Off the Cuff

It's just one of those days when I have nothing much to say and a burning desire to say it all. Perhaps it's the gloom and drear of a day intense with rain - the sort that soaks everything through and chills to the bone. It is the rainy season, afterall. Although, truth be told, I'm still not quite certain which time of year is not the rainy season. Fall and winter seem worse, I think, because once things get really wet, the chill never seems to leave until around the end of April - when we jump feet first into the heat of summer.

Although, to use the term "fall" is mostly poetic license. There is not enough seasonal variation around here to claim four seasons. It's either wet and cold and winter or hot and steamy and summer. I miss the other two seasons, but mostly fall. We had a day or two earlier that looked like they were thinking of fall. And maybe, if the rain moves on over to the east, we may get a couple days more by the end of next week.

In the meantime I am staying high and dry, painting the apartment cornsilk yellow, denim blue and brickred. That should be cheerful enough to chase the dreary right on out of here. If not, I will follow up with a frozen Marguerita and a little Latin Salsa on the stereo or maybe a corny, feel-good movie. Shoot, enough tequila usually sets anything right!

Like a fine wine ...

Life is a curious thing. Curious in the way it progresses in some order that may be called natural by the logical, but which is continuously surprising to the rest of us. I sometimes, without willing it, take enough steps back from my life to see with new eyes. Someone else’s eyes. I often think they may be the eyes of my mother.

And in those moments the longing for her presence is nearly unbearable. I want her to see me, now; hear me, now; read me, now. I know she would smile that enigmatic smile that always said so much by saying so little. A gentle “I told you so,” in a smile. Not smugly or condescendingly, but with acceptance and that patience I never seemed to learn, in spite of her many tireless efforts to teach me.

I miss her more with each day as I grow into the fullness of my own life. The past few years, the maturing of my own two daughters, the progressing of our relationships into the sweetness that only comes with age, has made me cherish all the more the too little time I spent with my mother in later years.

I wish I had known then how much our children mean to us as we grow older. Had I understood better how special those moments together are – how much they mean to the parent – I might have been more generous with the time I had to give.

My memories are sweet – bittersweet. And while I do not demand or expect or even need my children to spend more time with me, my joy in their presence is the greatest joy of my living. Each moment we have together makes me more aware of the wholeness of my life with them … because of them.

Even as briefly as six months ago, I would never have thought the greatest “cause” in my life would be to laugh with my children. I cannot tell you what has created this new awareness other than the wisdom of maturity. I can only profess my gratitude and my sense of wonder.

My children are my center. It is sad, perhaps, that I am learning this late in life, but, then again, perhaps it is only later in life that we have perspective to see from this direction. And maybe by sharing this thought, I will encourage some who are younger than I to be more cognizant of the moments.

If your mother is still with you, give her more of your time. Be aware of her need to feel connected to you. And feel the blessing you are to her.