morning routine

Sarah used the key and knocked loudy on the door.

“Good morning, ladies. It’s me. Sarah. I’m your helper. Got any cleaning for me to do?

Gretchen’s voice probably from Ellen’s room. “Hello?”

Sarah was inside, hanging up her scarf and coat, changing into her housekeeping slippers from her clunky ‘shit kickers’. She put her snack in the refridgerator and made a mental note of the missing groceries and resolved to defrost the refrigerator in the near future.

She went upstairs to greet the ladies.

“It’s me. Sarah. It looks like I may be defrosting your refrigerator soon.”

“Oh Sarah. Good morning dear.” Gretchen greeted. She wondered if Sarah was a relative she was supposed to remember. “Yes, the refrigerator would be a good idea.”

“How’s Ellen?”

They both looked at the woman in her bed.

“She’d probably like a cup of coffee. But something’s wrong with the stove.”

Since Gretchen’s memory was worsening, Sarah was taking the knobs off the stoves in hopes that it would prevent Gretchen from turning something on and leaving it.

“That’s OK, Mrs. Wanderfelt. That’s why I’m here, to prepare things on the stove. I’ll be making you ladies breakfast. Would eggs and toast be alright? But first let me get Ellen ready to start the day.”

She went to Ellen’s bed and lowered the side bar. As she helped her swing her feet to the floor, she greeted her “Let’s help you go to the ladies room.” She patted the bed to check for wetness and was pleased to find it dry. Taking a hand and holding Ellen’s forearm with hers, they made their way to the adjoining bathroom. From the bathroom Sarah called out to Gretchen. “Would you like help washing up this morning, Mrs. Wandervelt? I left you clean clothes on your chair last night.”

By now Gretchen was sure that Sarah was a hired helper and that she and Ellen were being cared for. “God bless you, dear. I think I’ll be OK. I’ll wash up while you’re making our breakfast. And eggs and toast sound delicious. Ellen would probably like scrambled and I will too.”

She thought about when Ellen would be getting ready to go to work and never seemed to have time to eat a good breakfast.

Sarah opened her eyes just before the alarm clock went off. Such a thing happened to her often. She attributed it to having a finely tuned internal clock. It was a relief not to have the jar of the loud ring to start the day. On this day she was aware of a headache and her right nostril was definitely stuffed. She recognized this as the start of a week of dragging energy. As she stepped into her slippers, she made a mental note to detour past the cabinet of medicines on the way to the bathroom. Or perhaps after. She’d flush her nose with warm saline … something she could only consider when she felt bad enough … and she’d see if she had any Nyquil left over from her last cold.

She wasn’t worried about passing it on to Gretchen and Ellen. They were the ones who’d given it to her. First Ellen had it. Mysteriousy since she didn’t come into contact with anyone except a few cats. The Gretchen, which was no surprise since she lunched every day with Ellen, spooning her meals and probably tasting some at the same time.

As soon as Sarah had peed she hear her daughters stirring in the other room off the hall. Nikki probably had enough wake time to wet the bed, so Sarah didn’t rush in. She went to the clean laundry bags which were still by the front door and she dug out clean clothes for Nikki and herself. And another set of clothes to pack in Nikki’s day care bag. Then, having forgotten the cold medicine, Sarah bounced cheerfully into Nikki’s room. “Rise and shine.” And Nikki was standing in the crib with a glorious smile on her face. Even wet with urine, Nikki was like a fresh rose. Sarah flopped her down with one hand and with the other, cleared away the wet sheets and pulled off the wet diaper. Nikki accepted the attention with aplomb and then in a few minutes crawled across the floor as Sarah stashed the dirty laundry. Then Sarah scooped her daughter up and took her into the bathroom where they both took a morning shower together.

2. Breakfast for Nikki was a messy affair. Wearing only a clean diaper, she sat in her Nana’s high chair and gnawed on a biscuit. Sarah mixed up her cereal and with a spoon aimed at her mouth while alternating her own spoon into a cup of yogurt on granola for herself.


Nikki continued to be smiley. When the shower temperature was perfect, Sarah held her on her hip and stepped into the shower letting the water cover their sputtering heads and soak their backs. Sara used shampoo to lather their hair and bodies. Nikki played witht the suds on her mother’s head while Sarah cooed a morning wakeup song. In short time, they stepped out and were buffeted with towels. Nikki was standing but not walking. Sarah sat on the toilet seat and modeled to Nikki how to put on underpants and an undershirt as Nikki played with her own shirt by tossing it up in her grip.

