This morning I opened the door for Ms Bean to go out and was instantly hit with a blast of warm, humid air. I looked up at the mama robin and rolled my eyes, spring in the south is an oxymoron. It comes in the form of rain, interspersed with dry, 70 degree days for a week, maybe two. Then the hot, sticky summer rolls in complete with mosquitoes and melting temperatures. Yesterday it hit 88 degrees. Our Mother’s Day celebration sushi dinner happened inside the Bride’s house, in the air conditioned air.
This past weekend had me reminiscing about mothers’ days over the years. Since I had two mothers growing up, you’d think I’d remember a few details, but those early years are blank. Maybe we didn’t mark the occasion so much, or maybe all that was required was a nice Mother’s Day card? My fondest and earliest memory as a new mom in New England is of a barbeque with my BFF Lee; Bob and Al grilled outside, in our bird sanctuary backyard. Spring in the Berkshires was made only more magnificent because of its winters.
Spring cleaning has adapted itself to spring organizing since I am still working with only one hand. I’ve been doing a deep dive into the Snug, aka my office. With Bob’s help I’ve moved a plant from the window to a bookshelf by the window. I’ve condensed all my bead-making and knitting supplies into one cabinet. All my books are happily visible in two bookcases, no longer in piles. And I’ve spent hours reading over my old poetry and prose, some of it good and some…
I found a list I made 20 years ago – “I WISH”
It’s pretty funny reading it, knowing now what I wish I knew then! Number ONE on the list, “I wish I was more organized!” And number 25 on the list? “I wish it was Spring!” And all the other 23 wishes, believe it or not, I’ve accomplished or I simply don’t care to accomplish – like being fluent in French, or having a cook, or playing the cello. I was prompted to think BIG. Maybe I still wish I could live in a cottage by the sea in Ireland. But the very first things on my Wish List had to do with the Bride and the Rocker (no Grands yet) and Bob, and those wishes have actually come true. TA DA
I remember Ada saying she didn’t want to be an old lady who only talked about her maladies. I get it. I have to fight against becoming an old lady who only thinks about her regrets, like not buying that second home. I could easily make a list of regrets – but to what purpose? Yes I wish I hadn’t wrapped the bulldog’s leash around my right hand; yes I wish I hadn’t climbed the bunk bed ladder. But I cannot, or will not live in the past.
Moving forward, Bob and I attended a garden fundraiser last week for our mayoral candidate, Freddie O’Connell. We stood in the heat with strawberries and with sweat dripping down my back. We saw old friends who asked about my splinted arm, I laughed it off, as if it was nothing but an inconvenience. We listened to Freddie, a no nonsense guy who we call a friend, and a neighbor. The only city council member to vote against funding a ridiculous NFL stadium. The one guy who grew up here in Nashville, on the West side, and wants to grow our city more humanely and less for tourists and destination bridesmaid parties. He wants to build a transit system, and plant trees, build sidewalks, and house the homeless.
“There are incentives we can offer Davidson County residents where it’s a privilege to live here not a burden. A key part of that is making technology available, affordable and useful to residents. There’s no one more prepared to leverage technology to move our city forward.“
https://twitter.com/freddieoconnell
But he doesn’t have a million dollars of his own to run his campaign, like another candidate who is buying up ad time on TV like candy. Still I like betting on the under dog, that was something my foster mom Nell drilled into me. The special election will take place this summer, in the sweltering 90+ degree dog days of August. We’ve ordered our Freddie yard sign, we’ve become people with yard signs on our corner lot. The sign there now says,
“Hate has no place in our neighborhood.”
Here a few old pix I found in a box of high schoolers you may know.
MountainMornings 