Reprise of the Derby and Mother’s Day

 

Two of my girls

Jordan and Christian were among the hosts for a Run for the Roses Party Saturday, a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society where they are both active. In the picture above, Jordan is shown with another of my daughters, though they aren’t sisters. The girl (she’ll like that) on the left is Sue Springfield. She calls me her Fort Worth mom, and I call her my Canadian daughter. The temptation is always there to call her my adopted daughter, but as the mother of four adopted children, I think that muddies the waters.

Maybe fifteen years ago, maybe more, Sue divorced, and she and her two young children moved next door to me. We became fast friends and spent many an evening sipping wine on my front porch and solving the problems of the world. Sue’s kids finished at the elementary school across the street, she was unhappy with the condition of her rental home, and she bought a house about ten minutes away which, over the years, she has transformed from ordinary to extraordinary. And then she met Teddy Springfield, a doctor and business manager from California. They married, and instead of whisking her away to California, Teddy moved here. And through all this, Sue and I have remained friends. One of my happiest happy hours is when Teddy and Sue come to sit on the patio.

So this picture reminds me again what a lucky mom I am. And since I spent Mother’s Day home alone, due to an unforeseen set of circumstances, I needed that reminder. The Burtons met with Christian’s family at Joe T. Garcia’s. At first, I cancelled some plans I had made and planned to go with them. But the more we talked about accessibility, the less enthusiastic I became. Finally I decided to stay home, and Jamie said he and Mel would come over from Frisco. But yesterday morning, he called suffering from one of the dizzy spells he periodically gets and has since he was in elementary school.

So I stayed home, and the day was like any other. When the Burtons came home, they were exhausted (post-Derby, I’m sure) and wanted nothing more than to sleep. During the day Jordan flitted in and out a couple of times, and Jacob came to blow the tree droppings off the patio, but that was my human companionship. I talked to each of the other three, had a sweet message from Sue, and spent the day at my desk.  Cooked myself a good dinner—crab cake, carrots cooked in olive oil and brown sugar (I love cooked carrots but no one else here will eat them), and guacamole Jordan brought home from Joe T.s. I was really fine alone, except for a couple of minutes of self-pity—which only proved that I’m all too human.

In posting about Mother’s Day yesterday, I forgot to acknowledge four women who I think of each year—the biological mothers of my children. I worry and wonder if they still feel a hole in their lives, have they moved on? I cannot believe that my babies don’t linger in a small corner of their hearts, and I’d like to reach out to them and tell them how healthy, happy, and successful those babies are. The social climate was a lot different fifty years ago (yes, three of them have passed the fifty-year mark), and I am grateful that these young women carried their babies to term. It’s particularly poignant right now.

A day brightener: yesterday I saw a male and female cardinal right outside my desk window. For several years now, this pair has made their home in our yard. They are, like me, homebodies and not given to wandering, so we see them frequently. Beuse of the old belief that the sight of a cardinal means someone from the other side is thinking of you, I always think this couple means my folks are watching over us.

So that was my Mother’s Day, a bittersweet one, now consigned to the past, while life goes on. Today I worked on recipes for my new novel, talked with someone about a small free lance project, and made plans for a new project. And just now I realized I was watching the news on BBC instead of NBC—an interesting change! Wondered why none of the newscasters looked familiar.

Learning to count my blessings

 

The resident papa cardinal in my back yard just flew down to the railing around the deck, sat there a moment surveying his world, then flew to the sidewalk, pecked at a few things, and flew away. I love sighting him and was so relieved to see him and “mama” again this spring. Cardinals are not travelers. They generally stay within one yard, so I am indignant if I see mine in the yard behind me. They say when you see a cardinal on your property, it means someone in Heaven is thinking of you. I always think it’s my dad, a great gardener and bird lover. When Jacob was little, I taught him about cardinals, and he would say excitedly, “Look, Juju, the red bird.”  I don’t suppose he’d let himself get excited today, but I do.

The cardinal is one of many things that makes think I should count my blessings, on this a day when I’m really feeling sort of whiny about several things, including the small health hiccups of age. Frequently you see a question asking people if they age would they rather keep their mind or their physical well-bring. Having seen my mom sink into dementia as the result of several small strokes, or TIAs, my answer is unequivocally that I want to keep my mind lively. It’s one reason I continue to write (aside from the pleasure I find in writing).

But for the last couple of weeks, I’ve been struggling with swollen legs and feet—puffy is the word for my feet. I’ve contacted the cardiologist, and he has prescribed more physical therapy, which is okay but sort of a nuisance because it’s a repeat of what we did not a month ago and what, since then, I do every day myself, though not as often as the therapist would like. They don’t want to give me a prescription because of my recent bout with a kidney injury, so I’m sleeping with my feet in the air—above my heart—and trying compression stockings. Not sure the latter was a success today.

I have exercises to do—chair yoga and five loops around the small circle from living area to bedroom to bath in the cottage. The PT figures it’s about 100 feet total if I do it five times But I have a problem: Sophie goes bat-shit crazy, especially over the chair yoga, though she follows me, barking furiously, when I do the walking. She can easily tell the difference between me just walking from desk to bedroom or bathroom and me doing the exercise walking. On nice days I can lock her outside, though she protests, but on rainy days, there’s no such out. In the past when she stayed outside for long periods of time, I longed for her to come in—guess that’s come home to bite me.

At any rate, with all this going on I fight the temptation to think of myself as an invalid. It’s part of my worry over being a recluse—it’s so easy to stay home and not make that extra effort to get ready to go out, especially when I don’t know the accessibility of my destination. I have ordered myself an upright walker, hoping that will relieve some of the pressure on my arms and shoulders and entice me to get out in the world more.

I thought that was so smart, until I read an email from a friend who said her husband ended in the hospital for two nights because he took a hard fall off his—yeah, you guessed it—upright walker. She thinks, however, there were extenuating circumstances.

Tonight, neighbor Prudence had a meet-and-greet for a run-off candidate for the city council election scheduled for June 2. Jordan sort of co-hosted, and I wanted to go because I wanted to meet the young candidate. I am really impressed by how he organized a neighborhood that had lost its sense of neighborliness and helped earn it the Best Neighborhood of the Year award. But because of my swollen legs and not being sure of access to Pru’s and not wanting to burden Jordan and Christian with looking after me, I elected to stay home. I think it was the right decision, but it’s also the decision that makes me worry that I’m becoming—or have become—a recluse.

After days of rain, it was lovely, sunny, and almost hot today. Tomorrow will apparently be sunny also but then more rain Friday. Of course, it’s the Colonial Gol Tournament (which has a better name) that is attracting all the rain. Happens every year.

Stay safe and dry.