My Eighty-Year-Old Heros

My mom and dad are 80 and 82. They still drive. They can still think.  

They are a marvel.  My parents are super-heroes.

Daddy is much thinner than he has ever been. He is underweight.

What I did not expect was to have him pick up a plastic bin filled with cookware, weighing at least forty pounds, and haul it into the house like it was nothing. I barely could get the thing up the porch steps, my elbows about to pop apart at any moment.

Mami is hurting more, more than she has ever been. I expected that, with her asthma, COPD, arthritis, and leg pains.

What I did not expect was her running house to house on Halloween with a blond Marilyn Monroe wig on, begging for candy. Okay... maybe I wasn't expecting it, but am I surprised? Not at all.

My Little Sister was the closest relative, living only two doors down from my parents. She has since moved away (I'm thinking running away), and it has been left up to me to be their "go-to" gal.  At first I was wary. Mami can demand a lot of attention. Papi usually doesn't speak at all (especially when Mami is around.)

But as I spend more time with them, I find that I really enjoy their company. There is a camaraderie. I make sure I take time to engage Papi in conversation, not letting Mami cut him off or take over the topic. Soon we are all conversing about world affairs, local news, their childhood memories, grandchildren and much more.

My parents are sentient, they're smart, they're passionate. Their life has been a hard one. They have lived all of their 80 years living way below the poverty line. They showed me that worrying does you no good. That money and  living can be difficult, but manageable even with five kids, a dog, and a parakeet.

They showed us that even without money, one can live a full and rich life, filled with love, without fear, without regret.

I look at them. I feel that there is decades in them yet.  But I know that life has a way of hitting you with the unexpected. My sisters and brother and I are so lucky to have them still.


Update: Six years later, my dear Papi passed away at the age of 88. I am a grateful to be his daughter.

She Needs to Know

I was inspired by the connection we made today when my mother called from Puerto Rico. 

She Needs to Know 

She called wanting to know.  That’s what a Mom needs. 

She needs to know. Everything.

If she can know

then maybe she won’t worry so much. 

She’ll keep connected to the people she loves. 

A connection that cannot possibly ever be severed.

If she knows, maybe she can be there for her child.

Maybe there will be a need to console,

to advise, or to cry with her child. 

Or maybe to cheer, rejoice, congratulate,

or exclaim like the days of old.

But best of all maybe to laugh

and be more than mother and child

and thereby find joint joy.

By knowing, she can imagine

that eyebrow of yours going up,

the glint in your eye when

you’ve made a decision,

the way you look when you’re pensive. 

Her connection is experience.

She needs to know

because she believes she’s the one person

that knows you better than you know yourself.

She imagines the thoughts and emotions running through you.

And feels it with you so far away.

And when She called, I made it light and airy. 

There was nothing new to report

No crisis, no triumphs, a typical cold day.

Much like hers except there’s heat in her day.

Nothing that needed much knowing

No underlying need to role-play mother and child

But I know that She likes to console and feel needed

so I complained of all I had to do.

And she told me to slow down and take it easy.

So we laughed, we talked

Of happy things, listening to the joy

And the harmony within our voices.

Because now I know what She knows

Our ages are far closer than our years

And I know and feel the same need

To be the She, wanting to know.

Sugar Make You Go - Go Do Random Stuff

Well I've done it again.  My motor is revving and there is no stopping me now.  Let me see.  Let me count the sugary ways that somehow, randomly, don't know how it happened, got into my body.  

First:

Pies:  Loads of them.  From Thanksgiving forward, there are pies and cheesecakes. Pumpkin pie, pecan pie, apple pie, spinach pie, strawberry cheesecake, turtle cheesecake, all the way to New Years.

Second:

Cookies! Tons and tons of them. My mother in law who has been pretending she's been dying for the last six months, had her medication adjusted by her new nurse, greatly improving her quality of life. She feels more vibrant and can breath more easily. To prove it, she made eight gigantic batches of eight different kinds of the most delicious cookies.  But with whom can she share these fabulous mountain of cookies?  Me, of course!

More cookies! The mother of a student of mine sent in a gigantic tray of homemade cookies and muffins, along with handfuls of chocolates. The centerpiece was two caramel apples, one covered in white chocolate chips and the other in dark.  Do I have to eat them all?

Christmas Party for the kids at our school.  All the wonderful parents brought treats, cookies, cupcakes, cookies, sweet tamales, cookies, twizzlers, and cookies.

Third:

Chocolates:  Who gave me this ginormous bag of Ghirardelli Squares?  Hell, who gave me this other bag of Ghirardelli  squares?  People stop it!

Fourth:

Birthday Cakes:  Why does everyone in my family procreate in March?  Ladies are you so cold that you pretend to forgive your husband, or pretend to be asleep, or suddenly your headache is cured, so you can snuggle up close and grab some of that fiery furnace heat coming off your man? Ladies, that can only lead to one thing.You know what I'm saying. Consequently December babies are dropping left and right around here!

