Mourning cows
I am in Michigan enjoying the last of the falling leaves. Got here on Thursday and found things pretty much as I left them but my mom seems more weak and more fragile. She turned 80 yesterday and in this small town where only about 13 people show up for the Methodist Church Service, they sang happy birthday to her. Her brother and his wife came over and brought a cake and Siggie made roast beef and mashed rutabagas and mashed potatoes. I actually cooked a chicken on Saturday and am making chicken noodle soup this afternoon, much to the surprise of my sister who didn't know I had any cooking abilities.
My sis knows my brother is not the most careful person in his construction projects but for some reason still lets him do things like put on a new storm door today. Then they started fighting because he didn't do it right. I think she feels bad for him and he wants to help her and they both have too high expectations of each other and it goes on from there. I have decided that my mom is lucky to have him there - certainly more lucky to have B. Jean who does everything for her - but Ray at least, is around and tries to help but of course is crippled by his alcoholism.
My mom's bath lady did not show up for the second time again so she let me do it. I am glad to help her and I know she appreciates it but she is so critical. Maybe it is hard to have to depend on your kid for something as personal as a bath. As I dry her off and rub lotion on her back, I think of how I never considered that the tides would be turned and I would be doing this for her someday. I think the thing that bugs me is that she always told us that God helps them who helps themselves but she doesn't want to do too much to help herself. Maybe she can't. She has all those secrets inside that she will never tell us. She reads books - but not so much any more and watches a lot of lifetime movie network, which I call the man hating channel since every movie seems to be about women done wrong by men - or their children go wrong or both. But I try to watch them with her. There is actually a quiet peace in this town where all I have to do is whatever my family wants and watch movies with my mom. The air smells so good it is intoxicating.
I had a nice run this am. All I could hear was crows, and the crying of the beef cows on the farm at one end of town. My sister tells me that they took away the calves and for days after the cows cry. I heard it all last night and it made me not want to ever eat hamburgers again. I never eat veal and never will at least not knowingly. I wonder if chickens cry when their eggs are picked? Anyway the cow cries echoed around the entire town because there are no other noises to interfere with it. It was a cool day in the 40's and I saw no one out there. I took pictures of the old buildings (I will post some of them when I get home). I feet sad about houses that I remember being nice in my youth but are now just left to fall apart. I also feel sad (but maybe a little grateful) that everyone doesn't realize the beauty of a small quiet town.
People no longer really appreciate their town characters - now they probably are ostracized or medicated or something. I am thinking of the various folks I have known with names such as Black George (not an African American - just a guy who never took a bath) Gusty - who always said "I'm three thirds drunk" - and he usually was - and Brownie, who always told me "you are uglier than a mud fence you little chipmunk". He would ask my mom if she had a few dollars that weren't working - his way of borrowing. As drunk as he always was, he would pay her back with interest. Then there was Doogie, who never said anything to anyone but was always drunk - he never hurt anyone though. I wonder what his story was.
I ran by the house of the woman (now dead) who was my mom's best friend and also had an affair with my dad. That is some deep down hurt that she doesn't express much now that she doesn't drink. I am an anomaly from my family - my life is pretty much an open book and I say what is on my mind most of the time and try not to erupt in anger all of a sudden. My mom does worry that my dad is "up there" with her. Her husband is up there too so I doubt it. Oh and I have not seen my dad sitting in his chair in the kitchen like my mom reported she had.
Maybe I don't paint a pretty picture or a happy one, but it is all good here. It is life and life in a small town where I know more folks in the cemetery now than I do in the town. It is all good except for the echoing sound of the cows mourning their young.
My sis knows my brother is not the most careful person in his construction projects but for some reason still lets him do things like put on a new storm door today. Then they started fighting because he didn't do it right. I think she feels bad for him and he wants to help her and they both have too high expectations of each other and it goes on from there. I have decided that my mom is lucky to have him there - certainly more lucky to have B. Jean who does everything for her - but Ray at least, is around and tries to help but of course is crippled by his alcoholism.
My mom's bath lady did not show up for the second time again so she let me do it. I am glad to help her and I know she appreciates it but she is so critical. Maybe it is hard to have to depend on your kid for something as personal as a bath. As I dry her off and rub lotion on her back, I think of how I never considered that the tides would be turned and I would be doing this for her someday. I think the thing that bugs me is that she always told us that God helps them who helps themselves but she doesn't want to do too much to help herself. Maybe she can't. She has all those secrets inside that she will never tell us. She reads books - but not so much any more and watches a lot of lifetime movie network, which I call the man hating channel since every movie seems to be about women done wrong by men - or their children go wrong or both. But I try to watch them with her. There is actually a quiet peace in this town where all I have to do is whatever my family wants and watch movies with my mom. The air smells so good it is intoxicating.
I had a nice run this am. All I could hear was crows, and the crying of the beef cows on the farm at one end of town. My sister tells me that they took away the calves and for days after the cows cry. I heard it all last night and it made me not want to ever eat hamburgers again. I never eat veal and never will at least not knowingly. I wonder if chickens cry when their eggs are picked? Anyway the cow cries echoed around the entire town because there are no other noises to interfere with it. It was a cool day in the 40's and I saw no one out there. I took pictures of the old buildings (I will post some of them when I get home). I feet sad about houses that I remember being nice in my youth but are now just left to fall apart. I also feel sad (but maybe a little grateful) that everyone doesn't realize the beauty of a small quiet town.
People no longer really appreciate their town characters - now they probably are ostracized or medicated or something. I am thinking of the various folks I have known with names such as Black George (not an African American - just a guy who never took a bath) Gusty - who always said "I'm three thirds drunk" - and he usually was - and Brownie, who always told me "you are uglier than a mud fence you little chipmunk". He would ask my mom if she had a few dollars that weren't working - his way of borrowing. As drunk as he always was, he would pay her back with interest. Then there was Doogie, who never said anything to anyone but was always drunk - he never hurt anyone though. I wonder what his story was.
I ran by the house of the woman (now dead) who was my mom's best friend and also had an affair with my dad. That is some deep down hurt that she doesn't express much now that she doesn't drink. I am an anomaly from my family - my life is pretty much an open book and I say what is on my mind most of the time and try not to erupt in anger all of a sudden. My mom does worry that my dad is "up there" with her. Her husband is up there too so I doubt it. Oh and I have not seen my dad sitting in his chair in the kitchen like my mom reported she had.
Maybe I don't paint a pretty picture or a happy one, but it is all good here. It is life and life in a small town where I know more folks in the cemetery now than I do in the town. It is all good except for the echoing sound of the cows mourning their young.
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