There's comfort in the familiar, but the unexpected can be a blast.
The harder I determined to not be hurt from the lack of contact from the prodigal daughter on Mothers' Day, the more I sulked. We're talking a full-on, world-class, woe-is-me pout usually reserved for drama queens and four-year-olds. With no shot at the later, I veered dangerously close to the former.
Except I had to take a break Saturday afternoon when we took our friend George to lunch and the movies. We've known George since he was in high school when I interviewed him for a story on autism. He has since graduated from Warm Springs and became their first student to earn a driver's license. He works for Goodwill Industries on a cleaning contract and bought his own car which he keeps in immaculate condition. George lost his own mother to cancer when he was a young teen. When he was somewhat insistent on seeing me on Saturday, I realized this wasn't an obligation, it was an honor. It was a very good afternoon with a strong and sweet young man.
I came home to a cold, generic card from the wandering one signed only that she wished me a delightful day. It would have been upsetting, but there was also a message from Anne inviting us to an impromptu party at their apartment complex pool. Her children, Graham and Saskia were all hugs and energy. The conversation was delightful, the weather wonderful and Christophe's first American grilling experience a wild success.
It was damn near impossible to maintain my pout, particularly while splashing around the pool with the kids.
I had pretty good pout started Sunday morning until my younger daughter came downstairs with an amazingly sweet card and a new carry-on bag packed with gifts. Jen is a thinker in everything she does, shopping included. Each item in the bag had a special meaning to me right down to the Cherry Jelly-Bellies.
Talking to my own mother didn't make it any easier to be miserable. She sounded happy and healthy and genuinely pleased with the daisies I had sent. I was on the phone, in my nightgown (remember I am still trying to keep a pout going) when Perfect Amy (with Anne, the other half of the Adorable A's.. two people who you would have to hate if they weren't as beautiful inside as they are externally) breezed in with a gift from she and her son. My mother heard me laugh as I opened luxurious soaps and Martini Butter moisturizer as Amy ran on reminding me about the outdoor concert/picnic that evening.
Pouting was getting to be hard work. These folks were not making it easy.
We overdid the food and packed a feast for the lighthouse grounds concert. The weather was perfect and the bugs apparently had another engagement. Donna and Anne were already there with their entourages as we assembled and then overloaded our rickety Crate and Barrel table. Amy's crew arrived followed by Christophe. Jennine's lap was a regular home-free for the children as they ran around the gazebo bandstand. The sun set to sounds of the surf and the Irish music of Harry O'Donoughue with Charlie singing along.
I finally had to surrender the possibility of pouting.
Last year at this time my daughter was still my daughter, but Charlie and Jen were the only people I knew in the sprawling lighthouse gang of last night.
I never would have dreamed a daughter would remove herself from my life.
But I also had no clue that great friendships can simply happen. Love is neither reserved nor finite.
I love my oldest daughter. She'll always have a place to which I hope she will return.
But with equal fervor I am surprised and delighted by Martini Butter and the other unexpected joys that make pouting too much work.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs