So, What’s My Part?
In my life I am at a time where there are no real schedules or mandates. As I enjoy a slow pace in the mornings I make appointments, if possible, with medical and others beginning after ten in the forenoon. When a receptionist asks me what time I prefer I tell them “any day of the week after ten in the morning.”
Sometimes when I am lollygagging with more coffee
than Dr. Oz says I should be drinking I do wonder if I am missing the boat and maybe should be doing more for my part in the whole scheme of things. Then I turn back into the mode of being an assessor and insist that I give myself more facts. Do more where? The community has multiple options for volunteer work and I have sat back and observed the playing field here in St. James. Nothing really trips my trigger.
It may have started out to be my slanted suspicion but now I hold it to be very true. While I was in the W-2 Form world of employment there were individuals that would find a way to wine and dine in the most discrete way to obtain one goal: theirs. All the attention was focused with the most positive of compliments. On several occasions I had spent untold home hours using skills from my work hours to help the next greatest event or function. Time went on and I realized that after working on an event those in charge didn’t know you well enough to greet you while passing them on the sidewalk. It actually can smack of politics. Check that type of involvement off of my list of things I would like to dip my toe into. Since retirement, I have come to realize just how much of an introvert I really am. There are no triggers for me to trip.
I have many passions and many interests and I can feed all of them from my home. I never shy away from family when I know I can lend an ear, a shoulder or a skill. And you know what? Family is my part. No appointed time is needed when I am needed.
My skill set of play and creativity is highly enjoyed by Megan and Nicholas when they come for a stay. Did you know that rotary cutting mats make wonderful table covers for painting birdhouses? Forever I will be able to see the array of colors that the completed birdhouses wore so proudly. The paint will be there forever as the measurement grid disappeared when I tried to take the paint spills off. Is it a bad thing? Not at all as we just rack up more memories.
Adult family members know that with me that if there is a will there is a way when it comes to requests for mending or sewing projects or – anything. I am totally in my element. Cellphones come in handy when there are any questions or concerns that the kids think I can help with. Who would have thought that land lines that are busy do not lead to a dead end when mom is needed. 
The most wonderful thing at the end of the day is when my computer tells me that I have an email from family. Oh, so priceless!
For as long as possible I want to be a part of, to play a part of what makes the world go around for my family. I do appreciate those that take part in the civic duties of the community, but my heart tells me I belong right here on Stauffer Avenue being available when needed for family. And don’t think that in between time I am twiddling my thumbs. As I think about the day I am going to enjoy I unconsciously split the day with gardening (based on the hunger of biting bugs), taking a few stitches on the latest hand quilting project, running up a few quilt squares on the sewing machine, reading a bit and oh, supper also needs to be planned. Dennis can play the trump card whenever he wants and then the day is shifted to fit around a road trip to run an errand or two. I ride one heck of a shotgun in the passenger seat of his little red pickup. No schedule is etched in stone as all are subject to change.
I can’t spend anymore time on reviewing what my part consists of in the world as it continues going around and around. Dennis’ son Ken just stopped in to ask me if I would re-pot several house plants
that Ken’s wife Sarah really likes. Sarah has terminal brain cancer and I am needed to make Sarah’s plants healthier. Oh how I wish I had the power to make her healthier. My small part will bring a smile to Sarah when I bring the pots back to her. Let’s see, where in the potting shed is that bag of Miracle Grow potting soil?
In life, please give and have no memory of it, or take and remember it always.