Seasons Come and Go

Stacked high. Waiting for me to figure out what goes and what stays and where to put it all.


A pile of summer clothes. Books brought out of the closet. You can tell a lot about the books a person surrounds herself with. I don’t have a lot of books now, and so the ones I took when the marriage dissolved have special significance. A slim volume of One Hundred and One Famous Poems inscribed in Mother’s handwriting, “To my dear daughter with love. Mom. Xmas 1969”--Tennyson, Whitman, Keats, Frost, and Kipling, whose “If” is a favorite of mine, are the standards I grew up with.

“If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; . . .
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same. . . .

Scraps of paper with ideas for art projects I’ll probably never have time to get to. Fabric. My addiction. Lots of that. Clothes waiting for me to iron them. Who am I kidding?

My place is small. The one bigger closet is about half-filled with my clothes. Art supplies take up nearly the other half, competing with quilts, Christmas decorations I didn’t even put up last year, and a box of photos. You get the picture. Something has got to go.

I’d rather get rid of the clothes than the art supplies. Who knows, I might find a way to have my own studio. Hey, I am old, but I still dream.

Today, I purge. Farewell striped pink blouse. What was I thinking! Socks, I can never wear all of you. Cute black and white Keds, you guys hurt my feet. I will hang on to Mother’s Day cards long ago given and 21-year-old ‘Happy Mother’s Coupons,’ which certify son Jeff will clean the bathroom and make his bed. I’ll even keep another 21-year old artifact: an anniversary card emblazoned with “The Marriage that Would Not Die.”

Triumph and Disaster aside, the lesson here is to make room and time for what really matters in my life and a reminder of what was once upon a time.

With This Ring. . .

Thirty-six years passed before one of us lost a ring. For a while last year I didn’t wear mine because it had been cut off of my finger when a broken arm started swelling. I finally got our favorite jewelry store to repair and resize it. But while we were in Chicago recently, husband took his wedding ring off to wash grease off of his hands in a downtown movie theatre bathroom. In a panic he returned as soon as he realized what he’d done only to find the ring missing. Perhaps we could have scoured the pawn shops if there’d been more time.

If you know of anyone who might steer us toward a similar ring, wide yellow gold with a design, I’d appreciate it.

Nearly Time

How did it get so late so soon?
It’s night before it’s afternoon.
December is here before it’s June.
My goodness how the time has flewn.
How did it get so late so soon?
Theodor Seuss Geisel, a.k.a. Dr. Seuss

Part Two
It’s the ah-ha moment. I get it now. For the last month there’s been this tension and at times a snarliness that puzzled me. Nothing I did seemed to be right.

CB is pulling away, reading himself for the changes ahead, readying himself as both the driver and navigator. His dad and I are merely backseat passengers now, and he is in charge of which route to take, not us.

The procrastination too, is his way, I believe, to assert that independence.

Today's the big day. I feel as if we’re off to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. CB’s house, Martin is known as the men’s party dorm. Hendrix College doesn’t have a Greek system, but residence halls seem to take the place of sororities and fraternities and bind a mad assortment of personalities in at least one common identity. Martin is to CB as Gryffindor is to Harry Potter.

Hendrix doesn’t have a football team either. A t-shirt with the message “Hendrix Football—Undefeated Since 1961” is popular among some alumni. CB hopes the president’s idea to bring football back flops. CB says, “That’s one reason I didn’t want to go to Bama.” I swear that boy is mine, and he’s even been to a Bama game, but the Crimson didn’t wear off on him good enough. Anyway, Hendrix is exploring NCAA Division III football and that hardly compares to the Southeastern Conference, does it?

So good luck to the class of 2011, “The Harry Potter Generation,” and my fellow parents. I’ve got a box of Kleenex stashed in the car. I’ll let you know if I need them for the return trip home and we’ll see if I can follow more of Dr. Seuss’ wisdom: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

That’s What Friends Are For & Christmas in September

The brown envelop jingled as I took it inside to see what Molly and Frank had sent us. A note explained the contents. “Dear Bill & Sheila, I was put in charge of mailing you these Xmas stockings. Molly and I went to an estate sale and the peoples’ names happened to be Bill and Sheila so we couldn’t resist getting the stockings. Sorry they aren’t filled with gifts. Love, Frank & Molly”

These two long time friends live so far away, and yet they remain so dear to my heart. Can’t you see why?

When I was in treatment for breast cancer a couple of years ago, they drove several hundred miles to see us. Molly came bearing a huge white bunny and lots of funny stories about her life and children. Frank came with tools to do some neglected repairs around the house. “Give me a list,” he ordered. We caught up on our lives and for a brief time my life felt back on track. Molly loved to shop for antiques, and we just dropped her off one day for a couple of hours at an antique mall. They brought me hope and cheer. I knew I'd make it.

And Frank, those stockings are filled. With love, that is.