Mostly of dis, as in disappointment at not finding a new place. Sunday is a good day to look around without having to make a ton of appointments. Still no luck, though.
Yesterday began with the usual coffee with my friends. I know that I should not be spending money on gasoline and all the rest, but I really need to be with people who know me, listen to my crap when I cannot hold it in any longer, do not judge me and who lovingly support me in whatever I need to do and however I need to do it. And, whilst a lot of what I share with them is mindless crap, they do not care. They know me and know me well and that is enough for them. I am not certain how I came to be this lucky in my friendships, because some of the circumstances of my life are things about which most people do not want to know, much less listen or be supportive.
One of these women and I met a half-hour early so that she could have breakfast and get to work on time. Her schedule often requires her to open the business where she works at a time when the rest of us are just settling in for a nice chat. It was a new place for us and we got there and the people were so nice. When we told them how many of us there would be, they opened a side room and it was only moments until the mugs of steaming brew arrived and minutes until some weirdly goopy, yet yummy, skillet things arrived and as the others dribbled in it only got better.
After, I drove straight to my daughter's and spent the day playing with the boys, briefly napping (them), watching a little television (me, and it is a rare and nice treat to do that), playing in the backyard, digging, counting and picking flowers, climbing fences and the compost bins, pretending to mow the grass, playing cars, finding and talking about bugs and worms and making music with the sticks and branches that the last storm blew off of all of their trees, and then snapping the sticks into little pieces and adding them to the compost. Back inside I gave them baths and I cannot begin to express what it is like for an ancient person such as myself to bathe two squirming, soapy and slippery little boys. I did not even begin cleaning up the mess until just before I went home.
Dinner was one of their favourites, spaghetti, meatballs, broccoli and fruit. We planned on having brownies, too, but no one wanted any. When we were finished it was time for another bath and then stories and more television (for them) until mom and dad came home. Then the three of us sat around and talked about their day out and what the boys did to make me laugh whilst they were gone. One story was about last Monday when I was there for the day and when dinner time came they did not like the casserole thing my daughter left for us (I thought it was fine) and I tried to make peanut butter and jam sandwiches for them, but found that the jam was gone.
After looking around, I decided on chocolate syrup to go with the peanut butter. I, as the designated naughty grandma, thought that was a fine idea. Really, I did. My daughter told me that he has not stopped talking about that sandwich all week. Not that he wanted another like it, but that grandma had made it for him and just for him. That is, perhaps, the ultimate grandparent and grandchild experience and maker of memories. If I am lucky, he will remember that drippy and delicious sandwich for a long time, along with all of the other fun things and loving things and other important things that we have done and will do together.
At three years of age, he is all mine, my buddy, the short person with whom I can have one adventure after another. His little brother is our constant companion and partner in crime. Because I am do not have the main responsibility for them, I get to do all of the little things for which there simply is not time in their regular days.
We are all so close, my daughter, her husband, my friends and I, and I guess that all of us appreciate and hold dear how precious all of this is. At least that is my hope. But, they do not know, any of them, how fragile our contact with each other is, within the context of my life. I think that those of my women friends in whom I have confided bits and pieces of my life understand some of this, mostly because they are women who have life experiences that have informed them. But, the truth is that no one really knows what this is like because I am here, living in this skin, by myself. My daughter and other family members know nothing of what happens here, and I will not allow my problems to become their concern. I know too many people who have allowed marital issues to infect and adversely affect the peripheral and familial relationships. No one should ever have to take sides. Ever.
Looking for a place is difficult, not only that finding a place I can afford is such a pain, but knowing that when I do find something, that days like yesterday will no longer be a part of my life. This is so fucking sad. I am sitting here, holding one of the cats on my lap, awash in purring and fur-some comfort, still here and wondering what price I am willing to pay for peace of mind.
No comments:
Post a Comment