"All Four Seasons in One Day"

Sting once wrote a song about “all four seasons in one day.” He was referring to a young lady who he deemed to be suffering from mood swings. It was a metaphor, or so I thought. I never dreamed his words could ever truly come to pass in a 24 hour period and actually relate to weather. 

After having risen 20 degrees or more to reach 85 degrees yesterday for the first time in five months, I awoke to Alexa’s proclamation that it was 6:30 A.M and 60 degrees. I went into my closet and pulled out a long thin flowy skirt, thin white blouse and a short waisted blazer and wondered how high it would get today. 

At 8:15 I headed out without a coat and found that the temperature had dropped to 41 degrees and had joined forces with a pounding pouring rain and heavy whipping wind. It was raining and blowing so hard that I was mentally writing a poem for today about the power of rain during my drive.

I parked in the “late again” section about two miles (felt like it) from the building and grabbed my umbrella, purse and lunch bag while hefting my heavy computer bag onto my back. I then began my long trek across the parking lot running like an American Gladiator between cars and across puddles while battling a sideways rain whose sole mission was to turn my curls into an Angela Davis afro. As I entered the building, I noted streams of distraught coatless children soaked in tee shirts and shorts who obviously didn’t check the forecast either. 

At 12:10, one of my “Weather Watchers,” (a child who deems it his job to only look out of the window and alert the class by shouting out in the middle of a lesson of the slightest bit of precipitation) shouted out, “It’s snowing!” The other children then looked up and ran to the window to see as if we did not have a snow week off just a month ago… and a day off for snow last week.  I assumed at first that he saw light flurries, but to my surprise, it was more like giant squalls. 

By 2:30 the grass and our cars were completely coated in about a half an inch of snow. By the time the bell rang at 3:40, the sun was out, and it had all but melted. By 5:00 P.M., it was sunny and 53 degrees. Currently it is 10:00 P.M. and is forecasted to drop to 29 degrees tonight.

In a moment, I am about to get my clothes ready for work tomorrow. I will lay out my blue cashmere sweater, white tank top, wool houndstooth blazer, blue jean booty shorts, sheer floral pink and green flowered skirt, suede thigh high boots, yellow bikini, flip flops, and my mink coat… just in case.

Audience Awe

Do you know who your audience is?

As a middle aged... or rather seasoned... or should I say I'm in my prime? then again, there's half past autumn?... Um, honestly, I'm not quite sure where the sixties fall when you still feel like you are 45... -ish, albeit an impatient, achy, sometimes creaky cranky 45. Anyway, as an older woman, I consider my posts to be for parents, moms, dads, grandparents, teachers, and anyone else who has experienced enough in life to now laugh at it.

Well, just the other day, I was looking at one of my posts from earlier this week called, "The Elusive Occasional Migratory Pattern of the College Student Man-child," when I realized there was a new comment that I had not seen.

He said he was a college student staying in a dorm like my son and that his mother is always calling him almost everyday. He went on to add that after reading my post, he “got it.” He said he had never before thought about how she was feeling, and now he sees things differently.

This really touched my heart because it was supposed to be a funny piece where I'm making fun of myself and my husband as worrywarts. However, this college student was able to read between the lines and take with him a deeper understanding of what his mom goes through with him so far away at college.

So regardless of who we believe our audience is, be aware, you never know who is watching.

Kitchen Crud Pharmaceuticals

Nooooo! I yelled, eyes closed, head tilted skywards to the god of Murphy Law as I stood there already late with my purse on one shoulder, lunch bag on the other and computer bag dangling from the forearm. Inches away, steaming the aroma of burnt Cafe Domingo Keurig Coffee into the air is my travel mug. Thankfully, it was not in my hand when it happened. 

You see, my six feet four husband (typically the focus of blame as I am his) likes to store pills on the top shelf. No matter how many times I tried to lower mine, in a few months he would deem the cupboards cluttered and rearrange them -- again, conveniently finding so much more space on the highest of high shelves. So I gave up and learned to deal. Thus, this morning as I stood on my tippy toes (ok, yes, I admit, I may have had too many bags in my hand) when I pulled down my bottle which may or may not have been screwed on lopsided,  when all hell broke loose. Pills flew everywhere. I surveyed the situation wherein a new prescription bottle of 90 tiny little white methimazole pills lay strewn across the counter, the stove, and yes, the floor. 

