The Extra Hour

I had myself a party. It wasn’t just any kind of party.

My son’s show opened in previews this weekend and I wasn’t able to go. Physically and financially I was able-but snafus, mis-communications and such, prevented me from getting a ticket and watching him perform. It made me really sad.

My mother’s arthritis has progressed over her fingers, bending several. Therapists fashioned a splint to slow the curvature. She became frustrated with it and took it off. She’s had additional problems with her eyes, medication has been adjusted. Her overall attitude is poor and my brothers are not helping. This makes me sad.

My daughter announced on Friday that she was going to quit her job inside of the next week. The fact that she wanted to quit doesn’t come as a surprise, she hasn’t been happy or thriving for some time now. We’ve been having conversations about being prepared to make the next move. Getting her ducks in a row, so to speak. My extremely emotional daughter can be impulsive and rash, particularly when angered or hurt.

I support her decision to resign as she cannot continue to work under the conditions she has been forced to endure. When the call came in on Friday, though, she was at a fever pitch, which in turn rocked my emotions to the stratosphere. My concern is that she will lose control of her emotions, and react in a rash, unprofessional manner that could prove detrimental to future goals.

My concern is that any protracted state of unemployment, and in turn unhappiness will turn our clock back four years. I’m trying to trust that the relationship and bond we’ve been building since she returned from that brink, will withstand this test.

Earlier in the week, I’d finally completed my profiles, posted them and even floated some interest balloons to some prospects. Nothing. I tried really hard not to be disappointed. I’ve listened to my online buddies (you know who you are) who have encouraged me and advised me to keep an
open and positive mind. I’ve tried to not be too anxious. Lately, I’ve been feeling like Harry Burns,..."when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." Well, in my case, there isn’t a somebody, but the thought of somebody. I'm feeling very much like a three-year old, I want it now.

I’ve been alone for a very long time. My kids, my mother and even my brothers are here-but all look to me for leadership, for guidance, assistance. For strength. And I am fine with this. It is who I am, what I am. When I divorced, I honestly didn’t give a thought to having a different kind of life. The realization that something different was indeed desired, nay necessary, started to materialize over the years, becoming insistent, developing a hells bells kind of urgency in the last few months.

Friday night was the loneliest night I have had in a very, very long time.

I celebrated my extra hour a day early. I had a Whine and Geez party on Saturday. I had myself a good old cry. I cried long and hard and it felt good. Then, I went out into the bright, crisp, very windy day and I rode my bike. The wind so strong it bit. So strong it impeded forward progress, momentarily. I rode to the business district where the town was hosting a trick-or treating event for families. I saw little princesses, cowboys, kindly witches, robots, knights, insects and such. I laughed out loud at the families who coordinated their costumes down to the wagons and pets. I regretted having left the camera at home. It was a happy scene.

I talked with Michael. He said the previews were going fine. There were some kinks to work out, but that’s what previews were for. I expressed sorrow that I couldn’t see it yet, he basically told me to relax, the show was going to be up until Dec. 3rd, that I had plenty of time to see it plenty of times. "Mom, you need to calm down, you are just too proud." I laughed and told him there was no such thing. I’ve secured the first set of tickets to see my actor man perform in the coming week.

I talked with my mom and I think I was able to convince her to try the splint, at least until the next appointment, when perhaps a new, better fitting, less constrictive one could be fashioned. I spoke with her pastor for additional support in keeping her spirits up and to see if we could arrange some assistance with shopping and such.

Dani and I had a long talk. She has mostly calmed down. She was concerned that I would be disappointed in her. She was concerned that she’d be stuck, because she didn’t want to be any more of a burden to me. She was afraid that I wouldn’t understand what being there was doing to her and that she really was trying to ‘hold it all together.’ It’s clear that we both want the same things, which is for her to succeed, to thrive, to continue her drive towards independence. I assured her that as long as we could talk, we would be fine. We worked on putting together her resume, cover letters and interview outfits. Yes, a trip to the mall was in order, she wouldn’t be Dani, without a trip to the mall.

I know that it was much too soon to expect anything to develop from the profiles and interest ‘feelers’ I put out there. I was, in a word, anxious. I got a bit ahead of myself. Completing the profiles was perhaps the one of the most difficult things I’ve done and one of the scariest. Putting myself out here is one thing, but making myself available for the interests of some possible special some ones, is quite another. The pang from the lack of response, the rejection, stung. But I understand. I have gathered my perspective and my strength. Slow and steady, steady and slow, that's the way this thing will go.

There are people out here, out there, going through some hellish trials, mine seem like a walk in the park, in comparison. I heard two songs this weekend that couldn’t be more different from each other, yet, both spoke to me in a way that was primal and re-affirming; "I Am Woman" by Helen Reddy and "Blame it on the Boogie" by Michael Jackson. 'Don’t blame it on the sunshine, don’t blame it on the moonlight, don’t blame it on the good times, Blame it on the Boogie.' There’s a part in the song where he says, under the instrumentation, 'I just can’t, I just can’t, I just can’t control my feet.' I am strong, invincible and I just can’t control my feet. My feet (and my fingers) will continue to do what we do.

What did you do with your extra hour?