long, full, adventurous day.
but it’s late,
and i’m tired to the bone,
so
i’ll have to tell you about today tomorrow.
Author: jeanne (Page 107 of 120)
I'm just your basic complicated simple red dirt girl who feels most beautiful when wearing skirts that caper and earrings that dangle. Entering into my Second Life (my tenured phase, I call it), I tell, write, stitch, and perform stories about this time of life when the mythological (and downsized) empty nest is now filled with aging pets, aging parents, a retired husband, and the knowledge that you're living on the finite side of infinity.
“did you melt butter to use to make the toast?”
“well, yes,” she says. “i can’t get the stick butter to spread.”
me? i just whack a slice off and lay it on the bread, content to let the oven do the melting, and at this moment, i realize that the food mother prepares tastes sooooo good because she takes time to do the little things like melting the butter for making toast.
and i think that’s a significant difference worth noting: my mother cooks with love.
over breakfast, mother tells my teenage nephew who’s visiting for a few days, “jeanne took a picture of butter so she could write about how ridiculous i am to melt butter before making toast.”
and with that, my friends, we see once again that i choose my words and actions, and she chooses her interpretation of them.
and vice versa.
mother pays a bit attention to appearance than i do (you’ve seen the videos, so you know i’m telling the truth) a difference that was made apparent at breakfast this morning . . .
when we sat down to eat, i said, “this sure does look good.” as i raised my fork to eat, i noticed that the fried egg had broken during the cooking process, so i went to fetch my camera cause i take pictures of whatever strikes my fancy with the thought that i never know what kind of picture i’ll need to go with a post. when i sat back down and she saw me raise the camera, she laughed and said, “oh no you don’t, you stinker” and reached over to put a couple of pieces of toast over the egg.
“mother, i like it and i want a picture of it,” i said, (it sounds a lot whinier when i write it than it did when i said it) moving the toast back to the side of the plate.
“no,” she said, the smile fading. “no, you don’t,” and she moved the toast back on top of the egg.
i once again moved the toast to edge of the plate and quickly took my picture.
then
i put two pieces of toast over the eggs and snapped a picture of that.
“there,” i said. “how’s that?”
“that’s better,” she said, her smile returning. “and you have to promise to use my picture, too, if you write about this.”
then we ate.
and i did.
she sprinkles her conversations
with words and phrases
coined by others,
always
always
always
giving due and proper credit.
“as ruby mcelroy used to say,
‘it just does my heart good.'”
“as willie used to say,
‘it just slud down the hill.'”
“as kipp would say,
‘i didn’t know i be-ed this good.'”
“as alison would say,
‘this is ree-dik’-uh-lus.'”
each one
a tribute
in the vernacular
of those she once knew
and still loves.
today i am thinking that sometimes receiving is itself a gift.
and i wonder why feeling needy
every once in a while
is such a vile thing.
answers are hatching, but
more incubation time is needed.
so many things are
washing up on the beach
during this month with my mother.
some i bring in and ponder.
other things i toss back into the ocean.
to those who took the time to reassure me, thank you.
you are salve to my soul.
i’m feeling too exposed to do a video tonight.
tired, overly vulnerable
from being seen.
today
i think about being transparent.
trans.
parent.
easily seen through.
today i think about how the prefix “trans” means across, over, beyond.
i think about how doing the videos
went over and beyond
writing a travelogue about
how mother and i spend our days.
about how much safer the travelogue would’ve been.
i think about beauty
– i mean all kinds of beauty –
and lack thereof
if there is such a thing.
i think some more about being seen.
i think about how tired i am of thinking.
my children think nothing of posting their photos and videos all over the vast landscape of the internet. but for me to do a video was, well, it sure feels like a big – i mean really big – risk.
do i embarrass my kids?
not the funny-these-are-the-times-you’ll-remember-one-day
embarrassment
but the soul-twisting, i-won’t-be-home-for-thanksgiving-for-the-next-27-years
embarrassment.
i remind myself that it’s time i live
– that i do, in fact, live –
outside the opinions, perspectives, reactions, and comments of others.
i tell myself that other people are interested and intrigued
by their own interests
and how that has nothing to do with me,
but this is one of those days
when it all sounds like
blah blah blah blah blah.
i feel vulnerable.
more than a little exposed
and scared.
downright, flat-out scared.
i am not pretty.
my hair needs to be cut.
i am overweight.
will people still like me?
talk to me?
want to be around me?
i obviously have no studio
no 3-point lighting.
and omg: that breezy beach so-called backdrop.
will people label me as cheesy? an idiot?
i tell stories about my mother
tell them with a southern accent.
will people call me a hick
and dismiss me
as having no depth or intelligence?
i share humorous stories
or maybe not so humorous, depending.
will others think i’m being disrespectful to my mother?
i consider laughter my religion,
finding humor an entertaining and valuable way
to deliver worthwhile messages
and navigate tricky relationship terrain.
i would hike up and down the world
swim in and out of clouds
tromp across oceans
and skip across mountaintops
championing the value of humor
but
is there really anything i
can do or say
to convince people that there humor can
be both sizzle and steak?
and as much as i know the value of humor,
as much as i enjoy cajoling laughter from those around me,
will i be branded worthless
even when and if i write something with my serious ink?
why on earth didn’t somebody tell me that my mouth was having trouble keeping up with my words? good lord. that’s kinda’ like having lipstick on your teeth or leaving the bathroom with your skirt tucked up in your panties. well, hopefully, it’s fixed now. which is why day 3 is going up on day 4.
i had a lot to learn.
and buy. . .
~~~
i’m still doing the old perfect protest.
before we begin: if you hear the television in the background, that’s my mother watching the news. if you find it distracting, go close your door.
~~~
i think it’s fairly obvious how well i’ve taken to brene brown’s perfect protest.
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integrity
This work by Jeanne Hewell-Chambers is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://www.TheBarefootHeart.com.
here ‘n there