I don’t believe in much. I question just about everything and tend toward pessimism in most circumstances.
And yet, in the still of early mornings, I think I can believe in the mysteries of the universe, a possible God, the interconnectedness of all things, the power of a wish, and maybe, just maybe, the presence of fairies in the twilight hour of each day’s end. I sometimes believe in fate, karma and that you can in fact influence things far away and otherwise out of your control.
So today I silently chide myself — I shouldn’t have opened my big, fat mouth. See, yesterday I had a long chat with Mom on Grandma’s status, her upcoming surgery, the good news that was suddenly before us. Later, I confessed to Ray, “Every time the phone’s rung this week I expected the worst. I’m glad that’s over.”
Then today, Dad’s phone call. Off to New Jersey. Grandma didn’t have a good night. They don’t know if it was a stroke, or what. We’ll call later with news when we have it.
Shouldn’t have opened my mouth.
Then the kids, this morning, making things for Grandma to cheer her up, odd little sculptures made from cardboard tubes, crayons, shiny stickers, construction paper, tape. What they are, I don’t know. But they are happy little things. I’m pleased that the kids thought of Grandma on their own, pleased that they are the kind of kids who like to cheer up other people. But their timing needs work.
Last year, in one of my cleaning frenzies when I was going to finally live an uncluttered life, I came across an envelope filled with the kids’ drawings and a note by me. It was for Grandpa, unmailed, dated just days before his death. Why didn’t I mail it? I can’t remember. I’m not very good at getting things out on time.
Or in time. I gather up the kids’ newest projects. There’s no mail until tomorrow. Will that be time enough?