Dear Moms....

Dear Moms,

You have a gig that would make any non-Mom human falter.  I had no clue until I recently began to try on the idea. Now that I am getting an inkling, I am floored.

Hi Mom, the one who breast pumps milk at work while hiding in the unlocked server room which contains four air conditioning units on full blast to keep said servers cool under a blanket woofing down your lunch - You are a super hero.

Hi Mom of two, you breast pump in an un-lockable office supply closet.  Due to work demands and time off constraints, you went back at three and half weeks... after you tore to a three in delivery.  You can't sit down still so you have propped up your monitors with boxes and you stand all day.   Co-workers ask how your month off went.  Some how you have not clocked anyone in the mouth.  I don't know how.  If you cave and do, I promise to vouch for you and say it was self defense.

Hello Mom who isn't breast feeding,  the office wanted to go out for lunch.  To welcome you back. To get there we drove over a long and bumpy road.  You sat in the back, polite grin frozen on your teeth as your tightly bound breasts shot unthinkable amounts of pain through your body over every jolt.  I furtively watched your face turn whiter by the moment... I am really sorry...

This other Mom happens to be one of my most admired people.  She's a widow with three girls and has since all that upheaval, has re-married and had a little boy (now almost two) with the new hubby. She got in thirty minutes late the other day.  Someone said something catty about it.  Since I know her, I reached under the conference table and squeezed her hand.  She hung on back.  She was at hospital with little dude all night, and came home in the morning to find her younger daughter in a pickle I won't elaborate on here.  Point is that lady some how already turned in all of things needed for this morning by 8am.

Seriously society?

You grow a human for nine months in your body, have it extracted from your vagina or your stomach and society doesn't say, hey, since you just train wrecked your life and body, you should take the fourth trimester to heal and recover, to attempt to get onto a normal sleeping schedule, to adjust to having a tiny human in your world.

This culture says, 'Hey, get back to work! You're lucky we gave you any time off!"

I believe having a kid is a personal choice so I don't mean paid time off should be expected.  It's awesome when companies choose to but what I mean is, how can a society expects these Mom's to hurry the hell up and get back on the clock?  Or else they will consider you just a lazy entitled step-ford wife hanging out getting her nails done.  If a Mom wants to, has to, chooses to go back asap, totally cool... but at least give her a little slack!

I see you, all of you, finally, and I am a little intimidated by all of you because you are the ultimate bad-ass.

The Summer with Grandpa (2012)

In 2012, I got a job in a city by my parents and because of this job, my monthly visits via family dinners with my Grandpa became weekly and then bi-weekly visits.

On my first non-family-dinner, on-my-lunch-break-visit  I hung out with my mother in the kitchen for a bit, who as a primary caregiver, was a bit hungry for company too.

Then I wandered into his sitting room to ask how he was.  In reply he turned the TV volume up. I shrugged, sat down and ignored him in return.  I pretended my Grandma was in the room and thought about all the things I would have wanted to ask her or maybe tell her. Idly I noticed the show was a western film, an old one and watching the backdrops I asked out loud, "Was this filmed in Utah?"

He glanced sideways at me; (well, now I knew his hearing aids were in), "Who the hell cares?"

I didn't mean to but I grinned.  He caught the grin and accidentally grinned too before we both resumed ignoring the other.  I left after about half an hour, kissing his face as I went and saying I would see him Friday after work.  He didn't answer.

He was, understandably, a bit suspicious.  I wondered if he wondered if this grandchild was here for patronizing pity or for money? What was the catch? We had never been close.  Our prior monthly visits since Grandma died in 2008 were a mixed bag, sometimes he amiable, sometimes he wasn't. Plus I had always brought a baked bribe.  He loved my desserts and I was showing up empty handed.

He had lived his life as an entrepreneur and was good with his money.  He disliked authority, distrusted government and had a low tolerance for nonsense. He'd always had wandering feet and an itching to get on the road. Now, ninety six years old, he still possessed his strong mind and independence but his increasingly frail frame didn't support either aspects of his character properly. Which made him grumpy.

