A Gift for No Occasion

I may have mentioned once or twice that I am not the type of person who enjoys shopping trips, especially to department stores or the mall.  When my daughter recently informed me that she was invited to a party during spring break, I braced myself, knowing full well that this would require a trip to a store to buy a gift for the hostess.

Last minute it seemed, we pulled into the local Wal-mart, a store which I have always considered the worst of the worst.  There to greet me was a door greeter too engrossed with chatting with another employee.  No help with the cart there.  No morning smile.  No sticker for my little one. 

I chose to shop early, around 8 am, knowing that my ability to deal with too many shoppers and the store in general, was limited.  The aisles were more spacious without other carts in front or behind me, and my daughter did find some nice pieces of jewelry to give.  She even selected another piece for a different friend whose party was also upcoming.

As we were about to check out, I noticed some sales at the Ladies' Department.  I momentarily considered how much my mother-in-law would have loved coming here.  This store has a nice selection of plus-size garments, with affordable prices.  With great elation, I found something suitable for her in less than five minutes (my type of shopping).  With these being clearance items, the low cost was surprising for these fairly pretty fabrics.  Of course, the excitement of the experience stopped when we reached the express lane -- not exactly rude, but an unfriendly sort of gentleman with a strong accent scanned my items.  The only words he was able to exchange with me were how much the total cost was. 

I tried to not let this robotic, perhaps ungrateful man (wouldn't anyone be happy with a job in this economy?) ruin my shopping experience, and began to feel satisified that I had a nice gift to present, with other gifts, for a future holiday.  When I reached home and was greeted by her (sometimes a rare experience), I was overcome with the sudden urge to just give her the clothes then and there.

And so I did, whole-heartedly.  I truly wanted her to enjoy them, especially the pink blouse -- it was so perfect for the springtime.

My mother-in-law was very pleased.  And I, despite the people I had to deal with when shopping at that store, felt happy, too.  Gifts surely soften the heart and take us away from malice.

Another Errand

Every mother can relate.  Multi-tasking is not an option, unless sleep deprivation is.  Yes, I drive with a headset while scheduling appointments or inquiring about a credit card bill.  Yes, I vaccum while three pots are boiling or frying dinner on the stove.  Yes, I do my own checkbook paperwork while intermittently helping one of my children with math homework. I am a strong defender of multi-tasking, careful multi-tasking.  Research can claim all it wants about the inefficiency of it.  Without the the idiomatic killing two birds with one stone, my day would require at least 27 hours for me to finish what I need to have done.

That said, I am impressed, even a little envious, with the pace of the elderly.  Bathroom visits section off a good portion of time for many.  Cooking entails slow simmering, eating requires careful chewing, which equates to savoring the flavors and textures of each part of the meal.  Walking may at times be a struggle, but the deliberate steps allow one to really stop and smell the roses.  Watching a television show, or engaging in any form of recreation, is Zen-like.

Tomorrow I have plans to take my mother-in-law to the medical center.  I partly dread it.  It takes time from my normal schedule, my children, me.  I worry about our conversation in the car, what she says, and how I respond.  My OCD pet peeve hovering about me -- will she cover her mouth when she coughs or sneezes in the car?  When she had first arrived to live in our home, I took her out frequently.  She had more dental, medical, and specialized visits than I ever had!  In addition to mammography, bone scans, gynecology, and dermatology injections, she had met with nutritionists and a few times, physical therapists.  Despite all the health care, she still felt she was not being treated well at home, and from that point, our outings had been limited to the essential physical check-ups, vision, and sick visits.  I was prepared at one point to just relegate the driving and supervision of those visits to someone else, a hired hand, for instance. But that is another story...

To help me prepare for this trip, I pack ahead and brainstorm how I can multi-task.  I'll grab the incoming morning mail and read it in the waiting room, along with my newspaper, if my toddler allows me.  I'll feed this boy mashed organic bananas from those convenient Gerber tubs, and write my to-do list for the following days.  If I need to push the stroller around I'll make the calls I need to make to my older kids' schools, to the electric company, maybe a friend.  I'll multi-task so that I won't feel my morning time will be swallowed up from driving and waiting and driving some more.
 
