Today after this-and-that chores and breakfast we went to my parent’s house. While Ralph mowed their lawn I cooked custard (my dad loves it), made two loaves of egg bread, washed all my parents’ bedding, and dusted the bedroom and grand piano. And we all had lunch and visited, of course. I started in on making jam out of the fresh blueberries we picked but sensed my mom was ready for me to exit her kitchen. A project to tackle tomorrow.
I felt so unbelievably satisfied when we left. It’s not even that we did my parents “favors”. I know my mom appreciated some of it. I don’t really know what else. Sometimes I think they must like our company. But I don’t even know how much they enjoy that. In fact I laugh to think I don’t know, at all, what my parents care for. They are unwilling or afraid to tell me. Sometimes they tell me thank you (my mom far more than my father), but this is a language hard for my family.
It’s not about them, it’s about me being who I want to be, at least with the information I have.