Self-Destruct
Wed., November 5, 01:54 PM
I don’t even know if self-destruct was even a word before the original “Mission Impossible.” Every week Mr. Phelps would listen to the audiotape with his mission instructions, and then the thing would burst into flame and totally burn up. I’ve had that feeling this week.
Maybe it’s November. Lots of rotten things have happened to me in November. It’s a combination of things, including the change in the clocks and the continuing pain in my tail (the one that the X-rays say isn’t there…) And then that accursed insurance company, that is so incompetent that it is about to lose a customer.
Among other things, it assigns several adjusters to a single claim, and they keep contradicting each other. The upshot of it all is that we have to get another car for U.D. – now. They authorized a rental car, then rescinded that. Never mind that there is no public transportation for her to continue at school, where she goes at night, about ten exits down the pike. Anyhow, on top of the frustration that cars always give me, it’s a big blow to my wallet.
Over the last year, I seem to have paid out nearly $20,000 on the promise that "I/we will pay it back." Yes, I know they will all try. But I’ll never get it all back. And I don’t earn enough any more to make it up myself. I’m already using retirement money to pay for health insurance – and don’t forget that money is taxable. This is not the way I was intended to spend my “golden years.”
Okay, I’m finished venting. There are a lot of people who have far worse problems. mizlizzy is facing terrible fears, worse than she’s ever experienced. And sixweasels is facing a somewhat different fear that is no less stressing. Send them both some hugs and prayers. Several other people have problems they’re only hinting at. Who am I to complain?
In the middle of all this, I received a sweet e-mail. It’s not about me (think forties instead of fifties/sixties), but I relate. I hope you will too.
I grew up in the fifties/sixties with practical parents – a mother, God love her, who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it, then reused it. She was the original recycle queen, before they had a name for it...
…and a father who was happier getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones.
Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away. I can see them now, Dad in trousers, tee shirt and a hat and Mom in a housedress, lawn mower in one hand, dishtowel in the other.
It was the time for fixing things – a curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress. Things we keep. It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy.
All that re-fixing, reheating, renewing, I wanted just once to be wasteful.
Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant you knew there'd always be more.
But then my mother died, and on that clear summer's night, in the warmth of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn't any “more.” Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away...never to return.
So...while we have it...it's best we love it...and care for it...and fix it when it's broken...and heal it when it's sick.
This is true...for marriage...and old cars...and children with bad report cards...and dogs with bad hips...and aging parents...and grandparents.
We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth it.
Some things we keep. Like a best friend that moved away – or – a classmate we grew up with.
There are just some things that make life important, like people we know who are special...and so, we keep them close!
I received this from someone who thinks I am a “keeper,” so I’m sending it to people I think of in the same way. Now it’s your turn to send this to those people that are “keepers” in your life.
