When the Smoke Clears

The weekend started off well, with me hearing from two of my employees, “Why don’t you go on home early? We’ll call you if something comes up but it’s Friday, nothing’s going to happen.” And it didn’t. But mom called.

She and her sister were on their way back from West Virginia. A number of the family were up there for the funeral of their oldest sister. It was not unexpected but it was still something for them to deal with when it finally happened. My mother, in her usual style, showed little sadness but there was no doubt that she was feeling a loss.

Rather than drive all the way home to Florida, they took the opportunity to find some time for the cabin.

“We won’t be any trouble at all,” she insisted. I knew better, but since it’s my mom, the trouble couldn’t be that bad and was usually worth it. “We just want to rest and recharge.”

They did. My aunt was insisting on seeing as much wildlife as she could, thinking wanting to see the ever present deer. But hunting season has started so it was a lot less likely she’d get more than a bunch of squirrels (bastards) and some badgers. I haven’t heard the owls much but I was hoping they would make an evening appearance.

Naturally the trip included me cooking for them. Mom had requests, my aunt had another request so I managed to cook restaurant-style two different dishes at the same meal. Wasn’t too difficult, it was even a little bit fun.

My aunt is one of the few relatives I have whom I truly enjoy being around. She has always been one of the most kind-hearted souls I’ve known, while having suffered many traumas in her early adult life as she went along. This bit of time away was good for her as well since she managed to get away from her husband for a day, also a good man, but one to take advantage of her giving, caring nature at times, especially when he is feeling out of place, such as being surrounded by unfamiliar in-laws.

When I was in the single-digits of age I used to enjoy spending time at her house, which was a few houses away from my mom on the beachside. We’d talk, and her memories of those days are far clearer than my own, and tend to be a little embarrassing for me. Precocious doesn’t begin to describe me.

I gave them my bedroom, down in the crypt, to rest. The long-sleep rule applied. Mom always wakes up several times in the night, but it seems that the first night anyone stays at the cabin, they sleep deeply. Mom managed to only sleep 11 hours solid without stirring. I think my aunt only got up because mom did.

And so they wandered through the library, tempted by books and the big leather chair, wandered to the stream, collected more interesting rocks. I look at them and think about their ages. What used to seem old seems not so old anymore, and I don’t think it is just because of my nearer proximity to those ages. I look in the eyes of my mother and my aunt and I see so much life, so much movement. My aunt was talking about how things “start slowing down a little once you get around 70. Clearly she has no intention of slowing down completely for another 15-20 years.

It’s easy to see where I get it. What’s the big deal with reinventing yourself at 38 when there is so much more time before I have to think of slowing down?

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