The Fourth: Some Make You Cry

Part of a series inspired by Ross Gay

that starts here: 

https://jarlakansen.blogspot.com/2020/05/first-of-possible-series.html

My Mom (sigh), if she was at your house, she was watching and waiting for unintrusive ways to assist--those small nagging things that you may ignore when you have company and want to give as much focus to their presence as possible. Or things you had never considered: if N ever mowed the lawn during a visit (because weekends), Mom would slip outside unnoticed, and begin to do "cord management", as N maneuvered the electric mower on his prefered grid. The first time, I was worried that they'd get in each other's way (something I rarely fail to do--fret), but then I noticed that she had been watching his routine before she began to help. Seamlessly.

When our second was born, a state away from family, I was both surprised and oh so pleased to have Mom come to lend a hand in our tiny rental. What a gift! What a joy! It had been a long time since I had her (mostly) to myself. And yet, probably due to the whole childbirth thing, I have few vivid memories of that time: quiet conversations between N and Mom, how she only made recipes from my collection (to keep things running nearly the same). Have to say, I was a little disappointed when Dad arrived to take her back home. No offense, Dad.

Tis good to pull out a good memory and savor it.

The Third: The Rec Room

Part of a series inspired by Ross Gay

that starts here: 

https://jarlakansen.blogspot.com/2020/05/first-of-possible-series.html

The best part of my childhood summers? Was when we packed up the truck and camper and drove to see the relatives. Those summers offered many delights: being pulled through the irrigated yard on whatever had been used as a sled, sleeping under that big star filled sky in the lush green grass, and having playmates.

We spent most of our time at my Mother's only brother's house--the one with the amazing air conditioner in the bathroom. Who wouldn't want to stay in that room overly long? One summer, we arrived to find the spacious garage had been converted into a rec room--complete with a bar and chairs that appeared to be crafted from barrels . . . and CHILDREN were not allowed.

A year or so passed and suddenly--we were the only ones using the rec room for that week or so in the summer. I think it was cousin D, who could play some tunes on the piano, one of which was Chicago's "Color My World". We played and sang the hell out of that song, in the adult abandoned room. And there was a hide-a-bed that I shared with C. She woke me up, in a panic, in the wee hours, to share her discovery: there were mice in the rec room(!). Trembling, we watched them skitter from the hide-a-bed, to check out shoes, and nooks and crannies.

In the morning, we couldn't wait to share the news. But . . . none of the adults would believe it. We, with our bad news, were teased out of the room. Huh, maybe that's how we ended up sleeping under the stars in the backyard.

The Second: Joy Under the Table

Part of a series inspired by Ross Gay

that starts here: 

https://jarlakansen.blogspot.com/2020/05/first-of-possible-series.html

In my parents' world, friendship trumped all--or at least that's how it seemed, as the runt of the family, who was always seeking a lap to cozy into. I have no other reference than a faulty memory, but most of their get togethers were most likely on the weekends, around whichever dining room table was hosting.

A good share of those get togethers were all about playing cards: Hearts? Pinocole? Cribbage? When it happened at our house, the dining room was full of laughter and cigarette smoke. I can remember spending as much time as I could under that table--I'm guessing I was around 4-6 years of age.

Sitting under the table allowed me to be close, but not in the way. I enjoyed the adult banter and teasing, as they played their games. During their breaks, there was more entertainment to be had. That's when Ray would do tricks with his false teeth, I'd get to recheck who was missing which digits from working in the mills and Lloyd would give me a lesson on how to whistle using two fingers. And Mel, how could I forget Mel? He was broad shouldered, tall, and his laughter could shake the dust off the curtains. Which always made me wish that every card game could be around our table.

First of a Possible Series . . .

{I haven't decided if this will be a consecutive series, or one that I'll return to off and on. I suppose, a person could say it's an exercise or experiment. Let's see what happens...}

Thanks to one of Carolyn Hax's chats (yes, I do talk about her work a lot), I became aware of a book of essays by Ross Gay, The Book of Delights. Yesterday, it arrived in the mail, and once I cracked it open and read the preface, I began to think about doing something similar here. A blurry week or so ago, family member offered a link to receive journal prompts each day, but that brought out my inner middle schooler, who crossed her arms, scowled and informed me (again) that she despises being told what to write. (sigh) So much for leaving my youth behind!

The first memory that popped into my head last night, as I wandered into dreamland, was rolling down the slope of the childhood home lawn with my eldest siblings children. The smell of the chlorophyll, the tickle of the grassy leaves, the hilarity of trying to roll straight and the joy of playing together. One month later, you'd find us out there again, running through the sprinkler and dodging the busy bees.

Resonating Rules

About a week ago, I read something on Carolyn Hax's Friday chat, that resonated with me. It's credited to a Washington Post sports columnist:

"WaPo Sports columnist Thomas Boswell has a rule to live by "How stupid would I feel." How stupid would you feel if you . . ."

His most current use, possibly the same week as the chat, was describing how that particular rule of his has been helpful to him during our current situation. Which has me applying it to every move we make--whether it's driving to the store or using sharp tools at home. Because, how stupid would I feel if I was responsible for exposing someone else to more risk, all because I wanted to continue doing whatever I want when I want to?

Though . . . is it possible to tip those scales too far?