- Might as well, can't dance. I believe I heard her say it a few times.
- Piffle.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
I Remembered Two More . . .
sayings of of my mother:
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Noises in the House
A house makes its own noises, and we can hear them at any hour but best in the quiet of night. I hear them. I suppose they reflect the expanding and shrinking of the boards and beams as the day heats up and cools down, but sometimes I think the house is breaking. So far it hasn't exactly broken, although the roof looks like it's hurting.
The other night certain noises sounded in my ear as I lay awake in bed, as if they came from the room right through the wall at my head. So, of course, I thought it might be Wayne moving about in that room.
I know, I know.
But, of course, it sent me on a thought journey, a roaming through memories, ending in the hospital. Too bad about that part. It was not the highlight.
I tried not to spend much time there, but always, if I find myself in that room again, I ask the same questions and feel the same deep frustration with the system of things. "They do their things." I said it first at the time of my mother's death.
And so I said it again the other night. "They do their things, whether or not the patient is helped by them."
See what I mean? But I don't want to spend time there.
Here's just one memory I entertained. It's a good one.
We have a baby boy, our first child. We are students, or Wayne is, I having dropped my classes as the pregnancy caused a couple of small problems. We are walking across campus, Wayne striding out and I keeping up as we pass in front of the Eyring Building. He's carrying his baby son in one arm almost straight out in front of him. His big hand supports the baby's head, and his arm cradles the body. I have a tiny bit of concern about that and perhaps want to say something cautionary, but I don't because I can see how much he enjoys this walk with his baby boy.
Thank goodness for my occasional wisdom in keeping quiet.
I had never seen my husband walk so, with such a proud posture and step, and I realized he was showing off. Showing off his baby to the campus, to the world.
The other night certain noises sounded in my ear as I lay awake in bed, as if they came from the room right through the wall at my head. So, of course, I thought it might be Wayne moving about in that room.
I know, I know.
But, of course, it sent me on a thought journey, a roaming through memories, ending in the hospital. Too bad about that part. It was not the highlight.
I tried not to spend much time there, but always, if I find myself in that room again, I ask the same questions and feel the same deep frustration with the system of things. "They do their things." I said it first at the time of my mother's death.
And so I said it again the other night. "They do their things, whether or not the patient is helped by them."
See what I mean? But I don't want to spend time there.
Here's just one memory I entertained. It's a good one.
We have a baby boy, our first child. We are students, or Wayne is, I having dropped my classes as the pregnancy caused a couple of small problems. We are walking across campus, Wayne striding out and I keeping up as we pass in front of the Eyring Building. He's carrying his baby son in one arm almost straight out in front of him. His big hand supports the baby's head, and his arm cradles the body. I have a tiny bit of concern about that and perhaps want to say something cautionary, but I don't because I can see how much he enjoys this walk with his baby boy.
Thank goodness for my occasional wisdom in keeping quiet.
I had never seen my husband walk so, with such a proud posture and step, and I realized he was showing off. Showing off his baby to the campus, to the world.
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