Christmas afternoon, after much professional basketball on the teevee, Mr. Macho and I got in the kitchen and scrubbed. The refrigerator. The dishwasher face. The microwave. Some of the stove top. It made us feel helpful and good.
We had a quick weekend at home and attended a couple of movies before packing up and heading south to bring in the New Year with my Mom and help Beach Boy move into his new home.
Mr. Macho spent Monday afternoon and all day Tuesday helping to facilitate the move. I stayed and visited with Mom...insuring that I did not lift and overdo anything to reverse the great way my back is feeling!
I was able to make use of the local high school track while staying with Mom. It is a great tool for exercise. Convenient!
Mimi provided us with yummy eats. Cheese ball, artichoke dip, and Bill Kinberger's marinated shrimp! Best recipe.
The oak tree in Mom's front yard has Van Gogh roots. This photo does not do the pattern justice. Oaken Starry Night.
Looking up.
After Mass on New Year's Eve we tried to light a paper lantern. We made a mistake by trying at the beach. The wind was too great and the lantern ended up in the water. I was very disappointed.
Our football teams were also disappointing on New Year's Eve. There was no joy in Mudville.
Instead of waiting, we opened some bubbly early in the game. It didn't help. Our team was crushed. Our spirits were dampened.
Mom even went to bed early and left her beloved Bulldogs to fend for themselves. There was no rally. The was no victory.
Mr. Macho and I stayed the course, finished the game, and watched the ball drop in New York. Then. I decided to try the paper lantern one more time.
And. It floated into the night sky.
We watched it for a long time and are sure that it floated over the Sound waters before it burned out.
***
Mom really is doing fine, other than the obvious. She is 94. Words and names are getting slightly more tricky. Memories are becoming pastel watercolors. ("I can't remember the last time I had a Bloody Mary!" When, in fact, it was about 3 weeks ago.) She is slower. And deafer. And. Still Mom.
Unlike last year, there seemed to be many more feelings of nostalgia for our old house. More "misty water color memories, of the way we were" (thank you Barbara Streisand!) Mom relayed to me that she and Dad always claimed they were just "camping out" at this new house. When they spoke of home, they were referring to 890 Second Street, their home of 50+ years, before Katrina. The house where they raised 9 children. I read in between the lines and know that Mom was missing Dad while she was reminiscing. She closed her eyes and spoke of the old house. I know she was seeing every detail of it, as if she were right there. I heard more emotion in her voice than I have heard in years.
Dad died two years ago on New Year's Day, in the wee hours of the morning. It was a Tuesday. After a very difficult night kept vigil by my sisters, Mimi and Lynn. It was expected, yet difficult. A beloved husband, father, grandfather, son, brother, uncle, community member. It was a show of great respect and love that over 400 people attended the funeral of my 92 year old father.
*****
We woke to this New Year on a Thursday. To a year that has begun with unexpected gifts. That morning, in the very room where Daddy had died exactly two years ago, I sat in the rocking chair that now occupies the space where a hospital bed had stood holding my Dad. I listened to Mario Lanza croon the Lord's Prayer and let my emotions swell. I let my tears flow. And I remembered the last time we spoke. "I love you very much" was the last thing he said to me. And. It was the last thing I said to him.
Gift.
Thursday morning I washed the hair of my 94 year old mother in the kitchen sink. Thoughts of, "How many times did you do this for me?" filled my head like the hot air that filled the paper lantern the night before. Tears welled. Pure gift.
Pure love.
This year has promise.
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