31/21: Bittersweet

Yesterday’s Retro Jessie postwas bittersweet. In typing it up again (the whole series was done on a different and incompatible computer system), the irony of re-posting a letting go piece from 1996 just when we are struggling with that same process right now, left me deflated and somewhat depressed. Perhaps, if it weren’t so close to Halloween or the days were lengthening instead of taking on those long November shadows, the reposting would make me laugh, or just refocus me on the love part.

Instead, my sadness was fed by a Sunday morning sermon on Job and a car full of CDs by women singer-songwriters with dark and love-lost stories of loneliness and aging regrets.  I came home, went to bed, and pulled the covers up over my head. I let my family fend for themselves (I think this made them happy) and in my head argued that I was regenerating positive energy. Or not. Whatever.

Let us just say that there are points in the transition years where I have no idea whatsoever about what we are doing or where we are going. While there is the Jessie-defined North Star—a clear and welcoming vision of a bright and loving future—the getting there is a very bumpy ride with many detours and sinkholes and one-lane reductions. I am very slow at learning what I am supposed to be learning (and obviously have not learned it yet). I know it has to do with letting go, and letting go again, but I also know, because it is Jessie, it has to do with support, and that particular mix for an adult achieving independence is a particularly tricky concoction. 

Oh I wish we still had that Harry Potter potion maker that Jessie got one Christmas, and that in addition to elixirs of life, polyjuice potions, and veritaserums, there was a nicely package potion for parenting into adulthood. But, alas, we sold it at the last garage sale and I am not sure we had any potions left.   

At heart, this transition bit makes me see just how much I struggle with loving and letting go. And I read about other families going through a similar process and find them all so much more, well, positive. And energetic. And loving. And witty! Oh I long to write about this period with wit and humour and good grace. But mostly I just yell. Or answer cell phone requests for redirections after getting on the wrong bus. Or drive to pick up said lost traveller.  

So, for today, I will not detail the yelling Saturday morning we had trying to let natural consequences reign, but will leave you with the only photo we managed to take at the previous evening’s Down Syndrome Association’s annual  general meeting—which is a wonderfully attended dinner dance (free for members!) for families and friends of all ages. 

Jessie and drummer boy sat at a table of more than nine young people their age, and we had to drag them away at the end of the evening. It was a Halloween theme; I can’t remember exactly what drummer boy and Jessie were, except that there was some underlying punk theme. I will post another time about having to read the riot act about dirty dancing at a family dance.      

"Why I Am Late for Cooking Class"

Jessie had three-quarters of an hour when she got home from working at the food bank to eat lunch, pack up, and head off to catch the bus for her cooking class at the community health centre. She made and ate her lunch, and then had a brilliant Jessie-inspired idea for a costume to wear to the class.  What defines a Jessie-inspired idea is that it explodes at the last (if not past the last) possible minute for it to be do-able.

My first inkling of this brilliant idea was when she almost knocked me out of my desk chair as she grabbed the good scissors, and then left me in a cold freezing draft as she forgot to close the door after rooting through the recycling box for cans and containers.

“It’s a great idea!” she exclaimed. “I am going to wear old plastic shopping bags (we do have a very few of those left) and attach cans and things.”

At this point Jessie is due to leave in exactly 1 minute to get to the bus on time. And she still has to pack a container to bring home what they cook, find a loonie ($1 coin) to defray a minor portion of the costs, and review the bus and walking route to get to the class

“Great,” I say. “Good for you!” (See upcoming post on mantras.)

She is excited. She is late. She looks like this:

If you can’t see it, the message (because Jessie always has a message!) reads:

If I had a smart phone I would send the picture to her cooking class instructor right now with the header: Why I Am Late.

But I am not sure how well it will work for my client who is waiting for my final edit on their food safety report.