I Am So Done With The Mouse...

 






I dug around downstairs and found the right black yarn so I could embroider on the eyes and mouths of the Happy & Sad Mouse for my Kentucky grandson.  I like it and hope he will too.  Next time I'll use one size smaller needles so the fabric is firmer.

The dirt was delivered this morning and CG spent a few hours hauling it into the backyard and spreading it around.  He also finished digging up the roots, etc. on the side of the yard and we talked about which berry-bearing shrubs would like growing there.  He recommended two varieties of viburnum and a juneberry (aka serviceberry).  He said they're about $30 each and he'll plant them for me for not a whole lot more money.  Hooray!

I walked around the block just before noon and made it home right as it started to rain.  That put an end to the dirt spreading and lawn reseeding.  It also sent me to the Y to walk again in mid-afternoon, both on the track and on a treadmill.  I've been slacking off on walking in favor of using the machines so my endurance is crap.  I need to be able to walk and breathe in Yellowstone in two months.  Get a move on, Barbara!




Lots of poppies popped open overnight.  I thought that maybe one or two would open but a whole raft of them did.


 



The ferns are huge this year.  And look at that green!







The sole remaining Asian Lily is blooming in front.  There used to be three or four plants plus a bunch of stargazer lilies there but this is the only one left.  I don't know what eats them, probably rabbits.  *sigh*




Before CG started spreading dirt around I went out to check the garden and saw the tiniest beginning of a yellow patty pan squash.  It's about the size of a pea but it'll grow--unless something chomps it, that is.  It needs to stop raining so they can get the grass seed spread around, so the grass can grow, so I can get out to tend my garden.  I watered the patio again tonight because I forgot to check to see if CG reattached the hose.  I just went out to check now but decided not to walk across in the mud to reattach it.  I turned off the water.  *double sigh*



The lettuces are looking good too.  Maybe I'll be able to have a salad one of these days.

18 June--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon.

I spent the days after Aaron and Sara’s visit fielding phone calls from the rest of my sons and daughters-in-law.

            The first to call, on the Sunday night after Aaron left, was Sam.  Being the eldest son he’d assumed responsibility for his brothers’ well-being after Bert had died.  Now it seemed that Sam felt my life was within his scope as well.

            “Mother, Aaron called and said you’ve taken up painting, completely redone your garden, and changed the way you look.  Are you all right?”

            “Sam, for heaven’s sake, I am a human being.  Human beings change and evolve, even mothers.  You can’t expect me to be like some museum exhibit marked, ‘Gail Logan, Midwestern Housewife and Mother (Nearing extinction).’  What’s really bothering you?  What else did Aaron say?”

            There was a considerable pause during which I assumed my eldest was marshaling his thoughts.  Good thing Sam’s a lawyer, I thought.  I’m sure his clients appreciate the way he deliberates over things.  I imagine it makes them feel he takes their every word to heart, but right now I could just shake him.  Pride and exasperation warred in me, as it had since Sam was old enough to talk.  Of all my sons, he was the one most burdened by the idea of doing and saying the right thing.   

Sam cleared his throat and finally said, “He did mention that you seemed to have a couple of suitors.”  Suddenly the little boy in him burst out, “Mom, you aren’t thinking of getting a boyfriend, are you?”

            I almost giggled out loud.  Despite his air of confidence, Sam was the most sensitive of my sons.  “Sam, my dear son, I am not ‘getting a boyfriend.’  It’s true that a gentleman in my painting class has taken a shine to me, and there’s an old coot at the garden center trying to wrangle an invitation to help redo the flowerbeds.  But I can assure you that your father was plenty husband for me.  I have no intention of beginning to accept applications for a successor.”

“Mom, I’m worried about you being out there in the country all alone.  Maybe you shouldn’t have retired.  If you were still working, you’d have something normal to fill your days and people you know to talk to.”

“Sam, I’m enjoying being alone.  Besides, Clara and Hank are right down the lane like they’ve always been.  If I get lonely or bored, or scared for that matter, they’d be here for me in a heartbeat.”

“I know.  But we don’t even know any of these new people you’re talking about.  What kinds of people are in that painting class?”

“I do know them and they’re regular kinds of people.  There are eight of us; some know me from my years at the school, some I’ve just met.  We go out for coffee after class and have a few laughs.  I’m not hanging out in bars and I’m not picking up loose men.  I’ve taken up painting as a hobby because it’s interesting and it seems I’m pretty good at it. And I decided to dress less like an old lady and more like myself, that’s all.”

“But, Mom, …”

“I know you’re worried and I appreciate your concern.  But once you graduated from college, your dad and I stayed out of your life.  Now that I’m retired, I want you to stay out of mine.”

“Mom!  Aaron said you’ve started keeping some sort of goofy sunset diary on the porch railing.  What’s that about?”

I could hear Sam’s wife, Merry, in the background asking to speak to me.  Reluctantly, Sam relinquished the phone.

“Hello, Gail?  What has Perry Mason been saying to you?”

“It’s alright.  He’s just concerned about me.”

“Well, I heard the end of what he was saying and I don’t think he has any business telling you how to live your life.”

“Thank you, dear.  I appreciate you sticking up for me, but I think I handled him rather well.  How have you been?”

“Fine.  Listen, Sara told me how wonderful your paintings are and I, for one, want to get my order in early before her and Lisa.  Anytime you have any spare paintings you think would go with our décor, you just send them right out.  They don’t even have to be framed.  I can do that and save you the expense.”

“That’s very flattering, Merry.  But I’m afraid Sara might have exaggerated a bit.  Right now my paintings are more on the ‘refrigerator art’ end of the scale.  Perhaps in a year when I’ve taken a few more classes I’ll have something better.  Then I’d be happy to send you a painting.”

I could picture Merry standing in her painfully modern house overlooking the Pacific, chewing on a perfectly manicured nail, and imagining herself saying to her friends, “Oh, yes, Samuel’s mother had a gallery showing in New York.  She saves her best canvasses for us, of course.”  I loved Merry and knew she was a good wife to Sam, but I had a hard time identifying with Merry’s drive to be a successful somebody, to make a real splash in the world.  Merry was a realtor and collected as many ‘names’ as she did commissions.

“Sweetheart, it’s getting late.  Let me say goodbye to Sam and I’ll talk to you next week.”

“Okay, Gail.  Goodbye, I love you.”

            “I love you too, honey.  Have a good week.”

A subdued Sam got back on the line.  “Mom, I’m sorry if I sounded overbearing.  It’s just that we live so far apart; I feel like you might need me and I’m not there.  Maybe we should move back.”

            I had a hard time answering around the lump in my throat, “It’s okay, Sam.  I wish you lived closer, too, but you and Merry are doing so well out there it’d be foolish to start over in the Midwest.  Besides, I’m fine.  I promise to call you if that changes.  Now, you have a good week and I’ll send you a letter on Friday.  I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.  Bye, talk to you next week.”

I sat, misty eyed, looking at the phone for a long moment.  For a second I ached for the days when the boys were small and I was the center of their world.  But I'm having so much fun right now, I thought.  Don’t wish it away.

I had hoped to sew up a dress or two today but I didn't manage to get there.  Maybe tomorrow.
--Barbara