The day after July 4th, I found myself singing in
my nightshirt as the hot water dripped through the coffer and filter. All the while I was dancing to “Put a Little
Love in Your Heart”. After a few
repetitions, I stopped and asked myself, “What happened?”
For several days prior to the holiday and for a brief moment
on the day, I had been having a tough time, or rather, I had given myself a
tough time. In retrospect, the Fourth
was a lot easier than the day before and the night between them. So on that morning, I had to ask myself, “How
did I get from whimpering loneliness through pissy anger to a morning song
about love?”
Had it been Divine
Intervention? I surely had prayed long
and hard enough over those days and nights.
No doubt there was some kind of helping hand there, although I also believe
in the power of naming and releasing, something prayer also accomplishes.
Maybe my stars had been out of
alignment or something had hiccoughed in the Universal Plan? If I had called my friends who are sensitive
to these things (as I am) would we have compared notes and discovered we were
all struggling through some mental tar pit?
Perhaps it just the nature of grief
and me facing change and another solitary holiday? If so, then I realize now I have my mother to
thank for the very practical solution to the downer I experienced on everyone
elses’ Fourth of July Celebration.
After marching behind the
Grandmothers for Peace float in the Willit’s parade and singing Holly Near’s
song, “1000 Grandmothers for Peace”, I came home to my empty house and
plummeted. Family was in all different
directions. Friends I’d invited for a
grilled meal had other obligations, and there I was, starting to pull the
familiar grey quilt, I’d already been huddling under, over my head.
My wise mom, who had weathered years
of a husband overseas as a Marine and 24 hour duty as a policeman, didn’t just
whisper in my ear. She shouted, “Pretend
today isn’t a holiday.”
So I washed clothes and swept
floors. I finished sewing five pillow
cases for Hospice and ironed them.
(Since the generator was on for the washer, I had plenty of power.) I hemmed the two new scarves I’d created out
of remnant material. I turned on the
radio (something I rarely do because I got out of the habit while Y was alive
as he didn’t like the noise.) I listened
to a special on Woody Guthrie and learned more than I ever knew about his music
and political activism. After I ate my
grilled pork chop and corn, with a smattering of homemade potato salad, I
settled in the recliner with the computer in my lap and watched a movie. (My TV has died.)
I made it through the day without
another tear or a moment of self pity. I
realigned my own stars, changed my perspective, and went to bed blessing my
mom. No wonder I woke up singing!
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