Verena Sept 29, 2005
September 29th was a stormy day in Montreal. It was also a day I hit a new low in my long career as a less-than-perfect mother.
As every day since Luis started the German school (a 15 miles, 90 minute one-way commute from our house), he got up early and left with Matthias in the semi-dark. I was in to-do-list mode, and the list was especially long today, as my parents were scheduled to arrive in the late afternoon. I dropped off Joni and Tinu and went to the YMCA with a mixture of guilt and pride - "I should have started earlier getting the house ready" against "I'm so good about going to the gym regularly". The African Dance class teacher is such an inspiring presence, she so obviously loves what she is doing. A small, strong woman from a little island west of Madagascar, who always wears a different sari in strong bold colors (today it is yellow) around her hips. She can wrap it in different ways in an instant, and uses it to emphasize movements. The music today is traditional West-African, lots of drums and cymbals, and the choreography is new. My feet are so slow to catch up with what I see her doing! Or is it my mind? For an hour I'm in that continent, which seems so physical, gracious, closer to earth, more alive than my Canadian Westmount routine.
Shopping, shower, start clean-up. Preparing Cora's room for my mom. I put all her stuff in one pile. Dusting off her shelves I miss her. One of these moments. Sharing all these books with her has been such a big part of our life. "Just a glitch in time" Carrie said about her leaving and our reunion at Christmas. Yes, but. Bathrooms done. Check. new sheets and covers done. check. vacuuming done. check. stairs done. check. I have to stop in before the end of my list to pick up Luis from school. He gets out a bit earlier today and has a physio appointment right afterwards. He tore the inner ligament of his right knee on the day the school celebrated its 25th anniversary.
Traffic is already thickening and the sky is pitch-black as I drive out west. I like going west - the road to infinity and beyond, and California. The 20 west, even more the 40 west is my 101 south here. I get to the school a couple of minutes early, and start reading "Bis zum 13. Mond", a book Cora loved that I now want to do in a reading group with Luis' class. Students start leaving, it can't be long until Luis gets out. I give him a couple of more minutes, with the crutches he is not as fast. Finally I gt a bit anxious and walk inside. Everybody has left, the school is practically empty. I try to reach him on his cell, once, twice, many times, while anger starts boiling. Finally I catch him - I hear his class mates chatting in the back. He forgot. Simply forgot and walked to the bus stop. "Where are you?" I scream. He says he is getting off the bus, just one stop down the road. Going there I get lost, then I hit a detour: A huge old maple tree has fallen right across Lakeshore Road. "Do you know where apple-something road is?" I ask the city worker who waves me towards the detour. He looks blank, I try in French. Rue de pomme ou quelque comme ca, I don't make a lot of sense. Still, he shows me the right direction, and after a few turns, some around more big branches of tree, I see Luis waving. His head after the haircut so small and wet. Thats all, he forgot our pick-up arrangement and didn't put his hood on in the wind and rain, no bigger crimes than that, and I'm reduced to mothering at its worst. I scream at him at the top of my voice. "Can't you just for once be reliable? Can't you just once not forget?" He is sorry and says so, still I keep going, get lost again, traffic is awful going back, I'm afraid he is going to miss his physio, and I'm afraid my whole wonderful pointless schedule for the day will fall apart like that strong tree. No, actually, a lot less heroic. That tree put up a fight against the wind, and I just fall apart like that.
We make it to physio just 5 minutes late in the end. Everything is fine. It wasn't worth it at all, and finally, when Luis comes home, I can say so. I wish I could always be so generous in accepting apologies as he has always been. He has a trumpet lesson while I go to the airport with Tinu and Joni. Again, we sit in traffic. I try to be as smart as the taxi drivers, but miss the right left turn, so even getting onto Decarie takes me almost 30 minutes (at the right time of day, the airport is a 10 minute drive from us). Still, we make it in time. My parent's flight from Miami takes forever to clear through customs. By now, Tinu and Joni and I are very excited - they chat continuously while I keep an eye on the exit. The first moment we see them is pure joy, laughter, hugs. All is well.
No news that day for me. Two days earlier, on the 27th, 200 people had to be evacuated in the small town of Stephensville, Newfoundland, because of torrential rainfalls. I thought of them while driving through the wind and rain. They are no more than a drop in the ocean of disaster and catastrophe, both man-made and natural, the world is going through this year.
