Towels, Waiting

Now and again, I remind myself that Ruby Tabeata, the main character in the Beat Street Series, wants to be a poet when she grows up, like the Beat poets around her (Allen Ginsburg, Jack Kerouac, Gregory Corso, Amiri Baranka, Charles Bukowski, Elise Cowan and many more). 

I love writing Ruby's poetry and trying to jump into her generation's style and language. But today my own poem started forming because of the times we're in.

Towels wait patiently to be folded, unmoving cotton letting me know 

They can't sustain being thrown onto the top shelf of the closet and that

Eventually they'll fall down and dirtify themselves, meaning I'll have to wash them again and lose the time I so desperately covet

Even though coveting is one of the deadliest sins

I can only fold, fold, fold fold fold

Keeping fear from wrapping wet, hairy arms around my throat like a long-dead lover come to snuggle again 

And like a shrink who understands you, he smiles and waits for me to talk and I do, spilling it all like peanuts into his lap. Boys and girls, I say, my husband contracted shingles  many years ago and that migrated to his eye.

Doctor fixed it and we thought we were done

But anxiety got him too in the age of Coronavirus and after a long protracted cold

The monster returned to attack his peripheral vision 

Ah, but there's always more in a doctor's office and the doctor sez so, spilling his own peanuts

This virus could migrate to the other eye or even the brain, and I say God forbid to myself so the doctor won't hear me

Instead he rattles off this week's menu like a waiter: surgery and in-office injections

Towels are waiting patiently to be folded, and I fold them

Because it is one of the only things that makes me breathe right now

In, out, fold, smell the clean

A kind of meditation for the meditation averse
Folding, folding, folding fold while I look out at 

Calm blue glass lake outside as we 

Hide away out here pretending the world can't get at us

Every day waking to say, will he get better but he isn't yet 

Towels are all neat on the shelves now

Just like when we first moved in so full of hope

The way all possessions look when you unpack them

Waiting for death, waiting for Guffman, waiting for love, it

Doesn't matter.

They will always be waiting.

'Til we're ready to fold them again

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I'll leave you today with a group of great middle school books that includes Dragon Future from my writer pal Kandi Wyatt, as well as The Beat on Ruby's Street:

https://www.raeknightly.com/post/middle-grade-treasures-book-promotion-for-young-readers-april-25-may-25-2020

Woman with towel photo: Debs (ò‿ó)♪

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I was on Facebook the other day and a friend asked about the first time I'd been on a plane. As it happens, that memory has a lot of resonance for me. 

My parents weren't big travelers. My dad had his own appliance store and worked 6 days a week, AND he didn't like flying. If we went somewhere, we went by car or bus. But when I was sixteen I got into an acting program at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh and driving there was pretty much out of the question.

My mother had a friend named Florence whose husband had a stroke when he was in his fifties. He was a wonderful man and his wife and he always seemed to be the happiest couple -- and then this terrible thing happened, out of the blue. Florence became a great caregiver, but as any caregiver can tell you, it's never easy (and can be extremely stressful sometimes, too).

When Florence found out I needed to fly to Pittsburgh, she asked my mother if she could take me. "If something happens to me, it doesn't matter," she said, and I was shocked and surprised to hear her say that. I think my mother agreed in the end because she could see how much her friend needed to get away. I don't know how they found someone to care for Florence's husband, but they did, and she got to go.

I was pretty jazzed about getting away for the summer, too. I remember packing and getting on the plane and being happy to hang out with Florence, who was bubbly and funny and full of life. I knew it had probably been a while since she'd had the chance to do something fun, even if all that meant for the moment was taking your friend's daughter to school in Pittsburgh.

I have to say I had a wonderful time with Florence and wouldn't have traded it for anything. She helped me unpack and we went out to dinner. I talked with her about theater and why I loved it so much, and I knew she understood, because she was a very dramatic person herself.

What I remember most about that trip now was not that it was a first ride; it was really my first look at how life can kick us, force us through harsh experiences and heartbreak, and how important it is to find moments to counteract that harshness and jump into them whenever we can.

When my father became ill and struggled through his last years, I spent a lot of time in caregiver mode. There were some beautiful times and I am really thrilled I got to experience them. There were also a lot of times when I cried in the car for hours because being a parent and being the daughter of a parent that needs care was really hard.

I had to learn to grab at moments of fun whenever I could and wring the happiness out of them. I know that's why caregiving sites say it's crucial that caregivers take care of themselves. There's probably a lot more I could say about the sandwich generation - usually women taking care of parents and their own kids -- but most of it is wrapped up in what I learned from Florence.

If an airplane enters your life, get on it. You may have to go home again, but you'll never regret the ride.

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For more on caregiving, you might want to check out these articles:

A Story from the Sandwich Generation: Caring for Kids and Parents

The Sandwich Generation: Raising Kids, Caring for Parents

Sandwiched Between Parenting Your Kids and Your Parents


Woman and teen photo: Carissa Rogers