November 10, 2009

I ironed a tablecloth this morning.
As I was doing this I was laughing at myself because I used to be so arrogant about not ironing. I considered it beneath me, too domestic. I had more important things to do. So here I am ironing a table cloth that I inherited from my mother. It is white, heavily embroidered with cross stitch roses. There is cutwork too. And in the cutwork there is crochet. Very fine crochet. As I am ironing this article I'm thinking about the woman who made it. The embroidery is neat and small and even. It looks as good on the reverse as on the front. I have to be careful with the iron because it gets snagged in the openwork and I don't want to damage it. There is puckering because the crochet thread has shrunk a little more than the fabric in the wash and I have to ease it out with the tip of the iron. Doing this causes me to really look at the workmanship, to admire the design, the intricacy and neatness of the stitches. The act of ironing is making me see. I have looked at the stitching as I might look at an object in an art gallery. Even though the creation of this tablecloth was an act of craftmanship rather than creativity the act of ironing has brought me into relationship; with the woman who made it, with my mother who selected and purchased it, with all women who launder and press and select and display their household goods when it comes time for a special dinner celebration.

October 19, 2009

Today, as I do once a month, I got ready to sample the water in Four Mile Run. After collecting my equipment I coaxed my 14 year old Corgi, Dazzle, out to the car. She was reluctant to leave her warm corner. Her hips are stiff and weak and don't always hold her upright. We had to build a ramp from the back door step as she wouldn't stop hopping down, and crashing into the the ground and smashing her chin. I scooped her up and deposited her in the floor well behind the driver's seat. She used to settle in there, tucking her tail around her, so it wouldn't get caught in the door, resting her chin on the bump in the bump in the floor. I thought she was so smart. Now she barely knows who she is. She used to be delighted with a car ride knowing that we only put her in the car to go somewhere good, with water, and trails and lots of good smells. When the car slowed to a stop she would hop on the back seat, circle around, then hop back down ,over and over again, no matter how hard I tried to train her to wait. I never succeeded in training her, time did that. Now she whimpers softly and I can tell she is unhappy but I'm not sure why. I suspect she wants to "go", even though we already took care of that. I wonder will she wait or has she declined so far that she will soil her space in the car.
As I drive down to the stream, I wonder is this the last trip? As little as 6 months ago she still went on long distance road trips. She loved to sleep in the big van, as we cruised on down the highway. At the rest stop it was clear that she enjoyed the novelty of place. New smells, new smells! That phase had lasted a year or so as it coincided with my need to make frequent visits to my mother who lived in upstate NY. Now it is clear the time of extended car trips with Dazzle is over. This short trip is more than enough. I scoop her out and deposit her gently on the ground. She rallies enough to take care of business, explore a few feet and then makes it clear she is done. She wants back in the car where she feels safe.

September 24, 2009

There are three people in my life that I love; husband, daughter, son. Yet I don't always show it. My husband comes home from work and I'm not quite ready to stop what I'm doing to greet him. I know he craves some small attention; a kiss, a brief caress, eye contact. It seems so simple when I write it and yet............... Some stubborn part of me can't, won'.

My daughter is as prickly as I am. She too needs attention but it is not easy to figure out when. She also desperately needs non-attention. To be left alone kindly. She has a strong sense of personal space and cannot stand to have it violated. This has been true since middle school when her science teacher leaned over her at her desk and she had to repress a violent desire to snarl "get away from me". When she cooks she bars me from the kitchen. When she watches TV I may sit in the same room "by invitation only."

My son is even more complicated. For the first 5 years of his life he couldn't bear to be separated from me, for the next 5 years he didn't want to leave home, yet beginning around age 12 he couldn't bear the sound of my voice and preferred any of his friend's homes to his own. Now he is away at college and virtually incommunicado.

The ones we love. Why is it so difficult to show it?