    EVER. So I’m sure the two older boys (okay, so they’re men, but you know how that goes when you’re the mom, right?) are enjoying it while the RT is away. And you can imagine the RT is sweating a bit because he had to leave it at home and is now stuck in this female infested house for the holidays. My sister does have a Wii, though, so people have been having a blast with that. I haven’t succumbed, but most likely will tonight after a couple glasses of wineski.

    Enough of that nonsense.

    So I just wanted to let you know we were all alive and well, have celebrated my mom’s 70th birthday in true style (there wasn’t a fancy dress in the house…) and took some photos I’ll have to try and share later. Totally hilarious. Oh, and “we” constitutes my sister’s family (husband and two younger daughters) her oldest daughter and her boyfriend (who left Monterey, CA to live here instead and are holed in upstairs indefinitely..) my mother (who’s living in the basement sort of indefinitely, but actually more like temporarily…) a dog, and three cats who all have to be kept away from one another. Oh. And us. Quite the household.

    Today, more lists are in order — but they’re the lists I’m good at that include miles of ingredients and a sequence of what to prepare in which order. With one last trip to the grocery store (there have already been two…) we’ll be ready to hunker down for a fun night of dessert making, toasting (instead of the roasting we did to my mom last night), and preparing for our holiday breakfast and then dinner later.

    The MoH and RT are out today with my seester doing the turismo thang in D.C. I’ll venture out on Wednesday (which is our wedding anniversary) and make like a tourist myself. Maybe I’ll even twist the MoH’s arm a bit for a swanky dinner or something.

    In the meantime, I sincerely hope you are warm, doing what fills your heart — regardless of what it is — and that you are healthy.

    Thanks for visiting my little space in the Bloggosphere so often this past year. You have helped to take me from the exhausted, burnt out, frazzled, and completely flattened person that I was, to a person who laughs much more than she used to, and who has also recovered something she thought she’d lost for good — writing.

    YOU ROCK!

  • And another one leaves Paradise.

    My mom has loaded up and is getting into her little white car tomorrow at about 3:00 AM. She’s sold her casita in the hills, and the last few real possessions other than clothes have been gifted, donated, or bartered away. Although she has had to make the difficult decision to leave a dear Tabby with a neighbor, she has Emily, a cat abandoned at birth, and close companion for nearly ten years accompanying her. She also has one of her own three sisters, packed and ready to go along for the ride. The 3,000 mile journey is sure to be Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. And they will take no prisoners.

    Tomorrow morning before the crack of dawn with Willie Nelson blasting on her radio, her neighbors will be treated to “On the Road Again” well before they’re ready to rise. They’ll know that “E” is gone. That she’s left town. She’s outta Dodge. And a Hearty High-Ho Silver — Away! Any person unfortunate enough to stumble out of bed to figure out what all the racket is about could be treated to a couple of flying fingers of fate extended from the car windows– one from each side, barely visible, but recognizable through the dust.

    She’s off to Virgina to start over again. It’s for the last time, she has said, but I’ll believe that when I see it. No, she’ll not likely be back in Paradise anytime soon, although she’s lived here since 1968. A lifetime of wanderlust has finally taken a gentle hold and nudged her to head somewhere else. Anywhere else but here. The expense and the summertime heat has gotten to her. The dust and the grit of living out in the hills. The unwillingness to tolerate for One. More. Day. the motley assortment of individuals who inhabit the community she has called home for more than six years. My sister moved to Virginia in December and that has been another factor. No, she’ll not be back. I know this. Although she has lived in Arizona, California, Florida, South Carolina, and Spain, the decision to move from one place to the next has never been hers. For the very first time, it is.

    Younger Mom Quite a milestone.

    She’ll be 70 this December, so those of us stuck in Paradise will head to the Right Coast, gather ourselves into a little bunch, and launch her into her eighth decade on this planet. She’s always been full of piss and vinegar, of fire and brimstone, of little insecurities and quiet regret, but she’s healthy as a horse.

    For a while, I wasn’t sure she’d go. First she was, and then she wasn’t. Elation, then dejection. Emails flying furiously across the miles, and phone calls that should have been on conference call with everyone involved throwing in their two cents. Angry words, less than pleasant thoughts, and depressing Google searches for “senior services” or “jobs for senior citizens” and “cheap rentals” filled our time.