I do not know what is worse, being already late when it happened, the spill itself, or the fact that I have no recourse but to pick up these new now contaminated lifeline pills and still ingest them knowing that they are now fused with who knows what. Yes, my counter looks clean, and yes, I do wipe it down every night, but as I test it and rub my hands across the mottled granite design, I still feel the invisible crumbs of salt, spices, and bygone meals that are ever present no matter how hard I try. The pills are too little to pick up individually with my always tad bit swollen hands, so I must sweep them all together along with the invisible crumbs into a collection container. I must also pull out the oh-so-cute but dusty bric-a-brac and oily bottle of olive oil from against the wall to get to the ones that secreted themselves away behind them in the oily, cruddy mess . 

Next, I notice the Olympians, those that made the giant leap onto the stove navigating it like an obstacle course and now lay proudly surrounding the closest eyes clearly awaiting rewards for their herculean efforts. The pathetic less athletic ones that made it half-way, find themselves stuck -- wedged between the greasy grate and the stainless steel. Though wiped down nightly, I suddenly see the spots I missed as I pluck the pills from the tiny greasy glue spots. Hmm? Was that catfish grease and collard green juice from dinner two days ago?  

Lastly, I look to the floor and cringe. It's too many to ignore. My doctor surely will not give me a prescription that early to replace them. I must have heart, dig deep and suck it up. I begin gathering them one by one and mentally wiping each one on my dress, and kissing it before holding it to the sky while repeating the old childhood cleansing and sanitizing mantra for dropped candy, "God kiss it, devil miss it!" I silently begin to wonder when was the last time I actually mopped. I immediately make a mental note to add it to my to-do list, while privately thanking God that we do not have a dog to further muddy the waters. 

Once the last of my thyroid medicine is secure, cap tight, and placed back on the highest of high shelves, I take my daily dose, grab my too many bags and now cold coffee and head out to work late. Very late. Meanwhile I mentally hope that my failing menopause memory kicks into overdrive and forgets this ever happened to prevent me from gagging for the next thirty days when I must take my daily dose of kitchen crud pharmaceuticals.

The Occasional Migratory Pattern of the Elusive College Student Manchild

 

It is spring season and as the weather thaws, so does the patience of the elusive College Student Manchild. It becomes restless at the 3/4 mark of the school year and seeks to escape the dormitory in which it had burrowed for the winter. So it calls home at 10:00 P.M. to say it’s driving home… through the mountains… pass the trucks… in a thunderstorm. 

Mom and dad quickly arise from bed and grab their Elusive College Student Manchild watching equipment: reading glasses and Life360 plus a glass of wine for nerves. 

They watch from separate locations, checking the screen every ten to 15 minutes as the Manchild moves along route 81. The car speed and phone battery life is closely monitored. Somewhere close to 11:00 P.M., the little car on the screen moves along to route 66, slower than normal – probably due to the torrential downpour. 

Eventually, close to midnight, Life360 indicates that the Elusive College Student Manchild is in the area. Mom, who is no longer holding her breath, has moved to the front window awaiting the glow of the headlights of the creature, then lifts the garage door so that light can draw it in. As soon as it enters, she drops the door behind it. She has caught it, and the Elusive College Bound Manchild is trapped in a tight hug by both parents. Upon its release in the house, it bounds for its upstairs lair dragging its dirty laundry behind it.  

It is a nocturnal creature, that Manchild. So it was glimpsed very briefly leaving in the late afternoon as it searched for other of its species. The parents again watched from Life360 as it flitted around the neighborhood and local establishments. They heard it return late at night from their bed, only to find it burrowed in again in the morning. 

Finally, on the third day, it made a showing. It came out of the lair with clean laundry in tow and hugged the parents as it prepared to migrate back to its dormitory. The parents again grabbed their equipment of eye glasses and Life360 and followed the reverse migratory pattern until it ended two hours later back at its point of origination – the college dorm.

