I Wish I Could Miss My Mother

My mother has died at the age of eighty-four. I'll never know if her heart gave out from too many miles on her odometer or because it was so broken by her brazen brats, myself included.

My mother's religion was a religion of rules and rites; this was the most important thing in her life. All came second to that: her husband, her children, her happiness. It was her firm belief that her religion was God on earth, and that faithfulness to it was faithfulness to God. She could never celebrate the successes of herself, her children, or her marriage because this would have been prideful. She also seemed to feel firmly that suffering was necessary to salvation. She apparently felt joined with Jesus in her attempts to suffer for our sins in our stead. This left little space for loving us as we really are, much less liking us.

I suppose I could have tried to be more duplicitous in my relationship with my mother, but my face would have given away my falseness. My mother's religion required that she find fault with herself for poor mothering if she admitted to any approval of our doubts about the letters of her laws. It was an act of mercy to hide my faults from her, and the only way I could do this was to hide myself from her. We simply brought out the beast in each other.

My parents had a very troubled marriage. The sight of me brought back all of my mother's worst feelings about my father, both before and after his death. In my mother's eyes, the sins of the father were certainly carried by this daughter.

It is with great sadness that I admit that I will not miss my mother. There are many parts of me and of my siblings that come from her; these I can continue to celebrate or censure without mixed emotions. I feel liberated to finally get to know the men and women that my siblings have become.

How to Spend a Half Day

My niece, Marj and I are exploring;
Beginning with her hometown.
New Orleans is so interesting
Whether going up- or down-town.

We lunched in the Garden District,
Had coffee with my sister Michelle,
Drove out to the suburbs to supper
On Italian food and desserts, as well.

Tomorrow, we'll see plantation homes,
And perhaps a relation, or two
There's an almost endless array
Of local things to do.

Will Work for a Bed and Some Breakfast

Whenever I'm very afraid of something, I know that the only way to put my fears to rest is to understand that which I fear. This seems to be because I'm so afraid of being swallowed up by that which I don't comprehend.

If I can't see something, it increases my fear, hence my fear of living in the dark of the forest where I can hear all kinds of wild things, but have no way to see them. This also explains my general fear of all dark places. As long as something happens where I and others can see it, I believe I can conquer my fears with understanding a thing. Sometimes, I'm rather foolish in my willingness to place myself dead center in the middle of my fears to have a close-up vantage point from which to study them.

Richard, on the other hand, is very comfortable with the dark, and with wild four-legged animals that roam in the night. What he fears is the two-legged variety of wild thing, especially when they travel in loud packs. He and I have long had an unspoken agreement that he would protect me from things that go bump in the night, as long as I negotiated the crowds of fiery folks to make friends. He has now expressed an interest in my being more cautious about crowds of two-legged wild things.

I absolutely love the sights and sounds of the city, while he is partial to the peace of our place in the woods. What's a couple to do?

At this point, we're negotiating a compromise, driving back and forth from one home to the other. While it is expensive and rather frustrating, living from pillar to post, out of the back of our van, it beats living separate lives. While Richard wiles away his hours at the World War II Museum, helping refurbish a PT boat, I can "solve the problems of the world" with my soul mates, sisters, and various other family and friends. He also is the hero to the widows and orphans as he fixes minor household problems for them.

I always wanted us to spend our retirement years in a bus with cooking utensils and Richard's tool chest, with a sign on the side saying, "Will Work for Room and Board." (or "Will Work for a Bed and Some Breakfast") Maybe my dream is finally coming true. We may need to get our RV back on the road.

Paying Peace Forward

I am still pruning people off my family and friendship trees.
I don't need anyone else to bring me to my knees.
With shame or feelings of little self-worth.
I'm simplifying my path on this earth.

There are too many who are still wanting to grow
For me to waste resources on those that put on a show
Of valuing the gifts that we've been sharing,
But in paying it forward, they've been very sparing.

We wonder where family values went;
This is a common old folks' lament.
But they still lobby for all that they're owed;
No matter that the young folks are carrying our load.

There are few grandparents available today
To keep working families from beginning to fray.
Not one of us made it without the help of others.
Would it hurt us to reach out to young fathers and mothers?

