Clothes On A Line

Do you have a clothesline? One of those now old fashioned ways of drying clothes? I do. It’s a new one too. I’ve only had it about two months and already I’m in love with it. But today is the first day I feel why. It’s overcast, windy and our first cold afternoon. Not cold by northern standards, only by southern, and it feels wonderful.

The day is coming to its end. The clothes are out on the line and I can tell by the way they hop in the wind which ones are denser, not as dry yet as the lighter weight ones. T-shirts are lithe, work shirts airy, hand towels move with a little less agility and the bath towels move as if in slow motion. They are the heaviest, the most ungainly dancers, and the first things I put out. My line is unique for a country clothesline. This kind is/was usually found in cities strung between buildings on pulleys. I have one pulley on my deck attached to another on a tree. A good forty feet stretches out giving me plenty of room for a full load of clothing and more.  You should see the sheets when they take center stage. My daughter’s old school bag holds all my clothes pins and memories of her young and precious face always accompany me when the clothes go out on the line.

It isn’t twilight yet. It’s that time right before the day readies to put itself to bed. Jacques Brel is playing inside, the puppy is joyful in the lightness of cool weather and my husband’s cooking smells of curry and rice and all things Indian. He has lighted the first fire of the season in the fireplace. I don’t worry about the clothes smelling like smoke because there is too much wind for that. Almost the moment my nose registers the perfume of the smoke it’s gone, like a promise of yesterday.

Tomorrow it’s back to the work grind but right now I can indulge in missing France, the scents and sounds unique to that country. That’s what the clothesline reminds me of with its clothes whipping out their ballet in the wind. My mother in law puts out her laundry on a line and the odor of her freshly washed and dried clothing is the main reason I wanted to put up a clothes line. Before this, speed and ease were of paramount importance to me. Now I find scent, time, and memory take center stage, along with the sheets, of course. I watch my husband’s long sleeved work shirt billow and it’s as if the wind is trying it on. But then it empties, deciding it likes its freedom more than wearing a shirt.

I guess it could be age that makes me feel this longing/desire and love for my life, and if it is, I like it. Soon, I’ll go and take the clothes down and this moment will be over. Thank goodness there is an endless supply of dirty laundry guaranteeing more thoughtful and picturesque moments to come. Who knew cloths on a line could be so whimsical? I should have taken a picture.

Images from:

Sodahead.com

dailyhampshiregazette.com

growingyoungereachday.wordpress.com

On Fathers Day: Of Holding On and Letting Go

My father has taken a downward turn in his long and diligent fight against the Parkinson’s Disease that is destroying his body and mind. I had planned on coming up to NC next week to visit him, but when my sister called and explained to me what had happened with him, my husband and I decided it was better to come right away, just in case.

At the same time, my daughter is also battling maladies that are crimping her life and giving her a debt problem in spite of our insurance. I am stretched between these two people that I love. They both seem to have a great need of me right now.

But do they? Does my daughter really need “saving”? Is she in a life threatening situation? Yes, my father is, but it is one that is more or less known and there is a sense of inevitability about his predicament. His is one we will all face sooner or later. My daughter, on the other hand, in my opinion has subconsciously created her situation out of her inability to realize the reasons for her stress levels much less how to fix them. I feel she is using the only means she knows at the moment to try and exert some control over her life, of which, it seems, she feels she has none. I think she can fix her situation fairly easily if she will sit down with her beau and talk it over. I mean really talk and explore those sometimes sticky emotional places in a relationship that need attention, in spite of what one wants to think about one’s own capabilities.

And then there is my father. I look at him, at his blue, blue eyes looking back at me with love and need. With desire to connect. He is still here and I hate thinking about how frail he is, and how aware of that frailty he has now become. I see him accepting his fate. Realizing his body is failing him and there is nothing he can do about it. What good is it to look back on a life and say it was a good one when you aren’t ready to give it up? When something outside your mind is saying you have no choice in the matter? He said yesterday, "I just want one more plug and I don't think I'm going to get it." One more cast, one more fish. That's all he wants. My tears are ready, lurking in the back of my eyes waiting for release and I don’t want to allow them that right. I want to continue as I have in the past, knowing the end is coming but not yet, so I don’t have to think about it. I am comfortable with the numbness in which I can function, until I hold his taut, frail thin frame in my arms. I see his melancholy smile, I see the lack of fight in his eyes and part of me wants to anger him, bring back his fighting spirit while at the same time I want to cradle him in my arms and make everything all right for him again.

I need to let my daughter go. I need to watch her fly on her own wings and see her launch into her life and love and lessons. This is easy to do and yet so very hard as well. I love her so much it hurts sometimes. The loving her and the letting go of her both feel right and uplifting. She is beautiful and strong and yet has so much to learn about that strength and beauty and how to use and grow it in her future. How to learn to appreciate what she has and who she is: how to nurture others, to be a good person, to thrive and live her dreams.

I need to hang on to my father. I need it for myself and he needs it because he doesn’t want to be alone. He needs me and my sister and Clarence and my mother and all those who love him so he can walk this new road with the knowledge of, and trust in, our love for him.

I have been where my daughter is. I am going where my father has been. All I can do now is to try and let one go while hanging on to the other. I realize the question is not whether or not they need me. I think it is more a statement that I need them. I need them both and that I will eventually, when the time comes, let go of my numbness and honor my joy and my grief with those lurking tears.

Hate

Getting personal with this post so beware! 

Okay, so this is what happens when your beloved daughter smokes and can’t find the courage within herself to stop. Even when her body is talking to her, telling her that smoking, not eating right, and perhaps even drinking too much at times might really be bad for her. Might end up costing her more than she’s aware of at this stage of her young 21 year-old life.

Yes, I know, others have done worse. At least she isn’t a drug addict or selling her body on the street. I know she would only do either of those if left no choice, like the majority of kids out there doing those things.

But this is my daughter I’m talking about. So, here I have a problem within myself. I have some choices to make. Yes, this is about MY choices right now. My first reaction is to get in her face and make her miserable until she gets it, and I mean REALLY gets it, that her body is giving her signals she isn’t listening to. My second is that I’m her mother, she’s 21 and can make her own decisions and that I should stay out of it. This last option I hate.

Now my thoughts on these options are the same: she’s my daughter. I love her and want her safe no matter what. She thinks she isn’t strong enough to quit smoking. I know she is. But what good does it do for me to know it if she doesn’t feel it or invest in her own strength. Part of me wants to go up to where she lives, steal her away for a month and take her somewhere where no one can find us and make her understand what she’s doing to herself. My husband, her father wants to take her home with us when we leave where we are for Easter. Yeah, right. Like doing either of those things would go over well. The other part of me says to back off, leave her alone to find out these things for herself. With that option I find myself thinking only of the medical bills she very possibly might have in her future, not to mention the impact on her young life (obviously there are other issues here I won't go into).

We are a busy body family. We tend to care maybe on the side of error, if that is possible. Yes, I know she needs to learn from her own experiences, but, as I said before, this one has the potential to be life altering if not life taking. I can’t just sit by and let it happen without doing the best that I can to help her see what she’s doing. If that makes me a bad mother, an over protective mother so be it. If it makes her turn me away, well I’ll risk that too, if it helps her to understand the cost to herself of not listening to her own body. I would risk that because I love her that much and I’m not only afraid, but see my daughter not happy. I don’t want to cripple her by being over protective. I want to believe she will come around before she does permanent damage. I want to have faith in the strength I know she has. So for now I have to accept where she/we is/are. She’s 21. She’ll do what she wants. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it or sit back and let her go down without a fight.

Photo:

momlogic.com