Last night as I was sitting in my car, someone in a vintage red Corvette drove up. I had forgotten how uniquely shaped they are, long in front with a big trunk area, very sleek in a way. I waited to see the driver, certainly someone who appreciates a cool car, the speed, and an image of himself as the driver of such a vehicle. He was about what I expected--jeans, a tshirt with some sort of dragon insignia. But he wasn't a young man. Definitely middle-aged. He unfolded himself from the car to reveal a short, salt and pepper haired man with his jeans hiked up around his stomach held up with a belt. A pair of white Nikes completes the picture. As he came around the car to fill up the gas tank, I wondered if he had always driven that car, or if he is finally an age where he can afford it. Did he admire someone who drove a Corvette, or does he just like the way it makes him feel? Red and fast and sleek.

My mind wandered to a time after our house had burned down in Arizona. My daughter went shopping for a pair of boots. She chose a pair of flowered Doc Martens, certainly not a necessity--we lived in Arizona--very expensive and outlandish in a way. They made a statement of some sort to a teenager, I think, and so little to ask for a girl who had just lost everything in a fire. I expressed my disapproval with a little fussing and frowning before giving in. What was I thinking?

And then I flashed back to my husband's and my first car purchase. He selected a Gremlin, which at the time was very environmentally forward thinking--small and conservative. He wanted red; I insisted on white. Honestly. How many times will he get to pick a car in his life?

I am really hoping that this spring is really warm and that man will have many days in the sunshine driving in his red Corvette. Moreover, I am hoping to hold back my conservative, annoying opinions from those who are having a little fun with the little things. Balance is what I desire and seeking after what is important. After sixty years I'm thinking that it's important to have a little reckless abandon--buy the plastic bags with the pictures on them, wear flowered boots, drive a convertible, go to Europe. Most of all, relax with the people I love, enough to share their foolish fun. Absolutely no frowning.

Now that it's here and flying by, I am happy to have been away from the daily routine and into spending time randomly...watching, thinking, reading, participating, without directing, correcting, and orchestrating. Working in a school creates a very unique way of life of pouring out that demands a refueling or even a tuneup. At my house that has meant cooking for large numbers of people while playing games. We make lists of possibilities for an endless vacation of sharing fun with one another. I love anticipating the togetherness and confusion while fearing the parting and the routine that is waiting in the wings.
The bittersweet of old memories of Christmases past weaves through our talk. Mom's recipes of the annual Christmas treats with familiar dishes appear on scraps of paper in her handwriting and bad spelling while she's been gone for three years. Her last Christmas with us was a special outpouring of her love and thoughtfulness which touches all of my thoughts even now. Her name is "Joy," my favorite Christmas word and actually favorite for-all-time word. I wasn't particularly close to my mom in the way I would have liked--not talking things over and sharing feelings. I think I understood her motivations, though, and the compromises she made to stay with dad and to support us all. So complicated. This creates a curiosity in me about my children's memories of our joy together this Christmas and their understanding now and later of my complicated love for them.
The little daily actions of love have added to our futures in a way that we can't anticipate. I might even be able to begin an exercise program with Pilates as a part, although I pulled some muscles where I didn't know I had any. I might even try some of the new recipes that my daughter is teaching me...all peach salsa/ Trader Joe's healthy. I will definitely be able to decorate in a more exciting way with her gorgeous framed photography. And although my daughters won't inherit their grandmother's cut glass stemmed cranberry dish, they will some day get the lovely Tiffany bowl I received this Christmas. I am reading new poetry, too, that I will be adding to my favorite old ones... What a breath of fresh air my beautiful daughters are! This blog, too, (so high tech!) will begin the book that I have always wanted to start for them or for me...or at the very least it's a kind of diary that adds up to reflection on memories and experiences that currently just bounce around in my head like so many pieces of paper in the wind, no connection at all.
Count it all for joy.