Pet Pages

Some mornings, my thoughts greet me at the door like an excited large fluffy dog, licking and jumping all over me before I can open my eyes, leaving drool all over the page.

Other mornings, they tiptoe in like a cat on quiet soft pads, slyly approaching and rubbing against my legs before finally jumping into my lap where it sits purring lovingly all across the page.

Then there are the mornings where my ideas are like my bearded dragon lizard that has found a good hiding nook. I go room to room calling out to no avail. I look under the tables, sofas and chairs. I pull out the couch and move the large Amazon box that arrived last week (the one filled with that thing I just had to have – but now I know not what's even in there.) I look behind my planters and inside my closets. Finally, I see the tip of its tail sticking out from behind a shelf. I grab it and drag it out with its claws scraping the floor. The cold blood that runs through him has paralyzed him motionless. He lays there waiting for me to put him under a light so he can warm up and come alive and finally fill my page.  

We Fight Every Night

 We fight every night. 

At the bell, a silent internal clock lulls us into a stupor drawing us to the horizontal slabs where our battle will take place. I go to my corner, remove all jewelry, place my water bottle within reach, plug up and turn down the volume of my phone, then pull on my aloe infused battle socks. Next, I twist my tresses into a high bun above my head to prevent injury. He goes to his corner and plugs up his phone, places his glasses on his book within easy reach, and lays it atop his Ipad, also for easy reach. Then we announce one at a time to the mediator to begin the battle. My call is “Alexa, turn off “the” light.” He calls out for his corner, “Turn off “my” light.” Occasionally if the call is not done within a close amount of time, he takes it upon himself to make my call for me. We settle in, and the battle begins. 

It starts with me forgetting my nightguard every night and getting back up to get it which disrupts the once perfectly smooth blankets. Then he sucks his teeth and rolls over which pulls the covers from my half. I climb back in and yank them back, but not before having to defend my move as a fair one due to his oblivion of having taken my portion. 

As the battle ensues, cover is pulled off feet, pillows are wrangled as if they were the target of the Lightning Thief’s Capture the Flag challenge at Camp Half-Blood. I awake pillow-less, while he has them under his head, beneath his arm, under his back and between his legs. Other times he has confused my Perfect Fit $90 flat soft pillow with his five inch high contour Perfect fit $150.00 brick leaving me with a crook in my neck at my C5, C6 herniation for the rest of the day. 

My husband, who is retired and does not have to wake up, wakes me and barks, “Roll over, you’re snoring!” I shove him in the ribs to stop his. Once in a while, I awaken to find myself in an almost 90 degree angle as he has taken my remote and lifted my side of the Sleep Number bed to stop the snoring. He does not care or maybe he forgets in his quest for peace that sleeping upright aggravates my L5,S1 herniation, locking me into a vee shape of pain in the morning. 

“Turn off that phone!” he demands on my restless nights as I try to doom scroll under the cover to mask the light. Meanwhile, he wakes me on his restless nights as he, in turn, scrolls on his phone without any concern for the glow of the blue light that wakes the light sleeper in me. I, wanting pitch blackness, cover the night light with a hamper leaving him to stub his toe during nightly potty runs. I pretend to not hear his anguish cry.

Occasionally, blows are even thrown, or skin is scratched – accidentally, I think? Twice he has made it to my side of the battlefield leaving me to believe I was in the center of my own half only to find that I was actually on the edge. A truth I discovered when I had rolled over to switch positions and crashed to the floor. “What are you doing?” he had the audacity to yell when the noise woke him. Though never admitting unfair moves, he sheepishly ensured all body parts remained on his side of the ring for the next few nights.

Eventually, the match always ends as we both settle into a deep enough sleep to not be bothered by each other’s nightly stealth moves, and we awake somewhat rested… (did I say somewhat?) greeting each other with a kiss and “Good Morning Baby, how’d you sleep?” as we make the bed together, congenially preparing it for our next battle.

Deferred Dreams

I believe

Dreams Deferred,

til time

makes time,

will

find me

save me

when I need it

most.