Sunday, November 25, 2012
Reactionaries dread the changes in life because we do not cause them. Our changes usually ARE sad because they are the changes caused by breaking, death, illness, catastrophe, and loss. Those who enjoy change do not mourn the old ways because they intentionally, yes, on purpose, turned away from that path and chose another. This is the pathway to peace as we grow up... I can think of multitudes of changes that should have been good. Yet, in my typical, fearing demeanor I have refused the joy because I chose to hang on to that past. In my driveway at home a red Thunderbird, a scarlet Camaro,and a silver Intrepid slowly rust to the ground. Why? They ceased to function. We purchased other cars to transport us, but we couldn't bring ourselves to make that cut, junk those memories with the chassis of yesterday.... And so they sit, blocking our vista with reminders and impeding the future as weeds mingle with their wheels...
New shoes go in the closet while absolutely reproachable ones sit handily by the door... Mom's old stove slipped to the back porch to soften her heartbreak of giving up the stove she and Daddy bought together to begin their lifetime of happy meals, marriage, and events. The new gradually works itself in, but without a change and a parting, it will just sit atop the rubbish, precariously balanced on the past...
Can a person choose to change this most integral facet of her own character? If I don't, I see my future as a series of scramblings toward survival. No choices, just defensive maneuvers to survive; life becomes a game of chess played from the viewpoint of protecting the king without risking the attack that might win the game... We prolong the play, but we cannot be the victor if we never, ever march toward the offensive and map strategy to alter our futures with positive direction.
And to live with a dear, dear, fearful-of-the-future mother.... To be followed generationally by a son who mandates things remain exactly the same... Even to the point of not moving the tools my dad left sitting by the barn door...
The end of The Great Gatsby says, "And so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into our past.." Hopeful, yet pessimistic.
So here I am. School is bringing on the pressure. Life beings me burdens in the form of health issues, money problems, and so on... Mom is from a different, stronger generation. She knows she is right. My son knows he is right. I am that silly, willy, nilly peacemaker generation who tries to negotiate the river without any wake, without any steam, without a paddle or a rudder... I'm drifting. Some of my friends are the same. Others have seen the light and are casting ballast overboard to make a different lifestyle.
On this sunny November morning, I am setting up to make my own changes.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Then came the foolhardy part.... kind of like riding with an alcoholic who has only had a "few"... Mom wanted the stove to be okay so much we tried lighting it several times. Once my breath was enough to ignite the fumes in the oven's coils... That feels like magic! But is a bit disconcerting if one's face is right there... Later, even the burners atop the stove performed similar pyrotechnics as they poofed up about six inches from a low blue flame, make a huge "pop" and went out... Mom called the time of death about eleven a.m.
I have ordered us a new gas stove to be delivered on Friday morning. My son and I wheedled my mother into keeping her beauty and not sending her to the ditches. I plan to wheel her into the extra room/pantry/laundry room off the kitchen... If anyone could see the disarray in there, they might wonder how that Thanksgiving Miracle is to take place... I dunno.. I just plan.
Our meal is to be on Friday, and again my cousin/sister is saving the day by bringing an electric roaster for Mr. Turkey who is sitting politely in his pan in the refrigerator. We are using electric oven, microwave, and crock pot to create our Thanksgiving meal. The new stove maybe will be here in time to finish the trimmings, and maybe not... and maybe just in time to really cause a delay. Luckily our only guests are my son and my dear friend... both will understand.
While I am thrilled to have a new stove to enjoy, I am equally happy not to have to say goodbye to our queen of the kitchen.... I am so nostalgic...
Monday, November 12, 2012
Thursday, November 8, 2012
What a surprise this week brought! I had been discussing plans to rearrange my little room at Mom's. I came home from school on Tuesday, and my son was safely stashed upstairs, his truck hidden in back. He had been there all afternoon and had somehow moved all my furniture... Big beds, cabinets, tables. He had put everything where we discussed as a huge and miraculous surprise for me... I was enchanted. and so happy! Now comes my part: cleaning and organizing and yes, pitching... I did not feel well again, so I had to stay home yesterday and recuperate. The new arrangement of the room soothes me and looks more like a room than a stuffed showcase. I have always been the type of cleaner who doesn't enjoy a good housecleaning if I don't move stuff around.
My poor Mama came tiptoeing down the stairs, uttered a little, feeble, "Oh, my!" and turned around and found herself a little chair. It IS overwhelming. That's part of the fun.
Yesterday I made a special Spanish soup from the blog of dear Cielo at House in the Roses. It was a Garbanzo Soup, and I was hesitant because I wasn't sure about all those little garbanzos. It was magnificent and just what the doctor ordered to help us both feel better. I ordered little blue sheers for my windows at Mom's. They are so different. It picks up the little blue flecks of flowers in her wallpaper. Blue is such a soothing color to me...
Friday, November 2, 2012
I see All Saint's weekend as a new beginning, the truer New Year of the soul. All of us here have only a few short days to remember just what it is that creates our love's journey.
I am ready for the weekend. No huge plans, just ready to metaphorically dance in the sunshine or shadow of the winter-warnings of early frost and the lingering melody of late warmth... These days are brief and beautiful, November Gold at heart.