Blethic and Boys

For new readers, Blethic is 'blog ethic.'

This is the quirky Matronly combination that addresses both readers and the real life subjects of the Matron's ruminations.

For the first, she feels an obligation for five days a week of posts. Let's just say the Matron should be a politician: establish any kind of relationship, constituents or readers, and she is compelled to be the over-achiever and worries about what the 'people' need. Imagine if all politicians felt this way. This brings up the past two silent days: sorry! There's a story behind that and it's coming.

Regarding the second, the Matron is of the belief that she can tell her own story, but not someone else's (without permission). The tricky part is where those two meet. Scarlett's theater life or Merrick's struggle with school are their stories, but also the Matron's. So she tries to do the high wire juggling act on these.

There's the sum of Blethic. Honestly? She thinks she should copyright that word.

Tuesday, yours truly skipped blogging because she ran an all-day technology retreat at her college and then went tripping the light fantastic with a friend: the perfect combination of work and play, but with no time in between.

Yesterday, she had the best intentions of a pithy post. But.

At 8:30 a.m., a good friend of John's--who owns his own construction/landscaping/handyman business--showed up and said: "I'm here to rebuild your retaining wall." Out of the goodness of his heart. The said retaining wall is no small task --this would be the very pretty brick wall that encases their entire front yard and is currently a dangerous, crumbling mess. If you're a small child and you stand on this?

Sigh.

Now, the Matron and her husband had elaborate work plans and child-monitoring and driving established for the entire day. They tossed those plans. John put on work clothes and toiled beside his friend for the day, in 90 degrees and blazing sun (remember, this is Minnesota so we're really at our best at freezing level and in snow).

John and his friend did hard, long, difficult labor. They destroyed and rebuilt a wall, hauling bricks and shifting dirt. They dug, stacked, and hauled while wiping sweat out of their eyes. They spent 9 hours digging and building, eventually covered in dirt, brick dust and bugs.

The Matron made sure she wore a clean pretty apron and stayed within the safety of the kitchen. where she could watch the blood, sweat and tears ensuing outside and say: "oh my!"

In a completely uncharacteristic move, she spent the day serving the men. In the spirit of the clean pretty apron, she set out iced lemon water and frosted glasses (and yes, someone had to FROST those glasses and that would have been her). There were cherries, grapes and apples for grazing. She ran in and out of the house, making sure the men were thoroughly fed and hydrated.

Lunch? Shrimp, broccoli and pasta in a peanut sauce -- plus a green salad and cool beverage, all artfully constructed in a shady area in the backyard. She even spread a lovely table cloth and secured a vase of flowers.

And as the men -- big guys, both -- were digging into their food and clearly enjoying their drinks, the shade, the respite and dare she say it? The service from a not entirely unattractive woman wearing a skirt and clean pretty apron and saying: "what can I get you?" --

Please forgive the complete disregard for punctuation in the above paragraph.

While all this was happening, yours truly was transported to the many, many times she served boys -- Stryker, Merrick and all their friends -- the lunches, snacks, service. She looked at these two big, aging (nearing fifty!) men devouring an enormous lunch that she created (and which took a long time) who happily said "yes, thank you" to a woman adding more food to a plate and realized that even these big reliable men remained, at some level, boys being fed by a woman.

In a good way.

She was happy to do it.