    Her desire to move to a place away from here and into a small home next to a big tree waned. It all became too large for her. She exhausted herself and us with it all. We ran out of ideas. Out of suggestions. Had no patience left for any of it.

    Time came to the rescue like it always does. It passes more slowly than desired, forcing hard thought about choices. The act of planning is constructive, but at the same time a struggle with emotion always accompanies any decision made. Is this the right thing to do? Will I be okay? Who am I leaving behind? Will I regret this decision, or will it be the best I’ve ever made? I’ve always said I’ve wanted to go and never have. This is my chance…

    I wish I could afford space on a billboard somewhere along a winding road that she might see which says, “Bon Voyage.” Or purchase a message to display across the silver surface of the Goodyear blimp, looming slowly over the horizon one day to encourage her along. Perhaps a plane to script a message in the sky to send love. But I can’t.

    And I don’t quite know how to tell her how proud I am of her and her decision. That I wish the best for her and know that this is the very best thing for herself she has ever done. Ever.

    I shall be telling this with a sigh

    Somewhere ages and ages hence:

    Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —

    I took the one less traveled by,

    And that has made all the difference.

    It has guided me for so many, many years and I wish it to carry you along as well.

    You go, Mom! Kick butt and take names the entire freaking way. Find a hundred great places to write, “E Was Here.” Make your mark. Beep and wave at people you don’t know, just because you can. And absolutely make sure that you slam the door as hard as you possibly can on the way out.

    No mooning, though. Kay?

    Mom

  • Genetically Meandering and Goal-Free, or Something

    Funny how a subtle change in a suffix or hyphenation can significantly change the connotation of something. As in goal-less or goal-free. One clearly implies not only lack — but a negative one at that, and the other, a sort of liberating, non-shackled state of being. Sort of the difference between:

    • the sad sack who hits the alarm button in the morning with a mental list of, “get up, take a shower, feed the animals, take the car in, pay the bills, defrost the Thanksgiving leftovers for dinner, label my linen closet…” and

    • the ebullient chap who bounds out of bed each day exclaiming, “Yes! The whole day is ahead of me and I can’t wait to find out what amazing things will come my way!”

    Okay, well, maybe the contrast is a bit strong, but I came across this site not too long ago, and am probably one of the few who didn’t learn about it on Oprah, because I sort of forget to actually watch Oprah. Yes, I’m home. No, I just don’t think about it. The television doesn’t usually go on until about 7 or 7:30 so we can trash our brains family style watching things like Jeopardy, So You Think You Can Dance, Hell’s Kitchen, and — well, you get the idea. We are sort of in the “goal-free” category of television viewers. We “meander with purpose” to borrow Stephen Shapiro’s phrase.

    My mom often tells me she hasn’t had a goal in her life. This admission often comes after we’ve been discussing “stuff.” The stuff can be any number of “things.”

    Things like life.

    Not so small a thing, or even closely related to stuff. But if I listen carefully, the goal issue usually connects to the idea of planning on, organizing for, going through, and/or getting a career. Not a job or work. A career. Why other things don’t seem to be considered that took her determination and perseverance is beyond me.

    IMG_0892 I’ve noticed that people have a tendency to lord it over those who haven’t jumped through life’s hoops. Like there are a set of rules somewhere that we have to follow so that we can be recognized at the end of The Road. Kind of like a graduation. You get there, someone reads your name, and then there’s a list of what you’ve “done” with your life. Career seems to be at the top of the list. Especially a career that is connected to education. A formal education. One that was obtained at an easily recognized and even prestigious institution.

