Starting a cleanse tomorrow, so I’m enjoying a little guilty pleasure by having red wine and ginger snaps. Ew, you might say, but I say “yum!” Just the right tastes to offset one another.
Pinot Noir and Trader Joe’s Triple Ginger Snaps are an indulgence for winter nights, but as I prepare for spring and summer, I am holding on to the last little bit of winter comforts.
Sweet spice lingering
Bitter yet satisfying
Biting but satisfying
Burningly delicious and contagious
Triple Ginger Pinot Noir
Tonight I delivered a meal
to a friend
She has a casserole disease
But I took her salad, pasta, and dessert.
She can’t even eat it
of the nausea
And she can’t taste or smell or enjoy such simplicity
as a fresh garden salad or spinach and feta stuffed sausage.
We talked. I made small talk. I am terrible at small talk.
But, I love her and I wanted her to know.
I saw the fear in her eyes, the tremor in her voice, the tightness of her lips-
It pooled in dark circles around her eyes
Those beautiful piercing blue eyes that
Sparkled when she talked about her family
Shone when she shared about her students
And glinted when she was mad or protective.
She is worn. She is spent.
So, I brought her a meal
Not a casserole
Not a cure
Just a meal
Do you know the Tracker Jackers from the Hunger Games books? They are the wasps who track you down and when they sting you, strange and vivid hallucinations occur. If you are stung by too many, you can die. They are sent by the Capitol during the Hunger Games to eliminate participants. Today, I was the Tracker Jacker mom.
While I’ve read several articles about the “Helicopter Mom” and how they are the demise of our future, I have never heard of the “Tracker Jacker Mom.” Perhaps I will coin the new phrase. This type of mom is the one who works in the hive, busy providing for the colony and preparing the nest. She models hard work, effort, stamina, perseverance, and grit. However, when her child (or children in this case) are out in the world with a task to complete and a job to do, she does not hover over them; fixing the world for them or smoothing their path. She is steadily working and maintaining the sanity of the hive. But once it comes to her attention that her “worker” bees have not fulfilled their obligations or given forth their best effort to a task, she begins to track them down and sting them with a venom so poisonous that they begin to hallucinate. Hallucinations such as: they have the worst mom ever and that their life is so miserable and hard and unfair and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…of course, it’s not their fault! But, the Tracker Jacker Mom-the one who hunts down her young and pops them with a sting so potent that they realize life would be so much less difficult if they would just do what they were supposed to do-she is my hero. She is consistent, persistent, and makes her mark. She has enough power to put an end to the wasteful, lazy ways of those who so choose. She creates strong, independent worker bees who will be future productive citizens. She may be fierce, but her workers will be prepared for life. Today I was that mom.
So, this is it. I am trying this writing thing and not just in one of my many “have to have” notebooks. I am actually putting it out there and my mind is screaming as I write!
I am reminded of my husband’s fortieth birthday. He had always told me he wanted to go skydiving. So as he approached what I then considered middle age (I don’t now, I consider it still “young professional”) I wanted him to feel invigorated and young and do something daring and exciting together. So what better way to express that than to jump out of an airplane? It sounded good at the time and I conspired with other family members to make this surprise birthday trip happen. I was actually excited myself and rather proud I had the courage to do such a daring act. He, too, was impressed with my dauntlessness and bravery. He went first without a hitch and loved every minute of it-ready to sign up for lessons and go back every weekend. I, on the other hand, had to have my hands pried from the tiny opening that was considered the door of the airplane, and pulled out by my instructor-screaming the whole way-petrified of falling…failing…dying. That’s how I am feeling now. Putting myself out here…for others to see my soul.
After the initial jolt of falling from the plane, once the ripcord was pulled, and we were floating over the earth, I felt an immense feeling of satisfaction and wonder. The fulfillment of conquering the indescribable fear that froze my knuckles around the hatch of the plane became a giddiness of self realization that I had done it…I had jumped from a plane and floated in the sky over clouds drifting slowly to the grassy field below. That is how I feel when I write. That is how I hope this blog will make me feel.
I am writing, screaming in my head all the way because I am scared to let go, scared to be vulnerable, scared to be me. And at the same time, I want to try. I want to take the risk and find the satisfaction in knowing I gave it a go.