A quick comb, a dash of deoderant for Sarah and they were in Nikki’s room, washing the crib mattress cover and then putting a diaper on Nikki. Sarah pried the shirt out of Nikki’s fingers and with a getting dressed song, pulled the shirt over her head. Then the bib overhalls and the many snaps at the inseam, socks on spagghetti feet, the new shoes to celebrate her first steps, and she was ready.

Settings

Cement sidewalks cracked heaved by tree roots , grass , dog poo, wonder what they ate to make the poo like that, sometimes leached, sometimes too full of nutrition, ants, anthills of tan sand bursting out of contrasting soil, curbs. cars = heavy, bulky, colorful, chairs built for lounging, settling in to watch the movie of the passing scenery, too big for children who had to kneel to look outside. Children watching the door handle or their feet sticking out to the edge of the seat. Adults flicking cigarette ash out the triangular vent window. Sidewalks strangely empty. Save for the postman, save for children walking to or from school. Teenagers paired with friends, youngsters in bouncing packs. Crazy people that everyone knew their name but nobody talked with. A house with packed dirt in the place of lawn. Peppered with bits of toys. Separated from its neighbors with disorganization. Again everyone knew their name. Spilled sweet things attracting ants.

Stones missing in cement. Waiting for the stop light, watching others ignore it, if everyone else jumped off a cliff would you join them? Feeling awkward standing alone on the curb, holding the imaginary hand and waiting for the go ahead, wondering where I’d be now if I crossed, watching the alternative reality fade as it passed on ahead. The early bird catches the worm. Watching the alternative reality catching its worms. Following my lead. Letting hurry make my decisions. Letting hurry take responsibility. Hurry causing a blur where nothing is visible but the ground, nothing is seen but my feet. At the forefront. If I looked to the side I’d be off in a new direction. Holding myself intact with hurry. Pressing against the membrane of the future. Leaning into the …

Holding back has its own independence. Going slowly takes its own speed. Holds its own freedom, flexible in its increasing latitude. Fewer names to learn.

Complicated dreams

My parents established a rule when we kids were young that one could not tell their dreams before they had eaten breakfast. By the time we’d eaten breakfast we’d forgotten our dreams or had found more entertainment in the wide-awake world. We grew up thinking that it was rude to tell one’s dreams, that it was an imposition to bore others with what was real only in our imagination. So now when someone wants to tell me about a dream, especially if they have just had it, I recoil as if someone is being rude to me.

This morning I woke up with the phrase “complex dream” in my head. As I tottered to the loo, I decided “complicated dream” was a better phrase. I noted the words as something I’d want to be using in my novel, words that would be fresh and far from cliche, words that would be useful. As the day went on, the phrase lost most of its charm. It wasn’t a cliché but it didn’t pack a punch either (to use a cliché).

So now I’m not only rethinking the phrase but rethinking my policy of not listening to others’ dreams. If dreams are truly experiences, as much as experiences are in the “real’ world , and I’m happy to listen to someone’s experience even those that have nothing to do with me, then I can listen to the dreams of someone else. Since I live alone, I can assume that the dreams I hear about will usually be after breakfast. Although I think the last time someone tried to tell me a dream it was my sister who was sharing a hotel room with me. My sister was always more oblivious to family norms than I was.

I grew up so sensitive to family rules that I probably imagined some of them. I was a lover of rules. I probably still am, which explains why I enjoy third graders so much. They are “ruly” kindred spirits. Knowing and following the rules has a certain security. People who know me would probably be startled to hear me say I’m attached to rules. I talk too much and too loudly, I sing too much and too often, I resort to sarcasm more than what is socially acceptable.

Here’s another rule, which was given to me by my grandmother: when you write, avoid using the word “I”. People who use “I” a lot are selfish and self centered. Stands to reason. The reader does not want to hear all about me, the reader wants me to indicate that I’m interested in them. So I’ve come to believe that I’m hopelessly selfish and self centered. Even a sentence indicating my avid interest in you begins with “I”. I’d love to hear what you think about such and such. I wonder how you are doing.

An unspoken rule of my upbringing was that the bathroom was a fantastic world, fresh from Science Fiction adjacent to your world. Once you step into the bathroom chamber and close the door, you leave the home world behind. You don’t communicate through that door. Conversations do not continue through a bathroom door. I did not realize this was a rule until I visited other people who did not have this rule. My friend Judy continued conversations in her bathroom and I was expected to join her. It was a culture shock.