Some Days…

As the day advances – close onto evening, I find myself seeking to recover something that might have been – eager to write down my earlier enthusiasm for this Friday. Creative potential leapt within me: I would write; I would dance; I would complete the new wire sculpture of a squirrel. He sits now on my desk, his comical head cocked to one side as if to say:  “Silly woman… You have given me wings, but where is the pinecone you promised to place in my paws?” This must be left over from last night’s bedtime story to my three-year-old granddaughter. Oh dear, I am almost as tired as I was last night  – when that bad squirrel lured the little girl into the woods to see a fairy. 

It is now the next morning – a blessedly open-ended Saturday, and though the blog that longed to spring from my mind on Friday morning is nowhere to be found, I find myself ready to face the events of yesterday.

First came the telephone call that shifted my sweet expectancy into resignation. Last week’s uncompleted installation of the new central air-conditioning unit was ready for completion. The eager young men came into this space – and out, and up and down. They talked and sang, rattled and banged, and I watched them fondly – expressing my interest in all they did. The mother of all who enter her realm… Whoa! That brought on a hot flash.

When they finally left, it was with a promise of returning. Not finished yet… Something didn’t quite fit. By then I had noticed the pile of unpaid bills – recalled the tag I was asked to design to attach to the sculptures for the coming exhibit. A good idea, perhaps; there is no way to sign them. So… To the computer, surprising myself with a practical and attractive use of my earlier impulse. The squirrel – with his plump curving belly and bottom – inclined his head with interest, forgetting his empty paws as an image of a sculpted elephant angel materialized on the  screen. He appeared to approve of the font I had chosen. It was done. I moved on to the bills, letting TCM and Rosalind Russell dressed as a nun keep me company.

But, yet again, a telephone call interrupted the soul’s ability to regain balance. My daughter… It must be about the children; they were due to come that afternoon. I can handle anything. Right? Yet overblown confidence made me unprepared for the avalanche of emotional baggage that was coming toward me. No time to duck… And my stammers of shock and protest only served to bring on more. By the time it was over, I was pretty much convinced I deserved the lot. Of course I was an emotional cripple, an inadequate mother, a self-indulgent eccentric – over-protective of my space – indecisive, defensive, etc. etc. etc.  No one could ever ask me for anything. Right… Right?

Confusion over what had just happened made me wonder why she hadn’t said stupid. The tears slipped out, and I wanted to call her back – make it right.  Somehow…  But I wasn’t that stupid, and besides the friendly young men were back – waving the part they were sure would fit just right.  Distraction… But not for long. Once they’d presented me with the bill, which I tucked away for a later shock to my system, they were on their way, and I was left alone with my bruised and acheing heart. The grandchildren wouldn’t be coming after all.

But, remember, it is Saturday. A new day has come. And whatever sorrowful dregs remain in my heart, I look at my squirrel  companion of yesterday and I have to smile. For  between his paws he now holds a a golden pinecone. It is somewhat prickly, as pinecones tend to be, but the patient creature is sure he can handle it. And so am I.

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