My mother sits at the large cabinet-model organ in her living room that’s flooded with sunlight. She fingers out “Sunrise, sunset.” No chords. Just the melody. She’s reading from a music sheet. My cat dozes in the rocking chair to which she always gravitates when my mother sits down to play.
I go for a walk in the park. Families are everywhere — biking, roller blading, sunning, frisbee-ing, picnicking. A chorus of multi-generational voices floats from a pavilion singing “Happy Birthday to Grandma.”
There are not only families; there are friends hanging out together. A teenage couple nuzzling on a park bench. A middle aged couple holding hands, strolling through the dappled shade. A pair of women, seriously power walking and talking. I’m alone. Walking alone.
While I’m not unhappy about the way my life has gone, I’m wishing I could go around one more time. I want to be part of an intact family — a clan that would be singing someday to me. It’s not going to happen.
Instead, I water my little grave-sized garden, start thinking about what to make my mom for dinner, remember the story my daughter just told me about my toddler grandson (186 miles away) seeing a woman who looked something like me from far away and hopefully asking “Grammy?”
It’s going to be warmer tomorrow. I think I’ll risk the ignominy of baring my cottage-cheese-knees and flappy upper arms and put on shorts and a sleeveless shirt and take on the park again. Maybe I’ll get up early, before all those other people come out to play and do my walk before my mom even gets up (which is usually around 11 a.m.) Then I’ll do a little more work on my free-lance writing project and maybe make a pizza for supper.
Now I’ll watch the end of the rented “Big Fish” while I’m making dinner. (Steak, I’ve decided because it’s my mother’s favorite.) Yesterday I watched “Pirates of the Caribbean” and “Kill Bill.” I have diverse taste in movies. I especially liked “Kill Bill,” — the good guys and the bad guys are gals and the good gal dresses in yellow and knows how to take a beating. My kinda movie.
A day in the life.
Kalilily Time
Just an old lady talking to herself
my mom sang sunrise sunset to me a lot when i was little. this post speaks to me so much. i see myself in your shoes so clearly that i have to stop talking about it now because its giving me goosebumps.
Myself, I am sure you are beautiful within and without – “cottage cheese” is merely elegant self-deprecatory humor.
American men and French grandmothers share a secret – looking poorly in a skimpy bathing suit is only a problem if you notice it. Not sure about changing into your bikini on the beach, but you get the idea – perhaps not a cultural construct, but maybe maybe we each have a little room to re-imagine?
Again, I suspect any sensible person strolling with you would be enjoying elegant conversation and good company.