The snow is slowly melting away. "I" and I stood on the porch this morning and surveyed our domain. . Patches of snow still clinging to the ground. We listened to the quiet. She trotted out to the yard, she did her job and we headed back in. She didn't bark and I did not talk. We enjoyed the stillness.
I am always griping about the fact that I believe there are double standards for men and women. Men get higher pay than women. Men can go out and kick their heels up and they are only sowing their wild oats. Women get called bad names for doing the same things. But the last few days I have been glad I am not a man. Because for two days my husband has laid on the cold wet ground, dug in the cold wet mud and worked on fixing broken pipes. It has been rough around here the last few days. But as I write things are back to normal. As normal as they get around here.
Growing up my Dad was not a handy man. He was not good with things like that but my Mom was. If a lamp broke, Mom could cut the old cord, splice in a new end and good as new. She could fix anything. I did not take after her at all. When we lived on ninth we had a old rusty fuse box that hung on the back porch. The porch had no roof over it. The fuse box looked as if was barely hanging on the side of the house. The wiring was bad and fuses blew quite often. Mom was always the one who changed the fuses. The only problem being with that old box was the rusty handle would not stay down. To get the electric off to the box you had to put the stick end of the broom into the handle and hold it down while Mother changed the fuse. She either got Bud or Geri to hold onto the broom. Smart move on her part not to choose me. One night when I was about eight Dad had already went to bed and the other two kids were not there. It was raining hard and lightening. The fuse blew. Mom knew she had to put a new fuse in. She looked at me. "You'll have to go help,"she said. My heart sank. I did not want to be the one that killed my Mother.
We went outside. Mom in her print house dress, me in my Pajama's with a jacket over them. She pulled the old wooden bench over to where the box sat high up on the side of the house. Taking the broom she hooked the end through the lever that hung on the side of the box. She pulled it down. She motioned me over. I took the broom. She looked at me and quietly said,"Whatever you do don't let go." She climbed up on the bench and I closed my eyes. I clamped my mouth together so tight my jaws hurt. The rain came down, the thunder rolled, the lightening flashed. But I hung onto that broom. I can tell you today if the lightening had struck my Mother and I dead,it would have taken five people to have pried that broom out of my hands. I heard her climb down. I opened my eyes. "Good job," she said. I smiled. The kitchen light spilled out the back door. We headed to the house.
In 1984 after my Mother passed away, I lost it for awhile. Got a little more goofy than usual. I made some decisions that were not good at all. There were times I just did not feel I could keep holding on. I wanted to let go. Just go find my mother and lay my head on her shoulder and tell her how tired I was. Then it was almost as if I could hear her say," Whatever you do, just don't let go." But Momma its okay now. I didn't let go. Never have and I promise I never will.
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