    But what if you haven’t done those things? What happens if you have a completely different set of rules that you live your life by? What if your life is goal-free instead of goal-less? More importantly, what if your goals have always been things like:

    • keep your children clean, fed, and well clothed;

    • be relentlessly productive because it is an end in itself;

    • teach your children to be practical;

    • make sure your children do their homework, and clean their rooms;

    • be extremely organized and tidy;

    • make sure your children understand that manners are important, and that they are a reflection of the entire family while in public;

    • focus on functionality;

    • teach your children how to cook, sew, garden, and take care of the house;

    • take time to grow, appreciate, and smell flowers;

    • pay your children an allowance even though you shouldn’t afford it, and teach them how to save that allowance;

    • buy musical instruments and pay for lessons when you know you can’t afford it;

    • tolerate inane jobs to earn a paycheck to feed your children;

    • make sure your children understand that nothing in life is free, so working very hard is how you get ahead;

    • have a day job and a night job;

    • make sure your children understand that education is important;

    • try different jobs when you no longer have to worry about feeding your children;

    • keep reaching because you know there’s something out there for you, just waiting, if you could only see it more clearly, and so many other things didn’t get in the way, distracting you, making you wonder if you should be afraid of reaching.

     

    Yes, what if your life has been filled with those kinds of things?

    Are you goal-less, or goal-free? The whole concept fascinates me because it is easy to line up a few people we can all identify as being successful without too much analysis. We default to the “who’s productive and wealthy” criteria that is so often the crux of  our society. But then, after assembling these iconic individuals, we have to examine whether they’ve all jumped through those hoops I mentioned earlier. Often, they have not. What we learn is they had their own set of hoops, and that the hoops were of varying sizes, movable, and sometimes intentionally avoided, or dismissed as being a waste of time.

    Hoop-less, or hoop-free? Maybe you think it’s all just Hoop-lah.

    What do you want to do? What matters to you? What is important? What will sustain you — and not just your bank account? Because I think that’s the key. If this whole business of making lists and setting goals is never going to be more than crossing off the things on your list, or checking off those boxes, then all you’ll end up with is a list of things you crossed off. Or maybe not.

    What if that list says things like:

    Travel around the world?

    • You have to want to do this, of course…

    • You have to at least think about how to begin or where to begin

    • You will need to consider how much or little to take with you

    Read untranslated works of Gabriel Garcia Marquez?

    • You might want to consider learning Spanish…and practicing a lot

    Be famous?

    • This is relative considering the guy who just got caught for spamming up our emails. Okay, so infamous. But still…

    • You can’t just sit and wait around for it to happen.

    • You have to at least learn what spam is and how to make everyone else miserable with it.

    • Or lose a lot of weight eating Subway Sandwiches instead of home-baked chocolate cookies with macadamia nuts.

    Winged Victory

    People who want to do things just do them. That’s why Nike tells us to “Just Do It.” What they really mean is, “Shut the funk up and get off your arse. Go brush your teeth and quit stinking up the air space with your monotonous jabbering about what you’re going to do or want to do or wish you could do if only you could do it.” Nike knows us. Well, they really just want us to pay a fortune for their products made for a fraction of a penny on the dollar in third world countries, but that’s another topic. So their marketers know us. Or get paid to act like they do. A lot.

    The problem is, when your head feels like it’s going to pop off every minute of every day because you’re just trying to make ends meet (whatever ends are pertinent to an individual’s life) heading in a semi-focused direction beyond survival can feel a tad bit overwhelming. Making that list may seem easier than doing something unfamiliar. Articulating those goals make seem like organizing for action. Being industrious and productive can look great on the surface because you’re “getting things done,” but that just takes up time. The rest of it is horribly messy and doesn’t really fit in any kind of a list, so you never really have to do it. Right?

    And when you run out of time at the end of the day, you can get into bed and dream about what you’d really like to do, if only you had the chance.

    I am a meanderer. I waver toward whatever I am interested in. Detour here, wrong turn there. Learning and taking notes along the way, but rarely with the journey being described as the shortest distance between two points. The plan would be to get there in the shortest amount of time, but there are just too many shiny things I have to wonder about and understand along the way.

    So probably more goal-free than goal-less. But always purposeful.

    Unflaggingly. Thanks for the genes, Mom.

  • My NUTs. And Yours?

