About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

I have no idea what the h--- I am doing

1. The first item to prompt this declaration, was pulling LittleBit’s sock out of my workbag and realizing I had Not-Clue-One as to where I am. I will have to tink back until I reach terra cognita. I was hoping to work on it at lunch, but the break room was not sufficiently quiet for me to think this through. And I have some internal chatter [way more than usual] that is not conducive to concentration.

2. And while we are pondering imponderables, why does this song always make me weep? I was never an abused wife. And I abhor the idea of ending domestic violence by murder/suicide. Much better to end it legally – but permanently – get however much counseling is necessary, and go on to enjoy a peaceful life. [As Oscar Wilde said, “Living well is the best revenge.” I hold to that.] Nevertheless, her cry of “let the weak be strong”, even though we differ on what “strong” means, undoes me every time. I heard it on the way to work yesterday while I was listening for the traffic report.

And maybe I am a little more sensitive than I would otherwise be. The tenth anniversary of my divorce will be here in a couple of weeks. And I am certainly a stronger, wiser, tougher woman than I was when I married him, thirty years ago last September. In the words of another song, “It’s all right now. I’ve learned my lesson well. See, you can’t please everyone, so you got to please yourself.” Well, I’d add the caveat that for a truly pleasant life you’d better learn how to be happy, pleasing God.

I’ve gotten pretty good at pleasing myself. I’ve gotten pretty good at saying, “no, thank you,” though I suppose that I could always get better. I know how I like my eggs [a set of my handmade stitch markers to the first person who tells me what movie that comes from].

3. I keep thinking that I understand the concept of agency, particularly as it applies to my grown children, and I keep fighting the urge to tell some of them how to run their lives. Yes, I have read Richard and Linda Eyre’s excellent book, “Empty Nest Parenting”. I need to read it again. And I need to remember that most of my kids are doing very well, thank you very much, even if they’re doing it differently than I would. And even the ones who are struggling, probably need to figure it out on their own, with me standing on the sidelines with my mouth firmly shut, except to cheer them on.

I was talking over a couple of situations with The Man Upstairs on my drive to work yesterday morning, feeling cranky and helpless and all “why don’t You do something?”. And as has happened more than once in the past, I heard that quiet voice reminding me that they already *have* a Savior, and my job is to just be their mother and love them.

Not hard at all to love them, thank goodness.

I don’t want to be told when I make my accounting that the choices I made were equivalent to picking the chrysalis off my butterflies, leaving them weak and crippled and unable to fly. Still, it hurts when my kids hurt, and it’s hard to know how much to do, and when to stand back.

Poor LittleBit called me yesterday morning when I was in the middle of sorting a small mountain of mail, wondering where my sewing scissors might be. An excellent question. I gave her some possibilities, none of which had any basis in reality. Hey, I haven’t done any machine sewing since before the move in September. I remember seeing my shears, but your guess is as good as mine, as to *where* it was that I saw them.

I gave her the classic Martin Van Buren speech [the one that he gave to Joseph Smith when he asked for help from the federal government]: “your cause is just, and I can do nothing for you.”

And we know how well that turned out for MVB [defeated in his re-election bid and relegated to being a footnote in history]. Let’s hope I fare better.

On a brighter note, when I got home last night, LittleBit had successfully lobotomized the crinoline from her prom dress, the bodice was sewn together, and she had gotten the mess with her Social Security check straightened out.

So I won’t be rambling on and on as usual, this morning. I need to clear off the dining room table and set up my sewing machine so I can put her skirt together and attach the crinoline to a piece of white lining fabric, rather than the lavender which is its present companion.

I am so thankful for our good friend who was willing to drop everything and help.

Maybe once I get to work I can figure out what’s up with LittleBit’s sock.

4 comments:

Tinker Belle said...

Gee, nobody's guessed Runaway Bride yet? Everybody must be sleeping!
But then, in Europe it had a different title - so different I can't remember it. Maybe I only get half credit?
~Tinks

Lynn said...

Actually, Tola beat you by half a day; she just didn't post it *here*. So, since you're the first person to respond in my comments, yes, you get a set too. Email me w/your favorite color, please. You would think, as long as we've known each other, that I would know that already. You would be wrong, LOL.

Rorek said...

For some reason I thought that line was from 'Regarding Henry', from after the tobasco eggs scene. *shrugs*

All Things Bright and Beautiful... said...

Lyn, wow! 20 yrs of marriage and 10 years divorced - if you ahd your time again how would you do the marriage ting differently?