April 28, 2012
-
Pneumonia and Poodle Socks
‘It was one of those things,’ I explained to friends, ‘that either becomes a tragedy or an intense hassle.’ Only you never know which, en route through the moment, so you try your damnedest to let the hassle part wash over you. Just in case.The worst didn’t happen this time, and at one point I confess I did succumb. 9:35 on a Saturday, 2 scant hours’ sleep after a night in the ER with the pneumonia-and-possible-other-awfulness-afflicted elderly parent; ferrying the youngest to her Irish Dance performance. Discovery on arrival: she has left the poodle socks, which I painstakingly (and with pride at the forththought despite the circumstances) set out at 4 am before sleeping). Temper flares. She evinces some minor remorse. Teen and I dash off to retrieve missing item before performance (“OMG POODLE socks,” says the sister. For once, I am completely in line with the perennially sardonic teen-tone). All ends well (timely-retrieved socks pictured, with fellows).
Here in the week after, all has also come out ok on the pneumonia front. Dad is back at home, breathing better, up and about, sharing annecdotes with my partner over an unexpectedly casual dinner (my mother’s table, strewn with take-out Chinese cartons – a “once-in-a-lifetime photo op,” says the teen – although I neglected to take it, in relief at the relieved and casual atmosphere).
Everyone else is also breathing better, although our breaths are bated with the bitter foretaste of days to come. Dad may last a long time yet, and of course one lives (when one is reminded to remember to live) with the knowledge that tragedy can strike anyone at any time. It is not necessarily my father’s departure which will send us into that anticipated spiral. But we have all again realized, in the full flood of forgotten socks and all the rest of the silliness of the everyday, that our most transcendent truths are temporary, on an individual basis. It is nice to have poodle sock retrieval to occupy oneself. It is nice to waste resources on a less-than-incredibly-healthy-and-homecooked dinner. It is nice to have a weekend without either tragedy or hassle on the near horizon. To be, temporarily, short-sightedly, obliviously, all-too-humanly …. happy.
Comments (6)
You write so well of these times. I remember the years leading to my father’s passing. And now we are in the same dance with my mother. I don’t have the children here to provide those poodle sock moments. Thank you for reminding me of those times. Blessings abound
Ah, the joys of a reprieve. I hope the joys are not temporary. No reason to think the worst, so … let happiness reign.
If my two poodles (Dagmar, the standard, and Margie, the miniature — both names given from long-ago TV personalities) knew that their poodle socks would be coveted by teenagers, their heads would be even more inflated than they already are.
It’s good to hear that all of the alligators and snakes in the grass have retreated long enough to allow a feeling of happiness and well-being. Someone at the office commented last week that Dad hadn’t been seen in the lab for awhile but didn’t know what was going on. It’s good to know that another bullet has been dodged.
It is humbling at times to reflect on how our lives take on a life of their own with our role being relegated to Sancho, trying to keep Quixote out of the wind mill. We run, struggle, and fear only to find out there aren’t any wind mills after all. For most of us, this reflection is only prompted by real issues of life smacking us on the head with a blunt, “wake up and smell the roses dying!”
Enjoy the quite times and us them as strength to get through the poodle socks times.
@WaitingForEpiphany - ‘Smell the roses dying” is a fabulous quote, and I intend to steal it (with attribution of course). If time between pneumonia and poodle-socking permits, of course!
So very well stated, as usual. And so nice to read you again.
It is amazing that enough time has passed that you were required to change your user name. I had hoped that by this time, I would have been required by loss of heft to change mine as well. Alas.
Glad to “see” you. Thankful that you have more time with socks, and your parents.
And, how are you?