Monday, December 03, 2007

Monday Musings

The other night, while adjusting myself mid sleep, I plopped my face down into a puddle of drool. And I don't know if it was mine or the cat's. So I folded that part of the pillow under, gave her a scratch and went back to sleep. Somewhere in my addled brain I'm sure I thought, "EWWW!", but the need for sleep was greater than my need for a clean pillow case. And reasonable hygiene standards.

Sometimes I think we're a little too close, the cat and I.

I can't deal with people getting old. Specifically, I can't deal with my parents getting old. The mental and physical decline that's happening right before my eyes to the two people I've always known as the strongest people alive is weighting heavily on my mind these days.

And my mind just doesn't have enough space for it.

Seriously, I just need five minutes. Can everything just stop spinning for FIVE minutes????

Once I had to crazy glue myself into a skirt. The zipper broke in the middle of the day. Irreparably so. I truly had no choice - a quick assessment of the situation in the bathroom revealed that it wasn't a quick safety pin fix. And, of course, I was going to the Cirque Du Soleil that night - a work function.

Lithe, lean acrobats performed fantastical body-bending feats. While I sat there glued into my skirt.

I made some additions to my links. It's something I put off for ages - until blogs and other sites I want to add here become so numerous (stored in a messy bookmark folder) that I start feeling panicky.

Anyway, they're added and I feel calm again.

Well, about this anyway.

Shouldn't "numerous" be spelled "numberous"? I totally think so.

The other day somebody commented on how wonderful it is that I can feel happiness for others. She said she still has trouble - can't let it go and often avoids situations where she knows she'll be confronted by people who have what she cannot.

You know what? I can't let it go either. I am happy for those whose dreams have come true. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm sad for me. For My Beloved. For my parents still waiting to cradle a living grandchild. For my sister still waiting to spoil a living niece or nephew. For my in-laws who want to erase the sorrow in their son's heart. For my friends who just want my dream to finally come true.

No amount of happiness for someone else will ever erase my sadness. It's always there. Always.

In short, I ain't no saint.

I've been baking up a storm lately in preparation for company on Saturday. Seriously. If you'd walked into my kitchen at any point during the last three days it would have looked like a sugar, flour and butter hurricane had blown through the room leaving crumbs, batter and 49,000 dirty dishes in its wake.

It was peanut butter chocolate chip cookies this evening, and I was happily working away when that familiar uselessness washed over me.

My Mom made these particular cookies all the time when I was little. The smell of them baking, all peanut buttery and delicious, made me feel cozy - brought back so many sweet memories of childhood and of her.

But there's no child here. No one to absorb the sounds of baking clatter, the scents of freshly baked cookies, the warmth of a winter kitchen.

I'm not making memories for anyone except me. I'm just a woman alone in a kitchen.

Que sera, sera? Geez, someone needs to smack that Doris Day.

Oh well. At least I have cookies.


Bronwyn said...

When I'm cooking or baking is when I'm haunted the most by my loss. I find myself having silent conversations with my daughter, "Now we pour the water into the flour", "Now we pour the batter into the pan", "Yes, you can lick the spoon!". It's always a bittersweet moment when I find myself doing that.

The peanut butter chocolate chip cookies sound delish! Care to share the recipe? ;)

Julia said...

I am sorry about your parents. My grandmother is fading, and my mother is not doing well with it at all.

I am sorry about the baking too. It is always most lonesome in the place that was meant for many.

meg said...

"No amount of happiness for someone else will ever erase my sadness. It's always there. Always."

Yup, that just about says it all. I can feel happiness and hopefulness for others, but I can never not be sad. We're a package deal now, me and sadness. And that's the way it is.

And I would really, really like a cookie now!

Katie said...

The last time that I visited my parents, I realized that my mom looks. . . older. Like a grandma. And it hurt my heart to see that. I am in no way ready to face losing either of my parents right now. No way. Luckily, they are still healthy.

I want a cookie, too.

Bon said...

coming out of lurkdom to beg for a cookie.

and to say yeh, it is those rituals that ought to be shared that most clearly, painfully point out who is missing.

and even happiness for yourself - which i can only wish comes to you, even if it's taken its sweet f$^%in' time - doesn't erase that sadness....i swear.

miraclebaby said...

I started crying about the cookie thing... no kids to enjoy it:( I hope someday soon your prayers are answered.

Angela said...

I'm not making memories for anyone except me.

That got me.

cjzben said...

I for one have always thought that Doris Day needed a good smack, that women always looks too bloody chipper.

Sending you much love my dear friend.

Denise said...

I read your post and was thinking about it the next day as I was doing my own baking. I always wonder if Thomas is baby Thomas or two year old Thomas when he's looking in on the world. I think he is two year old Thomas because just after I had that thought my spatula snapped and an unknown piece of white plastic flew into my shortbread that I was baking for a gift for me Mom.
Does this sound at all familiar? I think he has a sense of humour...