But more importantly, tomorrow I, Dilara Channing, will try my best to enjoy and relish each moment of this trip.  It is my duty to help out anyway, is it not?  If not to her, then to my God.

Weekend Getaway -- Mother-in-lawlessness

I love hotels.  The luxury and ironic simplicity of a suite allows one to really sit back, relax, and reflect.  I had this wonderful opportunity over the weekend.  My daughter had a high school event planned in the Boston area and I jumped at the idea to stay with her there in the evening as a quasi-chaperone for her and the other girls in the group.  After the logistics of seat placement, luggage and equipment fitting, and caravaning through Mass Pike, I suddenly found myself and my two younger ones in complete quietude and freedom.

We could go anywhere and we did -- Fanueil Hall, Quincy Market, USS Constitution, Children's Museum.  I had no worries about opening doors, climbing stairs, locating handicap accessible ramps, estimating the feasible distance of a walk from the vehicle to the destination.  I found myself twirling around and singing songs like Maria in the Sound of Music, as I am normally more reserved around my mother-in-law.  I found myself racing with my son along the cobblestone streets of Boston, zooming along with the baby stroller, hearing and loving what each of my sons had to say.   I did not have to listen to the daily update of a nagging headache, leg pain, tooth pain, back pain, urine pass, or constipation.  I did not have to hear complaints, regrets, wishes, or nostalgia for what is gone. And I did not have to worry about what my mother-in-law would have for the upcoming meal.

This complete immersion with my two younger children conjured up uneasy feelings of what I might be missing each day.  Afterall, if I was spending so much time worrying about my mother-in-law's needs, wasn't that compromising my children's? 

Perhaps.  But someone has to care for her.  And I know it is the best way for my family to live -- together in a multi-generational home.

Coming back from two days and one night of "mother-in-lawlessness"  I found our conversations rejuvenated, our company invigorated.  Weekend getaways certainly can bring forth wonderful feelings of joy!

Good morning

     The other day it happened that I was in the kitchen, one of the common areas of the house, and I heard my mother-in-law's bedroom door open and saw from an angle her body slowly shuffling her way over.  It must have been her mode of walking -- groggily, exaggeratedly weak for someone who was the last to wake up in the morning, or her general disheveled appearance of unmanaged hair and clothes from the previous day, that made me want to retreat.
     I wondered why, at that moment, I felt the urge to flee.  Generally I try to greet her in the morning, prepare her tea, make sure there is breakfast food.  For that morning I had baked banana bread.  But, for some reason it  bothered me suddenly to see her, so listless and enervated, the first thing in the morning.  It felt demoralizing, especially with the thought that we would be crossing paths many more times that day.
     To retreat, according to Webster is "an act or process of withdrawing especially from what is difficult, dangerous, or disagreeable."  My own fleeting destination was my bedroom, my noun form of retreat, or "place of privacy or safety."  As I neared the end of the hallway, I paused and stood quietly to assess her location.  Our home is over sixty years old and originally built with only 994 square feet.  The wooden floor creeks at various spots and I figured she was exactly opposite to the microwave.  The entry of the heating button options confirmed this.  I really only had to wait it out for a few minutes for her to warm up the meal that I had already prepared for her, and then I would once again have the kitchen area to myself.
     As the distinct hum of the microwave continued, I thought of some of our previous clashes together.  I then thought about how I had only a few more minutes until my baby would awaken from his nap and how I was wasting time just innanely standing there in front of my bedroom door.  And then I considered a lively interview I saw featuring Julianna Margulies on the Ellen Degeneres Show.  I rarely watch anything on television, but paused for this former ER star while I was searching for the PBS channel for "Martha Speaks."  Julianna won another Screen Actors Guild Award for her performance in "The Good Wife" and created a bit of a hoopla during her acceptance speech by including a thank-you to her in-laws.  
    That must have been a humbling experience, a veteran actress wearing couture among famous Hollywood stars, showing gratitude to her mother-in-law.  And here I was, at the foot of my bedroom door, not even wanting to see mine that morning.  Of course, I am quite sure the actress does not live with her in-laws, making the situation quite different from mine.  But at that moment in time, I had no feeling of gratitude for my mother-in-law.  Was I not forgiving enough?  Was I not caring enough?  Was I not the type of person I strived to be?
     Seconds before the microwave beeped, I quickly made my way back to the kitchen.  I stood my ground.  I greeted her and asked her how her sleep went the night before.  I may not be a glamorous Hollywood actress, but I certainly must try to live in my own home freely, happily, kindly, optimistically.  I know deep down inside, I too am thankful for my mother-in-law. 