At least I think it made him grumpy but that may have just been one more contributory reason for grumpiness. In all of my memories of the man as a kid, I think the only time I saw him not grumpy was when he was in his garage or planning a trip.

The catch was I wanted to know him.  I missed my grandmother -a lot. As my sole surviving grandparent, I had decided he was to be inflicted with my determined company. I don't have a lot in common with most of my family.  I felt that he and I did have some things in common so I wanted to know him.

I came back on Friday.  The moment I walked in my parents ditched for a late late lunch together, something that was rare due to the necessity someone always be near him.  Mom patted my shoulder as they went past and pointed to his sitting room.  I wandered in.  He was napping.

Honestly a nap sounded nice.  I set a timer on my phone, sat down in the adjacent recliner, kicked the foot rest up and closed my eyes too.

We were both out like a light.  I woke up to the bell tones on my phone 20 minutes later and looking up I saw him studying me.  I sat up, folded my hands in my lap and smiled at him, "Hey Grandpa!"

He cleared his throat, "Why are you here? Do you need money?"

"No sir. I do not need money. I just wanted to see you."

He thought about that and answered, "Well, okay.... Then you can stay a little while."

I beamed, "I am reading a book.  I brought it and I wondered if you would like it.  I could read you a couple of pages."

"Okay then."

The next week's visits were very much the same. I started getting braver and asking why he had left the Navy and why did he start his own company?  What did he think about certain politics, religion and about having children? And you know what Reader?  He started answering all these questions.

He disliked the government because they made the Great Depression longer with all the programs they started.  He said the programs made people lazy and greedy and then the Great War was the escape goat from the bad choices.  He liked working for himself because when things fell apart, it was his to fix. Especially since things would fall apart when working for other people anyway.

This summer was a gift.

In mid September, on one of my last visits with him I told him I would soon only see him once a month again.  I had been offered a job, a very good job with a bigger company.  As I had told him about it he patted my knee and incredulously laughed, "What will You do for Them??"

I glowered.

He smiled and tugged on one of my long blond strands and gestured at my hot orange shoes, dark blue jeans and turquoise blue top, "Yes You!  You have wandering feet and a creative mind too.  What will You do for this big serious company?"

I flipped my hair, sitting up straighter, "I will be a Program Analyst."

This pleased him and he sat back with his hands on his tummy to think on that a minute while I went back to messing with the arrangement of tiny metal figurines (trains, elephants, sewing machines, etc.) on the table next to his chair.

"Girl, I will miss you." He at last advised.

I swallowed my instant female reaction and cheerfully got up to hug him.  "I will miss you too."

My last visit was end of the first week in October. I hadn't been by in five days and I was disappointed when I found him asleep.  I tiptoed back out and sat down in the front room to read my book. About five minutes later I heard his door open but kept my eyes down so he could decide if he wanted to see me.  Five minutes after that he came out and sat down without looking at me and asked, "What are you reading?"

I told him.  He shook his head, "You sure love history."

I shrugged and smiled and put it down.

"Read me a chapter Girl?"

I picked it back up and I began to read and he interrupted "Louder, no reason to whisper."

I started again, and again he interjected "Louder! Can't you read any louder?"

I flushed, maybe he forgot his hearing aids? Maybe he was having an 'off' day?

Soon I was shouting the words as I sat crossed legged, book open in my lap, my hands wildly gesturing to show the violent bloody battle scene laid out before me in calm white pages and black ink....

And then he started to chuckle and I paused, a tiny bead of sweat running down my temple, and I looked up to stare at him.

Now he was in stitches, clapping his hands on his knees as my wide eyes blankly took him in until he gasped -"Gotcha!"

I blushed, slamming the book shut as I grinned at that mischievous person. I tried to cover my mirth with my hands as I protested the ridiculousness, "Grandpa!!"

We laughed and laughed and I ruefully agreed he did get me and after a few more minutes he smiled at me and he told me he had a couple of things to say to me.

In summary he told me to always laugh and always wonder and let my itchy feet take me places and ask questions. He told me he loved his life and he was glad we were friends...And that's all I want to share on that.

I left him feeling young, small and grateful.