Can you spare a few moments for a colicky baby
Before her parents simply go crazy?
What about mopping a young mother's floor
Before her depression sends her husband out the door?

Are we so afraid to face our past pain
That we can't stand to be vulnerable again
To the gut-wrenching hurt of a baby's cry
When the mother feels that she wants to die?

I wish there was a network of grannies,
Uncles, aunts, grandpas and nannies
Who would be on call at a moment's notice
To restore hurting families back to some peace.

Expanding Our Arena

No, we're not moving; we're expanding our arena.
My granddaughter says it's too long since I've seen her.
Making new friends while keeping the old
Is not as easy as we've always been told.
Richard variously volunteers at a number of places,
And I need to see more of my people's faces.

We have orphaned nieces to care for who are now raising babies,
And widowed women who like our help in both places.
The Higgins boats are still being built for show,
So to the World War II Museum, Richard must go.
He's enjoyed the quiet a bit too much for my tastes
I'm forcing him to re-enter the dreaded rat race.

So much hustle and bustle tires him out
And filling up all the quiet has caused me to shout:
"I need more energy coming from others,
And not only from other grandmothers.
The children I love so quickly change;
After so many months, to them I am strange."

I can hear all of you laughing that I'm never normal,
But my strangeness becomes known not to be harmful.
I take lots of getting used to before comfort sets in;
I need regular contact with my life-long friends.
We don't know where we'll live while down south;
Nor do I know what I'll put in my mouth.

All I care about is that it will all be spicy;
Richard's enthusiasm is a bit more dicey.
He's quite undone by the boat builders' request
That he move himself a bit further southwest.
But for me, the request is music to my ears
An answer to prayer and many of my fears.

Promise of a Wonderful Winter

While waiting for nature to take her course is an admirable way to live, it does take some training to gear down to that philosophy of life. I've worked on it for five years and I'm still operating my internal engine at high idle. Maybe one has to be born to the pace of peace to live happily in the lap of its luxury.

New Orleans and the Gulf Coast of Mississippi are centers of celebration. When one lives with so much uncertainty of seeing another day, one learns to grab for the gusto in every mortal moment. There's a saying for that, down here, "Laissez le bon ton roulette." ("Let the good times roll.") Another saying about people from these parts is that they work hard and they play hard. Any way you say it, laughing is a way of life for people of passion.

I'm too young to begin living the last of my life. We live in a perfectly peaceful community in the forest, but a tomb is also peaceful. At our edge of the forest, we're surrounded by family plots similar to the cities of the dead found in cemeteries all over New Orleans. The difference is that, in rural areas, the family acreage plots are occupied by the living instead of the dead. Grandpas left land to generation after generation of their family folks.

This is not to say that there aren't also family burial plots where we live; there are, where families come together for picnics near their dearly departed. I'm just not yet ready for the celebration of my afterlife; I still have so much life I want to live in this world.

We don't ever want to anticipate outliving our passions, so we're taking measures to secure our second home. A place where the water washes away all cares, where the sun and clouds dance duets across the ripples. Where even the dead of winter is dancing with delight, and includes no snowbound cabin fever.

What a wonderful winter this promises to be.

Friends with Food Flair

What a feast of fish was fixed by our friend;
But not just any fish was this.
He made fresh catfish with almondine sauce
And side dishes that were most delish.

My man said it mostly took confidence,
And then he set his student free.
One lesson and Chuck's become a chef.
Who knew how easy it would be?

What many great meals await us,
Now that all four of us will cook?
We even share a preference for
The Ursuline Convent school cookbook.

One of the joys of being in New Orleans
Is the array of fine restaurant fare.
But we now can eat with so many friends
Who cook with equal flair.

My son specializes in barbecuing meat,
And boiling of things that swim.
His wife is a gumbo and bean queen;
We love to eat with them.

We ate Italian where the Saints hang out,
Redfish l'orange at a downtown hotel,
Beignets at Cafe du Monde for dessert
And their cafe au lait, as well.

I plan to eat many more delicacies
While I still have the time.
We'll be well-padded for our return
To the colder winter clime.