Doing Dishes

I spent the early part of my evening washing dishes. A lot of dishes. 11 dinner plates, 12 salad plates, 12 bread plates, 12 soup bowls, 12 monkey bowls, 11 1/2 saucers, 11 coffee cups, a creamer, a sugar bowl (with lid!), a gravy boat, a covered casserole, a large platter, small platter, and a oblong serving bowl. It was my grandmother's china service for twelve.

My mom's sister passed it along to me this afternoon in an enormous cardboard box. When we arrived home, I found the dishes wrapped in sections of the Washington Post from July to September 1972. My grandmother died in April of that year, and someone had carefully packed her china when my grandfather sold the house and moved in with my Aunt Harriett. The newspaper was yellowed and smelled of the decades it had spent in Harriett's basement. A stink bug jumped out at me from the first bowl, and so we dragged the heavy box out to the front stoop where I unwrapped the other 89 pieces.

Not surprisingly, after 47 years, they all needed a gentle scrub, and so I carefully carried the piles into the kitchen counter and filled the sink with warm, soapy water. There I dunked and wiped and rinsed and dried each piece of the Noritake porcelain stamped Made in Occupied Japan, admiring as I washed the tiny bouquets of zinnias and the red and gold band circling every one.

As I worked I couldn't help wondering who the last person was to wash these dishes. Was it my grandmother, after a dinner with friends? My grandfather, doing his part to help out at the end of evening of entertaining? Could it have been my mom, after a holiday meal? And when I was done, I knew the answer to that question, and it kind of made me sad that it was me.

That's What You Do

Here's a riddle I love:

First you throw away the outside
and cook the inside,
then you eat the outside
and throw away the inside.

The answer?

Corn on the cob.

Yesterday I bought some peeled corn on the cob from the grocery store. Out of season as it is, it was packaged in a colorful pre-printed cardboard tray with a message in a playful font  printed on one side. Remove, Heat, and Eat! it directed, implying the amazing convenience of the product.

Uh?

Yah.

It's corn.

She's Back

"How were the kids today?" a colleague asked me on my first day back to school in 3 1/2 weeks.

I considered my answer. They were happy to see me-- the pleasure and relief on their faces was genuine. And I felt lucky to return on Halloween, a day when it was easy to deflect any conversation. Not surprisingly, their writing pieces seemed a little unformed, but that may have been the case even if I had been there. What stuck out to me most was the casual disregard for rules and procedures I know I clearly explained.

"They were sweet, but definitely a little untamed," I answered truthfully.

She nodded.

"But that's going to change in a hurry!" I added.

Here's What I'll Say

If people ask me how I'm doing:

I'm glad to be back.

Even though it doesn't feel like it will be true.

According to Paul

Traveling home alone today after three weeks in Minnesota, I wanted a window seat, but all they had was the aisle, even when I double-checked at the airport. I wondered if, for some reason, I was meant to try an outside seat for a change, and I fought my bitter disappointment all the way down the jetway.

Arriving at 12D, I first noted that there was no window on the row, and I was also a bit relieved not to have to inconvenience the guy already sitting in the middle seat. "Don't get too comfortable," he reminded me as I fastened my seatbelt, "we're going to have to get up." A few minutes later we did just that to allow another guy to take his windowless seat.

"Hi, I'm Paul," said the first guy to the second.

"I'm Paul, too," the other man answered and they shook hands.

I didn't have to guess what was going to happen next.

"We're both Paul," the middle guy said to me.

"I heard," I told him. "That's easy to remember."

"What about you?"

"I'm Tracey."

"What do you do, Tracey?" he continued.

"I'm a teacher," I told him.

"I'm a southern boy," he laughed. "I hope you won't correct my grammar."

"I won't," I said, "I'll just silently judge you. But it won't be too bad-- I teach in Virginia."

"What brings you here?" he asked.

And that was a question I didn't expect. "My mom passed away last week," I answered, because I wasn't prepared to say anything else.

He grabbed my hand in his. "I'm so sorry," he said.

"Thank you," I said automatically, as I have many, many times in the last 8 days.

"I can tell you are just wrecked," he said.

"How?" I asked.

"Your eyes are so sad," he answered. "Losing my mom was the hardest thing I have ever been through," he continued, his eyes welling up. "I will keep you and your family in my prayers." And he gave my hand a squeeze. "Find a good movie to watch," he advised, and left me alone for the rest of the flight.

Morning Will Come; It Has No Choice

At this moment, I am all alone in my mother's apartment for the first time ever. All of our guests have gone, my sister and her family flew out this evening, Heidi, Emily and the boys are thrift shopping with Aunt Harriett and Larry, and Bill has stepped out.

How strange it is!

As my mother grew weaker my brother and sister and I contracted, swaddling her in the tightest wrapping of our love and attention that we could. When she died, we stayed bound together in our grief. But now we are unraveling because we must, each of us obligated to return to our lives--

wishing it wasn't so, knowing it is for the best. 

The Eve

You all were so kind to invite 25 people over for dinner on the night before your mom's funeral seemed to be the prevailing sentiment as our guests wished us good night. But I don't think we would have had it any other way. A gathering of friends and family from out of town and my mom's family of friends from here was a warm way to spend our last evening all together.

Plus, knowing that the house would start filling at 4 PM gave us a deadline to tie up all the loose ends for the funeral in the morning. And so, eulogy written, slideshow complete, gifts chosen and packed, picture printed and framed, bellies full of pizza and chocolate cake, and kitchen cleaned, we have all turned in to get some rest for what will be a very difficult day.