Adult Conversation

Each of these posts is intended to serve to functions:  1)  to share with my fellow humans bits and pieces of my experience and 2) to spur discussion, debate, thoughts--whatever.

I'm going to be crafting this post carefully, since it involves my son, a fiercely private person when he is not pursuing his craft (entertainment-related).

When I'd been in Colorado about five months, Son called me, asking if I "really liked" my new state and hometown.  I answered swiftly and decidedly--yes, this is where I am, and where I will live out my days.  He then stated what I had already known for a long time:  he and Wife were "so done" with California--the cost of living, the pace, the climate, etc., etc., pretty much mirroring my own set of grievances  Son was only asking me because they were considering Colorado for the next phase of their lives.

In the days/weeks/months that followed, I was thrilled to lay eyes on Son again, giving him a thorough orientation to my hometown, my apartment complex, all that is My World.  This was a delicate balancing act--my being helpful while not being an Overbearing Mother.  We each have strong personalities, and so I kept my Consultant hat on, and my mouth shut as much as possible.

DMV stuff, setting up a mailbox, getting belongings unloaded--all pretty much tasks Son did, and I just butted out.  Things sometimes got testy when I again donned the Mom hat, and insisted that he needed to find a proper Colorado winter coat, gloves--and that a wear of sturdy Western boots would fare better than his shiny dress shoes--because I said so.  Never mind that there's no snow right now--Colorado weather has a mischievous habit of without-warning change.  And I got to say I told you so when it did snow several days later.  And it's a good thing that coat came with a hood.  So there!

Actually, because we have so few family members left anywhere, this relocation has drawn Son and I closer--I think.  We sometimes go for a day or two, or more, without seeing each other, but we've come to a mutual agreement that texting is a means of contact, without hesitation.  With our respective schedules, calls can be too intrusive.  To respect that boundary is important for our sanity, and the health of our mother-son relationship.  One time, after a brief (sixty-second) bickering session, Son looked down at me (he's way more than a foot taller than me) and said, "You know I love you, don't you?"  That remark stopped me cold--we are not from a demonstrative family--but it touched me deeply.  This, from a man who, as a kid and a teen, had uttered the frequent, heart-stabbing, typical, "YOU'RE THE WORST MOTHER IN THE WORLD!"

A turnabout from all the years I told Son, "Don't touch that!" in regard to stuff in my home office -- I've seen Son's professional set-up.  There are three large monitors, a hard-drive unit, a camera, a professional-grade microphone and an enormous keyboard that blinks four different colors. And other gadgets that I haven't a clue what they're for.  Intimidating.  Kinda like Mission Control.  What went through my head was MC Hammer's "Can't Touch This."  Don't worry, I  won't.

Maybe we've both grown up.  Son drove, without any complaint, through blizzard conditions so we could celebrate Thanksgiving over a nice restaurant meal.  About two months later, he responded to my frantic distress call, came in, scooped me up, and transported me to the E.R. at 2 A.M., when my rheumatoid arthritis "locked up" my entire left leg. (Don't ask why the EMTs didn't transport me.)  Son is my go-to escort when I go to Costco and need muscle for those heavy/bulky goods, or assist for reaching items way.out.of.my.4-ft-11 reach. He voices concern when he thinks I'm working too much--or too late.  He's got my back--and I'm becoming okay with that.

Yes, Son, I do know you love me.

Boots, Blue Jeans & Bling: My First Colorado Christmas

December 19, 2015--The Christmas cards went out soon after Thanksgiving, and those I'm getting in return are gradually decorating the inside of my front door.  Except for my son's gift, securely hidden away till its presentation time on Christmas Eve, the others in my small family have been sent their parcels.  I trust they have them under their Christmas trees, and haven't allowed curiosity to persuade premature unwrapping.

I'm so anxious for Christmas, but with a bittersweet recollection of the holidays of the past two years.  It was in 2013 that my mother went to the hospital right before Christmas, and remained in a rehab facility through the new year.  Last year, Mom was in a nearby nursing home for the holidays, when her round-the-clock needs could no longer be met at home, even with the heroic assistance of her hospice home workers.  Christmas 2014 was painful and lonely, and I was actually relieved to see an end to the season.

Among my recent mail was a letter from Valley Funeral Home, which did a wonderful, compassionate job assisting me with Mom's final arrangements this past February.  Unaware that I had moved to Colorado, they invited me to a "Candlelight Service of Remembrance" on December 13, a memorial service for those who had passed away this year, and ending with an invitation for guests to light candles in those loved ones' memories.  Had I still lived in the area, I certainly would have gone.

If it makes any sense to say that I'm pursuing the Christmas spirit with ferocity, than so be it.  When I learned that Colorado had a round-the-clock holiday music source in KOSI 101.1 FM, I made it a preset in my car on Thanksgiving.  I alternate it with Colorado Public Radio (cpr.org), which is now featuring their "Colorado Classic Christmas."

With this acoustic backdrop, I was able to bring myself to bring out the decorations.  As I tacked up the stockings my mother knitted for each of us on the wall in my living room--the first year they have not hung on a fireplace mantle--I allowed myself to feel some sadness, and even some occasional, private tearfulness.   The straw wreath, painted green and adorned with tiny trinkets by Mom years ago, is also adorning the living room wall.  The macrame Christmas tree that Mom received from a patient and then embellished with tiny lights used to hang in the dining room window in California is in my bedroom window, to provide a sweet seasonal sight for passerby neighbors.

My challenge, it would seem, is to fondly remember Christmas family rituals past while creating a new set of observances in my new home.  Having a warm, welcoming church home does a lot toward this goal.  I was thrilled to learn that some of my friendly new neighbors in my complex are also fellow parishioners at St. Frances Cabrini.  Last year, I celebrated Christmas Mass in California, and have keep in close touch with those old friends at St. Robert Bellarmine.   As a way to keep making new friends here in Littleton, I help out as a greeter at 11:30 AM Mass.  I can't wait to experience the handbell choir and Schola Cantorum at St. Frances Cabrini on Christmas Day, especially with the acoustics in the building.

I have experienced no shortage of friendship since moving to my new apartment complex.  There's a cadre of young college-aged young men upstairs, and they soon adopted me as a kind of "grandma figure."  These gentlemen have been eager to assist, especially since we have had heavy snowfalls. They have suddenly appeared and come to my aid when I'm scraping the snow off my car windows, or been clearing a path with my shovel behind my rear tires.  There are other concerned neighbors, including those who like to warn me to be careful as I pick my way around patches of ice on the pavement.  I am watchful -- the cane I now use on advice of my physical therapist is very handy to gauge the depth of a patch of snow, and also to help me know where curbs are buried.

It's also good to have my son here, who is establishing life here for his wife and himself.  While he gets things settled, it will be nice to have a family member here, with whom to have Christmas Eve dinner at our now-favorite restaurant.

My workplace is deliberately casual, because we want clients be able to relax and relate to us.  As a way to be festive, I have been pairing my jeans, shawls and Western boots with my velvet blouses and Christmas jewelry.  Again, as I put some of the antique pins, I feel as if Mom is present with me...

Sometimes, in the early morning just before sunrise, Tiggy and I look out my bedroom window while CPR is playing on my nightstand.  Across the landscaped lawn and private road that divides our complex from our neighboring apartments, The Pinnacle, are lampposts, illuminating the night in precise intervals like beacons.  They are beautiful, and provide a scene that could have been painted by Thomas Kincade.

It's good to be back blogging.  My wishes to all for a blessed Christmas season, wherever and however you are celebrating.