After my ladies’ getaway, Kelly and Christa and I plotted to take a trip to Africa as soon as the pandemic lifts. I’m reading “Into Africa” a book about Dr. Livingstone and his search for the source of the Nile. When I looked up the source of the Nile, I found tourist adventures in Uganda and Ethiopia. I could picture myself standing next to the sign and posting on Facebook that I too had found the source of the Nile like the famous explorer.
I was happy in my fantasy and best of all my friends all seemed to go along with me. Several ladies asked if they could join too! Mike didn’t say anything for the first few weeks but when he overheard me sharing the plans for the twentieth time, he raised his eyebrows at me.
I confronted him because this week I’ve been in a chocolate-gorging, grumpy mood all week and said, “I can go to the Nile if I want to!”
He said, “I just think you haven’t thought about how hard it might be.”
He said nothing more, but his words generated a difficulty list in my mind. I dismissed Dengue Fever and Malaria with thoughts of travel doctors and lack of stamina with appreciating of the power of sheer determination in my family. “Into Africa” makes the whole adventuring thing sound horrible, but the Ugandan Tours makes it sound delightful.
Then the jumping incident happened and now I’m up in the middle of the night questioning what I’m capable of.
Jonah and Xenia were working on their Bible homework. They are outlining the story of Moses, and I was trying to explain what an outline is while also writing up some lesson plans of my own. The precalculus students may find the notes on vector dot product to be oddly organized. Justin broke our concentration when he ran into the family room wearing his batman pajamas and trailing a dark blue bedsheet tied around his neck. He climbed onto the bar counter separating the family room from a tiny kitchenette and leaped off with his cape flowing behind him. I offered to take a picture and Xenia, Jonah and I took turns with my phone camera while Justin jumped over and over and over again. Then Xenia wanted to show Justin the best ways to pose before jumping and took a turn with the sheet, and Jonah took a turn too.
“I’m going to do it too!” I announced.
The kids watched me as I climbed onto the counter. I was conscious of my adult size and was careful to stand with my weight over the wall under the counter and not where the top hangs over. It took me a minute to untie the noose Justin had knotted up and refit it for myself. I looked down and saw three pairs of eyes staring up at me. It’s a wonderful feeling being the center of such concentrated attention. I hadn’t felt that way since Esther, Sophia, and Basil were my littles. It was so thrilling that I asked them to pass me the camera, but when I turned it on them, their adoring faces took on a level of snark that startled me. They went from looks of awe to boredom in a split second and their admiring eyes rolled to the backs of their heads. It was like the way a particle changes into a wave when someone measures it.
I pulled the sheet half over my face like Xenia had instructed Justin and posed in full superhero fashion. I jumped with arms posed for the action shot and bent my knees properly to fall with grace and safety.
Ten years ago, in Syra’s Scribbles III there’s a story about me jumping off the kitchen counters after dusting the cabinets. The drama wasn’t in the jump, it was all about the mad cleaning and friends who were coming over. The jump ten years ago was an afterthought.
Not so last night. The ground jolted me like an electric fence. I had landed on my feet, but the pounding shuttered through every bone in my body, emptied my bladder, and knocked me back on my bottom. I sat there wet and shocked taking inventory, nothing broken, nothing hurt. The kids waited for my smile which I gave them. I even posed for the after jump photo. Then they helped me up and followed me downstairs until I disappeared into the bathroom for a quick shower.
The flying leap impressed the kids, but it disheartened me. How can I go to the depths of Africa if I can’t jump down three feet?
I think of all the things I thought I’d do once the children got older. I’m not going back to school to get my PhD. No one will ever call me doctor. I won’t win any awards in an ice skating competition. Students of higher mathematics will never study the proof of a theorem called by my name.
So many dreams I’ve put on hold but kept in my heart. I’ve long gotten over the lie of “someday I’ll be happy” and learned to embrace my current circumstances and look for little pleasures in life. My dreams postponed to the future however have stayed with me for years. How can I face my younger self and tell her that I’m not interested in most of her goals in life or that I’m too old and out of shape to carry them through? My grandma will celebrate her 106th birthday in a few weeks and by that measure, I have more than half my life ahead of me, but the me who has her fiftieth birthday looming ahead is light years away from the me in her twenties.
I feel so restless. Mom has passed away and my littlest child is eight years old. The heavy-duty caregiving days are behind me. No more diapers. No more naptimes. No more doctor appointments. The year before the pandemic I was seeking out new experiences, but the Mahjong group has stopped meetings and the restaurants and movie theatres that my new friends and I would frequent don’t feel safe anymore. My tea parties have come to an end. I’d like to learn something new but going to class with masks on is unappealing and it’s hard to be motivated without peers to encourage me. I feel lonely at an age where I feel I should be doing new things and meeting new people.
This week Sophia received a scholarship to attend Mercer University in Georgia. It’s her dream college and seeing her float around scrolling through their website is wonderful. Through her, I’m reliving the thrill of my own college acceptance. She hasn’t been officially accepted due to a delay in the recommendation letter and ACT scores, but those are mere formalities. Her reality is that she can dream anything, and it can come true. Seventeen is a magical age.
As she flies the nest it feels like my time to dream big should be coming too. Then I look behind me and see that there are four more children to raise. Without Sophia to help me I’m going to have to rededicate myself to managing my home. The terror of teaching yet another teen driver is upon me, and years of sitting by children who don’t want to do their homework are yet to come. I’m still the center of attention even when I’m not wearing a cape and leaping from tall counters.
It feels like the world is in a hush right now. I’m not the only one living a quiet life in the enforced isolation of our current circumstances. I would like to learn contentedness while I wait and still be ready for whatever is to come next. As for my future, I have no idea what I’ll be doing in ten years, and that’s okay too.
Syra's Scribbles 