Month: January 2023

Chocolate dream whip and an old song.

~ yellowlamplight ~ 3 Comments

I’ve written before that I think songs can be little bridges to the past. To a time you would give anything to go back to. It’s why I have spent this afternoon scouring the internet for a particular song. It had something to do with a horse that was going faster and faster. I want to listen to it.

I want to listen to it and I want to close my eyes and I want to be a little girl again with my kid sister.

Especially on one particular day.

It was winter time and when I looked out the back door that morning it was nothing but white and dripping water. Muddy puddles and cold. I did not want to go to school. I did not want to stay home with nobody to play with. So, I went back and crawled into the bed I shared with my little sister.

“Let’s talk mom into letting us stay home today.”

Thirty minutes later, we were both in the living room still wearing our nightgowns, with our noses pressed against the cold picture window, watching our older siblings get on a bus for school. It hadn’t even been hard. My older sister was glad not to have to get us dressed, my dad was already gone to work and my mother was still in bed that morning. It was not a good day for her.

Suddenly, there we were, two little girls with a whole day stretching in front of us. No school. Nobody bigger than us.We watched cartoons. We played with Raggedy Ann. I read her some books. We laughed just because it was funny that we had accomplished this big thing. Things were great until we got hungry.

Our refrigerator was completely empty. Nothing. No crackers. No leftovers. Nothing. Barely any milk. Not enough for both of us to have cereal. In that moment, I did what probably any kid would have done. I climbed on top of the counter and started looking in the higher cabinets for food the grownups might have put out of our reach. I found some things that could have been cooked, but I was not allowed to use the stove. Ever. No macaroni and cheese for us. I put the blue box back and and kept looking.

Finally, when no other cabinets gave up any treasures, I stood with one foot balanced on the cool metal of the drawer handle and one foot wedged against the wall and reached the little cabinet above the ice box. A box of dream whip. And, as a bonus, it was chocolate. Chocolate dream whip and nobody to tell us we couldn’t have it. I jumped down and showed it my little sister and we danced around our kitchen with it held over our heads like a prize.

Next I climbed back up on the counter and got down my mother’s big yellow mixing bowl. The one we weren’t supposed to touch. I ripped open the white package and dumped the powder into the big bowl. Bits of chocolate dust floated to the end of my tongue. I got the milk out and poured the last of it into the bowl. It didn’t look like enough so I added a little water. Then I got the whisk my mom used on potatoes and went to work. I’m sure it would have been a five minute job if we had used a mixer, but two little girls and a whisk took a minute. But finally we had a bowl of what closely resembled chocolate dream whip.

I gave my sister the two biggest spoons in the drawer and I wrapped my arms around the yellow bowl, held it as tight as I could and walked to the table. We sat there for a while. Both of us eating out of the bowl. Scraping down the sides for the parts that had turned kind of crunchy. Clicking our spoons together to hear the sound.

Outside, it continued to drizzle. Inside, I was still so happy to not be in school

When we were done, we went back in the living room but there was nothing on TV but soap operas. We hated soap operas. My families record player set in the corner with the top open.

“Let’s listen to records!”

I grabbed the one on top and put it on the record player. When I turned on the power it started to wobble. We needed the little yellow thing to go in the middle. We popped it in and started up the record player again. It was that song I have spent this whole day looking for. That crazy song about a horse going faster and faster. We danced around the living room holding up our nightgowns and laughing. And then I asked my little sister if she wanted it to go faster.

“Yes!” she giggled back.

I went back to the record player and pushed the lever to speed it up. That was the funniest thing we had ever heard. The voice sounded crazy. We danced even faster. We started holding hands and spinning. We needed it to be louder. I turned it up and up until it was as loud as it would go. And we danced in a circle with our hair flying out behind of us. Long strands unbrushed and wild. One blonde and one with flashes of red. Both of us yelling with joy and a massive sugar hit. Both of us happy. We were like that when our mother suddenly appeared in the living room door.

“What on earth is going on in this house? Why aren’t you girls at school?”

I picked that moment to fall down and pull my little sister down with me. We landed with her on top of me and I looked up at her face smeared with chocolate and smelled the sweetness and let out another trumpet yell of happiness. It was one of the very best moments of my young life.

And yes, I want to go back there. To that moment. To those little girls.

I want to wrap my arms around my little sister and tell her I love her and that I will always, always protect her. That I will hold her hand when Santa Claus scares her. That I will never be mean to her when I am in High School and think I’m really cool. That I will insist she goes on every vacation I ever take. I will tell her I do not want to see sunsets in Florida without her. I will whisper in her ear that when we are almost old women I will take her cancer diagnosis from her and make it mine. Every appointment, every chemical, every poke. I will stand between her and what’s coming and I will let nothing through.

But, I can’t. I can’t do any of it.

I can only remember and search feverishly for a song that will serve as a bridge back to that moment. Wish that my husband could drive me to that time. Search the internet for images of dream whip and wonder if my sister would like it if I sent a box. Wonder if they even still make it. Cast about for a way to create another day like that for us. Warm, joyful, chocolate safety. Free of cancer and worry.

Oh that I could.

I would.

Grandma, I’m happy with you.

~ yellowlamplight ~ Leave a comment

The world is scary.

People are scattered.

Things seem a little crazed.

Anyone want to argue that? Anyone having a different experience? If you are, can I come to your house to stay? I’m a great houseguest and can make a decent meat loaf. Promise I won’t be any trouble. I’m not scary or crazed. Maybe a little scattered.

I’m rambling. Let me start again.

Has anyone seen the kid’s show The Incredibles? Remember the scene where the teenager daughter creates a safety bubble over her family? One minute, they are in danger and the next second they are all sheltered under an impenetrable force field. I love that scene. If someone showed up to offer me a super power I would take that one. Please. I don’t need to be super fast or super strong. I just want to protect my people.

Am I rambling again?

Probably.

There are a lot of things going on in my world right now that I don’t like.  They are happening to people I love. I’m trying to mitigate them and make them better and do what I can, but it’s not going so well. The middle of me is having to accept that there’s only one me. I can’t be everywhere. I can’t do everything. What’s a worrier to do? How do I accept that?

When you are a caretaker what happens when you can’t take on anymore care?

I can answer that.

You stumble. You falter. You fret.

On some days, you find playlists on Spotify that are full of melancholy and angst and you watch the trees sway, and the rain fall and you cry. But not always. That wouldn’t be productive.

So, you get up each morning and just bang on through everything that is happening and wear yourself out wondering if you are doing enough. If anything you are doing matters. If you, perhaps, are the least guardian of all the guardians.

Thankfully, sometimes, when you are in that spot life gives you a mint on your pillow. A little smiley face on your windshield. A glowing performance review from a boss that really matters.

Recently, I got just such a wink on a quiet morning. A morning that was spectacular because it was replete with normal.

How rare is that?

Our little guy had come to stay for a week. It was story books read at exactly 8:30 in the evening. Always a mad hunt for Daddy Bear when he was missing. Baseballs and red cars with their own keys. It was toothbrushing and time spent working in the yard with his granddad. It was a quick trip for an ice cream cone and finger-painting on the kitchen table. And then, on that Tuesday morning, it was him sitting quietly in his chair eating a bowl of cereal and me at the kitchen counter cutting strawberries because he wanted some. It was so quiet.

You know those mornings?

The clock is ticking and and there’s a fly buzzing on the window sill and, in the distant, there is the muted sound of a dog barking. It is just a morning. A morning we will probably all wish for when they are gone. And into that stillness my grandson dropped five words.

“Grandma, I’m happy with you.”

Matter of factly and without a pause in his chewing. Wasn’t a big moment on his side, but at the counter, his grandma stopped slicing strawberries. Felt tears gather in her eyes and her shoulders drop. She breathed that sentence into the parts of her that needed it.

Somehow, despite my fears, I was hanging in there as a guardian. I was force fielding this little man. He was at his grandma’s and he was happy. The world was right. Things were good.

He was free to eat his cereal and plan his day. He would ask for a grilled cheese later, with no crusts, and it would be made. For a walk to the park and it would happen. His little life, in that moment, was within the bubble of his grandma’s reach and we were both so, so glad.

I took another deep breath and resolved to keep on keeping on.

I can’t be everywhere. I can’t fix everything. I’m not a super hero. Still don’t have a forcefield at my fingertips. But, through my decisions and actions, I can create little moments for the people I love.

I can slice strawberries and send planners and make phone calls. I can give the code to my door and a bed with fresh sheets to someone who needs somewhere to be for a night. I can take phone calls even when I don’t really want to talk. I can smile in the grocery store and be kinder to rude people than they deserve.

And, when I can’t, I can take a day off.

On those days, someone I love will be a forcefield for me. The world will send me a lunch with a dear friend, my husband will make my plate of food and bring it to me with a napkin folded on the side, my daughter will call me with laughter in her voice to tell me something funny. My grandson will say,

“Grandma, I’m happy with you.”

And so later, when I’ve had a rest, I will put on my helmet and strap on my shield and venture out to do what I can.

The only other option is to find those of you whose life is always ok and offer you a meatloaf and my company.

If only.