Snakeskin Journey

Let me see if I can figure this one out. I’m on morning cup #2 and I think it has something to do with the order of things. It may even reveal fundamental truth: The reason for two parents. Yep, that is what I’m chewing on. “Obvious”, you say…”duh”. But I’m talking beyond the biology, which is a reason but doesn’t really go far in many situations. Bear with me—this is gonna get messy.

Two parents are about love and support—for each other. It takes a LOT of those two things to even marginally raise children, to say nothing of doing a decent if not splendid job. And having two parents makes the process ever so much more delightful along the way. It should be delightful. If ever there was a word that applies to raising small children that’s it (not gonna even try to match it up with those transitional teen years, though they have their moments). Having raised three and dealt with countless others in various settings, I’m well aware of other words (less hopeful) that can apply but I stand by delightful as a top contender. And so the two parent deal. My experience is that it’s better shared at any stage. (”You know what Jimmy did today?” “I can’t believe Susie just said that—WHERE does she get that?!”)

The single parent still thinks those things but just ends up thinking them at 3 AM—alone. I know this because there were times (years, truthfully, after M. died) when 3 AM was my parental think time. And delightful would not describe it. (”What the ____ was Jimmy doing today?!” “I can not believe that Susie said that—WHERE in the world did she hear that and WHY did she say it in front of the Smiths?!?”) Same stories, no support, equal dark thoughts in the middle of the night.

Two parents allow for good cop/bad cop. My specialty was bad cop (publicly—behind closed doors I argued the soft touch). When M. died I created this curious mix— I was both good and bad cop. I played WWMD (What Would M. Do–my artful version of that goofy WWJD going around back then). There were times when I was certifiably nuts trying that one. Yes, no, maybe so. Seriously, I gained huge respect for the single parent in this world. It’s a tough assignment no matter how old the kids get to be. And I put humor—the shared laughter that balances out the hard times—near the top of my most missed connection.

My two parent world was lost through sudden death and so the bewilderment was compounded by losing something I actively treasured. I recently had a friend going through a difficult divorce and even as he sifted through the initial anger and deep hurt, through the puzzle pieces of what was left of his life, he could see that the loss in the parenting department was serious. And I think in large part it was that years-long comfortable companionship born of shared experience that he mourned. In all the mess that had torn the marriage apart, there was still the recognition of what had been and therefore what was no more. I listened with huge air-gulping sighs of sympathy. Cause in the end no matter how the single parent situation develops, you still end up talking to yourself at 3 AM.

Mid-week. Week 15. Still going.

Couple of days ago I went down to drop something off at the shop early and as I was driving back up our winding road in my truck I was rather shocked to see a deer head in the road. Severed just below the neck, where no deer head had been when I bounced my way down less than a half hour earlier. 30 feet up the road I spied a coyote doing a quick u-turn back into the woods. Ah, there’s the answer.

We’ve been seeing coyotes. My pal, Laurie, saw an entire family of them in my orchard last week and today I heard of another guy who saw some just last night in his headlights. Their coyote snouts were drenched in the blood of a baby deer they’d taken down. For sure the deer population is getting out of hand around here but somehow I had not expected that to increase our coyote activity. My goodness, feels like the Wild West for sure—varmits preying on varmits, played out in my backyard.

I helped some friends move out this weekend. Three quarters of their life out on the parking lot: FOR SALE. It was a foreclosure. Sign of the times. I was part of the clean up crew. Washing down a lifetime of memories. My youngest son was part of the measured time on the inside of one door (Jared: 4 ft. 6″, Jared: 5 ft. 8″, Jared: 6 ft.) …do we take the door to prove our existence?! Sorting through a lifetime of sheets and pillow cases. An eon of video tapes and photographs. Oh, look, here’s a piece of us…put it out to sell. How in the world do you absorb the blows and move on?

Being a woman of a certain age, I am dealing with the unpredictable experience of flashes (the hot kind, not the brilliant flashes of wisdom). And maybe it is the unpredictable part that is sometimes so weird about it. It is like rounding a corner on a sunny California day and having the weather on the new street suddenly change to hot humid Southern Illinois clime. Hey, I moved from there and the summer weather was a big reason to leave!!!

Or maybe it reminds me of those neon signs that blink and sputter randomly. Where one boot on the cowboy is totally burnt out and the leg is threatening to go anytime. The ones that neither shine brightly or go totally dark, but catch you off guard with the flickering—annoying, right? I’m probably losing some of you about now–all males and my younger female friends–but I know I’ve got a few of you nodding your heads.

Week 14: 3 sets of 14 equals 42: the meaning of life. not.

Today after yet another inspiring (you should see the scenery) walk along West Cliff Drive in Santa Cruz, I mentioned to L. that I thought I was in need of a new pair of walking shoes. There is a locally owned running shoe store in S. C. and so we headed over. At Central Coast Running the young man who helped us was knowledgeable and personable. Turns out shopping for shoes after a run or walk is the way to go (your feet are heated and have swollen a bit), sweat or no sweat, so we sat our perspiring selves down to look at shoes. I walked for him in my socks, he made some observations (I pronate inward) and brought some shoes. Looking at the colors on the various pairs I began to wonder if they had all been designed to glow in the dark in case of a blackout. Along the way, L. got involved only to find that her shoes were beyond worn–could this be part of her aching knee problem?

By the time we were at the counter purchasing shoes that felt ever so much better than the old ones, we had been told we were in the “stabilizer” category of shoes. Darn it. I don’t want to be in the stabilizer category! Sounds like saddle shoes or shoes with braces in them. Can’t they figure out a different name–perhaps “energizer” category or “rejuvenator” category? To be fair, the nice guy threw in a pair of new socks with my stabilizing shoes!

There is a smell this time of year outside of my house. It is not a morning smell. It is not daytime smell. It is not a night smell. It is a smell of evening. It’s intoxicating…like a blessing at the end of the day. A mystery since I do not know what the source is and I rather like that. It allows me to think of it as belonging to this place, this particular place. Right at my front door, surrounding my swing and my flagstones and my fountain.

It’s fleeting and so I breath in deeply and appreciate.

Well, Tim’s challenge is getting challenging.

I get home this Sunday afternoon only to be assaulted by new son-in-law and friend with nerf dart guns (two of which were mine…) Pulling into the driveway at the same time was the Herle clan. Nice. Mother Liesl and six children. I exit my car to a hail of nerf darts, grab the gun offered to me…(in an effort to be “fair”). BUT! Herle godchildren to the rescue! The wild plum trees are ladened with fruit. Soon son-in-law and friend are being pelted with juicy, red plums…driven back, back, back. Who cares if son-in-law finds the water hose…these are children. They love being wet. WE WIN! Ha.