Why Can’t We Be Friends?

Sometimes I don't speak right
But yet I know what I'm talking about.
Why can't we be friends?

A lady I’ve known a long time now works with me. She’d moved away, and had many changes in her life. By chance, we traveled together recently. And we reconnected. Catching up with people you knew, still know, but don’t know, is oftentimes very interesting. We went through the “how have you beens”, “how are the kids”, and “where is everyone now type questions”. We laughed as we visited and caught up. Then we began discussing people we both know.

“Well”, she said. “N is really a nice person. Her son is getting married soon.”
 “Really?” I replied? “N is not a nice person and here is why.”
“Oh, I can sure see why you’d not like her!” she continued.

“Have you seen C lately?” I asked.
“C? Well, yes I’ve seen him but let me tell you what happened.” she replied.
“Oh! I never would have thought that! I understand why you aren’t impressed” I said.

The conversation continued on, with acquaintances, like a tennis ball, being batted between opposing sides. Some of the people she really thought a lot of were in the negative numbers as far as I was concerned. Likewise, several of the individuals I regarded highly were real losers in her book. But we are still friends.

It worked this time. I think the proximity of the people we discussed played a part. And it could even be that we are mature adults. Ha! In earlier times, though, it may not have. When I was a kid it was an unwritten playground rule: If I don’t like them you can’t either! That stood until everyone was invited to the birthday party and we all became fabulous buddies again!

Adults aren’t the same. They can hold grudges and sometimes it’s the mutual friend (or enemy) who gets stuck in the middle. It’s a full-time job to be friends with two people who have a grievance against one another. The shared friend can end up becoming a referee and has the potential of facing a whole lot of drama. When possible I stay far away from those situations. If it happens I try to be congenial and noncommittal to all parties involved.

In a recent situation, a friend is going to rent from another friend. I haven’t really been put in the middle, and I won’t be. But both have come with little complaints about the other. I just nod or shake my head and stay a bit reserved. I might offer a “ask her” or a “tell her” now and then but that’s the extent of my advice. I think (and hope) they’ll work everything out.

In the meantime, I’ll be friends with my friends and I’ll be friends with you, provided the friends of yours that I don’t like stay their distance!

Why can't we be friends?
The color of your skin don't matter to me
As long as we can live in harmony

I can’t seem to find time to play with yarn.
By the time I get home, get supper organized, prepared and on the table it’s around 8:00. Even with help it just seems to take a long time.

I usually don’t even do the dishes. My sweet daughter in law is taking on that chore. After that I just want to sit, maybe watch a show then go to bed. I could pick it up during TV time but I’ve recently found that blasted unnecessary evil, Candy Crush. I have to make a choice!

It shouldn’t be a hard choice. Candy Crush is NOT my friend!

Why can't we be friends?
Why can't we be friends…

Rock-A-Bye-Baby

On the treetop... 

I sat in the chair, slowly rocking, letting the rhythm relax and take over. I held a sweet baby in my arms and I smiled as I breathed in the aroma of Johnson’s baby lotion. At first he fought me. He didn’t think he was sleepy. Or maybe he knew it but he didn’t want to give in because of what he might miss. His little body would slacken. His head would nod and his eyelids would slowly close. Suddenly he’d cry out or jerk, just to wake himself up. He’d look around a bit or fuss then he’d relax again. Finally, the continuous motion of the rocking chair got the best of him.

As I sat there with the warm bundle against my chest, I listened to the precious baby snores and sleep sounds. For a moment I was transported back in time when I was rocking a baby a lot like him. That would be his daddy, my baby boy.

I rocked all my babies. It’s something I liked to do. Some self-proclaimed experts say it’s the right thing to do and some argue that it’s wrong. I don’t care. I was rocked and for me it was natural.

I pondered cuddling my perfect little dark haired girl, nestled on my shoulder, and how the motion seemed to  comfort her if she cried. I remembered gazing into the eyes of my first son as we rocked and how I watched and laughed as he wiggled his eyebrows at me. I smiled as I envisioned my last baby, holding him tight while we rocked, his tiny fingers twirling my hair until he was able to drift into slumber.

I still rock, with the Littles, or without. Even though the Littles aren’t so small anymore, they still like to sit with me. We rock, or not, for short times anyway. And I’ll enjoy it, as long as it lasts.

Now there’s George. I’ll rock him, anytime he’ll let me. I don’t know who is comforted more by the rocking; me or him.

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock... 

I seem to have lost my knitting mojo, as well as the time to find it again. Oh well. All the kids want or need potholders so I’ve managed to squeeze in a few in my spare time but that’s about all.

I can knit and rock, babe in arm. I just haven’t. It will wait for another day, another time. Maybe.

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, 
And down will come baby, cradle and all...