Sunday, March 27, 2011


This afternoon, I left my sleeping children and slipped out behind the house.

Through the woods, past the pond, and I am at the nursing home where several women in the community sing every other week to the elderly residents, voices rising and milling like tides. I join them, after more than a year away, and find that the simple melodies wind their way back to me. And I notice that there are several new residents.

One woman is perfect in lipstick, pearls, and shiny ballet flats. She sings along, holds court. I didn't realize she was in a wheelchair until the very end when she asked the ex drummer sitting next to her if he would like to push her. Being the slow-wit that I am, I offered to push her and she laughed and said, "No dearie" and shuffled off by herself.

Like my mom, I don't think I'll ever stop loving jewelery and soft, shiny, fancy clothes. But although I never played with dolls much while I was growing up, I think I might become the woman who had a doll in her lap. The doll was large enough to reach all the way up to the woman's collar bone, sitting snuggled against her human perch, being posed, having her hands clapped, and being told to listen up.

I may already kind of miss my children. Especially my children in their compacter--and more portable--forms.


No comments: