Dry

The Matron's funny bone?

Broken.

Sentiment? Dried up.

Quirky kid stories?

Well, nobody's been quirky lately.

After nearly four years and 1500 posts, yours truly is in a virtual vacuum: what to say? Is there nothing new under the sun?

Like Scarlett O'Hara, tomorrow is another day. She's sure she'll be pithy, witty and wise. But for the past couple of days there's been pea soup and nothing magical. She also believes that just writing this sets the cosmic stage for excitement.

Hang in there!

The Matron Must Hire a Hit Man, Again

Regular readers might appreciate the antics of Satan's Familiar.

He poops in the basement with amazing regularity. If only everyone could be that reliable with bowel reduction.

His favorite place to sit? On someone's lap at the breakfast/lunch/dinner table. There are children in the household who foster this propensity.

But the new dog -- the now 80 pound blood hound has surpassed Satan's Familiar. Indeed Boc (sadly his name is an acronym for Big Old Canine, thanks to the children; the Matron preferred Othello) is stellar in the destruction arena.

Here are John and the Matron in the car on the way home from some event or errand.

John: "Dollar amount? How much destruction did Boc do today while we were gone?"

Matron: "Ten dollars."

John: "Eleven. I just won."

And he did. . .

Friends, not only does this dog eat socks, t-shirts and leftover food, he has an amazing ability to steal knives from the dishwasher. How he opens that it beyond her intellect, but he does.

Routinely, children are terrified. This is the end of March in Minnesota, which means the Matron wipes up all kinds of footprints and cleans up after Boc finds leftover goodies in the backyard from last spring (yes, we're talking poop).

Satan has landed the Matron another henchman.

But at least she can target the dogs as the rule of the devil instead of the teenagers. The young people should kiss each snout every day and thank their lucky stars that another being in the household is pure evil.

Tribute

Monday, the Matron went to a funeral.

She never met the man who died; he was related to her in a married sort of way and discretion shall prevail here. Let's just say there might be a brother or sister-in-law who lost a parent. But the Matron's husband knew the deceased well and demonstrated that he was capable of tearing up for 9 hours without pause.

Let's just note that the Matron was mightily annoyed about the whole funeral event, despite her spouse's investment. First, her children were on Spring Break all last week. Spring Break is a really bad idea, especially when it's 32 degrees and there's six inches of snow on the ground. Mostly it means trying to work while also feeding children.

Merrick: "Mom? Can I have lunch?"

Matron: "No!"

That's sort of how it went.

So there was juggling the jobs and the children for a week and the Matron was LONGING for Monday when they went back to school and she could catch up on work. Think! From 9:17 (not that she's counting minutes) until 3:22, there would be time to work.

Then, inconveniently, on the first day children went back to school, the Matron and her husband spent the day at a funeral.

The drive to and from the event? Over two hours.

The funeral itself? Nearly two hours. We Catholics know how to rock and roll. Ahem, she means stand and kneel.

But as the Matron sat in the church, crabby and critical of the artwork on the walls (really, really, really bad and let's just say the artist aimed for something beautiful and fell on his/herbelly) she couldn't help but listen to the sermon and eulogy.

A man who raised ten children died. There were nearly 50 grandchildren and already half that many great-grandchildren. They were all there and the emotion in the church moved even the crabby, non-committed, uninvolved Matron, who never met the man.

Let's pause here. If you're planning a funeral?

Here's what you do: have those 10 children, nearly 50 grandchildren and various great-grandchildren sing The Lord's Prayer in unbelievable harmony. Because that's what happened. The priest paused the traditional (LONG) Catholic ceremony to say the family had something to offer.

Fifty people harmonized to the Lord's Prayer.

The Matron is not a Christian (okay, stop following her right now if this bothers you -- she's a hard-core Buddhist) but that song? Breath-taking.

Here's how they sounded.

Well, okay. Like 20% of the King's. And that's good enough for her. Sort of sucked that crabbiness and impatience out of her and swung her into the present moment, in a church full of 200 grieving people.

Here's to the ones we love and how we lose them. Sort of the universal connection.

Lessons of the Heart

Recently, the Matron learned that her mother is unwell. Heart explorations and surgeries are in store, along with other procedures. The Matron will be traveling to New Jersey to care for her mother as needed.

The failing heart was not lost on the Matron.

