10 a.m. and the remaining items from under the bed, brought her new day to a screeching halt. Marianne slouched in front of them with a blank look on her face, if you don’t count the tears. She stared at seashells memorializing their off-season stroll last October. A reminder of the Cape Cod tournament that allowed for beach time between hectic games. A beautiful memory mixed with the unknown before her. The papers were one more reminder of things she didn’t understand. A slap in the face that time is fleeting and she hadn’t really known her daughter.
Your first cries were soothed with my milk and heartbeat.
Hugs and kisses calmed most else.
Band-aids and bacitracin covered your childhood.
But now you’ve graduated to anguish…
and I cannot stop your tears –
even if I went to the ends of the earth.
The love you’ve lost wasn’t mine to control.
You can only heal yourself now.
I pray that time
and good memories
help you to live with the hurt.
I am still lucky enough to spend the day before Mother’s Day with my Mom. I brought her a flower centerpiece, a balloon and an offer to drive her to the local church thrift store.
Hours are every Saturday morning, rain or shine. The weather was overcast and the sky was ready to open up at any moment. The bargain basement is only a few miles away but there’s a long desolate road in the middle called “the strip”.
Halfway to the thrift, we see a man walking along the strip. I beep at him which scares my mother to death. I wave with a smile and my mother doesn’t comprehend such behavior.
“You know him!?”, she finally asks after getting back into her own skin.
“No. I guess I’m like Dad. It was a friendly impulse.”
My mother says more than she does on most trips. She lets out a long, exasperated, disagreeing sigh.
I respond accordingly, “Maybe we should go back and ask if he needs a ride?”
My sweet mother about chokes, shifts in her seat and I can feel her evil eye as I smirk into the windshield. Even though she’s 86, I still love to get her ire up. I am a good daughter but the instigator of the family.
I think I’m funny. My mother does not. At all. Although she was lucky enough to spend a day with me.
I didn’t want her to go ahead with the plans but I couldn’t hold her back. Moving halfway across the country was a big deal. I needed to think about the situation – “stew over it”, as they say. My first chick was leaving the nest.
Thanks for the prompt.
Friday night but my disciplined husband keeps his weekly work routine and goes to bed by 9:00.
Past 9:30 but this cinema buff keeps her weekend desire to watch old movies past midnight.
Classic Hepburn was a given. Including Spencer Tracy and Sydney Poitier was like adding salt and pepper to a favorite dish.
Guess who’s coming to dinner was my 1967 choice. Looking back in time at this social issue was the comedy-drama I wanted.
15 minutes into the movie and I wonder why I hear my husband going out the back door? I figured he needed more wood to ensure the fire made it through the night. My mind stays focused on the screen and I pay more attention to the gallery and nice digs than I do to my own artful home. When I hear the stairs, I finally turn my head thinking Richie decided to join me.
But it’s not Richie!
Guess who’s coming to dinner was my 2018 reality. Gawking in surprise at my non-social butterfly baby girl was the comedy-drama I needed.
She had not flown in on United but I was thrilled to be reunited with her.
I didn’t have a Tillie to make us sandwiches and it was too cold to eat outside but I did whip us up some cheesy scrambled eggs to eat in the kitchen.
I never made it past the scene where the doctor meets the dad. On the interesting flip side, Tarah’s dad visits his doctor in the morning.
Our reunion tonight was comedic. I can’t wait to see what drama unfolds tomorrow…in both households.
Just found this in my drafts from early 2016:
My mother-in-law is the sweetest and most generous woman.
The only problem is that she’s also the mother of my husband.
What does it mean when she gifts me a housekeeping book?
When you pray that your children get home safely for the holiday
and everyone arrives at the house the afternoon before Thanksgiving
and then your kids go out for the night,
so you go back to the beginning and hope your babies get home safely for Thanksgiving.
Photo credit: Instagram
I love how he loves the things that he loves.
Photo credit: Tarah Crowe
I don’t own a transforming genie, am not a person of great monetary wealth and am not bewitched. However, if I close my eyes in Durham, New Hampshire I am instantly transformed to a palace 80 miles away.
Thank you to the Aladdin of my life for our open air Jeep time. It was a great way to spend a magical afternoon – and take a nap on the way home.
The best way to find your self worth is to do something that makes other people happy.