Lately many things have been coming together for us here at the Hillhouse. My kid has finally found his people – he’s met the local RC flying club, and ever since he’s been happier and more hopeful than I have ever known him to be. Last week The Studio had its first-ever board meeting, and as regular readers will understand, this is a very big deal for me. So yeah, things are going well here. You might say that for the first time in a long, long while, the things that Elihu and I have been after finally feel like they’re within our grasp.
This is not to say that life is not without its hiccups and unforeseen challenges. Because they’re keeping pace with us as we move into our future. The arthritis in my hands has gotten dramatically worse over the past couple of months, so much so that I noticed the other morning that I can no longer make a fist with either hand. Also, my hands ache almost all the time. Last week I remember noticing that I felt ‘better’ in some way, but I wasn’t sure just how I felt better. I did a little scan of my body and came to realize that my hands did not hurt. For a few hours I soaked up how good it felt to be absent of discomfort. But the last couple of days my fingers have started hurting again, and in new places too.
This bums me out, of course, but I’m grateful for the technique I was taught all those years ago, because it’s what’s saving my ability to play at this point. I accepted the job of playing piano for the traveling Missoula Children’s Theatre again this year, but I admit that I hesitated. I knew I could play, but it wasn’t comfortable. But hell, I may as well play until I can’t. I still love playing music, and for now the reward outweighs the discomfort. Who knows – maybe my hands will plateau here for a while – maybe forever – and I can simply adjust to the new normal and put the concern aside. I wish I were able to forget the issue altogether, but every morning when my fingers hurt, and every time I drop something because I can no longer grip well, I admit that I worry. If things are like this at the age of 52, how will they be 20 years from now? I try to let it go, but still…
Elihu’s doing very well in everything except the odd math test, which continues to be something we need to keep an eye on. Although tutoring has sometimes seemed to me a last-ditch effort made by those doomed to academic failure, (maybe my own personal experience with high school algebra has had something to do with this idea!) we’ve decided to get him into an after-school program a couple days a week. The main reason for this is not so much to keep him up to speed – for he very much understands the subject – but rather he needs help showing his process on the page. Having low vision means that the kid tends to do a lot of stuff in his head – he reads a passage of music once and memorizes it, he sees a problem done once and memorizes the path to the answer, he hears a poem read once and can recite it back. He doesn’t see well, so his brain makes up for it in other ways. Which, in the case of math, isn’t always a good thing.
We wouldn’t even care quite so much if it weren’t for his interest in a two-week residential summer camp on nano sciences held at a local technical college which will require finely-honed math skills. The 250 word essay that Elihu must write to demonstrate his desire to learn will be a piece of cake. The rest will take a little brushing up. If Elihu is accepted, this will prove to be a life-changing summer for him. Me, I hope he gets in because it will finally give him an opportunity to negotiate his way through the world without an adult helping him at every turn. Vision problems? Trouble navigating across campus? You’re a smart kid, figure it out. It’ll teach him to realize when he needs help (which he hates to admit) and it’ll give him the opportunity to learn how to ask for help. As a mother who is there at every turn for her child and who goes to bat for him more than anyone else in the world, I can assure you that this kind of surrender is a real challenge for me. But I can see the lasting value it will have, and if the kid decides he’d like to go to college there, it’ll be less of an unknown. Plus, this campus is only a forty-five minute drive, and if he ever did truly need me, I could be there for him.
Yesterday my computer was hacked, my backup laptop was pronounced dead by the guy at Geek Squad, and I got two scary but bogus calls informing me that I was being investigated for tax fraud. The bizarre confluence of these events – all within an hour or two – was disarming. It also cost me the cushion of $100 I’d managed to pull together from a few recent lessons to have a tech team fix the problem and get me up and running again. It was a bit deflating, even in the face of all the recent good news. When shit hits the fan, even though I shouldn’t take it personally, I often do. Seriously, I am so fucking broke. Why me? I was just about to sink into a deep funk when perusing Facebook for some distraction, I heard the news that an old friend in Chicago had lost her home to a fire. She, her daughter and mother had made it out ok, and so did the many animals they have (they rescue and foster lots of critters), but they’re now living in a hotel, and lack all the basics one needs. I quickly gave the dregs of what was left in my combined accounts to the Gofundme page someone had set up for her. I stopped pouting and counted my blessings.
The whole afternoon I was trying to understand how something so tragic could happen to so good a person. And then I got a call from another friend – here in Greenfield – and learned that a twelve-year-old boy we knew had just died in an accident on his ATV. This kid was very close to Elihu’s childhood pal Keithie, and immediately I worried for our friend. Apparently, Keith was with the boy when he died. Man. His parents had gone through a very bitter divorce just a couple of years ago; his mother moved out, his dad’s young girlfriend moved in, and shortly thereafter a new baby arrived. And now this. Shit. After considering whether or not to share the news with Elihu or wait, I gave in and told him. We sat at the island in the kitchen for a moment and wondered at the unreality of the news. We sat and we sat, unable to comprehend it. Then, for a moment, we cried. How and why shit like this happens is impossible to justify or understand. All the ‘manifest your reality’ crap, and ‘it was meant to be’ sort of thinking just doesn’t come close to cutting it in situations like this. Whenever I feel as if I’ve had an unfair go of things, I step back for a moment and I can see how lucky and blessed I am. I know I’m not the only parent who tortures herself with visions of their child dying or tragedy befalling them in some ghastly way, but it’s things like this that breathe life into those fears all over again. You try to dismiss the concerns, you tell yourself those things happen to other people, but you know that however miniscule, the chances for catastrophe do exist. You can hold on as tight as you wish, but that’s still no guarantee that you won’t lose your grip on what you hold dear.
Today Elihu and I are enjoying a nothing day. It’s after five and neither one of us has gotten out of our pajamas, and likely we won’t be changing before bedtime either. Tomorrow morning he has his tuba lesson, so the day has been spent practicing, taking breaks to fly helicopters and visit with our rooster. A laid-back day in which the two of us have spent a lot of time on the couch, laughing, being silly and doing a whole lot of nothing. I drank it in. His still-high, young boy voice, his smooth, baby-perfect skin, his skinny boy legs, his undying love for me, all of it so very precious. One day, I tell myself, one day this will be a distant memory…. I savor every moment, I push away thoughts of Billy, his mother and father and all those who loved him so, and how acute their pain is at the very same moment that I am here enjoying the company of my own cherished son. I look at my sore, distorted knuckles, and I sigh. How closely intertwined are the good and the bad.
It seems this life is like a very challenging game in which the stakes are high, the potential for suffering great, and yet there is at the same time opportunity for great moments of love, happiness and joy. And when those precious times do come to us, we must hold on tightly while we’re able.
Here they are! Samantha, center, in yellow, will soon be living in Martha Carver’s old farmhouse. Abby, on the left and looking over her shoulder, is another neighbor and piano student. Her house is a straight shot down the hill and through the woods from our place.
A fine production of Peter and Wendy (copyright issues prevent them from using “Peter Pan” as the title). I don’t know as many kids in the Greenfield Elementary School these days as I once did. Already many of my young friends whom I first met here are in high school now. The progress of time is hard to comprehend.
Just look at that spur on Baldie’s left foot! He’s missing the other one, and we so wish he could tell us the story of how it happened. He’s defended the flock and been injured so many times. He’s a good rooster. He’s with us because one year at culling time Elihu decided he was too pretty to butcher, so he picked him up and hid him until we returned from the Amish farmer. I remember him busting up with laughter at how well he had fooled me. Glad he grabbed this handsome fella to be our homestead roo, because the Hillhouse wouldn’t be the same without him.