Things change
Had plans with my daughter’s family to attend an anniversary
party. Got a phone call on the road
asking how far out I was?
“20 minutes.”
“Okay. There’s a
birthday party for Grandma Muriel today.
I said we’d come.”
“Alright. We’ll go
there first.”
This being my former (?) mother-in-law. I was married a very long time to her son and
divorced many, many years ago but still consider this lovely woman to be my
MIL. We celebrated her 93rd
birthday yesterday. It will her
last.
Tyler
commented “This is kind of weird. I’m
going to be with both my parents together in a social situation for the first
time in 20 years.”
“This impacts me how?
This is your deal, not mine.” Subtext: It’s not always about you. Deal with it.
My boy Jason, my nephew, arrived same time as us. Here he is now, pushing 40, unloading his
family of three + another baby due soon, from the mini-van, an adult man. Go figure.
He’s occupied a special place in my heart from the first time I saw his
face at a couple months. I have images
in my brain (and on film) of Jason’s first Easter egg hunt at Haiku Gardens
condo in Kaneohe. We’d decorated eggs and hid them in the
tropical foliage. Muriel’d lined a
shallow basket with ti leaves for Jason to collect the bounty. He didn’t get the concept. He plucked up each and every egg he happened
across that day, then dropped it to the ground to break the shell, which he
picked off, then ate each and every one.
I was very happy not to a diaper changer. I’m still not a diaper changer.
He and sister Jill lived with us his freshman high school
year. I’d drop him off at school on my
way downtown. I tormented that boy. He lived in fear of making a late entrance
into first period class – and I had a more lackadaisical approach. Poor boy.
He’d be frothing at the bit and I’d be slowly meandering into my
day.
Next into view: Cindy Kirkland. Whew, lost her in the divorce. And her husband Mike. It’s delightful to see them. We’re talking story and Mike cracks up and
tells the one, “the one” about the days we’d borrow his Granddad’s pickup and
drive down the seven mile stretch of Manzanita beach in winter months. This makes absolutely no sense now, but we’d
set the throttle on Leo’s truck and jump out while the truck barreled along the
shore. We always caught it. We might have been stoned. So the incident Mike just had to tell was
same as the above, but this one time I decided to jump off the truck, just in
the wrong direction. Think about it, if
you’re going to jump, you want your legs to propel in a forward motion. Maybe we’d smoked some powerful weed that
day, but I dismissed the propel forward concept. Idiot, I jumped off facing backwards. And ate some sand in the ensuing body
roll. And was lucky not to hurt anything
more than my dignity. Mike, Cindy, and
Jim all fell off the truck.
Laughing. I realized I’d never
live this one down. The truck powered
right along and this one time, we almost lost it to the ocean.
My former husband Jim, the beautiful muscular young man with
ruddy cheeks and dark curls, is frail and too thin these days. He is 62, walks with a cane. His body is that of an old man. He is emotionally fragile and too happy to
see me. We talk story, this diverse
group of people with a collective history of 40, 45 years, varying degrees of
intimacy and friendships tell tales.
We’re all laughing.
As I leave, my ex husband gives me a hug and says “I love
you.”
I feel nothing.
Comments