August 21, 2003
NOTE: I wrote this a couple of weeks ago on my new laptop before I had an external floppy drive that would enable me to transfer the document to my regular computer so that I could post it on my blog. Of course I’m still wireless-less -- haven’t figured out the PCI software download or the router etc. I’ll get there when I’m ready. Even though the following is a couple of weeks old, I’m posting it now because it all connects both to stuff I’ve been reading on other weblogs, especially Indigo Ocean’s and Chris Locke’s. I will try to tie it all together at the end.
Reflections in a Crone’s eye.
Saturday August 9
I am sitting on the deck at my daughter’s, writing on my new little laptop.
My son in law went fishing early this morning and caught some nice perch, which we will have for supper. "Great hunter goes out into the wild and brings back food for family," I tease him. He looks at me and smiles. "Yes, as a matter of fact. That’s exactly the point," he says.
My daughter and grandson are taking a nap. My son-in-law has gone to spend the rest of the day with some buddies, including a high school friend who is visiting from Ireland. He's going to stay overnight with his folks, since the reunion is taking place back in his hometown. This is the first time they have spent a night away from each other since even before they were married.
This is on my list of things to do when my mother is gone -- sit on a deck among the treetops and think. And write. And dive deep. Except now the baby is up, and I don’t want to miss a minute of time with him during my short visit here. Embracing the love and comfort of others. Such is a Crone’s life.
…………………….
Sunday, August 10
The air is like soup here just outside of Boston. Yesterday, my daughter and I took the baby and went to the Arboretum, where we sat on a bench under a tree while the baby watched the natural and unnatural world roll by and my daughter and I chatted. I so treasure the time I can spend with her like this, like friends, equals. I can see how tired she is, and I wish I lived closer so that I could help her out more. I wasn't always the best mother to her early on in her life. How can you be a good mother when you still need one of those yourself. Too soon old; too late smart. Such is one Crone’s life.
My daughter is definitely a good mother. Patient. Infinitely patient. In the moment with the baby's moments. And so he's amazingly thoughtful and curious, engagingly communicative even though he speaks in his own language -- babbles and gestures that are as eloquent as any official verbiage. I love that he knows me well enough now to crawl over to me and ask to be picked up, to be read to, ask me "ahda?" which we all know means "What’s that?" Apple, I tell him. Box. The letter X. Gammy's nose. Hippopotamus. I nuzzle his cheek and he opens his mouth to give me his toothy version of a sloppy kiss. I don't want to let go. Did I do this with my own kids when they were little? I don’t remember. Such is this Crone's life.
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I always bring lots of food and lots of things for me to keep busy with when I come to visit. I bring the kind of food that I know that my daughter likes but doesn't have time to make -- kielbasa and kapusta, home made potato salad and chicken soup -- food to remind her of the better days of her childhood.
In the afternoon, while my daughter and grandson nap, and when the little family goes to bed early (dad leaves for work shortly after 7 a.m.), I work on my crochet projects – mostly the shawls I still make (I just got another request for one from someone who did an Internet search for “spiral shawl”and came up with my old blog post. I just love how that works!) I bring books on tape to listen to during the more than 3-hour car ride each way and late at night as well if I have trouble falling asleep. I also usually bring a book to read, but this time I didn’t. So, I go over to their overflowing books shelves and look for some short stories to read while I have my bedtime tea, along with the best diet aid I’ve found yet for those like me addicted to chocolate mint anything. Yumm!
Both my son-in-law and daughter share my affection for science fiction, so I know I can find some short story books to keep me occupied. I pick up an old one, the cover tattered at the edges, the pages yellowed -- published in 1963.
(Of course, the first thing I do is peruse the Table of Contents for stories by women writers. A bias of mine, yes. Not surprisingly, I only see three female names out of the 50 authors listed. Back then, many women sci fi writers used male pseudonyms, since it was a field dominated by men, so there really might be more than those three.)
1963. My daughter was the age then that my grandson is today. But I was little more than half her age. A kid myself. Tired, overwhelmed. Trying desperately to hold onto whomever I had been while responsibly and responsively also trying to become what others needed me to be. I wasn’t a bad mother, but I could have been a lot better. My daughter was smart enough to become who she wanted to be before joining her life with another’s, before embracing the responsibilities that loving brings with it.
63. That’s how old I am now. Unlike my daughter, I wound up spending my thirties and forties becoming who I wanted to be, while at the same time struggling to take care of my kids as a single mom. That was the hard way to do it, but what did I know, a confused child of the 40s and 50s transformed into a strident feminist of the 70s? But, I’m a better mother now. A better daughter, too. And a fantastic grandmother. Too soon old, too late smart. (Or maybe not too late.) Such is my Crone’s life.
Today, August 21:
I’m sitting in the doctor’s waiting room writing on my new laptop waiting for my mother’s 3-hour Aredia infusion to be over. This is one of the reasons I bought this cool little machine -- so that I can write while I wait. (Although the compact keyhboard makes for lots of typos, which I will fix when I transfer this document to my wired machine for posting.)
NOTE: the following is the personal opinion of the Crone, without footnotes or research or acknowledgments. Sometimes being older and having lots of experiences screwing up one’s own relationships does give one a little more of a right to be opinionated. Well, I think so anyway.