I proclaim that March is a NO SEX month! Who's with me?  Please family, I can't afford the birthdays and the baby Jesus' birthday too.  No. More. Cake.


Fifth:

Baklava:  My Birthday.  For most people, they get to wipe their brows and thank their stars that the holidays are over and all the food they have consumed over the past two months will soon find its way out of their systems. But each year for my birthday I get a half a tray of baklava. And. I. Eat. Them. Like. They're. Potato Chips.  So there's that.


So as my little nephew likes to say, "Sugar Make You Go." 
Took my nephew to school.
Went to the fruit/vegetable market.
Went to the school to work a couple of hours.
Cleaned my room. It was a mess.
Organized my sewing and craft room.
Created a marketing slash office slash budget slash personal goals slash, weight loss plan for the next six months. As a spreadsheet.
Called everyone and made appointments with everyone.
Took down both Christmas trees.
Made onion rings.
Talking a lot to anyone and no one.
Dancing down the decked halls.
Imparted great wisdom on the web.
Reviewed the latest Adult Education brochure that came in the mail. Circled some classes.
Colored my hair.
Updated my weekly and monthly calendar.
Completed some on-line banking.
Reorganized pictures for our web guy.
Rewrote copy - four pages worth.
Emailed my son three times. I kept forgetting to tell him stuff.
Cleared off every flat surface in the house.  Almost.
Visited with my sister, niece, and nephew.
Baked chocolate chip cookies.

Yes, I made chocolate chip cookies. But thankfully they're for my 21 year old niece for her birthday. She insists I make her a batch every year before she goes back to school. She's a December baby too. The love of cookies is strong in my family.

Did I eat some of those cookies? Only one from every batch that came out of the oven. Or only the ones that were almost burned or too brown to give away. Only a dozen or so. They're almost gone.

Anywho...

The accelerated particle collider gots nuthin' on me. I might create my own black-hole right here in the living room. So stand back. No really. Stand back.

I've got more to do and there's so little time. I suspect that this sugar high will last about another week or so and then I can relax again with the same lazy panache that is so my trademark.



So onward to the next thing, and then the next.  Go to Keely's and check out the list of randomness going on over there and get back to me later.

Perfection, Where Are You?

The Spin Cycle has given us our mission should we accept it and that was to write about Perfection.  I having just met her, may not be the right person to expound on her incredible attributes and undeniable style.  But I can say what she has meant to me and my life.


Perfection, where are you?  I'd look for Perfection all the time, but she was hiding somewhere.  I looked everywhere but just couldn't find her.  I looked for her in my closet, in my mirror, in other people, but Perfection was highly elusive and great at hiding. Maybe she was hiding in situations like in a perfect dinner, the perfect romantic date, or the perfect wedding proposal. It seemed the harder I looked, the harder she was to find. Where was she?  Didn't she know how much I needed her? Chasing Perfection just made her run faster away from me.

How come everyone else seemed to have Perfection within their grasp? That woman's relationship looks perfect. His exciting career seems perfect.  She has the perfect kitchen. That neighbor's landscaping is perfection.  What a perfect couple. That woman has a perfect body. That man is living large. Her home is perfectly clean and decorated.  Everyone else's situation seemed to be touched by Perfection.

Damn Perfection, where you hiding, girl?

Then I tried to become her creator.  Maybe I could create Perfection.  I could set up perfect situations or make perfect children or maybe I could assume Perfection's identity.  But after many attempts, although a few were successful, I found that Perfection couldn't be created with any regularity, especially if my requirement was that everything, every point, every moment be perfect. It took a lot of hard, hard work to create Perfection.

Finally I let the idea of Perfection go. I understood the futility of seeking Perfection. No more expectations of finding her at my house, or at the party, or in my relationship, or in other people.   Since she would have nothing to do with me,  Ha!,  I'd forget all about her ass.

It was exactly when I stopped looking for her that Perfection started to visit me.  Sometimes she visited for just a moment, opening my eyes to something marvelous. Perfection had a spontaneity about her. Sometimes she would stick around for a whole evening and on a rare occasion, she'd visit all day.

I met her in the oddest places sometimes.  I could be sitting in my car waiting for my son to come out of school. My eyes closed, resting. The sun warming my face, melodic chirping of birds in the tree next to me. Then a wave of sound coming from children bursting forth from the building, and a sweet little boy saying, "Hi Mommy."   Perfection.

I could be driving by a park and recognize Perfection standing at the top of a sledding hill.  Or she would give me a newborn to hold.  Sometimes she's hitchhiking and rides with us a while. Or she'll show up in my bed transforming into the loving arms of my husband. Perfection is an angel, a muse.   Her visits are to be cherished as gifts, not as mandates.

So when I stopped searching for Perfection, Perfection comes looking for me. I like the arrangement much better this way. As a matter of fact,  Perfection is with me right now. More often than not, I find her at the bottom of my coffee cup.

