We need the sheets for the table!
Me mum used to sing that song to me, while waking me on Saturday mornings. She was always so cute about that. I never had a single rude awakening in my life... until I got married.
So, today, Lazy Mary will be posting an entry from another place, from days gone by. Enjoy.
All I Need is the Air that I Breathe
Funny how you just go along in the drudgery of your life, thinking that something new could never come across your path. Well it’s true. There isn’t much that is really new. In fact it has been well said that there is "nothing new under the sun." And that was said a long, long time ago. But sometimes there is a breath of fresh air. It can manifest itself in a million ways and if you’re not paying attention, I’ve no doubt you will not even discern its difference among the rest of the air around you.
Last week, while I was working… sending faxes, making copies, giving directions, answering phones, weighing and shipping boxes… a woman came into the store, entirely unnoticed. She sat down at our little table and was going through some things. I didn’t really notice exactly what she was doing, as many people come in and sit at that table and do things. I did notice, however, that she was toting a large tapestry case. Or, what I thought was a case. On closer observation, I realized it was a pet carrier. It was somewhat elegant and of course I could only see the face of the creature inside. It was the frightened face of a cat. Some kind of a long-haired, gray-striped tabby. Soon, the woman got up and came to the counter. Her face was serious and drawn. I half expected her to be a bit of a snob. She dressed meticulously and she was very well kept. She was beautiful and yet not made up in any superficial way. She had long auburn hair, which was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She was tall and thin and carried herself with a great deal of dignity and grace. She wore a long, straight skirt… burgundy in color, with subtle flowers on it. She had on a short sleeved mauve sweater, with a delicate belt over it. When she spoke, her speech was deliberate and confident. She asked me about a notary form, to give her son the ability to sell her car, as she was leaving the country for awhile. I said, "You mean a power of attorney?" She said, "Oh yes, that’s it. I don’t know what I was thinking." Her humility was unfeigned and I began to like her immediately. I showed her the different types of documents she could use, explaining that she could give him full power of attorney to act in her stead or just a limited one, which would allow him to only function as her representative in the instance she specified, for the specified amount of time. She decided to purchase the form for the full power of attorney, declaring she had full confidence that her son was trustworthy. But she added, "I did notice that it does not give him the authority to put me in a mental hospital, though. Which is good." She sort of laughed then. She talked about having worked in such a hospital, with people who seemed perfectly sane who said that their children put them there because "it was the best thing for them." Then she shrugged and said, "But I’m just teasing. My son would never do that to me." I asked her where she was going and she said, "Back to Prague." Now I can safely say that I have never heard that response before. I said, "Is that where you’re from?" She didn’t have an accent at all, so I would have been surprised if she’d said yes. She sighed and said, "I don’t really know where I’m from." Her sudden melancholy touched me and I told her, "I don’t really know where I’m from either." She eyed me with brief interest and said she didn’t have a home since her husband died. They had lived in Temecula for nine years. And recently she had lost her job (due to budget cuts) and then lost her apartment and now has no home. She’d been living in a tent in the mountains and was now staying with her son. She can’t think now of anything to do but go to Prague, which is where her husband is from, I discovered. I told her that I don’t have a home either. She gave me a kindred look and said, "You don’t??" I said, "Well I rent a room from a friend, but I’m really just sort of a gypsy." She said, "My son calls me a gypsy." When she quoted the way he says it, it didn’t seem to be a positive thing. I told her that I could tell she’s a gypsy like me. She said, "I think maybe you are right. I’ve been wondering if this is just the real me and it’s just coming out because it’s been hidden away." I said, "I think so." We talked a little about what she’d be doing in Prague. She wasn't altogether sure, but she did mention a plan to stay at least a year. She introduced me to her cat, which is a champion show Persian. She had shown him in Prague, but never here in the US, so she was going to show him in another country so that he could have international status. This was all Greek to me, but her relaxed, conversational abilities made it interesting. Alas, in the end, our business transaction was done. She thanked me for my help and my time and then she said, "Well good luck." I laughed and said, "Oh I don’t need any luck! My life is this way on purpose!" She smiled and said, "Good for you!" It was a strange lingering goodbye and as she left I felt a little bit of my spirit drift away with her and turn to tell me that I should have known her better.
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