My Grandpa passed away just a few weeks later in November.

http://acarnamedkatie.blogspot.com/2011/11/grandpa.html

Dear Friend - Part 3

Dear Friend,

It is funny, the habits one develops without noticing. It was my habit to talk to you old lady. To talk to you about everything.  And now, without you to talk things through, when I try to write them its just a messy knot of sticky spaghetti noodles.

The words run like a rampant virus in my brain, spreading and infecting everything, yet the moment I go to write them down, it all retreats under a convenient mental blanket.

I stare at the lump on the bed in my head and I try to remember exactly what it was I really needed to have said.... but I am unable to discern the shapeless heap.

For so long I chatted you. I never thought twice about it when you started to talk back to me. My words may not have been all that different from your grunts, woofs, sighs, growls and whines.  One of my favorite memories was when you began to kick the floor when you were impatient with me or someone or something.   You would kick the floor, just like a child would stomp their foot.  Even as an old lady, (when standing for any kind of time was not reasonable), while you were sitting on the floor you would kick your foot against the floor and woof! I am laughing right now just thinking of you!

Last November Sal, that last gorgeous warm sunny day with you... when I needed to be strong for you?  That was the memory I kept replaying to make myself smile and be calm in front of you.

I have put that last day with you on my inner shelf.  The one I keep things on when I don't know what to do with them.  My inner shelf has been relatively uncluttered for a while and that day, sitting up there, nearly all by it's self, that day looks a little daunting.

I, fortunately, have my darling.  A tolerant (although I tend to exasperate him) man, he has watched me mourn, held me close and poked me into finally painting again.  We started going for walks together in the evenings, a habit I sorely missed when you were gone.  I have bonded with our Charlie Cat; Prince Charles to you who are not on intimate terms.

I started walking dogs at the Humane Society in December after work.  I was going every day and I would pick out two and take them for a walk.  Maybe it is because I think of you too much but none measured up.  They were not quite... sassy enough.  Even when we first were together and we were both all jumbled up inside, you were sassy.  Intelligent, sure, gentle, always and comfortably sassy.

Now it is January and earlier this week I met a dog.  Rescued from a pound in New Mexico, she is a stray on an Indian reservation, she is about a year and a half old.  She is sweet and nervous and excited and spooked and curious.... and I hesitated.  I walked her and she did her best even with her fear of the leash and the cars and me and the place.

Afterwards, I talked to her foster human for a few minutes.

Around the 20 minute mark -Which is a terribly long and boring time to stand and wait for humans to do something interesting, this little dog despairing groaned aloud and sunk herself tragically to the ground.  I looked down and found her bright amber eyes looking curiously into mine.

And my heart smiled.  And today I wrote this out.

My sweetheart has adeptly picked the name 'Luna' for this little Muppet.

Headed Home

Lately, the Wind Woman had been something of a pill, delivering only turbulent rain or half-hearted little breaths of a breeze.  Just in the prior week, on THREE evenings, I stood clipped into my gear, sweating in my full face helmet, fingers fiddling with my lines, staring over my shoulder at the flag on the end of launch.... and no wind....

Additionally I was immersed in family chaos composed of college graduation, dinners, military commissioning, an impromptu bridal shower -All of which a happy series of events, of course, but also loaded with family politics and emotions.  

Naturally, it was fantastic flying conditions the two nights booked with family gatherings....

And then it was Sunday and although the weather was not predicted to be flyable, it was still Sunday, the most lovely day of the week.  I am very fortunate to have a deeply religious family and usually I am left Sunday as my day -no interruptions, no events. Ah Sunday, how I eye this day with excited scheming and anticipation.  

Sunday morning we pulled weeds, hauled branches and after four hours of yardwork, the rental property was a little more presentable.  That afternoon, we hurried to Alta to celebrate closing day by slugging through heavy slushy spring snow and admiring the array of inappropriate costumes and outfits (or lack of ).  

As we returned to the car, my darling man checked the winds on his phone and announced... "Hey! It's flyable!".

Skies and boots were never so quickly shed.  Tearing down the mountain, falling out of the car to swap our ski gear for paragliders, we dashed to the flight park.  