Sip.  Ahhhhh....



So off to Jen at Sprite's Keeper for more topics on Perfection, because she is one busy girl.

Oh Canada, There Some Random Loveliness Happening Up There

It's Random Tuesday Thoughts, yeah!  Go visit.




Randomness happens all the time, particularly when you go out of town. Because nothing is the norm. Nothing is familiar, so everything is a random happening.  Especially if someone else makes out the itinerary for you. Great fun, but effin' exhausting!

I went to Canada!
Winnipeg, Canada, to be exact, the heart of the Canadian Midwest. For some reasons there are comparisons made between Detroit and Winnipeg so they tell me, but for the life of me, I don't see the similarities.

Winnipeg is a beautiful city, rich history, clean, great architecture, great fishing, beautiful rivers, and great restaurants. After our guided tour with a friend that obviously loves his city, I fell in love with the "Peg" too.

Every time we said we were from Detroit, the Canadian response was overwhelmingly positive. Usually when traveling in the states or even in my own home state of Michigan, I don't tell people we are from Detroit. The response is negative and about stereotypes. However, in Winnipeg, I heard how they love Detroit, Motown, the Detroit sports teams, and the car industry. That was a nice surprise.

Our trip began with a drive under the Detroit River to get to Windsor. We have two choices in Detroit for border crossings, one is the bridge and the other is the tunnel. The last time I went through using the tunnel was back in 1979 and there was water running down the walls. Yikes!  Happily in 2010,  I can report not a sign of water.

As an American citizen, I'm used to hearing a lot of fear mongering on my side of the border. Border problems, a grueling customs search, ready to show "my papers", the illegal alien problems, immigration problems, bad people trying to sneak over and plotting to do harm to our country problems. So with passport, birth certificate, driver's license and even my voter's registration card in hand, and feeling every bit like an intruder trying to sneak into another country, I approached the Canadian border with apprehension and was ready for anything.

You know what I got?  Welcome to Canada! Have a great trip and a really nice day.      Oh, Canada.

Windsor airport - small and petite, no fluff, no muss, one small terminal. What, no wait at the counter? No long lines at security?  No color coded alerts.  Oh, Canada.   Are you trying to lull me into a false sense of security or something?

The airline we flew touted their slogan, we never over or double book - be confident that you'll always have your seat. What?  Are they treating me like a valued customer, with respect for me and the money I spent with their airline? Are they honoring our implied contractual agreement and putting me on a plane, that is well maintained, on time, and has a seat for everyone?  Oh yeah, and each person gets two check in two pieces of luggage and can take two overheads and best of all at no extra charge.

"Memories, light the corner of my mind...."  Sorry, got distracted.

With a lay-over in our flight itinerary, we had to take off twice, Windsor to Calgary, then Calgary to Winnipeg. We flew right over Winnipeg on our way to Calgary and waved to it from high above. I know, I know. We flew a three and a half hour flight to Calgary just to get on another plane to fly back an hour to Winnipeg.    Next time, we're getting a direct flight.

The amazing thing was when we got onto our planes, no one was pushing or shoving. No one was more important than anyone else. Everyone waited with patience and courtesy. And when the plane stopped and passengers made ready to disembark, each row was allowed to empty before the next row.
How orderly, how courteous.

Those Canadians waited their turn and didn't fill the aisle to be the first one out. They thanked each other, helped each other with the overhead luggage and waited patiently for their turn. What was this? Courtesy begot courtesy. Patience begot patience. I felt like a sentient, logical, common sense human being.

Oh, Canada - can I move here?  What? Temperatures can get to be -26 Celsius in the winter. On second thought, never mind. I will admire you from afar.

So when I got home, on the last leg of our journey, and the plane landed in Windsor, everyone promptly jumped from their seats and herded into the aisle, pushing and shoving to be the first out the plane door. Queenmaker was trapped standing patiently, awaiting his turn to exit. But he was blocked time and time again until all the important cattle herded out the door.  He looked at me in surprise. "What happened to all the manners?"

"Honey, those were US citizens, not Canadians."

"Oooooh."

Memories light the corner of my mind.

Misty water color memories

Of the way we were.

Scattered picture of the smiles we left behind, 

Smiles we gave to one another

For the way we were.

Can it be that it was all so simple then,

Or has time rewritten every line?

If we had a chance to do it all again, 

Tell me? would we? could we?

Please.

Visit Keely for more great Canadian hospitality and friendly, down home blogging.

Quiet

It's quiet.

I haven't felt this way in many a moon.

No need to be anywhere.  No obligations to fulfill.   No guilt, no need to strive, no needs at all.

Time to relax, to read, to bathe, to sit in the shade.

A tall cool glass of ice tea and lemonade at my fingertips.

My eyes half closed, listening.

My mind quiet.  My body is quiet.

Quiet. It's so blissfully quiet.