Buffer, in my particular family on this particular day, meant cleaning their gutters. Raking and bagging leaves. Mowing.
I�d hit the farmer�s market in the morning before leaving town, so I brought an armload of treats my father loves and rarely has the opportunity to eat. I know the importance of keeping him happy at this time of year. For lunch I made mashed turnips, steamed cauliflower, Maid-Rites and radishes. Dad whipped up some fresh coleslaw, but he demanded that we save the Brussels sprouts that I�d planned on roasting so he could take them to my grandparents� house, where we�ll gather for Thanksgiving dinner.
When we finished with yard work, my mother began hauling out boxes recently retrieved from the grandparents� attic. There were several boxes of toy trucks, implements for a John Deere toy tractor still MIA, a lovely metal toy windmill and even a sailboat. At the bottom of one box of toys, we found old ledger books my grandfather kept in the 50s, recording every bit of income and expenditure related to the farm. There was a record of my dad and uncle getting an eye exam and glasses, all for $20.
There were things nobody recognized�boxes of hobnailed goblets and sherbet glasses, an old brown pillow, old books and a framed cross-stitch picture. Father and I entertained ourselves by making up stories. Of course, I�m already having a hard time separating fact from fiction. Perhaps this is why my mother and grandmother both have different stories on the origins of several family heirlooms.
But here�s the big thing�get ready�I spent an entire day with my parents and didn�t feel compelled to drink when I came home. Instead I hit the local custard shop for a sweet and tasty supper on their penultimate day of the season, then fell asleep early in my Britcom watching.
Saturday was such a good day with the family that I�m afraid of family time Thursday. It was such a rare up day.
I am my father�s daughter. That fact became even clearer to me this weekend, as I talked to my dad when my mom was out of earshot. He talked about feeling down, about this being the worst time of year, about feeling powerless to make it stop or change. And now I finally understand what he was saying weeks ago about wanting to meet me for lunch on a day off, but not being able to leave the house.
It was strange, too, when going through the boxes of old toys or lists of medical expenditures to hear him talk of his older brother, who died when Dad was 16. And we found his medals from Vietnam. Oy, there�s a lot of anger still there. Even now he just wants to throw them away. They�ve been fished out of the garbage more than once, though never by him.
I have errands tonight. I must take film in to be developed. I must return some things out near the mall for my mother. I must take a walk. I�m angry with my sisters.