ay. i can't even remember what i did on monday last let alone be able to examine the entire week in depth.
what made me happiest this week happened yesterday afternoon while at my grandparent's house. where LJT, surrounded by the majority of my close family, played with a red balloon. the old game of do-not-let-the-balloon-touch-the-floor. my grandfather is strong enough again to sit in the living room and bat the balloon back to LJT. i was in the kitchen with my gram and two aunts and we heard LJT's truly carefree laugh coming towards us, i peeked in to see my grandad laughing too, and LJT dizzy from twirling around trying to catch the balloon. jason did a good job of keeping it away, aunt j #3's new boyfriend (well new to me) was taking fotos of LJT's face. who else was there?? aunt j #1 and husband, my mum, EB, eventually the rest of us joined in too.
i wanted to have LJT when i did for the most important reason that i wanted LJT to be able to know my grandparents. there are things that my grandparents can teach that no one else can. i haven't learned what they have to teach well enough - or maybe i just feel that i haven't.
but this was also a week of LJT trying to understand what death is, he's worried about chema and adela, adela's brother's funeral was saturday. he's also trying to understand war as his interest in weapons grows at a frightening rate. and the only person able to get through to LJT about the terribleness of violence was my grandad. he could say - "i was there". and it is enough for a three year old to see the deep deep sadness that settles in grandad's eyes when he remembers the war to understand that violence is a horrible thing.
grandad's weakness and illness has distanced our relationship that was so very close when i was growing up. but now as he recovers a little i can call up old memories and ask him little things to draw him out and to engage LJT.
what made me saddest this week was also with LJT. we had a few days of oncoming cold, marked by impatience, tears, hysteria, exhaustion and temper on the part of LJT (and of course mirrored by me). which is never understood until the cold actually hits and then i feel like a negligent insensitive parent. when LJT finally ended up in bed rather congested and miserable my own personal failings as a parent - despite my constant committment to kindness, compassion and openness - all hit me directly in the face. why can't i have patience when my son needs it most? why is it that my frustration always emerges when his is also running high?
on top of LJT's struggles i also was cleaning out my grandparent's basement, weeding through 60 years of accumulated things while we try to repair various bits and pieces around the house. terror struck when i realized how little is actually worth keeping and how much has been kept that is really only understood by two people, or how much my grandfather personally has stashed away. drawers and drawers of fotos that my grandfather has taken beginning before he went off at 16 to join the merchant marines; boxes and boxes of letters and cards that my grandmother has kept; ski boots, ping pong table and gear, scuba stuff, swimming flippers and duck decoys; maps, plans, drawings, sketches of grandad's from the airforce, scouts, his workshop, the defence council; my grandma's kiln, greenware, glazes and finished pieces. et cetera et cetera et cetera.
inside me is a strong desire to catalogue, store, and document everything in that house. perhaps write a memoirs, or at least copy out the letters for the whole family. certainly the fotos should be stored. or maybe it's best to start with the defence stuff and give it all to the war museum.
then there is an equally strong desire to get rid of everything i own and stop amassing things, and just be glad from day to day that i'm alive and LJT is well and we have food to eat. do i really need to keep all that yarn for a possible hat that i may or may not ever knit?
so my desolation? that i am impatient and uncompromising at times. that i am slow to offer peace and kindness to those closest to me when they really need it most. that time keeps moving and one can't go back to what was before. that collecting is a retroactive activity and doesn't allow for development or growth. that really what matters most is Right Now.
my consolation? that we all seem to be able to find happiness and that the sound of my son laughing is one of the sweetest sounds i know. and it helps me greatly to hear. and that through shared memory and learned memory maybe we don't need to forget how important That Time really was/is/will be. that maybe i did learn enough to teach LJT and anyone else who cares to hear it.
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During the bombing raids of WWII, thousands of children were orphaned
and left to starve. The fortunate ones were rescued and placed in
refugee camps where they received food and good care. But many of these
children who had lost so much could not sleep at night. They feared
waking up to find themselves once again homeless and without food.
Nothing seemed to reassure them. Finally, someone hit upon the idea of
giving each child a piece of bread to hold at bedtime. Holding their
bread, these children could finally sleep in peace. All through the
night the bread reminded them, "Today I ate and I will eat again
tomorrow." (Linn, Dennis et al, Sleeping
With Bread)
my consolation this week was on tuesday. LJT and i, with his aunt detta, went to see alejandro escovedo play. sitting on the grass in the dark listening to loud music with detta reminded me so much of our childhood. countless days and nights were spent listening to music, dancing, wandering, eating french fries, getting bored and excited all over again in the same day. ale escovedo was wonderful, the concert was magical, LJT kept asking to go closesr to the stage, and at one point turned to me, eyes shining and happy voice wondrous and said, "it's so loud". he sat on my lap and cuddled and looked at stars. he also peed on the war museum, rather than telling me he had to go and then having to deal with the portapottys (which he's scared of). the most memorable image for me was when he and another little boy ran around in the floodlights, their shadows danced on the concrete wall behind them. giant substanceless shapes mimicking lions, elefants, and the musicians on stage.
