Tonight my son called me and we talked for an hour. I hadn’t spoken to him in a few weeks, so I was glad to finally catch up with him. We mostly talked about his music–he’s started up a band with his roommate and a couple of other chaps and they are practicing and recording and beginning to play gigs in San Francisco. He sounded good. It always squeezes my heart just a little to talk with him. He’s still sorting his life out, and seems to be doing it in a somewhat thoughtful way, I worry about him nonetheless. It’s sort of what I do and I think many mothers of sons do. It’s not that we don’t worry about our daughters; I definitely worry about my daughter. But the nature and quality of the worry is different, at least it is for me. Still, I am pleased and grateful to have finally heard from my son. He has promised he will keep in better touch, and I’ve no doubt he means it. We’ll see what better means.
I have to smile as I recall a conversation I had with one of the students who works in our office. He and another young man were talking about how they sometimes avoided calling their mothers, because no matter what the purpose of the original call, the conversation always turned to their grades and how they are doing in school. They definitely didn’t want to talk about that. From my perspective as a mother of a son the whole thing sounded a little weak. “Call your Mama,” I scolded them both, acting every bit the mother myself. “You don’t have to have a long, drawn out conversation about your grades. Say something evasive, but don’t not call your mother because she’s going to ask you how school is going.” They each looked appropriately chagrined and while I didn’t ask them to pledge to call their mothers, I hope they did.
My conversation with my son came at the end of a long day–or at least it felt long. Not the least of which was my evening commute–tonight clocking in at one hour and 51 minutes. I find myself wishing that I were Dorothy and could click my heels three times and say, “There’s no place like home,” and could magically bypass I-495 North and head straight home. No such luck. So I spent the evening with Jamie and Claire, the main characters of the audiobooks I’ve been listening to. This is book seven of seven and I am over halfway through listening to it. I’ve been listening to the saga of Claire and Jamie for over six months and find myself wondering who will entertain me when I’ve finished this book. But then I realize I have a few other books, including revisiting a series of 12 books I read or listened to a number of years ago. I will do what I can to ease the dragging by of the minutes in my car each night as I continue my process of befriending my commute. It is an arduous process.
I arrived home tired and cranky this evening, but for the most part have been patient with myself, allowing me to be just where I was, feeling however I was feeling rather than trying to ignore my overall state of disgruntlement and pretend to be fine. I recognize that there’ll be days like this–Mama said so after all–so I might as well relax and go with the flow. I am amazed (and relieved, once again) that tomorrow is Friday and that another week has flown by. I have things I need to take care of this weekend, but I also plan to spend some time with one, two, or all three sisters, perhaps not at the same time but hope to see at least one of them this weekend. This will serve remind me why I chose to live closer to them than to work, thus creating the commuting scenario that I now face each day. I also need to rest. I am tired and need to let my body refresh itself from the long week. That will be good.
I am grateful for each day, even the ones that find me cross and crabby. I know that these feelings pass and I find myself once again in a state of grace and equilibrium. The real me resides in a calm center that is unflappable and calm. When I can tap into that center, I breathe differently and know that everything is going to be alright. I don’t always get there, but I know that it’s there for me when I seek it. That is quite comforting. It’s time for me to take my rest. I will rise in the morning and start all over again, and as best I can will start out the day with a grateful heart.
