W is for Wash

    Have you ever noticed that washing is a never ending chore?  I wash the dishes, wash the clothes, and wash myself only to find the very next day there is more to wash. Clean, clean, clean, all the day through only to have to wash, wash, and wash again and again.

     My Grandma loved to wash.  The woman was nuts about it.  The day finally came when her arthritis no longer allowed her to wash.  It caused her too much pain.  She couldn’t grip things like she once did.  She couldn’t lift things like before.  She actually mourned the day when she could no longer wash.  She actually wanted to wash the dishes, wash the windows, and wash herself. When I was younger I thought the woman was crazy.  Why would anyone mourn having someone else do all that work for her?  Don’t get me wrong, I completely understand wanting to wash myself.  Having some random health aide come in and wash my ass and lady parts would just be too mortifying even though I am sure I would appreciate the help if I needed it.

      The answer came to me just recently.  It was more the loss of her independence that she mourned.  I get that now like I never did when I was younger.  It wasn’t that she enjoyed all the work so much.  It was the fact that she could no longer do it herself.  Although I still think she was a tad off her nut for crying because she could no longer clean everything to a glistening shine, I can understand crying because she could no longer do it if she wanted too.  



      Because of that I wash and try to appreciate being able to accomplish the task myself because someday there may come a time when I will no longer be able to and then I will wish I could.

Solitude -BFF 168

       Everyone everywhere needs a daily dose of solitude to reclaim their sanity.  Sometimes it helps to step back and just breathe.   I was being conditioned to enjoy solitude from as far back as I can remember.  I didn’t always enjoy it and at times dreaded time alone, felt tortured, and isolated.  Somewhere along the way I realized I needed to learn to enjoy my own company, then I got to the point I preferred it.  
    
  

        Because there was a 7 year age gap between me and my sister, I learned early that as far as playmates went, I didn’t have any.  She certainly wanted absolutely nothing to do with the likes of me.  I had to learn, and learn quick how to amuse myself and be comfortable playing alone.  I would have given anything to meld perfectly with a group of friends that accepted me and wanted me around.  Even if I felt included in early grades by the time puberty hit, I was abandoned by my peers and forced to wander the outskirts of the social clicks. 

        My feelings were shattered by the rejection.  I always felt my mom was in denial about my level of popularity among my peers.  Just because everyone I passed said hello at school functions, it still didn’t mean they included me.  They were friendly, and I was always the outsider, although in hindsight after being hurt time and again I believe I learned to hold everyone at arms length.  After a while I found I loved to read and far preferred my books to the ridicule I found outside their pages.  It certainly was more fun than trying to figure out why I wasn’t accepted or what was wrong with me.

        Up until the time of my mom’s death, I had her as a faithful companion.  We had so much fun and were like two peas in a pod.  When she died I was forced into a solitude like I never had known before.  I went to work and came home to a deathly silent house.  I began to watch videos and play piano to break up the monotony.  I would do anything in those dark days following her death to break the silence.   I rushed out to the bar scene, made friends that were here today and gone tomorrow, and when my Dad came home slowly became dependent on his company.  I realized how much I enjoyed my Dad’s company and how funny he truly was.  By the time he died, I had a daughter and a husband who thought the world of me.

         I devoted all my time and energy into my kids.  I became the epitome of the stay at home mommy.  Last fall, my son left me for kindergarten.  I came back into the house and noticed the house was silent, felt empty, and I was utterly alone again.  By the time this hit, I had learned to enjoy the solitude.  I reveled in the quiet.  I busied myself with my writing, buried myself in books as I always had, and got more housework done than ever before.  After a week it dawned on me that no one else was in the house save me and my menagerie of pets.  If I wanted to play music full blast, who would care?  If I wanted to wear pajamas all day, who cared?  As long as I was dressed and pressed before my little darlings arrived from school it was all good.  I discovered what it was like to go to the store without a couple of kids attached at the hip.  I discovered freedom, and I discovered I liked it!  I liked the silence broken only by the soft hum of the dryer.

             I use this time to reconnect with myself.  I have realized that being alone is very much apart of who I am as a person.  Why else would I have married a man who chose a profession that has him gone all but 4-6 days a month?    It isn’t a life for everyone, but very much a life for me.  I enjoy spending time with my husband and kids, but love my solitude and alone time as well.  I keep to myself, and always have.   After 43 years on this planet, I finally have decided that my love of solitude is OK.  It is in these moments when I hear G0d most clearly.  When it comes right down to it, I am never totally alone because HE is always with me until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.