Oh phenomenal March! So much to do, so much to think about doing...grab all the receipts, get the taxes done, keep the house up, go to work...don't forget the chronic pea planting...and the tractor, still in the shed, limping.
And what have I been up to? Why no voice to the blog for a whole week? Well, here goes the saga...the boulder story, the shifting of the sands...
Good old grandma, or young grandma- since she recently exposed a little secret to me- she took a four wheeler ride. Oh that woman! Let's see, my dad is almost 70, his older brother is 70 something so that makes Grandma Mocko (we like to call her- )well, I won't expose her age...you do the math, but don't tell her I led the equation. That makes her a respectable dear lady, but sometimes a bit on the people pleasing side- she was cajoled into riding on the back of a mudding device, says she's awful sore, but didn't feel right saying no. So while she's off doing God knows what...I took my day off to clean up her yard, prune all the bushes, rake all the leaves, clean the house "of a million nick-knacks" and install her new dryer. I didn't actually install it, but I did tell them where to put it and removed doors so they could get through...anyway- you get the picture. While all this hoopla is going on, the neighbors-(and they just don't make fences tall enough, or sound proof enough for these people) took to beating on one another and screaming profanities. The police came and went...go figure. Oh, they did ask me if I heard anything-
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure the soldiers in Iraq heard it too, mister. I've never heard such language coming from a mother to her daughter!"
"Oh no, that's the grandma...."
"Great....anyway, yes it seems the young girl's belongings were thrown out the back door and then she was forced out too, crying and begging."
"That girl is trouble..."
"Excuse me? That girl is in trouble. How could you just leave her there? I don't care what she's done...that's just not right. I'm telling you, the girl was pleading as she was being verbally assaulted. To my ears, she had done nothing to warrant that extreme hurt."
"Did you see any physical assault?"
"Well no, but I heard slapping. And grandma there didn't have any red marks, but the poor kid did. Aren't you going to do anything?"
"We're aware ma'am...goes on all the time there...Have a good day."
Geez, I couldn't believe it, a hayseed like me- see I thought you were suppose to be loving and speak lovingly to your kids. I didn't know that the law turns a blind eye to slapping and horrible, dirty name calling- by a grandma no less!
So anyway- the fun finally subsided, I went back to my work wondering if this is always the toxic environment elders have to put up with. I mean, my sweet old girl loves to sit out in her chair, under the maple shade tree and just be. I'm beginning to wonder when was the last time she did...no wonder she wanted me to take back the cedar glider I got her for Mother's Day. I feel so bad that she has to tolerate that environment...but I feel even worse for that poor girl.
I seethed, told myself to mind my own business- stick to the job at hand. Maybe this was just a really heated argument, maybe things weren't what they seemed- maybe ugly meant love to those folks. As I began the final raking of the final leaves, I heard a truck roar into the drive. The next thing I know- screaming, slapping, more screaming, double teaming- and words of a mother to her child that should never be uttered, no matter, no how. Words that made me cringe, from a woman's standpoint- we don't utter such disrespectul disgraces. Now I'm no prude, I say the big one every now and then...(when fishing, tractor fixing...) damn, and shit sometimes slip past my lips before my brain engages- though sometimes those words are perfectly apt. I did not, could not understand this language- this was hate. I don't speak it. I found myself totally aghast, I mean -the police weren't going to do anything, I couldn't very well knock on the door and say,
"Excuse me sister, why don't you pick on someone your own size? If you're so angry you've got to bring your kid down, how about me? I can take it..." while I dragged her out of the house. Guess who'd they'd lock in jail then?! I was beside myself. And don't think I'm nosy- to each his own, ain't no business of mine...BUT, this was a child, this was abuse, this was completely unacceptable...and I couldn't do a damn thing about it but seethe. And seethe I did, and raked a little harder and teared up for that child. Somewhere between my disbeleif and my anger, I must have said a little prayer...because I found myself doing something really crazy.
All I could think of was how this woman was not speaking any language I could possibly understand, and had I dragged her out of the house, she probably wouldn't have understood my lingo either. But then I thought about singing, loud. So...I did. At the top of my lungs, over the screaming and the raking, into those open windows- I sang my heart out. It felt crazy. It looked crazy, I'm sure...but I didn't know what else to do. The only language everyone understands, every one wants to understand, every one needs-
"All you need is love, bah dah dah dah, All you need is love, bah, dah, dah, dah, All you need is love! Love! Love is all you need...." (and all the in between lyrics, every word.)
I did this for what felt like an hour, over and over- the louder they got, the louder I sang. When I couldn't bear to sing another chorus- I went on with Amazing Grace...again, top of my lungs, though still in tune mind you.
The screaming stopped, but I did not. On and on, I sang. Like a village idiot, only- like I said, in key. I did not stop singing until the last leaf was dispelled. People gathered in the street, I kept singing. Frank, the other neighbor wondered what the hell I was doing. I smiled. And sang.
At one point, I did get a little bit afraid, I mean- I was disturbing the peace, kind of in a way- I wondered if that loud mouthed poor substitute for a mother was going to come out and waylay me. But she didn't. Maybe she heard...maybe she thought...maybe, just maybe- for one moment she understood my language. And I did in the end, understand hers- deep pain, deep fear, possibly deep scars from the same kind of abuse from her family.
Anyway, I was going to tell you all about the boulder and the shifting of the sands...kidney stones. I thought sore back, found out different. I was trying to pass a boulder, excuse me please...while the tiny miniscule sandy stuff shifted out of my kidneys. Needless to say...I'd rather pass a linebacker kid than a kidney stone, matter of fact- I'd rather not ever , no never- go through that again. It hurt. I almost cried. If my Big Fish would have been here, I probably would have. But alas...no one to wash away my tears or hold my hand. They did put up a kidney fund for me at work though...that was kind of nice. I couldn't even sit up for two days...and I thought I was pretty tough, I found out I was pretty gritty, but not the True Grit kind of John Wayne woman I always dreamed about being. Nah...I'm just a lousy patient who happens to love the Beatles (especially that song.)