And it was flyable;  we stepped out of the car, into harnesses and off of launch into bouncy and perfectly ahhhhhmazing wind. 

We flew and flew, for around an hour until it was time to head home.

"Headed Home"

"11" X "14" X ".75"
Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)


***I have decided this piece needs a lovely vibrant background... ;)

(Twitter)

Grandpa

On Sunday I had a call from my Mom.  She was concerned about my Grandpa, who advised her and Dad on Friday that he ‘can’t do this anymore’.  His appetite had been non-existent for weeks.  So I chopped up apples and made up my apple crisp and down we went at 4pm. 

This turned out to be a special night for me.  As soon as  we arrived I went in to see Grandpa.  I reached out and put my young hand on his old hand and waited.  The room was warm and dimly lit with only the light from his chair stand.  His eyes were faded and far away and I waited until they slowly focused and began to see me. 

I told him I’d come to see him, that I’d brought my apple crisp.  He nodded and gathered himself and said “I miss her too much” as he twisted his wedding band.  My throat locked up and I took a deep breath as he continued and advised me in low gravely words, his eyes glancing away, “You’re Marji’s oldest girl.  I’m sorry but I am too tired for company. Thank you for coming by.”

I nodded, acknowledging his dismissal.... but I was determined not to push and to push at the same time.  I smiled at him sideways, appealing to him as much as I could, “Maybe you could come out in a little while and try a little of my apple crisp.  ...I made it for you.” I stood up only when I saw an infinitesimal nod that meant 'perhaps'...  but less promising was the click of the door that he stood to shut behind me.

I had put the apple dish in the oven when we first walked in and it was nearly done when dinner was done too.  When the smell of apple, cinnamon , nutmeg and brown sugar was intoxicating the house,  I heard his bedroom door click open and looked over to see my Grandpa standing there watching.

I had a moment.  There was my grey, faded and so thin Grandpa slowly straightening until he was the dark haired dashing man in the old photos I like to look at.  He knew he was dashing, he knew who he was, what he thought and for all his gruffness there was a wealth of intuition and kindness.

And then the moment passed and there was Grandpa again.  Clear sharp old eyes, eyes that saw how much I really wanted to see him once more and he asked aloud if he could have some of the apple crisp I had made for him.

We visited, we talked, we looked at pictures, he ate every single drop of sugar and apple, he told me I had some sense and teased me about my crooked front tooth. He reminded me how important it is to write down dates on my favorite pictures because someday, the summers would mix into each other and one could no longer be sure of when it was taken.

Reader, a while ago, in April of 2008 there was another moment with him.  I went in to visit with my Grandmother.  Her health was badly declined but she had Always rallied for visits with me.  As I had done so many times before, I knelt at her chair, I took her hand and I began to tell her a silly story about my Sally, or Daisy as she had liked to call my dog.

But she did not know me.  She could not come back from the world her faded eyes were looking into.  I was so caught by surprise I froze, in a child like panic, distraught and nearly in tears, I was ready to plead she see me –when my gruff Grandpa, a man I’d always been a bit wary of… reached over, patted my shoulder and said “Come visit with me child”, saving me from my embarrassing distress with his compassion.  

We started a conversation and I had the pleasure, for the first time, of really conversing with my Grandpa.  And since this moment, even after Grandmother's passing, this would happen again and again, we would talk about the people he knew, about the world as it was then and is now, about things I do (sports) and places we had seen.  We never had a serious or life changing conversation; but simple sunny, easy and breathing ones. 

Then, this last February, 2010, we celebrated his ninety fifth birthday.  He was excited to see all of us and so happy we were there.  He grinned and laughed quietly... but after that evening he has slowly gone away.  Throughout this year I see him less on visits and when I did, we talked very little and sometimes I felt he didn't see me at all.

Until this last Sunday, when he reached out and ‘patted’ my shoulder and let me talk with him again.  May I remember his grace Reader. May I be mindful of his kindness and hold on to the honor of being related to someone so insightful and gentle to me.

The Summer with Grandpa (2012)