Here's how the heart works:

You hold that baby, one minute old and look into the face of eternal love. You're exhausted and spent, but the love means you can sprint the globe.

There's the wedding. Yes, gifts and receptions are good. But those minutes alone with someone who loves you beyond all else?

You're in college and a horrible series of events ensue. You call your best friend (thank you Sherri) and not only does she listen, but she shows up in about an hour to help you move out of your dorm room into a better place. Without asking.

Every tooth your child loses. The Tooth Fairy is love.

Santa.

The day your 9 year old comes home with a question about what being White, Black or Asian means and wonders if he should feel guilt; he's confused because his family runs the racial gamut. The answer is no to guilt but understand history and current status. Not guilt, but resolution.

Your husband looks at you behind the backs of the arguing children and throws a kiss.

The 75 blood hound puppy throws himself on top of you at 5:30 am. The older dog, now six, is sound asleep.

Elizabeth Taylor. Let's just say she lived love. Good-bye, my dear.

Giving your father's eulogy. Just toss in an extra dollar with your tip and you'll be remembering someone the Matron loved.

Driving 3 hours a day to theaters, baseball, tennis, violin.

The end of the day . . . watching stupid late night TV and talking. Holding hands. Let's just say that 20 years is good. Please -- she knows this is sappy but it's true.

Making sure everyone does homework.

Watering the plants and tending to the garden.

Tucking everyone in at night.

This is the heart. Certainly, there's an organ that pumps blood and the Matron hopes hers -- and her mother's -- works hard for many years. But the heart? As metaphor and meaning in the world?

Watch the face of your child tonight.

Not Gone

Major life events. Hang in there. The Matron will be back. With frequent flyer miles under her Xanax belt. . . .

Fiction

Matron to John: "OMIGOD! I saw 20 people I knew at the grocery store! It was like a party!"

John: "Twenty? Name them."

This is actually 20 years of marriage speaking, folks, but at the end of the post you won't believe a word.

Matron: "Okay -- Becky, Ned, Ali, Desiree, and Beth."

John: "That's five. Five is not twenty."

Matron: "But it felt like twenty. Can you give me that?"

John: "Yes, because it's you. But five is five, honey. We can both live with that and still celebrate your experience."

Matron: "Did you just say 'celebrate your experience'?

John: "Uh, yes. Unless that means I have to clean the bathroom on the third floor."

Matron: "Can we make a pact? I'm going to err to the side of hyperbole forever and ever. If I see five people, it's twenty. If I have a scratch, it's near-surgery. That's the way I operate and we'll both deal. You can sort out the truth on your own but I need to live my fantasy."

John: "Okay."

And friends? That okay? Made her love him more. Because then he just kissed her on the forehead and moved on.

Guess who saw FIFTY people at the grocery store today?

The Matron's Problem

The Matron has a major issue with pregnant women. We're talking complete strangers. Her issue? She wants to gush about becoming a mama.

First, she does about 15 checks to make sure someone didn't just eat too much pasta last night but is genuinely pregnant. So far no misses.

Second?

Matron: "Oh!! When is your baby due! That's so wonderful! Is this your first, second, fifth?"

This happens at Target, in the grocery store, at schools, in the park, and at the library. The Matron sees a pregnant woman and immediately wants to spill blood and kiss a belly. It's that bad.

Today, yours truly was leaving her college and a very young woman -- ready to burst with baby -- walked through a campus door. Friends? The Matron nearly fell to her knees.

Matron: "OMIGOD. When is your baby due? You look great!!"

Complete Stranger, immediately bursting into tears: "April 1! I'm scared out of my mind."

Let's just say more sobbing ensued.

With that there was some wise counsel, the Matron understanding that she was a professor and this 20 year old a student, and she took that into consideration. She took the weeping, hormonal, near childbirth young adult to a corner and gave her a cup of tea.

Captive audience. So she regaled the complete stranger with all her birth stories. It's sort of like blogging. You're in charge.

At the end of the half hour -- it really was just a blip in the day -- the young woman wiped her eyes and said: "thank you."

Then, the baby had a major muscle move. He or she pummeled visibly.

Complete stranger: "Do you want to feel him or her?"

And the Matron put her hands and then her ears to the belly and felt the surge of a new life. And when the day seemed hard later? Well.