Wrath of Kahn/Star Ship ‘Enterprise’ (ccr)

For the first time in my experience on word.press, the “New Post” took forever to load.  It might have been one of those Guardian Angels tugging on the cyber connection with the intention of saving me from myself.  Good try.

But no cigar.

If you, Gentle Reader, were/are a Star Trek fan you have seen Ricardo Montablan spew wrath all over that Star Ship.  He was one mean puppy and his wrath came close to scuttling the bridge.  So get that picture of Ricardo vs. Captain Picard.  Feel the drama.  Sense the anger.

Now get out that math thing that takes numbers to a power of max.  That approaches my anger.

Someone just made a huge mistake.  In an attempt to insult something I had said and done, “You are just like your mother” was spat at me.  ( Spat is a strange  word, but I think spat is the past tense of what a snake does with venom.)

My mother had steel and grit.  She was quiet and slow to anger accepting that life had lumps.  Get those lumps out, open them up, clean the mess and move on…a ‘mom’ kind of thing.

She cleaned, sewed school uniforms,  ironed, cooked, canned, gardened, did the laundry on a wringer washer with tubs for rinsing.  The ‘dryer’ was a long rope stretched across the back yard.   And she had a full-time job in a law office.  After that  full day as office manager, she came home to run a household, raise five children and be a wonderful wife to my dad.  Dad always came first.

For a time, Mom took both her parents into the home, caring for them until her health could no longer handle the burden.

Mom nursed Daddy through his final cancer from the beginning surgery, through radiation, the feeding tubes and to that final gut wrenching  good-bye.  Grit and steel.

Granted, she was no easy task-mistress, but she loved us and worked with Dad to provide a few nice clothes, a Catholic education, nutritious food and gifts for birthdays and Christmas.  (If you read Lent Revisited you know that Easter Baskets happened, too.)

Mom did not gush, but she welcomed friends to our home.  At those  times when Mom was too tired to visit with our friends, she still smiled as she went about whatever task needed doing.

If being like my mother is an insult, then I stand tall and proud in that insult.  I will wear it with intense pride.

And I fear that I will be very slow to forgive the intention to insult.  Wonder what Mom would say about that?


Further Proof

by Pat Antonopoulos

There is zero chance that I am a grump. Zero. Each time I think, “Well, maybe…just maybe I need to work on more ‘up’ and less grump, something wonderful happens.
It just did.
An email from my son:
“Mom, Frank, (his son, my grandson) is so delightful that it is delightful to me to think about how delighted you and Bob will feel when you are around him.”
Those joy kind of tears that punch up from the heart and clog the throat.
How could a woman with knowledge of this depth of father-to-son love feels anything but joy.
And my son shares his son with me in emails like this.
No room for a grump.


by Pat Antonopoulos

A Star Trek episode had children dealing with Grumps…Grown Ups. At least, my memory has the kids working around the cranky behaviors of the adults in the colony.

I think I am a grump. I don’t want to be, but hints are piling on. Rereading my blogs and a few chapters from Four Ordinary Women is hard-core evidence that ‘grump’ is the noun that works. Some of my writing reads as if I am soured on life, lamenting one thing or another. I am not!

The odd thing is that I am one of the happiest and most contented people I know. If I had to come up with something I want more of, it would be family time. That’s it.Not clothes. Not jewelry. Not a replacement for my ’99 Buick GrannyMobile. Not a bigger house. Not more travel. Not fine dining.

OK…maybe a few more boxes of Orville’s Kettle Corn in the cupboard would post some security on that evening habit. A paper fairy to make decisions and clean my desk would be nice. That sums up the current and most pressing needs of my life.

There is an ‘except’.
We, the four authors of Four Ordinary Women, have been enriched by time spent with women’s groups. Our quest is to find more opportunities to share the stories of your lives as we meld with the stories of our lives. Each time we join a group for conversation, we are realize the common yet extraordinary threads of connectedness. We come away appreciating the time and the company.

If you are in a group or know of a group that would enjoy sharing this experience, please do contact us. There is a contact button on our website, http://www.fourordinarywomen.com
We would love to hear from you.