A Yarn to Tell

     The principal of an elementary school I once worked in one day directed another teacher to me for art inspiration.  I was so creative, she had said.
     If only they knew how unartistic I really was.  Although I enjoyed a nice stroll at the museum once a year if lunch at the gallery cafe ensued and yes, I was able to recall masterpieces, ones from my Art 101 college text, my only real aim with color was to present math and science in a more appealing way to my students.
     Living with my mother-in-law these past years has opened me, reluctantly, up into another realm of the arts and crafts world -- knitting.  Now knitting was never exactly foreign to me.  One of my grandmothers used to crochet constantly.  She would sit in front of the television for hours every afternoon, somehow managing to watch the soap operas while concomitantly producing lacy looking tablecloths, bedspreads, and even ornaments.  Knitting appeared to be practically the same hobby, with two needles instead of one.  Indeed, knitting seemed to be a perfect outlet for my mother-in-law, making  "idle hands are the devil's tools," a very fitting idiom for every daughter-in-law to be cautious of.
    However, going to the craft stores, and trudging behind my mother-in-law through the yarn aisles, was a test a patience for me. One store did not suffice for her, since there were three craft stores in town (that she was aware of) and a Walmart.  She not only wanted to look at each product, but she also wanted to compare all the prices.   It reminded me of the days as a child where I had to patiently wait for my mother to finish shopping in the linen department, or heaven forbid, the furniture store.  My grandmother the nurse, too, would lug me around.  How endless it seemed, waiting for her to get a piece of jewelry fixed or select a handbag or pair of shoes.  Weren't they all the same, functionally, anyway?
     Shopping is a perfunctory errand for me.  I like to make my list and go in and out as quickly as possible.  But, for my mother-in-law, and perhaps for all elderly people regularly cooped up at home, slowly perusing each product was essential to the shopping experience.  Hence, we were taking baby steps instead of the speed walking I was accustomed to.
    The types of yarn available are staggering -- cabled, socked, boucle, brushed, chenille, thick, thin, plus the variety of novelty yarns-- suede , ruffle, and then the eyelash and sequins embellishments.  Did I really care if it was superwash?  Did I really prefer one light blue shade to the other?  There I stood, juggling a thirteen-month-old on my hips, appeasing his own screaming boredom, while having to smile and agree or disagree with the colors, textures, and prices she pointed out.  Was it too rude for me to just express my feelings?   Listen, here's fifty bucks, buy what you want, I'll be waiting for you in the car.  Take your time and have fun.  Hasta la vista.
      I chose to be diplomatic.  If I were in the classroom having a parent-teacher conference I could not just express my feelings.  Listen Mrs. X, your son is way too hyper and undisciplined.  You need to cut the cereal in the morning and lay off the cookies for snack.  Plus, can you give me some back up here and help him review his times tables?  Oh, it would also help if you required him to finish his daily homework before letting him play those violent video games!
     Not only did I choose to be diplomatic, I chose to be what I would consider a dutiful daughter-in-law.  I smiled.  I gave her my sincere opinions of the shades of colors.  I weighed the issues of sequins.  And, I drove to the other stores for more comparison shopping.
     In the end, as the photos exhibit, our children, namely the screaming toddler, has a full wardrobe of beautiful, hand-knit sweaters, scarves, pants, booties, and hats. The designs on these articles of clothing are not only attractive, but mathematically titillating.  The patterns are so intricate, so symmetrical.  She planned the intersection of horizontal lines to vertical ones; weaving V-shaped trims across parallel blocks of plain colors.  One of the hoods even beheld a polygon, what appeared to be a hexagon on the outside, but mysteriously a pentagon on the inside, all of which I was tempted to calculate the area of.
     I soon realized that the cost of time and patience were definitely worth paying for and that the display itself, of a grandmother happily and eagerly fitting on her grandchild something she has devoted hours and days on, is really priceless.

