Spring, it appears, has finally arrived here in the Twin Cities. Lately, I've been wondering where this phenomenon has been, because it sure as hell hasn't been here. I've found myself fascinated by tee vee news reports coming out of Indiana, where it appears the entire media has decamped for tomorrow's primary, and wondering at all the luscious green I see in the background behind the talking head of the moment. Why do they have leaves on their trees? How'd they get so lucky? Wait a sec...it actually looks like that lawn needs to be mowed! Fuckers! It's not fair! I haven't given a rat's ass about what the reporter was actually reporting on. Who cares about Obama or Clinton or McCain. I want to know why there's this inequity in the arrival of spring. That's the real injustice going on here, not sky high gas prices! Why, there ought to be an investigation!
But, as I wrote up there, it appears spring has finally arrived here in the Cities, and I've got the sunburn to prove it. Yesterday, I had coffee with Mr. H., per usual, and instead of sitting inside our usual haunt, we moved to our summer location, on the other side of the building, where the sun shines most brightly at that stage of the day. Even though we were stretched out on hard concrete, and had to keep shifting every few moments to remain comfortable, the sun felt so good we didn't even contemplate a move to more dignified seating arrangements, which would have better suited our aging bones. We looked like a pair of college students, flopped out wherever we could find the space, rather than a pair of people in their mid-thirties. We didn't care. We loved it.
After I left Mr. H., the husband and I decided a walk around the lake was in order. The husband raided his humidor and snagged one of the largest Churchills he had in residence, to complete the maximum pissing-off-of-overly-healthy-runners effect, and set off for Lake Harriet. It was nice to be over there, because the last time I was over there, the lake was still covered with ice. Fortunately, all the ice had indeed melted and the water looked dark, clear and cold. We made our way around, and while it was lovely, I became a. very sunburned and b. exhausted. It appears I have very little stamina going on. All these infections (and, yes, there's a new infection that I'm not going to talk about, but which I shall simply say is a result of the antibiotics and certain members of the female Cake Eater readership will say, "Ohhhhh," in an understanding way, while the men shall remain clueless.) have robbed me of my energy. I've been fighting crap off for so long that I'm expending all my energy on that, it seems, and there's not much left over for other things. By the time we got back to the Cake Eater pad, I was pooped. I put on my nightshirt, crawled into bed, and promptly fell asleep for a few hours. That's not really all that great, in the scheme of things. Yes, I should feel some mild exertion after walking five miles. No, I should not collapse into bed, utterly exhausted, after walking five miles. Neither should the husband have had to gently encourage me to keep pushing on until we reached home. It was pathetic.
This morning, it appears that it will be yet another nice day, and the street sweepers are out and about, taking advantage of it. It's time to wash the streets clear of all the sand and salt they used to keep people from careering off the roads during the winter storms. It's time for all that nasty, icky, wintry stuff to go down the sewers, to wind up God only knows where. I wish there was such a thing as personal street sweepers, which could come into your life and wash away the nasty winterized streets of your life. My streets could use a good wash. There's too much detritus left over from the winter. I need to get the left over salt off my roads before they start deteriorating.
Add to this that I don't think the next week or so is going to be much fun in that Mother's Day is this coming Sunday. Sigh. Now, to be clear, I don't begrudge the mothers of the world a day to celebrate the fact they've brought offspring into the world. I really don't. Motherhood is a hard job; the moms of the world deserve a day to sleep in and have breakfast in bed. I'm not knocking anyone. It's just a very hard day for us infertile myrtles, and I really don't think that people who have kids get that. Mother's day is not designed to remind us of what we don't have, but desperately want, but that's what it turns out to be. Every sappy commercial for reasonably priced jewelry bought by toddlers "who took out their mom's car without permission to go to the mall" turns me to mush...and reminds me of what I don't have. These commercials instantly bring to mind the horrible price I've had to pay to be cancer-free; of the price I've had to pay to survive. I can live with the grand bargain I've made, but only if it's not shoved in my face every three minutes. I don't want to think about it. That's the way I deal with it. It's there, yes, but if I can avoid thinking about it, all the better. This time of year, however, with the incessant ad bombardment, it's hard to avoid thinking about it. Last year, I finally broke down in tears after viewing, of all things, a Lowe's commercial, advertising, of all things, paint, that was tailored around Mother's Day. I wonder what's going to make the dam burst this year? Ads for reasonably priced jewelry? Will Hallmark send the flood flowing? Or will it be an ad for Teleflora? We'll just have to see, I suppose, because something will start it off. I just know it. I've got an uncomfortable lump in my throat as I write this screed, so God only knows what kind of run on the kleenex box will occur when I really decide to let loose.
Even if the weather's nice, I will avoid the lake next Sunday, because it will be chock-a-block full of families, celebrating Mother's Day with a nice walk around the lake on a sunny spring Sunday. Walking around the lake is a family friendly activity, after all; a picture-perfect example of what families should do on Sundays, if only there was enough time every Sunday, between soccer and baseball practices to accomplish such a thing. There will be loads of kiddies in wagons, on scooters, bikes, and their number will undoubtedly include some overly-padded kids who desperately wanted to rollerblade around the lake, the little plastic wheels on their faux-skates deteriorating with every push, but who are having trouble making it. The trails will be clogged with such people, and it will be intolerable to me, who would like nothing more than to be carting my own child around in a stroller or a wagon, enjoying the day like everyone else. We will also avoid any restaurant in town, the mall, movie theaters, etc. Everyone will be out celebrating Mother's Day, in all these locations. Of course, this means our Sunday will probably be spent at home, but by then, at least, the airwaves will be free of Mother's Day ads by that point so I should be able to watch tee vee without being reminded of what I don't have.
Hope will only get you so far in a situation like this. I can hope that one day we'll be able to adopt a baby, but that is so far off in the future, and such a crapshoot in the first place, that I can't really think about it right now. I can't delude myself with the hope that it might happen. It feels like when you're dead broke and you wish on a star to win the lottery. Sure, it might happen. But will it? Probably not. You can't organize your life around a wish that might never be granted. If it's not, then I'll forever be destined to be everyone's favorite auntie. The cool aunt who they can relate to. But will those nieces and nephews who love me so much now bury me when I die if the husband's not around? Would I have made enough of an impact in their lives to even warrant them showing up for my funeral? Or would they skip it, because they have something going on in their lives that prevents them from dropping all and attending, working on the assumption that, "Aunt Kathy would understand." This is the kind of crap you're forced to think about when you don't have kids. The childless of the world do not have the same givens in solving life's theorems that those with children do. Is it fair? No, but when is life ever fair? This is the bargain I've made, and I'll have to live with it. This week, however, it's on my mind a little more than most.
Forgive all the maudlin Monday morning ramblings, my devoted Cake Eater readers. Suffice it to say, I'll just be happy when Mother's Day is over with, and I can get back to comfortably ignoring all of this stuff.
Posted by Kathy at May 5, 2008 09:54 AM | TrackBack