Simple Gifts

Simple Gifts

“ There, that should do it. The last load of laundry. It smells so good, I know the girls will appreciate it when they see I’ve finally conquered laundry mountain. I’ll just fold it and then put it away. No, maybe I should leave it out here on the couch - that way they’ll see it. If I put it away, they may never find it. They’d certainly never think to look in their drawers.

Oh, Mary. This t-shirt is almost past wearing. You’ve always loved this shirt, even though you said you really wanted that horrible Ninja Turtle thing. ‘I know I’m Special...’Cause God don’t make no junk.’ That suits you so, darling - wonderful person, atrocious grammar. Ten years old and still wearing a Sunday School t-shirt. What a sweetie.

Look at me! Smiling and laughing. I thought I’d spend this whole morning crying but now that it’s here, I feel so light, so centered. Simple gifts.

Martha, just look at these jeans - they are so long! You know, it’s not right for a seventeen year-old to be so tall, taller than your mother. Oh well, just one more good thing you inherited from your father. Thank God you got so much from him and so little from me. You have his looks, his walk, you even think like him. Thank heavens for small mercies. I wish Mary were more like Tom, too. So strong, resourceful, happy. It will be so good for Tom not to have a millstone around his neck.

Oh goodness, some tears. Relief, I think. I certainly don’t feel sad. How long has it been since I said that? Oh my. So long. So very, very long.

There, that’s done. Laundry washed and folded. The house looks good, too. Boy, oh boy, it sure felt good doing all that scrubbing and polishing. It won’t mean as much to the girls but Tom will be so pleased. He never said much but I know that it really depressed... no, nope, can’t say the ‘D’ word! It really upset him to come home to a house that usually looked like a pig pen (or a teenager’s room). He was such a dear about doing all these ‘housewifey’ things that I should have been doing. He certainly does manage well - the girls are so lucky.

What’s that? Oh yes, Tommy, be patient. I’m coming as fast as I can. You’d think, after eight years, that baby would know how slowly I move. Besides, what does time mean to him?

So, let’s see - should I get dressed now? No, let’s get dinner ready. They all like my scalloped potatoes, so that’s easy. By the time I get that in the oven, it should be done right at six o’clock. My, I love the smell of potatoes. The dirt on them smells of the earth, the real living, giving earth. How did that poem go? “Plant me in the earth, that I may nourish even one single tree...”? I know that’s not quite it but anyway it’s such a beautiful thought. Much nicer than ashes to ashes and dust to dust - that’s not very poetic. Washing, peeling, slicing potatoes, now there’s poetry. More simple gifts.

There, all sliced. Now, flour, milk, margarine - no, tonight it will be butter.  Not so great for Tom’s heart, but he’s been so good about his diet lately that a little splurge won’t hurt him. It’s the girls who will really appreciate the difference and it’s so nice to spoil them once in a while. Maybe I could write a memo to Tom and title it “On the subject of occasionally spoiling the girls”. Oh, it’s so much easier to talk to someone on paper. There are ten million things I wish I could have said to Tom and now it’s down to one single sheet of paper. If I keep adding postscripts, I’ll be here at the table until tomorrow. Tomorrow and tomorrow - that’s right, I know where that’s from - MacBeth, I mean ‘The Scottish Play’. Must be careful, can’t afford to have any bad luck now.

Now, let’s see if I can find that passage...yes, here it is, Act Five, Scene Five:

           Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

           Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

           To the last syllable of recorded time;

           And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

           The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

           Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

           That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

           And then is heard no more. It is a tale

           Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

           Signifying nothing.

Poor old MacBeth. Brought it all on himself though. “We are the authors of our own misfortune.” I love that play. I wish I had time to listen to that old recording we have with Sir Lawrence Olivier, but I’ve got to get this supper on the go. This ‘last supper’? Oh god, Maureen don’t get maudlin now - this is not the time, not when you are giving such a special gift.

Yes, Tommy, yes. I’m hurrying. Oh, he’s so close. I wish we had kept the crib. I’ll bet he’s there right now. Oh, God, soon...soon.

Ok, scalloped potatoes in the oven and the timer set, and let’s see, some chicken breasts for Martha’s favourite - with honey on them. They can go in the oven now, too. And... some corn niblets for Mary, they can go in the microwave and I will just set it to come on at five to six. What about Tom? I know - that bumbleberry pie I bought at the farmers’ market and froze. If I set it out now, it will be thawed and Tom can just warm it up in the oven or the microwave. He’ll know what to do, thank God.

Ok, ok, ok, I’m all done here. Now to get dressed. No, whoops, got to have a ‘nervous pee’ first.

A dress, a nice cheerful, springtime dress? Tempting...but no, I don’t want anybody looking up my dress and seeing me like that. Dresses don’t stay down in a very lady-like way, you can ask Marilyn Munroe about that. So, these jeans are more like it, nice and heavy and they’ll go with those big, clunky hiking boots that Tom bought for me. “Ugly but serviceable,” he said. “Yes,” I told him, “but they’re so heavy, I can only use them when I’m going downhill.” Well, I guess that makes today a pretty appropriate day for wearing such boots.

Oh, and yes, this lovely big woolen sweater that the girls gave me for Christmas. White is not my colour, but never look a gift sweater in the mouth, or armpit, or wherever. It will be perfect with my long johns underneath.

Now, do I want earrings? I could wear these aquamarine fish ones that Tom gave me for our last anniversary, but that might be overdoing it a little - I don’t want to be tacky. Besides, Tom always said I looked pretty enough. “No use gilding the lily,” he always says.

Wow, finally ready. I had no idea all this would take so long, but it’s only two o’clock. There’s lots of time yet and no one will start worrying until at least ten, if not later.

Should I take the car? Oh, Maureen, I thought you had all these details worked out! Don’t go changing plans now. It will look better if you take the car and, besides, if there is someone at the

beach, you can just find another spot. God, I sound just like my mother - if you can’t find someone else to nag, then nag yourself. 

Oh, my - it’s such a beautiful day outside. I had no idea. You miss so much when you chain yourself indoors all the time. I feel sorry for all those people who have to work in offices and so on. Not to be out on a sunny, warm day in May. Birds singing, leaves beginning to burst out of their buds. A time of rebirth.

What a relief! No one else at the beach. I love this place, it’s such a great spot for being alone ten months of the year. I’ll just park the car over here so that it’s not in anybody’s way. And lock it up - Tom has a spare key.

Yes, Tommy, I’m coming. Mummy’s coming, after eight long years, Mummy’s coming to her baby.

Oh, God, the water’s cold.”