A Grand Idea

     I grew up in New England and at least one grandparent lived in my home throughout my childhood.  They each stayed with us for months at a time, travelling abroad or visiting other relatives the other months of the year.   I enjoyed adapting to each grandparent's personality and idiosyncrasies.  Their transitions to and from the house reminded me of the seasonal weather changes.

     Not only did they keep me company after-school, sparing me from being a latch-key kid, they each were grand role models of hard work, industriousness, savings, and modesty.  One of my grandmothers was a chef in her own right.  She was always cooking, stirring a pot of soup or rolling up meatballs.  I recall walking home from school on hot, sunny afternoons occasionally seeing her sitting on a lawn chair by the driveway.  To my chagrin, she would be drying hanged meat strips for our dinner of exotic tapas. If she wasn't cooking, she was crocheting, generally while watching the daily lineup of soap operas, and on weekends, pro-wrestling.  My other grandmother was a diametrical opposite.  She preferred to eat her meals out.  After her career as a top hospital's head nurse and nursing school instructor, and later a nurse at an assisted living home, she enjoyed a comfortable retirement. I learned the circle of life from her, watching her slow down during her later years, relishing in her hobbies of reading, sewing, and gardening.  Her spirituality and wisdom would guide me for decades.
     My only living grandfather frequented our home even during the seasons he wasn't staying with us in the basement.  When he rented an apartment somewhere else in town, he still spent his summer afternoons napping in our living room.  He lovingly chauffeured me to the library, mall, and downtown.  I attribute my 500 hours volunteering at a local hospital to him, since he was the one who mainly drove me home.  Like his  former wife, my grandmother the nurse, he rarely cooked.  Going to diners for lunch and having coffee or juice and a dessert at Dunkin Donuts were some of our pastimes.  From him I learned the fine art of conversation, as he would easily strike it up with other customers seated by us.
     I look forward to one day hearing what my children will say about what they have learned from their grandmother, my live-in mother-in-law.  All of the hours they have spent side by side with her, watching movies, watching her cook, watching her knit... Seeing her spiritual side, her sense of fashion, her sense of humor, her kindness...  Thinking about this strengthens my resolve as a daughter-in-law.  The minor, or even major, brushes of disagreement we might have seem so very small in the overall picture.  I continue to cherish every moment I shared with my grandparents.  Reflecting on that, my children, too,  have so much to gain from a loving, stable relationship with their grandmother.  

Cabin Fever

     For a couple of years, my husband and I lived in Alaska.  His co-workers and our neighbors warned us profusely about cabin fever, namely avoiding it at all costs.  Although we did not engage in extreme weather sports, or even frolic in the pristine landscape by skiing, skating, or sledding (although my husband did try ice fishing), we rarely became bored in those dark, cold months.  We developed a penchant for country music, which seemed to be the choice genre in the town.  We kept our vehicles constantly plugged in so that at the spur of any moment we could go out to a restaurant or browse around the only mall's bookstore.
     It just occurred to me over the weekend how cabin fever is not a condition strictly reserved for Alaskans.  For a few moments I caught my mother-in-law looking out of the sliding door glass.  There she stood, with the same awe all of us held for the triumphant display nature laid before us.  Our daily routine was stymied by the white grandeur around us. But her expression of appreciation of the sight seemed partly eclipsed with the dreariness of reality -- we were trapped.
     Over the winter months my mother-in-law selects very carefully when and where she goes.  She always weighs the risks of walking around near snow and ice with the enjoyment of shopping or visiting friends.  Perhaps this first blizzard of the season ushered in all of the memories of slow, quiet days and nights for her. Unlike the younger members of the family, she does not have the luxury of getting up and going out, much less bracing the harsh winter air.  I need to remember this and take those extra precautions to help her avoid cabin fever!