Empty Nester's Past Coming Back to Roost
I’m keeping myself as busy as possible in an attempt to not think of my empty Nesterdom, and other worries. David calls and says, "I really miss you guys” with an emphasis on the “really.” I know he’s homesick because this is so unlike him to admit such a feeling. We do the old-folks-at-home thing by getting on the extensions so we can all talk together. I find it horrifying even as I do it! Tragically, I’m singing old nursery songs in the shower like the “Itsy-bitsy Spider,” only now, I’m drawing on the words to instill self-stamina.
Now to add to my worries, David and some friends have decided to hike into the Cohutta Wilderness for the next four days. Even the name spells trepidation! Amidst my usual admonitions he asks, “Didn’t you spend several months during the seventies camping across Canada and the West doing acid?”
“I certainly did NOT!” I reply. “I was smoking the occasional pot. I only experimented on the rare occasion, doing the other a very few times within the boundaries of the US of A.” (Yeah, that makes it all better.)
Anyway, I’m happy to learn that my son is coming home in several days following the hiking trip to pick up his car which we just paid a hunk to have repaired (if he isn’t consumed by a bear or picked off by a serial killer). To bolster my credibility I point out that there weren’t as many nutcases around during the time of my late, great adventures, (aside from the Green River Killer, Gacy, Bundy . . . oh, I won’t mention those, or the fact that I was kept at the Canadian border for three hours because the Border Patrol thought I was Patty Hurst). I’m much more afraid of people than I am the animals, so I get in as many warnings as I can within five short minutes—all of which he attributes, I’m sure, to a Mom who is paranoid and insane.
Meanwhile, I’m forcing myself to meet writing deadlines, which for any of you familiar with the task, is a Herculean effort. When I discover that the article I’m writing has a 350-word maximum and I finished at 500 words, I decide to get out of the house. I see our retired next-door-neighbor cruising past our house on his golf cart. No, we do not live in a golf community. We can’t even afford to play at a golf community, but he’s a retired engineer with a propensity for renovation.
I stop my Jeep at the end of my pitifully sink-holed driveway and get out to collect my disappointing mail, meaning no money, just bills. He motors up, points to a nearby house and says, “Hey, I just saw signs that they’re having a garage sale. I want to see what junk they’re selling that I don’t have. Let’s go.” This is a bit odd because we’re separated by about ten acres and I have talked with this affable fellow about three times in twenty years (Is a trend starting here? [See previous blog]). However, I’m game, so I park my car and we’re off to the sale. He tries to convince me that I should buy a large Teddy bear, but I know I don’t need it. “Don’t throw it away or make it an orphan,” I tell our neighbor. “If a deserving kid doesn’t buy it, call me so I can rescue him.”
We leave—my neighbor on his golf cart and I in my Jeep. “I really need help in this assigning human properties to inanimate objects,” I think.
I talk to Jack on my cell phone. “I just went to a garage sale with our next-door-neighbor and I bought some wallpaper border for a dollar, even though I have no idea where we can use it,” I tell him.
He pauses. “I never have any idea what you are doing,” he says.
My prediction is that it’s only going to get stranger.
posted by Gail @ 4:58 PM
2 Comments
2 Comments:
I suggest that you find out where David is going and where he will be parking. Then, after he and the others start off on their hike you follow them and keep and eye on him--for safety reasons.
When they stop to camp, you can walk up to their fire and say, "My goodness. Is this a coincidence or what?" They will all laugh and laugh and invite you to share beans and franks with them.
Say you are going home then later that night dress up as a bear and attack David's tent. When he screams and starts to run, take off the head part of the bear and giggle and say, "Thars barrz in them woodz." You will all have a big laugh and eat more beans and franks and get gassy and flatulate and laugh some more.
If they get mad and snotty, just say, "Smokey the bear has to prevent forest fires." They will see the logic and apologize and ask you to watch the fire for them.
But if one of them says, "Lets play skin the bear," then run real fast and yell, "Betcha can't skin a running bear."
I think this would all be fun.
Yes, my sister, a friend and I were trying to cross over into the U.S. from Canada. We'd been hiking around and camping and had no idea what was going on news wise. I had long, blonde hair parted in the middle and aviator dark glasses. The border patrol pointed at me and yelled, "You look very suspicious. Out of the car EVERYBODY NOW!" It was horrifying; all hell broke loose. They were swarming around us, shoving us into separate rooms, calling and answering the phones. They said things like, "Do you know how much trouble you're in?!" "What's your real name?" They took our car literally apart, including rifling our luggage and removing hubcaps, etc. This went on for three hours until one of the sheriffs answered the phone, said, "You're kidding!" Then he turned to us and said, "You can go girls. Have a nice day." We assembled all of our stuff, put the hubcaps in the back seat, and drove away. The next morning we saw the front page news: Patty Hurst! Captured! and a story about the police hunt in the area.
P.S. Jack says that stuffed animals are only pieces of material stuffed with lint. I'm not convinced:) Finally someone who understands!
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