Flying By The Seat Of My Soul
Flying By The Seat Of My Soul
A Tomatoe Plant and Pink Geranium
My parents are in their late eithties. It's a struggle to watch them grow old. It's sad to see them experience so many physical losses. I love my parents. I appreciate them and long ago I forgave them.
But this doens't make the visits easy. I usually have to talk myself into going. I make it as fun and interesting as I can for both them and me. I long for the days when they could go out to dinner on a moments notice or go to the movies and actually see the big screen. I long for the days when their health, doctors visits and aches and pains weren't the topic of our conversations.
Now they wait patiently for Roger and I to visit. We call in advance and when we arrive my mom will have her Sunday clothes on usually be in her wheelchair waiting for us at the table watching my dad sorting his endless bottles of prescrption medicine. Waiting...waiting... patiently waiting for me to come with stories about my work, my road runs, what I made for dinner and what I watched on TV. Ordinary everyday stories about ordinary everyday events that's music to their ears.
They want to hear what's new with my children and my grandchildren. Have I seen them lately? How are their jobs going? When are they coming to visit next? Does Mackenzie still play the violin? Is AJ in drama classes yet? Normal everyday stories they only experience vicariously through me and my visits.
My parents hang onto my every word, savoring them slowly as if to make these magical moments last longer. Our stories become their daily news they can now pass on to my sisteres and brothers when they call or visit.
My visits are a connection to an outside active life they no longer have access too. Aging and physical limitations have stole that from them. They will never get it back.
Because we live only 45 minutes away we visit them once a week unless we are out of town. We usually go either Friday night or Saturday afternoon.
Living on a farm for most of their lives they have a love for gardening and nature. My mom asked me to bring her a pink geranium before my last visit.
Roger and I stopped at the Farmer's Market on our way out of town. I couldn't help but buy everything I saw that reminded me of their healthier and younger days gone by.
Our first purchase was mom's pink geranium. But then I saw three pink peonies and purchased a bunch of them as well. My mom loved flowers and always had time for her flower garden in spite of 12 hour days in the fields planting and harvesting vegtables. I remember when my brothers Stan and Chet graduated from high school she picked and pinned a couple of the old fashioned roses from her garden onto their lapels. I think of that day on my daily runs each time I pass old fashioned roses in someone's garden.
We saw patio tomatoe plants and we bought one of those for my dad. We grew tomatoes on the farm and sold tons of them at the farmer's market from July through October. As a kid I became familiar with names like, "early girls, big boys, jet start, and fireballs." We sold them by the pound, 1/2 peck, whole peck, and bushel baskets. We ate them for breakfrast, in the field right off the vine, on our bologna sandwiches for lunch, in goulash for dinner and canned them for winter months. I think my dad was prouder of his tomatoes than his sweetest watermelon or largest prize pumpkin. My dad had a love affair with his tomatoes.
I also bought a homemade raspberry pie that made me drool all the way to Spring Lake. My mom always loved to bake. Because we burned so many calories working on the farm we basically ate whatever we wanted and whenever we wanted. We used to sit by the oven waiting for her cakes and pies to finish baking. They barely had time to cool when we relentlessly begged for permission to cut into them.
My sister Helen's birthday was July 14 and that was the week the raspberries were in their prime on the farm. We ate them by the handfuls as we filled pint after pint for the market. We also would make raspberry jam, pies and milkshakes with my mom. We ate them at the farmers market quickly popping one or two in our mouth as we displayed them at our booth.
Mom and dad were thrilled with their gifts from the farmer's market. We cut the pie in large pieces and sat on their patio reminicing about the good old days. My dad immediately watered his tomatoe and noticed it was "a healthy one."
My mom asked if I would bake brownies for my nephew Josh. It was his birthday and he'd be over that evening for dinner.
While we were there my sister Barb and her friend Greg stopped over and brought news of my nephew Matt's graduation from Saint Louis University the weekend before.
In spite of feeling ambivalent about visiting I always feel wonderful and happy when we leave. I have a feeling my mom and dad do as well. They will watch the tomatoe plant and pink geranium grow all summer and relive the day of our visit over and over in their mind. They will smile and wait...and wait...and look forward to our next visit.
