Summer #18: Sunday morning I had to get up at the crack of mid-morning to take Ann to the airport for a trip to Boston with her math colleagues. To ease out of normalcy, I did yoga and ate some fruit before going back to bed, but then my inner cat in the hat ermerged. For lunch, instead of the chicken breast and brocolli slaw she left, I ate a banana and mayonaise sandwich with potato chips. Then, I didn't put my dishes in the dishwasher. I just piled them on the counter beside the sink. I closed all the windows to the cold summer afternoon--no real need for fresh air--and turned on the gas fire place to toast the place up.
For dinner my friend Rose must have sensed that I was planning maple walnut ice-cream, so she brought over Middle-Eastern milk pudding with pastachios, not exactly health food for dinner, but she did point out that it had protein and vitamin D. So does maple walnut ice-cream. For the coup de grace, I dropped my dirty clothes on the floor by her side of the bed and went to sleep before the sun set. I slept diagonally that night.
I love living with Ann, it's the most fulfilling part of my life, but sometimes for a moment or two I like to be alone with my soul and my mess.
Tonight, Ann returns home, so today I've cleaned the kitchen by putting the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaning by hand the ones that don't go. I wiped off the countertops, even. I opened her mail with a letter-opener (I'm trying to teach her through example not to just rip into envelopes) and I have stacked the mail neatly at her place. I've sorted through the stack that's been at my place since our last trip. The potato chips areout of the living room and back in the kitchen cupboard. I've eaten all the brocolli slaw. Sheets are clean, and the bed is made. My mess is back in the place reserved for my mess.
When Ann comes home, she'll comment on how tidy the place looks, and I'll shrug as if it was no bother, that's the way I've kept things while she's gone. But really, I love the joy she takes out of tidyness.
Maybe I'll even clean up the computer table. No, that would be over the top. She would suspect. Mary
"For me a brain tumor and its treatments are not a pause in the adventure of life, but instead a part of the adventure of life." Mary has survived big hair, a brain tumor, coming out, distressed bowel syndrome, hallucinations, radiation, and a car wreck. Here Mary takes us from public transportation horrors to the joys of sharing life with you. Though you probably won't want to have a brain tumor; you will wish that you could see the world through Mary's eyes. Sister Jen
opening letters with a letter opener is so much more important than fresh air and a clean kitchen. i'm so sorry that ann doesn't get that!!
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