Nestled down at home bravely

A storm blasts away
Strong winds and human folly
Ramen soup for lunch.

Photo by Valentin Müller on Unsplash

Suburban mom

She is a suburban mom. The boys. Rambunctious devils. Continuously making noise that echoes off the walls of the house. Pounding up and down stairs. Slamming of doors. Ripping the refrigerator door off its hinges. She has no time to think about all the chores that have to be done.

Her days are defined by two bookends of mayhem. The first is getting her three boys off to school and her husband off to work. Starting each day with a litany of instructions. "Don't forget your gym suits." "Your sneakers are in the basement." "Put away the milk." "I'll pick you up at five after your practice."  

The second is that one turbulent hour at dinner before they disappear into the den or up to their rooms. In between are those rare hours of "putting life back into order" before she heads off and chauffeurs the boys to one school activity after another.

Then comes an afternoon when she is bringing her youngest son to his friend's birthday party. The son of her best friend. One of her dearest friends, who she had known since university. When she gets out of the car, her son looks at her aghast. "What's wrong, mom?", he asks, "Why are you getting out?" She looks at him, puzzled, "Because Susan asked me to join." He continues to stare, then gives her a sheepish look, obviously embarrassed that his chauffeur will join the party.

Alarms go off in her head.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)   

Slow start to my work day

A grey grey Monday
Early morning wake-up sounds
Drip, drip, flush, brume, swoosh.

My inner compass

She left her life in Germany out of disillusionment and a deep yearning for adventure. The five years she spent living in Erlangen, the world of Siemens and Siemens Indians, taught her a major lesson... there was no way she would ever fit in. This would never be home.

So, when an offer came to do an ocean-crossing in a sailing boat, she jumped at the opportunity. She wanted to sail away as far as possible from the drab life she was living. The endless rules and regulations she could not comprehend.

She yearned to take off and see what the world brought her way. Footloose and fancy free. Maybe she wouldn't stop in Grenada. Maybe she would go to the Galapagos Islands. Or far far away to the Great Barrier Reef. Who knew. Nothing was holding her back. She'd quit her job. Given up her apartment. Her lover. Her illusions of Life in Europe.

What she didn't count on was the far-reaching tenacity of her friends. The one friend helping her extend her German residence visa, as she was in Scotland, in what could not possibly be a legal thing to do. Or the other friend showing up with her husband and four-week-old daughter to spend some precious weeks with her in Peurto Mogan in Grand Canary. Or the other friend who visited her on the Venezuelan coast and shared the experience of seeing a rainbow one full moon night.

All the adventure. All the travels. All the aspirations to continue on. What she hadn't realised was how the magnet of friendships was pulling her back to Germany. A place she called home for the rest of her life.

(This post is part of my "Growing Up & Growing Old" project.)