Moments

I had class today, and made a second-in-a-row trip to my thrift shop (more on that soon), so it's very, very late. Luckily, I already know the moments from this trip that will stick in my mind forever. Some I've already told you about, and some I haven't.

A glimpse of chain. Oh, shut up - it wasn't the greed (though, yes, it reared its ugly head). Something about that instant, the fact that I sensed the muted (tarnished) item in the costume jewelry was gold, told me my study and my practice with the element were starting to pay off. I felt the pride in accomplishment of a Rhodes scholar.

Tiffany for the sister-in-law. I didn't know why I handed her those earrings, why I didn't put them on eBay once I had confirmation of their maker, but that impulsive gesture, the look on her face when she realized I was serious, gave me a Fourth-of-July cascade of joy and pleasure I don't get very often. And I want more.

Privacy and luxury after none. Did I mention my sister's lake house had no doors on the bedrooms? And that the hotel that first night afterward was a suite?

Complimented on my brain, not my brawn. I kibbitzed with a Poly-Sci grad student who manned one of the front desks during the night shift - I saw him at 6a, so we were both a bit punchy. We got into a discussion (politics and the economy - shock of shocks, right?) after I snorted, then debunked something on TV with evidence I'd actually looked up (rather than falling in with the misleading, inflammatory, and gossip-inducing story travelling around), and he was amazed by the fact that I actually did research instead of just blowing off at the mouth. I think I should be insulted by that level of astonishment. But instead I'm pretty psyched.

Understanding. The Big Lug telling me I astound him - after thirty years together, he's still learning things ... and he now understands where my need for finding the order in chaos comes from (my wonderful, loud, crazy family).

Hairy poppies. The man I love insisted we were seeing Queen Anne's lace by the side of the road. I told him they looked like poppies (white, weird, fuzzy poppies). I doubted my story because the stems weren't right. We stopped at an information center for antique store brochures, and lo and behold there the silly things were in a pamphlet on Texas Wildflowers. Only in Texas would you find a prickly poppy, right? (The Big Lug admitted defeat gracefully.)

Mama's mouth. I get impatient with my mother sometimes - her choices in life, to me, have caused most of her problems, but she doesn't always see it that way ... and though in most of my life I know I could be wrong (like with the poppies) I guess I have a blind spot in that department with my parents (and my kids). There was one day when the kaleidescope shifted, however. We were getting ready to leave for the lake the next day, and Mama was supposed to call the oxygen company to get more tanks for the trip (she has a concentrator for inside the house, but needs them for the car). My sister reminded her several times, rather than doing it herself, because Mama needs the practice remembering. She didn't. When she realized she had nothing for the trip, she was upset - some of our party would have to leave without her, with the Big Lug and I driving her in the next day. She decided to try the company that delivered the stuff, without much hope but just in case. As she was looking for the phone number, she said she hated this forgetting. Inside I ramped up the frustration ... until I took another look. Her hand was over her eyes, but it was her mouth, turned down at the corners as if she was having trouble with tears, that did me in. I have never seen such a poignant (and evocative) expression of grief before. Something seriously changed inside in that moment, and I will never see my mother, or her illness, in the same way again.

I told the Lug about it as we were on our last leg, as we recapped things like this, and he said "that's your favorite?" I said, "yeah ... maybe I get it now, huh?" And he just turned back to the road and squeezed my hand.