Category: feelings

It was one of our longest conversations and while we covered topics both old and new, it wasn’t a groundbreaking discussion. I took notes, like usual, keeping track of particular sentiments, advice, and/or funny turns of phrase.

“I will always be interested in what you’re doing and where you’re going.”

Maga said it after asking me if I had any upcoming travel plans. As I recited my lack of plans for the fourth time, my pen trailed over the words. Each pass darkened the letters until they stood out in stark contrast, until they left their imprint on the page underneath, until they were embossed on my heart.

And like that, this Tuesday night felt a little less lonely.

Voices screeched across my phone, which meant Maga had the TV on. Politics politics politics. The new Supreme Court Justice nomination.

“Do you have your TV on?” Maga asked. “This is all very interesting.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have the internet on.”

“Oh. Is it quieter?”

In one way, yes. In another way, no.

“Do you think he’ll be a good candidate?” she said.

“No. He’s against abortion and Planned Parenthood and civil rights.”

“Oh, the horrors.”

“You’re telling me.”

Because I was fighting a losing battle against the TV for her attention, I upped the ante. “How do you feel about abortion?”

“I have nothing against it. If they can’t afford another baby or if the health of the mother is a problem. But not if it’s a foolish decision.”

“Agreed. But mainly I just don’t think a man should get to say what happens to my uterus.”

“Well, yes. That’s true. He’s wrong for that job. How do you like Trump so far?”

“He’s horrible.”

“I agree. He seems to be doing a lot of things that irritate people.”

“He’s turned me into a political protester.”

“What?”

“I took part in a march for women.”

“Where?”

“On the Boston Common. Did you read about all of those marches across the US and world? They happened on the Saturday after he was inaugurated.”

“Yes, I guess I did. What else have you been up to?”

“Settling into my place. It takes time to get used to it all.”

“That’s very true.”

“How are you settling into your care center?”

“As far as care places go, I guess it’s a rather nice one, but the dining room drives me crazy. All those funny old people. To me it’s all very depressing while eating. Of course, I’m a funny old person myself.”

“Never.”

“You beat me to the punch in calling tonight. I was going to call you. It’s our Tuesday. I’ll call you next week, okay?”

“Okay, that sounds wonderful.”

“We always have lots to talk to each other about and you given me some thoughts to think about.”

“Until next week then.”

She never ceases to surprise me with her memories and opinions and despite the heavy tone of our conversation, it ended with words of love. It’s more important than ever to spread love.

“You all are so busy and here I am sitting here in this care center feeling sorry for myself.”

“Oh, Maga.” My heart sank. “If it helps, my winter’s been really quiet so far. Sticking close to home, getting settled, getting used to it all. And besides, you’ve lived a very busy life thus far.”

She started to tell me about South Africa and the Italian Lake Country and France and New Jersey. The details were a bit hazy, but since it was her world traveling memories, I couldn’t help shake out the cobwebs.

“I am continually impressed with what you’ve seen and done.”

“Yes, but I won’t be making any more international trips.”

“But you have all those pictures.”

“Yes, I guess I do have all those pictures.”

“You can look at them and remember and relive.”

“I suppose that’s all I can do.”

And so.

We turned to more familiar topics. My recent move. Sister E’s even more recent move. The weather. Our January birthdays. My phone number. My address. My parents’ travels. My siblings’ phone numbers. My aunt and uncle’s travels. My cousin’s international travels. Family. Family. Family. My phone number.

“It’s hard to keep everything straight unless you write it in a book,” she said.

And so.

A clarity about why I write so many things down (on post-it notes, on scraps of paper, on pads of paper) unveiled itself, but mostly, a deeper understanding of why she’s always asking for my contact information settled in my bones.

“It takes time to get settled and get everything into its place.”

Maga was referencing my recent move (into home ownership), but I couldn’t help but think of the 62 years she spent settling into her house. There were the magazines (all the magazines so very many magazines) and the china, games, books, pictures, letters, bills, wine, and slot machine, but also, there were the family dinners, holiday traditions, bridge nights, neighborhood meetings, financial discussions, tears shed, laughter echoing, lessons learned.

I’ve done the physical unpacking here. Next up, the decorating and organization and finding a place for everything and finding myself amidst the new responsibilities and all other things involved with settling into a home.

Fortunately, I’ve got some excellent role models in how to do all of that.

We chatted about the usual things: the weather, my move, her blues, my phone number, my address. We talked about some unusual things: getting used to sleeping in a new place, falling out of bed, Christmas cards, medicine. It was a quick and dirty conversation and though it was short on epiphanies or life lessons, it was one of those talks born from having regular contact, which I’m so blessed to have with Maga.