When I was seven years old, I wore lace ankle socks and patent leather Mary Jane shoes, and dresses. When I was eight I was barefoot in shorts and a tee shirt climbing a rope down a 150′ cliff and dealing with snakes and mice and boy neighbors.
What happened? We moved to the country, five miles outside of our tiny village. I went from prim and proper in a dress and Mary Janes to learning, at age eight, to run a seated Toro lawn mower with two gears for hours because my Dad wanted the change, but he also wanted a huge lawn. Never mind that 80% of the lawn was weeds.
Prissy girl or tomboy? I err to the latter but today have everything done for my husband’s return from a business trip: laundry; dishes; dog; clean house so I’m writing for a bit before I figure out what to make for dinner.
My mother never liked my choices. Oh, she finally approved of my husband, just never of me and she’ll be gone 5 years next month. I dream about her all the time.
Mom didn’t like that I was smart and a feminist and wrote laws that affected 35 million people on civil and human rights, including bias against actual or perceived sexual orientation. That part was OK. I’m straight but human rights and privacy and now public safety are my linchpins.
She didn’t want me to go to work with my Dad, which I did anyway. Years later I eloped because I didn’t want her to suffer being in a small room with my father and his girlfriend.
We’ve moved all over the place so I can’t keep a career and retired. Now I call myself, as I did to work for Sundance a couple of years ago, a Feminist Homemaker. That’s why Sundance called me. Perhaps Mom would be proud of me now.
I’m wearing comfortable athletic pants and a pink tee shirt, and pink fluffy socks. Shoes, no. Not in the house. I don’t have any ropes to climb, snakes being put down the back of my shirt, ghost softball games, skinnydipping with my sister, or crayfish but I do have one thing.
It’s a picture by the former editor of the local paper of my favorite creek. I framed it beautifully and placed it at the end of the hall for maximum impact. It reminds me of where I grew up and how I’ve changed and like the balance of justice it sways a few degrees. I’ve challenged those degrees and have gone off balance with work and social issues from time to time.
Like spending six years working to get a park where I could legally let my dog chase a ball. She died and I regret spending every night at community meetings while volunteering as VP to raise funds for parks and wreck when I could have spent it with her and not for her.
A friend once gave me a dog angel ornament that is on my desk and looks like the dog I had for ten years and have lost for twelve, that has wings and a halo. Also a framed photo of me at age one in a pink snowsuit hanging onto an evergreen tree. Isn’t that prophetic. The other is my first cat, Nathan, Gift from God, on his bed. He died 13 years ago.
The final transformation is death and while we never want to think about it, I need to get the paperwork in order. A living will, will allow my husband not to make a decision to let me go in certain circumstances and know that I made it for him. I don’t plan to die for another 40 years at least but if I do, I’m building a case for him to re-marry. He doesn’t buy it, just because he drove up in a Honda it looked like a white horse to me.
I framed this work of the creek I grew up on because I love the woman who took the photo 31 years ago and I’ve always known my ashes should be along this creek that took me from prissy girl to adventurer. Admiring that side I had at age eight and knowing I landed in a great place in the middle, marrying a genius and having a wonderful partnership, makes life worthwhile.
Steak on the grill, rosti potatoes, and the salad just needs to be tossed. Welcome home, dear. Cheers! Dee
Cooking with Dee 