But life is like that. You think you've got The Plan inked in then something comes along, a simple thing, a momentary distraction and there went The Plan, shrieking out the window like a bat desperate to escape the light. Being an Old Biddy, this no longer bothers me, in fact, I don't generally ink The Plan anymore, I make a list and hope for the best.
It's a Happy Enchilada and You Think You're Gonna Drown
[this is a not obscure reference that you can explore on google, or not.]
It began when my Youngest Daughter and I were dissecting a book she'd just finished. It was a book I desperately wanted at least one of my children to read but not one was really interested in it. However, having a nasty spring cold and not sleeping well, she ambled off with the book the evening before and tepid interest. Truly, I am not above a bit of Carpe Diem [seize the day] when opportunity presents itself and she is my youngest, tempus fugit! [time flies] By the time I finished work the next evening, she was fairly bursting at the seams to discuss her impressions, the writing, history, women and men, love in all it's forms and how much the ending just messed with her head! I had to turn Columbo off and give her my full attention, toss a few stirring thoughts in, and generally wallow in my favorite thing: talking with my children.
I mentioned I had the next two books. She was interested in reading them. So we ambled to my room, still discussing books and life and how it all goes round, so little really changing, most especially people. People are what people are since the day life began. How we walk faithfully and lovingly is what counts, but no, it's not harder, or easier, than it was at any other time. The rules change, the boundaries shift, and the rich and powerful still control all the resources; justifying their disdain for the rest of us by clinging to their divine rights some fat bard made up as an allegoric ballad they still don't get.
Kicking aside a pile of clothes I am in the process of sorting, moving the flamingo beach ball that used to hang from the ceiling until a cat launched at it from the corner of my desk, and climbing under the table holding an assortment of paper piles I plan to file during the Great Tidy of Someday, I learned I required a flashlight. Wonderful daughter did not make me crawl back out in all my graceless glory, she fetched me one and did not comment on my messy room and how disappointed in me she is. [Did I mention she is a wonderful daughter?]
All the way in the farthest corner of a bookshelf tucked behind the folding table were the books we were seeking. Dusty, elderly paperbacks with a price stamped in the corner that garage sales charge more for now. Pages are falling out, yellowed, and strangely enough, Wonderful Daughter is excited by this, wondering how many people read them before I picked them up via internet retailer before she was born.
As I was wriggling back out, I spotted Treasure. Forgotten Treasure. I might have expressed my surprise with a bit of unsavory language. Wonderful Daughter dropped the books on the bed and was ready to administer CPR, so yeah, I probably spewed profanity. But anyway ... what I found were more old books, a stack of old books. I'd snagged them at an indoor flea market back in the day for $5, with a vague, silent plan of someday.
[You may notice most of my plans incorporate someday, that's not a bad thing so long as you allow someday to come to you when it will and don't fight it because it isn't on this week's plan]
They've moved from the School Bookshelf to the Moma's Keeper Shelf which is now tucked in a corner of my room. Vonnegut, Tepper, Atwood, LeGuin, L'Engle, Mary Stewart, L.M. Montgomery, Frank Herbert, Harper Lee, Charles Portis, Huxley, Orwell, CS Lewis ... a few others I hope my children have or will read, someday, and know their mother was not always this silly mix of fretting and fatalism. Once upon a time, she thought deep thoughts and reveled in them, certain that if she knew just a little bit more it would All make sense. [but that's another tale for another day]
They're copyrighted from 1949 to 1970 and full of illustrations we all enjoyed and shared information from when I originally bought them. Deep in that secret pocket of someday, I thought these would be good resources for sketching and color ideas. Of course, there was absolutely no free time back in the day, but now and then, I'd find a couple hours to sit and art with kids and it kept that pocket from unraveling with bitterness or gloomies. Someday would come, or not. I'd be ready if it did.
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| Forgotten Treasure |
However, being all ga-ga as I look through these books is probably not going to motivate me to get my room tidied any time soon, just mentioning.
Maybe you're meant to tidy in a slow fashion. Eking out little bits to share. Special bits at the right moment for each child? Ha! We both know when you look for something you just saw, it will have grown legs! Be careful, please. I became disabled by doing that simple chore - cleaning. 11.5 years later and I still can't do it anymore. Oh, the horrors!
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