Mother's Bag of All Knowledge

Nothing tugs at a mother's heartstrings like a call from her inconsolate kid who has just come to the realization that she may have bitten off more than she can chew in a particular university class.

The compulsion to talk and offer advice is a no no. I've watched enough of Supernanny to know that my daughter wants me to be her sounding board, that I should shut up and listen. So, I listen and because she is hyperventilating, I did deep into my Mother's Bag of All Knowledge to find the cure. We go through the breathing exercises on the phone together. She takes a sip of water and I listen as she delivers her dilemma in spurts. Sometimes I can't actually make out what she is saying. Because I know it is important to her to get it all out, i don't interupt her to let her know that i didn't quite catch all.

She repeats herself and then I prompt her to come up with a solution. Not a solution for world peace, just a solution on how to get through until Thursday and the midtem in another class. She knows it's not the end of the world, but to realise that you can't do something, and not for the lack of trying, is a humbling eureka moment. Poor thing. There is only one way out of this and that is straight through it. Sure, it will hurt. And then hurt some more.

You try your best with what ever God-given talents you have and then there are no recriminations.

I didn't have anyone to tell me that all those years ago. I'm not sure it would have made any difference to how I managed or didn't manage.

I tell my daughter now. This too shall pass.
It's not like your best boy was run over by a car, I tell her, trying to give her some perspective. When she didn't chew my head off, I knew she would survive.

She goes over what she'll she do - her plan of action. And while there are lots of loose ends, lots of unanswered questions, I know she won't be throwing herself off the Golden Gate Bridge today. Her voice has returned to normal, her gasping for breath has ceased.

Just another day at the office...

And that'll be your #1 grandson, thank you very much!

I'm the one who takes the car in for oil changes, the husband couldn't be bothered. Me? I'm like a religious fanatic when it comes to car maintenance, at least as long as the car is still under warranty.

The kicker is that I hate dealing with mechanics and dealerships and the like. Know ing nothing about cars, I always think I have 'sucker' stamped firmly on my forehead, so that it is true when I say , they see me coming.

Today, I worked up the energy to take 'her' (our cars are always female) to the shop. I thrust my car's paperwork at the lady and asked for the 15,000 mile special.

She punched some numbers in to the computer and, lo and behold, instead of asking for my first born grandson as payment for whatever they were going to find 'wrong' with this perfectly-running vehicle, she said, "All you need is an oil change"

Yeah right, missus! I thought to myself. Go ahead and pull the other one.

She moved the monitor around to show me where certain procedures were performed on the last service, blah de blah blah, and all I'd need was an oil change.
"And, you'll be outta here in 30 minutes," her bubbly little self proclaimed.

And, guess what? I was.

Fitness happens!

I purposely walked the same route today as yesterday so I could find the name of the gym. There it was, plastered on the window: Fitness happens!

I had to keep repeating the name to myself like some kind of TM mantra so I wouldn't forget it by the time I returned to the office. Then I spied an orange tabby down a side street and the gym name was lost again until a few moments ago.

I am waiting for fitness to happen to me. I can be all passive about this? Like hell I can. If I don't get my rear end in gear, nothing is going to happen. Whoever thought up that monniker for the gym should be shot.

Tomorrow, Scarlet, I will walk where ever the mood takes me.

- fitness!

The fitness studio is only a few blocks from my office. Do you think I remember the complete name for this studio? Not on your life! This information disappeared through the holes in the colander I have for a brain in a matter of a few minutes or a 100 yards. Take your pick.

It would appear that I have more than my physical fitness to squawk about. The upside is that I worked up something of a sweat and that I actually got off my cherubic behind to take my daily constitutional. One has to strike while one is up to it. One never knows what's around the corner with this body of mine. It's a behemoth task.

On my walk, I saw purple salvia straining their necks for sunlight, a freshly painted house whose front door position had been obviously altered to appease the Feng Shui gods and, a smiling pit bull straining the leash, and consequently the arm of it's teenaged master.

Across the street, a lady on the wrong side of 50 did battle with the sidewalk. Another office drone like myself, her tennies matched her suit. There's a State building a couple of blocks away and their majestic walkers can be identified by the ID tags hanging from their necks. Usually, I encounter them in droves of three or so, and I have to walk on the road to get around them for there is power in numbers; I have yet to see them yield to the single pedestrian. Maybe i should stick out my elbows when I walk, like Oprah...

Leaves of brown

On my walk to the bank, the gutter was filled with leaves. Dry, crumpled, brown things that hadn't seen water in months. When did it rain last? I have no idea. We're promised rain tomorrow. Yeah right! I'll still be hauling out the old sprinlker head at 7:30AM, moving it around at 15 minute intervals before I put on my drone outfit.

I like Autumn best. I remember taking #3 child to the local park to walk in the leaves, to roll around, to bury #2 child, to pile them into a bag to take home for indepth examination. I'm getting maudlin'.

Miss Havisham revisited

I only just caught her out of the side of my eye as I drove past her apartment building. She was watering the grass with a hose. One hand on her hip, the other directing the flow of water on to the parched grass near the street. It was high noon, a redundant time of the day to be watering; at least 85F. A tall elderly lady, she wore a pink floor-length dressing gown, the top half embroidered with colorful flowers. It was the makeup that made me do a double take. A foundation color on her face much darker than the natural color of her neck, cheeks rouged a la Baby Jane, and lips to match. Her hair was swept up in an up-do.
The poor thing, she probably spent hours on her appearance to venture outside. Most likely she lives alone and has little contact with the outside world. I bet she doesn't even have a cat.
Just a flash of garish pink in a bad part of town as I drove by.

A brain divided

It is humbling to realise that one can no longer multi-task as in the days of yore. All I had to do was prepare Sunday brunch for 7 adults. Sure there were more than a couple of dishes and I did have to keep an eye on the BBQ as well as the oven. In the olden days I could have done it, all the while nursing a babby from my titty and doing a load of laundry. Not anymore.
I stepped away from the kitchen for 'just a minute' and, upon my return, I was greeted with the shrill beep of the smoke alarm. My frittata was fried alright. Burned to a cinder under the broiler. To add insult to injury, I burned two fingers trying to remove the cremated offerings from the oven.
The thing is that I found it all kind of amusing. I left the burnt stuff on the serving platter on the counter for all to see. In another time, I would have sat myself down on the bathroom floor and wailed, not so much at the loss of frittata but at the loss of self. It's coming up to my ten year anniversary of the car accident that did my head in. I guess time does heal.