Pondside Thoughts...

The Nest is Quiet. Too Quiet.

Sweet A has moved to New York City. It's a good thing. A good idea. She has a great new job and a great new apartment in a wonderful neighborhood, close to friends and her sweetheart. It's all good.

So why do I feel so sad?

Lovely L hasn't lived at home for years and Sweet A spent four years in Colorado before coming home for just a couple years.

I think it's all about permanence. This is the real deal. My last fledgling has fledged, and the nest is feeling terribly, terribly quiet in a that'sthewayitisfromnowon kind of way. So no amount of rational thinking or mantras pronouncing that she is under four hours away by car, no happy thoughts about achieving her goals or the pride I feel in her accomplishments, none of this has anything at all to do with my emotional journey. I have to ride this one out and wait until it *feels* right, which it certainly does not yet. But it will. I know it will. Waiting is not my strength.

Baby Sarah. She's some baby.

Oh, the sweetness of babies, wiggly and new and googly-eyed. Baby Sarah is a wonder at four weeks. She snaps to attention when I catch her eye, she lifts her head and looks around at her incomprehensible world, she is beginning to offer lopsided smiles, and she sort kinda yesI'msureIsawthat plays the stick-out-your-tongue-when-I-do game. She yowls like a banshee when she is hungry and rolls her eyes in delight when sustenance arrives. Yes, Sarah is a keeper. She's some baby.

Dear Aunt S and Uncle L

This entry is dedicated to Dear Aunt S and Uncle L, who love and are loved by so many.  They are caring, giving, completely non-judgmental and devoted. And of course, Aunt S is the only one I'm aware of who actually reads my blog and sends me love notes about how much they enjoy it. Each such comment makes me feel like I've gotten a gold star on my permanent record.

I wish everyone the sweetness of such people in their lives.

We love you, Aunt S and Uncle L!

My Odd Couple

We finally all have airline tickets to Florida for Dad's 89th birthday at the end of April. Lovely L will fly all day the day before, arriving late at night to be picked up by J+J, and Sweet A and I arrive the following noon.  This will be a big surprise for Dad and he will be thrilled. He is the most fun person to surprise. We did this a few years ago, hiding in the coat room of the restaurant and popping out when he got settled in the waiting area.  The spectacle of his thrill and shock and his words and tears of joy were so sincere that several strangers in the waiting area wept openly along with him. This year we will stroll in about 10  minutes after he and his brother and friends are seated and ask if there is room at the table for a few more. Oh, he will be so delighted.

Of course, it takes planning to pull off a good surprise and so I am working with dad's older brother, Uncle George, who is a feisty and fun-loving 92. Many phone calls and negotiations later, the dinner party is planned to take place at 5 PM at a seafood restaurant right on the water in Ft Lauderdale that has "a really super early bird".

In their senior years Dad and brother G have become each others primary support, best friend, fiercest enemy, and co-conspirator. After Mom passed away I really doubted if Dad would make it on his own. But here we are seven years later and Dad and brother G have become this kookie odd couple. They belong to a couple of senior singles clubs, they go to Vegas (baby), the horse races, and at their age every birthday is reason for great celebration so it's dinner and dancing every few weeks with their wide circle of friends. These are all children of the depression, the World War II generation, and they are unwilling to say the least to sit out the last dance. 

But as often as they head out to eke some fun out of their late autumn years, Dad calls to ventilate his most recent rant on the fight he had with brother G, or his hurt feelings, or the reasons why he is going to move to another state because he can't take it anymore and he has to get away from G. Now it's true that brother G is a piece of work and increasingly difficult since he lost  his sight to Macular Degeneration, but the drama of these battles would he very funny indeed if Dad weren't so upset. I know what's coming when Dad starts our conversation with, "I have to tell you something and you tell me if you think I'm right." Oh dear. Here we go. The story that follows is a convoluted tale of soup that wasn't hot enough and a waitress flirted with and a tempter tantrum that resulted in a refusal to get into the car and a 92 year old enraged blind man stubbornly heading out on his own to walk the 2 miles home.

But the very next week Dad has reconsidered his last month's pledge never to travel with brother G again and they are off an a two day cruise for only $129 including all you can eat and $10 in gambling chips so he's packing in advance, in the neat and efficient way Mom taught him. And so it goes.

Puma the Wonder Dog

There’s nothing like the love of a big old devoted dog. They are unconditionally adoring, infinitely forgiving, and exquisitely attuned to our every mood, emotion, nuance, preference. They are eager to please, reluctant to blame, incapable of holding a grudge. Every day is a new opportunity, begun with delight and that weird optimism that shows up as a cold nose, earnestly twinkling eyes, and a wagging tail at 5AM. Well, not exactly 5AM for Puma the Wonder Dog. She prefers somewhere around 11. Maybe noon. On rare occasion she will arise voluntarily around 10. But if you have to get up and out before then, you will be dragging her bodily out from under the covers. Yes, well, okay, she’s in the bed. To be precise, she’s down at the foot of the bed, snuggled under the covers, just a large lump, still, quiet, and definitely in the deep zzz-zone. Calling her does no good. Removing the covers elicits perhaps one open eye. Which then closes. Slowly. The only way to get her up before her chosen hour is to drag her 85 pound furry body off the bed and onto the floor, which is completely unsuitable for sleep, and so she ever so slowly gets herself going.

I believe she learned this from her first love, Lovely L, who acquired PTWD at 6 weeks, and then brought her along on never-ending adventures in Colorado, Utah, and California.  Just the two of them, hiking, climbing, exploring, often sleeping under the stars. Puma learned the value of the foot position in the sleeping bag and the adolescent habit of sleeping half the day away. She’s never gotten past either.

Now she lives in JP with Sweet A and visits me often.  My grandpuppy Puma.  She is a gentle disciplinarian who patiently corrects me when I get things wrong. If I foolishly expect her to go for her walk before breakfast, I will find myself standing at the door cheerfully chirping “walkies!” until I finally catch on and go to the kitchen where I will find her standing over her bowl with an expression somewhere between patience and pity. Breakfast comes before walkies. And so it does.