I am about 477 days into this part of life called RETIREMENT.
And I even though I am not woking, Fridays are still extra special. I love waking up on Fridays knowing that the most of the working world is happy because Saturday and Sunday follow.
Something about the universal spirit that is shared by many who work the traditional Monday to Friday work week, spills over into the world and I benefit from whatever you want to call it: the feeling, the spirit, the contemplation, the possibilities, the potential - all that is psychologically wrapped up into this day of the week we all know as FRIDAY.
I woke up today around 5:22am and it was 16*.
I know the temperature because I took Maddie and Morgan out and I wanted to be sure to get all my protective gear on before going outside. My jacket, hat, gloves, and the extra layer of sweater that goes around the neck, I am not sure what the piece of clothing is called, I will have to look it up.
I look like a ninja warrior when I go out, all of those things I wear are black. Maddie looks at me sometimes, I think she wonders who is that person that goes out in the morning, she usually can only see my eyes. That is why I always talk to them, so they know Mommy E has not been replaced by a stranger in a ninja outfit.
I love how the mind can go from point A to point M and X and back to B, as did mine today. After my realization that today is Friday followed by my mental HORRAY ! ! ! I started thinking about a book I finished this week, The Portrait by Iain Piers. Strange book, uncomfortable story, a monologue recollecting the relationship between an artist, (a painter) and his friend, an art critic.
The story is told from one mind, the painter's. It is one point of view, no dialogue, and the painter goes on and on and on. As a reader I was interested and committed to the story for many reasons. Certainly it speaks to human nature and all that can go wrong between two people who carry on the pretense of friendship for years and years. Why ? Why ?
The story speaks to isolation and what it can do to the human spirit, isolation by choice, by location, by prejudice, by gender, by talent of lack thereof, and really that isolation in the end is good for no one under any circumstances. (Well there may be a few instances that I can think of when isolation makes sense).
What intrigued me most about the story is how it was written, the perspective of the monologue, the focused collection and history of life remembered. As I was reading the book I thought, who would I want to have sitting across from me in a story where I recount and share my life remembered ?
Who would that person be that I would want to share with and recall days and moments lived ? Absolutely that person would have to be my Mother. What would I share, what stories would be included, would they be in chronological order or jump back and forth in time ? Where would I begin ? I would want her to know everything, all the details. How we turned out as adult children. How we live and conduct ourselves because of what we learned from her.
And those thoughts early this morning then lead to my age, how many years would be included in this monologue and quickly I did the numbers. I will be 57 in October.
I have now lived 12 years more than my Mother did and that number always stings me, surprises me and haunts me. I don't think about this often, but when the fact sneaks into my conscious, it always startles me a bit. It's hard to explain. Her death and absence in my life became a complicated math for me. The algebra of her untimely passing has been with me since the very first day I heard the words, "ovarian cancer."
And so my day began, shy of 7am all those thoughts and ideas had visited my mind. I enjoyed my cappuccino a tiny bit earlier, Maddie and Morgan happy to get their licks of foam as we all tried to be warm in the house. I got motivated today and got all the information ready for my 2014 tax return. Horray !
Before 11am I made a wonderful batch of spaghetti sauce. Interesting how this week I've come up with cooking recipes that involve turning on the oven. I even made bacon for BLT's last night, in the oven. Any excuse to power up the VIKING warrior in the kitchen and bring some extra heat into the downstairs.
Maddie and Morgan got their play time upstairs mid afternoon, they are now both resting. Both know dinner for them is coming soon. Happy Friday !