A Tomatoe Plant and Pink Geranium
My parents are in their late eithties. It's a struggle to watch them grow old. It's sad to see them experience so many physical losses. I love my parents. I appreciate them and long ago I forgave them.
But this doens't make the visits easy. I usually have to talk myself into going. I make it as fun and interesting as I can for both them and me. I long for the days when they could go out to dinner on a moments notice or go to the movies and actually see the big screen. I long for the days when their health, doctors visits and aches and pains weren't the topic of our conversations.
Now they wait patiently for Roger and I to visit. We call in advance and when we arrive my mom will have her Sunday clothes on usually be in her wheelchair waiting for us at the table watching my dad sorting his endless bottles of prescrption medicine. Waiting...waiting... patiently waiting for me to come with stories about my work, my road runs, what I made for dinner and what I watched on TV. Ordinary everyday stories about ordinary everyday events that's music to their ears.
They want to hear what's new with my children and my grandchildren. Have I seen them lately? How are their jobs going? When are they coming to visit next? Does Mackenzie still play the violin? Is AJ in drama classes yet? Normal everyday stories they only experience vicariously through me and my visits.
My parents hang onto my every word, savoring them slowly as if to make these magical moments last longer. Our stories become their daily news they can now pass on to my sisteres and brothers when they call or visit.
My visits are a connection to an outside active life they no longer have access too. Aging and physical limitations have stole that from them. They will never get it back.
Because we live only 45 minutes away we visit them once a week unless we are out of town. We usually go either Friday night or Saturday afternoon.
Living on a farm for most of their lives they have a love for gardening and nature. My mom asked me to bring her a pink geranium before my last visit.
Roger and I stopped at the Farmer's Market on our way out of town. I couldn't help but buy everything I saw that reminded me of their healthier and younger days gone by.
Our first purchase was mom's pink geranium. But then I saw three pink peonies and purchased a bunch of them as well. My mom loved flowers and always had time for her flower garden in spite of 12 hour days in the fields planting and harvesting vegtables. I remember when my brothers Stan and Chet graduated from high school she picked and pinned a couple of the old fashioned roses from her garden onto their lapels. I think of that day on my daily runs each time I pass old fashioned roses in someone's garden.
We saw patio tomatoe plants and we bought one of those for my dad. We grew tomatoes on the farm and sold tons of them at the farmer's market from July through October. As a kid I became familiar with names like, "early girls, big boys, jet start, and fireballs." We sold them by the pound, 1/2 peck, whole peck, and bushel baskets. We ate them for breakfrast, in the field right off the vine, on our bologna sandwiches for lunch, in goulash for dinner and canned them for winter months. I think my dad was prouder of his tomatoes than his sweetest watermelon or largest prize pumpkin. My dad had a love affair with his tomatoes.
I also bought a homemade raspberry pie that made me drool all the way to Spring Lake. My mom always loved to bake. Because we burned so many calories working on the farm we basically ate whatever we wanted and whenever we wanted. We used to sit by the oven waiting for her cakes and pies to finish baking. They barely had time to cool when we relentlessly begged for permission to cut into them.
My sister Helen's birthday was July 14 and that was the week the raspberries were in their prime on the farm. We ate them by the handfuls as we filled pint after pint for the market. We also would make raspberry jam, pies and milkshakes with my mom. We ate them at the farmers market quickly popping one or two in our mouth as we displayed them at our booth.
Mom and dad were thrilled with their gifts from the farmer's market. We cut the pie in large pieces and sat on their patio reminicing about the good old days. My dad immediately watered his tomatoe and noticed it was "a healthy one."
My mom asked if I would bake brownies for my nephew Josh. It was his birthday and he'd be over that evening for dinner.
While we were there my sister Barb and her friend Greg stopped over and brought news of my nephew Matt's graduation from Saint Louis University the weekend before.
In spite of feeling ambivalent about visiting I always feel wonderful and happy when we leave. I have a feeling my mom and dad do as well. They will watch the tomatoe plant and pink geranium grow all summer and relive the day of our visit over and over in their mind. They will smile and wait...and wait...and look forward to our next visit.
posted by Tess Marshall at 10:54 AM
1 Comments:
thanks for the encouragement to enjoy our aging parents! they truly are a treasure..and sometimes don't remember that ! Nancy :)
Post a Comment
<< Home