This morning at 7:45 I sat in the very bright waiting room of Access Eye. Yearly exam. I looked down at my black mo~hair jeans ( mo hair on me than the cats ) and the blue gray paint splattered across my cranberry sweater. I had bathed and dressed and applied some makeup because I remembered pondering the wisdom of mascara...but in that moment I wondered at what point I had quit worrying about my appearance.
Work attire was always blue jeans and boots. My favorite shirts were white waffle weave, soft and easy to move around in. Since I retired, I really haven't made any changes in my wardrobe. Feeling old and fat, I guess I ease into comfort rather than fight with fashion. But sitting in those bright lights watching the rain through the very reflective clear glass windows, I felt self conscious and small.
There is something magical about having your pupils dilated. The world glitters as if being viewed through a star filter. Everyone has a halo and their fashion sense becomes irrelevant.
Several hours later I was sitting in the waiting room of the Gastroenterologist waiting for my friend who was dozing through the indignity of a colonoscopy. We had laughed about being each other's "person" and how lucky we were to have each other but it still felt strangely awkward to see the photos of her pristine colon including appendix. I was delighted that she was perfectly healthy but as I listened to the extremely kind physician explain the details of the exam, I couldn't help but think of how it must feel to spend your days, saving lives, one a** hole at a time. Thank goodness my inner censor stopped me from saying it out loud.
I was still wearing hairy pants and a paint splattered sweater but my sweet 'person' didn't seem to notice. Drove her home to sleep off her lingering "Loopiness" and came home to watch the DOW tumble and consider what I would do if my entire retirement account evaporated.
So naturally, in that optimistic frame of mind I decided to work on our taxes. Looking at last years' bank and credit card statements has brought me back to the present moment, missing my Mom so much it hurts. It seems impossible that this time last year I was shopping with her in Culpeper. Making the rounds. Produce at Aldi. Petsmart for kitty litter and cat food. WalMart for Valentines for the little boys. Lunch. Doctor visits. Conversations and plans and everyday errands. One week later I took her to have her car inspected and that was the last time she drove.
We all miss someone. It is inevitable. Even in the everyday, extraordinary ordinary, there is someone who is part of who we are, who we have become, whose absence leaves us feeling like we've lost our keys or put our socks on the wrong feet. I'll let you in on a secret. One day last week I was rushing. My thoughts were all over the place... everywhere but in the moment. I bathed and dressed and brushed my teeth and as I reached for the hair drier, there were my neatly folded panties. I hadn't even realized that I had put on my socks and jeans and shoes and forgotten my panties. So I undressed and started again. In that moment I was embarrassed and a little stunned and relieved that no one would ever know.
So I'm sitting here, fingers tapping lightly on the keyboard wondering why on earth I felt compelled to share this afternoon. Oh Well !
Maybe it's because I'd like to think that there are other people out there who have days ... years ... like this. Disjointed and awkward and scattered and foolish. But you are still able to sigh and smile because you are exhausted but in one piece.
Or maybe, if you are having one of those days and feeling like the crazy one, in mo hair pants, you will read this and in some magical way that defies logic, know that we will be starting over tomorrow ... stretched and harried and frazzled .... together, and it's all going to be okay.