From where I sit on my Cronethrone, I see enough failed marriages (including my one and only) that have proven over and over again that, unless you married early as best friends and managed to grow together in the same direction, you sure better get your own self walking tall before you try to walk holding anyone else’s hand.
It’s not that symbiotic or parasitic relationships can’t work. If the partners have compatible neuroses it can all work out just fine. But for most of us, we need a lot more give and take, a lot more effort to strike a balance between two different sets of needs and values.
Back in the 80s (too late for my purposes) I read Hugh and Gail Prather's A Book for Couples. I think I gave my copy away, but my daughter has one that I’ve asked her to unearth so that I can look at it again and see if it still makes a bottom-line sense to me.
The Prathers are much too deistic for an irreverent non-believer like me to be totally comfortable with their writing. I remember having to ignore their references to god and keep my focus on the means they're suggesting to get to the end (or rather to ensure the success of that long-term middle) of a mutually satisfying relationship between two in-love adults. I also remember reading what they had to say with an old annoyance and a new understanding.
Personally, I think whether a relationship lasts depends a great deal on how closely your values match up to begin with. For example, if one person is a smart-ass and the other is sensitive to off-hand disturbing remarks supposedly meant in jest, it's going to take more than a little work. (Yes, I'm thinking of RageBoy here because he seems to be obsessed these days with figuring out why love keeps either eluding or escaping him.)
Tonight, August 21, 2003
I just watched Solaris. Fantasy can be so very compelling.
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Old Comments (7)
Elayne Riggs on 22 Aug 2003
Very nice, Elaine! You realize that, being childless, I live my childbearing and almost-crone life through you. :) And I smiled at your perusal of the Table of Contents for women sf writers; I pretty much do the same thing, whether it's a short story collection or an anthology comic book. :)
Lindsay on 23 Aug 2003
I think you and my mother would get along really well. She's 43 this year and raising her 9 year old daughter on her own. She has three daughters, all of whom she raised by herself, sometimes while working several jobs at one time. She would probably have insecurities that she wasn't the best mother in the world, but I feel very lucky to have had her.
I sent her a card for Mother's Day (she lives in Virginia, and I'm over here in the UK), telling her how much I appreciate and admire her and that I think she is a wonderful and generous mother. She really did an amazing job with us, considering how much her heart must have been breaking at the time. She made so many sacrifices.
She didn't mention the card when I phoned her a few days after she received it. She is not a very emotionally expressive person and wouldn't really know what to say. I'm hoping she believed me though, and that it meant something to her, because she gets very little appreciation despite how much she deserves it.
This is a beautiful entry, and beautifully written. You are deserving of your Crone Throne.
deddette on 23 Aug 2003
i like you, Elaine. just that.
++
Elaine on 23 Aug 2003
Lindsay, your mom is only a couple of years older than my daughter, and so that makes you the age of a grandaughter I might have had under other circumstances. (Just thought that was interesting.) Keep saying the things you need to say to your mom, even if she doesn't respond. She needs to hear them from you, believe me.
Lindsay on 24 Aug 2003
My mother is a grandmother too. My older sister has two sons. Grams are getting younger every year! My mom has trained them to call her "mom's mom" though. hehe.
Gerry on 24 Aug 2003
Greats stories. Debbie and I are living the older parents life, and reading about your daughter and grandson was wonderful. Our younger daughter at two and a half is still speaking her own language, which we aren't smart enough to understand. You are a great gramdmother, count yourself lucky to be young enough to do those things for your daughter when you can. And taking care of your mother as well, admirable indeed.
Our parents are getting to the point where it takes much of their energy to maintain their independence. We had Anita's (Debbie's mom) 84th birthday party friday. The girls had fun with all the generations. Debbie's nieces cooked and decorated, they are high school and college age, and did a wonderful job. Anita says she this was the first birthday anyone has ever done balloons and ribbons for her.
Lindsay, you are to be commended for having the insight and follow through to acknowledge your mom. Parenting at whatever age, in the best circumstances is challenging enough to turn an atheist to prayer.
Debbie on 24 Aug 2003
Very interesting, Elaine. I am the youngest of three children. I am forty-five. My mom is eighty-four. Gerry and I didn't get married 'til I was thirty-five and he was thirty-three. I was thirty-eight when my first daughter was born, which, ironically was how old my mother was when she had me, her last child. I just turned forty-three when our second daughter was born. Since my first pregnancy ended with me pre-eclamptic, I was considered as having a high risk for the second pregnancy. In actuality, I was in better physical condition the second go 'round than I was the first time. On my chart they had written, AMA. When I asked what AMA meant they told me, Advanced Maternal Age". You would think that no women in their forties were having babies.
My mom and I have commiserated about being caregivers. During the first four years of my older daughter's life, she was taking care of my dad who died in December 2000. My older daughter has severe cerebral palsy. No health problems with that, thankfully, but a challenge all the same. My mom and I were each other's lifelines, especially in the first two years of my daughter's life when no one had any answers for me. My mom's "busman's holiday" was when she'd leave my dad with hired help for a few hours and meet my daughter and I before one of her therapies. We'd have lunch and then go to my daughter's Feldenkrais lesson.
My mom is a remarkable woman. She took care of my dad for eight years. As I start to slide croneward, I hope to have half of her wisdom when I get to her age. She's taught me a lot about compassion.