The Party’s Over

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Wearing her best party dress, my youngest granddaughter was floating around the house earlier this evening singing “happy birthday” to her two uncles.  Someone commented that Karson didn’t quite “get” that today’s party wasn’t a birthday celebration.

There were presents.  There was cake.  And presents and cake equals a birthday party, doesn’t it?  I don’t think anyone bothered telling Karson otherwise; ‘coz once Karson gets something in her mind, it’s hard to shake it loose.

For the record, we were instead celebrating the college graduation of her two uncles, Bryan and Kyle (who today Karson called Bryan and Bryan), from the University of Oklahoma.  It was  a full day.  Full of pride, joy and just a tinge of sadness.  And of course work, since I did my own cooking.

But as I sit and think in this house that’s grown quiet, I’m thinking Karson wasn’t totally wrong.  It was a happy day.  And in a crazy sort of way, the college degrees that the boys now hold will one day — when this big bad recession is finally over — lead to a new and better, grown-up life.

Too, I do sympathize with Karson’s confusion.  After all, how can it be that both my boys are now college graduates?  That the party is over?  That my formal parenting years are over?

Parenting is one crazy ride.  Just as you get semi-use to it, the job is over.

Willy-nilly

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It has been a hard week of weather for many in Oklahoma, with tornadoes dropping out of the sky.  Willy-nilly.

Power has been lost.  Homes.  Lives.  And this morning, I wake to a gentle rain, reminding me that everyday life goes on in spite of what has come before.  Willy-nilly.

I woke to the thought that my husband is coming home, after a week in Michigan.  He was scheduled to return yesterday evening, but the rains in Chicago wreaked havoc on scheduling.  Flights were delayed.  Canceled, one after another.  No way home.  Willy-nilly.

I woke to discover my house keys still in the back door.  Coming in from prayer group last night, I forgot to remove them before closing the door and locking it.  Funny that before going to bed, I found I had left the front door unlocked all day, while I had been in and off the premises.  Two days ago, it was my front door that held the keys when I woke up.  This loose business of unlocked doors is so unlike me.  If I keep this up, my family will no longer call me “Fortress West.”  Willy-nilly.

Calla Lilies Calling

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The calla lilies in the kitchen sink are a gift from my across-the-street neighbor and his steady girlfriend.  They came calling a few days after Daddy died, bearing the gift of this potted plant and their condolences.

Would you think less of me for confessing that I didn’t know people did this anymore?  Where did these two learn this very old-fashioned courtesy of dropping their own everyday life and cares, to call on one who is grieving?

My neighbor is a young bachelor.  Early thirties I suspect. A successful medical supply salesman with some type of formal medical background, I forgot what he once did to earn a living — perhaps he was a nurse or a medical technologist?

I helped him put in his front flower garden last autumn.  Being a salesman, he sized me up good.  He knew from watching me work next door at Cinderella’s, that I’m the do-gooder type, the sort who can’t resist a lawn and garden in distress.

Taking advantage of my weakness — some would say — my neighbor invited me over to a little garden party he was hosting.  And during the digging and planting, I met his then “just-a-friend,” Christy.  By Christmas, Christy was his girlfriend.  And now they’re a couple, calling on a grieving neighbor with Calla Lilies.

Is the calling with Callas just one good turn begetting another?  There was surely no obligation for kindness.  And these days, so many are  going-out-of-their-way with kindness.  They say I’m in their prayers.  But praying  in the silence and praying with words is so very different from praying with actions,  especially when the action calls for cozying up to uncomfortable situations like calling on the grieving.