As every day since Luis started the German school (a 15 miles, 90 minute one-way commute from our house), he got up early and left with Matthias in the semi-dark. I was in to-do-list mode, and the list was especially long today, as my parents were scheduled to arrive in the late afternoon. I dropped off Joni and Tinu and went to the YMCA with a mixture of guilt and pride - "I should have started earlier getting the house ready" against "I'm so good about going to the gym regularly". The African Dance class teacher is such an inspiring presence, she so obviously loves what she is doing. A small, strong woman from a little island west of Madagascar, who always wears a different sari in strong bold colors (today it is yellow) around her hips. She can wrap it in different ways in an instant, and uses it to emphasize movements. The music today is traditional West-African, lots of drums and cymbals, and the choreography is new. My feet are so slow to catch up with what I see her doing! Or is it my mind? For an hour I'm in that continent, which seems so physical, gracious, closer to earth, more alive than my Canadian Westmount routine.
Shopping, shower, start clean-up. Preparing Cora's room for my mom. I put all her stuff in one pile. Dusting off her shelves I miss her. One of these moments. Sharing all these books with her has been such a big part of our life. "Just a glitch in time" Carrie said about her leaving and our reunion at Christmas. Yes, but. Bathrooms done. Check. new sheets and covers done. check. vacuuming done. check. stairs done. check. I have to stop in before the end of my list to pick up Luis from school. He gets out a bit earlier today and has a physio appointment right afterwards. He tore the inner ligament of his right knee on the day the school celebrated its 25th anniversary.
Traffic is already thickening and the sky is pitch-black as I drive out west. I like going west - the road to infinity and beyond, and California. The 20 west, even more the 40 west is my 101 south here. I get to the school a couple of minutes early, and start reading "Bis zum 13. Mond", a book Cora loved that I now want to do in a reading group with Luis' class. Students start leaving, it can't be long until Luis gets out. I give him a couple of more minutes, with the crutches he is not as fast. Finally I gt a bit anxious and walk inside. Everybody has left, the school is practically empty. I try to reach him on his cell, once, twice, many times, while anger starts boiling. Finally I catch him - I hear his class mates chatting in the back. He forgot. Simply forgot and walked to the bus stop. "Where are you?" I scream. He says he is getting off the bus, just one stop down the road. Going there I get lost, then I hit a detour: A huge old maple tree has fallen right across Lakeshore Road. "Do you know where apple-something road is?" I ask the city worker who waves me towards the detour. He looks blank, I try in French. Rue de pomme ou quelque comme ca, I don't make a lot of sense. Still, he shows me the right direction, and after a few turns, some around more big branches of tree, I see Luis waving. His head after the haircut so small and wet. Thats all, he forgot our pick-up arrangement and didn't put his hood on in the wind and rain, no bigger crimes than that, and I'm reduced to mothering at its worst. I scream at him at the top of my voice. "Can't you just for once be reliable? Can't you just once not forget?" He is sorry and says so, still I keep going, get lost again, traffic is awful going back, I'm afraid he is going to miss his physio, and I'm afraid my whole wonderful pointless schedule for the day will fall apart like that strong tree. No, actually, a lot less heroic. That tree put up a fight against the wind, and I just fall apart like that.
We make it to physio just 5 minutes late in the end. Everything is fine. It wasn't worth it at all, and finally, when Luis comes home, I can say so. I wish I could always be so generous in accepting apologies as he has always been. He has a trumpet lesson while I go to the airport with Tinu and Joni. Again, we sit in traffic. I try to be as smart as the taxi drivers, but miss the right left turn, so even getting onto Decarie takes me almost 30 minutes (at the right time of day, the airport is a 10 minute drive from us). Still, we make it in time. My parent's flight from Miami takes forever to clear through customs. By now, Tinu and Joni and I are very excited - they chat continuously while I keep an eye on the exit. The first moment we see them is pure joy, laughter, hugs. All is well.
No news that day for me. Two days earlier, on the 27th, 200 people had to be evacuated in the small town of Stephensville, Newfoundland, because of torrential rainfalls. I thought of them while driving through the wind and rain. They are no more than a drop in the ocean of disaster and catastrophe, both man-made and natural, the world is going through this year.
posted by Captain Cook at 11:06 AM
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