"Spells of, from & for Home"
The road opened back up. No locusts, hailstones or boils appeared. Two days of trying to help. Hard. Just hard. Physically, emotionally hard. Due to covid there is not enough support for him or my mom. We need to figure out a better plan for them, this is not sustainable. None of us knows what to do. I'll probably return at the end of the week, when the plumbers are done here.
Sitting here in my studio room (with a jackhammer sound coming from the basement), surrounded by things I love, especially these blue walls. Sitting here stitching this morning, trying to figure out what this overwhelming feeling is? A kind of homesickness, I think.
Last week I noticed that I kept putting on more layers. For cold or comfort, I'm not sure? At one point there were seven items of clothing, and that was just from the waist up. Just now I remembered that this was something I used to do as a kid, when things didn't feel safe.
Mom's husband is mostly resting, sleeping, unaware, but there are moments of connection. There were three sweet ones...
On the first day, giving him a dropper full of medicine that he didn't want. I was firm, "This needs to happen. It will help you." He opened his mouth. "Thank you, good job!" He raised his arms up a little, hands about a foot apart, gesturing. I didn't understand. He tried to say something, a few times. I realized it was an echo of how I had said "good job!" That he was trying to clap. I gave him his deserved applause, he smiled.
Knitting across the room from him. Again, the hands were up, moving in a pattern. "Braiding," he said. We "braided" together for a few minutes.
Just before it was time for me to leave, he began humming, "Swanee River." I joined in with the few words I knew, made up some, hummed too, and then started "Red River Valley." He hummed, managed a "valley" here and there, as he waved an arm in conductor-like movements... flowing.
