Sunday Scaries

The last couple weeks have felt like years. Long, painful, and relentless, these weeks have brought every shade of emotion ranging from physical maladies to existential angst. If you care, one iota, about the experience of humans on this planet, things right now are dire and it’s not easy to go through the normal, everyday motions when everything is just so grim. I’m not a Debbie Downer, I’m a realist. I have to call it what it is and it has not been pretty for quite some time. From watching the fabric of this country get gutted to atrocities in Palestine (who watched 60 Minutes tonight?), I have a hard time being positive. If I stuck my head in the sand, I could do it. Somehow, I don’t think that’s the answer.

Right now, 60 Minutes is interviewing a whiskey maker. How quickly we move from the macabre to the magnificent in under an hour. I like that, it suits this Evergreen and Grey style of mine — things suck, let’s cry, this is funny, let’s laugh. “They’re just people!” Mom said, while wiping away tears during the piece on Gaza “Just people trying to live like the rest of us.” She is beside herself over the state of things these days and though she will not be attending any protest (nor will I, Venezuela cured me of that in 2001), she will not filter her thoughts. So, in her honor, I will be loud and clear about where I stand no matter what. I want to say, to perhaps my grandkids someday, that I didn’t sit on the fence when the fate of humanity hung in the balance.

So, yes, the last two weeks have felt like years. Add to that, we have a major kitchen upheaval, rat problem, and a 90-year-old Mom with two broken ribs. “Steph!” Mom exclaimed when I got home on Monday “You’re not going to believe it. I’m ALL bettah! I’m ALL healed. I didn’t even take Advil today!” I asked if she went upstairs to take a shower, a true gauge of just how much better she is, “Yes!” she said gleefully. About a month ago, she survived septic shock and I nicknamed her Lazarus. “You’re no longer Lazarus” I told her “Your new nickname is Jesus.” We talked about this at dinner that night and Isaac asked “So if Nana heals herself again, does she become God?” I don’t know about that, Isaac, but I’m willing to confirm that we have our own personal Jesus. Go ahead and call me sacrilegious, I’ve been called much worse.

Through the ups and downs of the last two weeks, two years, two decades, I consider myself uniquely fortunate. I have borne close witness to the incredible journeys of my parents from middle age when they had me, the oopsie baby, to facing down their twilight years. It has not always been pretty and, at times, I have literally torn out my hair. Ask me tonight how I feel and hold that thought because it will change tomorrow. Some may call that fickle but I think it’s just human. Now, we’re watching The American President on the CW which I explained to her is the old channel 56. If you remember that channel, welcome to middle age and beyond. When I said “channel 56” to my Mom, she nodded and got it right away. This is one of her favorite movies and I have to say, it’s a true gem. Nowadays, it’s certainly evidence of an era gone by. So, we sit and wait for a new week to begin with all it will bring. Sunday Scaries be damned, Monday will come soon enough. It’s trash night, time to take out the trash.