    It’s chilly here today, making getting out of bed a bit more challenging in the feeble light coming through the windows above the blinds. But I can hear the RT in his bathroom, and after a quick glance at the clock, know that if I don’t get up, I will miss seeing him off for school. As he passes by our bedroom door, I notice that although he is sporting a different green tee than he did yesterday, he is wearing the same brown cargo shorts, and has yet to don socks.  I know, with very little analysis, that he will recycle the socks he wore yesterday, slung over his shoes where he left them yesterday .

    I make it downstairs on this non-carpool day, and am rewarded by the RT’s Mom smile– a warm and honest gesture that is often accompanied by a hug. Nice. Ten more minutes before he goes out for his ride into this grey and wet day. I know before opening the patio door that Ms. Jones is not going to want to pee on a wet patio, and I’m probably going to have to venture out in front of the neighbors so she can pee on the wet grass instead. Dog logic? She surprises me by pushing through the partially opened door and gingerly stepping across the flagstones and around the corner to take care of her duty.

    I call up to the RT who has gone to get in a few minutes on the Internet even though I’ve graced him with my presence, “You’re going to need your sweatshirt today.” I know that he wears it most days because it’s soft and comfy, and probably makes it easier for him not to pay attention to The Geometry Teacher, but I have to remind him. One of our cats is trying to rush for the door about now, paranoid that I’ll close it on his tail like I did last week, and makes it through only to realize that it’s wet outside. He backs up, sits near my feet and looks at me as if to say, “What the hell is this all about?” and consigns himself to the view from the back of a chair. Today he’ll have to settle for looking through the window at the birds in the jasmine and stalk their movements with flattened ears and that low “cackling” sound he reserves for moving targets on his radar.

    The RT is out the door about now, 50 lb. back pack hoisted over one shoulder, and the notebook I’ve asked him twice to organize in the past two days, tucked under an arm, still sporting the signs of complete disaster from its edges. I tell him to have a good day, hoping it will be better than yesterday. The two of us decided then that a 50% on The Geometry Teacher’s test was better than what we thought it would be, but getting an F on a test never feels great. I’ll have to put “Giving Geometry Another Chance” on my mental NUTs list. NUTs, you say?

    Nagging Unfinished Tasks, according to Michael F. Roizen, M.D., are things that we could fix, but don’t, thereby causing you and I “aging stress,” which is far more harmful than breaking a bone, because we learn to deal with that. He says those kinds of events are “important, but manageable.” Okay, so let me get this straight. In other words, I’ll just adapt to the circumstances of hmmm…. I know — having a humongous cast on my leg that sticks straight out, forcing me to be in a wheel chair; I’ll be able to get in my compact car, drive myself to the grocery store, carry my crying toddler around while trying to get dinner on the stove. Bathe. Go to the bathroom. Of course, there is absolutely no stress involved in any of that. My malleable demeanor will simply adjust. Instead, what will really get to me while the cast is on my leg, is the items on my NUTs list — the items I don’t take care of that are silently driving me crazy, creating unhealthy levels of adrenaline, cortisone, and other hormones in my system, and leaving me susceptible to myocardial ischemia, and at greater risk of a heart attack. What might those more pressing, driving me nuts, NUTs be if my leg actually was in a cast? Shaving my legs? Reaching that dust ball under the wall unit? Painting the chipped polish on the big toe protruding from my cast? The author cannot be serious.

    But back to reality here, and my current state of angst. In an attempt to embrace the concept of Roizen’s NUTs (no pun intended whatsoever) to identify my own NUTs (anatomically impossible) and add “Relearning Geometry” to the list, I can combine my smarts with those of the RT, and thereby assist him in improving his understanding of Geometry. Bear in mind that because the RT is almost 15, and should be learning to employ skills which will last a lifetime, I actually believe he would be better served taking advantage of the student-run tutoring center at school. However, I also believe I can’t take him there and make him do it. He has to want to do it himself. But that’s because I’m a relentless, suck-it-up-and-get-it-done, erstwhile educator.

    My NUTs: 1) Get a job; 2) Complete filing papers; 3) Call the local charity to get rid of things in the garage so my husband can park in it, too; 4) Complete unfinished upholstery job on two bedroom chairs; 5) Complete stain and seal of outside furniture; 6) Paint unfinished patch over downstairs bathroom door; 7) Truly clean refrigerator

    What are your NUTs?