Tag Archives: dancing

Spinning Dresses and New Year Kisses

I rang in the New Year just the way I’d hoped. Surrounded by good friends, good people, and the absence of lemon drop shots.

It’s been a good time off from work. The whole holiday break has been fulfilling (except for the head lice situation nightmare which I may write about when I can just laugh about it).

I have spent quality time with people I have managed to neglect during my nine-hour workdays and various other mom, household, and health/hygiene duties.

I hope the neglected understand.

For this holiday I will remember–

The spicy, fresh smell of a health food store while walking side by side down the aisles with my mom on a mother-daughter date.

Reading incredibly sick yet nostalgic nursery rhymes to my nephew while his little hand rested on mine. “He put her in a pumpkin shell and there he kept her very well…

The relaxing and grateful feeling of my sister-in-law, and then my mother, and then my new dear friend combing through my hair to remove nits.

Witnessing my Little Boo exercise good table manners (placing his phone down without being asked and engaging in friendly dinner conversation); quiet chunks of time playing board games with him; a spontaneous Face Time call while he explored his aunt and uncle’s lakeside backyard in the cold Tennessee wind.

The quirky and adorable story my neighbor recited to me in her refined Liverpool accent as we sipped Australian wine.

My cousin’s hearty laugh and the resonation of it throughout the years and over state lines.

And yet there is much more. I am truly blessed.

I’d like to be, and be able to be less neglectful in the coming year.

I rang in the New Year with dear friends. And ended up dancing with  a stranger. A little girl with wavy locks the color of caramel and a dress that sparkled like fireworks as she spun and spun like a top that had no way of stopping.

And a strong little bear hug and kiss on the cheek from her before she scooted off into the balmy night.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Girl-Twirling

Photo courtesy of veganfashionblog.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under Observations

The Worn Path in the Carpet

Lately I feel like I’m turning into my grandmother.

I’m going through walnuts like they’re becoming extinct. My nana’s cheeks were perpetually bloated with the masticating remnants of an assortment of nuts. She somehow managed to keep them from spewing out as she multitasked between chewing, housework, and yelling at us kids. But never in anger. Always questions, like how many pieces of butter toast did we want for breakfast.

And speaking of multitasking, she did it every minute of the day, but she didn’t do it well. I pride myself on being an esteemed multitasker. But I find sometimes these tasks are not completed, merely started and left to sit unfinished like Nana’s breakfast dishes. She would “wash” them all day long. It would be time to start dinner and the toast crust would still be lingering on the edges of the Currier & Ives.

There are days when my breakfast dishes are still stacked next to the sink when the sun is setting and I’m searching for the wine opener.

Nana also loved chocolate. Fudge to be exact. She made three homemade pans full (with nuts of course) in the afternoon and by evening they’d be scraped clean. But the woman never gained a pound. Her house boasted a pea-green carpet that had a path worn thin from her constant moving about. I don’t think I ever saw her sit down. My floors are tile so there are no threadbare indications of ceaseless activity. But at least a half dozen times a day I will enter a room and say aloud, “Now why the hell did I come in here?”

But in the evening when I’m walking in the kitchen I know exactly what I’m there for. The chocolate.

Nana was also very scatter-brained. She eventually ended up with Alzheimer’s. Lately I have lost the spatula and the dustpan, and for the life of me have no idea where they could have gone. I also lose track of my point or story mid-sentence, and sometimes call my son every name except his own. She used to do this too. When she got to the dog’s name, Fuzzy, we knew she was close.

The fact I feel I’m losing my mind recently is cause for concern. Am I really becoming Nana? Am I gonna get Alzheimer’s? I still know the key is for the door. I just don’t know where I put it.

At Nana’s funeral they played Glenn Miller’s In the Mood. We all sat, heads hung low. I imagined her swinging with Papa at some cool speakeasy. And then I imagined her the way I remembered. Her taking time out of the daily and nightly grind of tending to husband and house and kids to stop and just cut a freaking rug. Usually in the front room next to the stereo turntable. I always loved that she danced.

Nana dancing

Nana always danced with me.

When I have my kitchen dance party, or cut a rug in the living room, or groove in front of the bathroom mirror I am channeling some of that energy.

She is within me. I am a part of her. I hope I’m not going crazy. But if I am, I hope I’ll be dancing all the way to the nursing home. And I hope a bar of chocolate will be in the top drawer of my dresser. Just like we used to leave for her. But please let it be dark. With nuts, of course.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Filed under Yep I'm Becoming My Mother