Welcome to Soulful Sunday #28 for July 23, 2023. This edition is free for everyone. I send this email weekly on Sunday mornings. If you’d like to receive it, join the growing community at The Power of Change.
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My son and I hit the road again on Thursday.
For years we’ve been making the 3 1/2-hour trip to upstate New York for medical appointments. After a few hours with the doctor, we turn around and drive home.
For many parents, nine hours with a teenager on a trip that ended with a medical treatment could be less than ideal.
But my son is not like most teenagers. He actually enjoys talking and discussing everything from global warming to different types of food. He also still likes to hang out with me- something I know may not last forever.
While I won’t miss the regular trips to NY when they eventually come to an end, I know I’ll miss the opportunity to spend hours talking with him without interruption.
On past trips, we worked through plot issues for the novel he was writing or refined characters that needed to take on a larger role in the story. During one trip, we cast the movie version of his book, selecting actors that would do each role justice.
I’ve always told him to Dream BIG, and I love that he thinks about his future success and can envision what it will look like.
This week, among the many topics we discussed were pillows and trash. Obviously, these are not topics I ever write about, but it’s summer and a good time to lighten the mood. I hope you enjoy these funny reflections on the mundane parts of life.
For those of you who have been reading Soulful Sunday from the beginning, you know I won the parent lottery. Not only did my parents raise me and my siblings to live our best lives, but they were instrumental in helping me raise my son when I unexpectantly became a single parent with a chronic illness and four-year-old.
My father was an accomplished physician, a quiet man with a dry sense of humor. He was methodical about his work and discipline in life. I wrote about his commitment to exercise in order to alleviate the pain he suffered after the car he was driving was hit head-on by a drunk driver. You can read more about my father here.
My mother has always been the social butterfly despite the many roles she juggled in our family. She was the family organizer, the chef, the tutor, and the referee. She also worked as a real estate agent, so she knew how to juggle many tasks well. She’s a people person, and we always joked she could get someone’s life story while waiting in line at the grocery store (and often did). I wrote about my amazing Mother on Mother’s Day. If you missed it, you can read it here.
My parents were well-educated, thoughtful people. Our dinner conversations often revolved around the world we lived in- politics, science, business, etc…. My parents weren’t the ones that cranked up the music and started dancing for no reason.
That would be me.
Maybe because my family home was more serious, I became the Mom that showed my son how to ‘surf’ on the edge of the whirlpool tub in our bathroom while singing the theme song to Hawaii Five-0. Yes, I’m that mother that cranked tunes, danced, and sang at the top of my lungs when a good song came on the radio.
But make no mistake; there were many times growing up when the mundane issues of life left my family and me roaring with laughter.
The Pillow Queen
What’s more mundane than pillows? My mother loved them, and my father didn’t understand them.
A little background may be helpful:
My mother’s a beautiful woman who’s always dressed meticulously and doesn’t leave the house without her hair and make-up being done. Just as her outfits are always put together, she has a knack for decorating too. Everything has its place, and there are places for everything.
My father was very matter-of-fact. He was kind beyond measure and a consummate professional. He ran his medical practice while my mother ran the house. They divided and conquered.
When it came to furnishing our house, my mother was in charge, and pillows unwittingly played a large role. In a bedroom, you would find the bed stacked with European Shams, Regular Shams, Bolster pillows, and decorative pillows of all shapes, and sizes. The large leather couches in the family room had numerous perfectly placed pillows, and the pillows were rotated by themes (Fall, Christmas, and Summer). In order to sit comfortably, you needed to move the pillows out of the way.
My father usually went to bed before my mother and was tasked with removing the many pillows from their bed before he could find a place to lie down. I remember him grumbling from afar, and when I asked him about it, he just laughed and said, “Your mother and her pillows.”
At some point, my mother became tired of listening to him bemoan the nightly ritual of pillow removal, so she took the job over.
Every night for years, she would retreat to their room while my Dad was watching the news and emerge saying, “The bed is ready.”
My father would chuckle and soon after say good night and head off to bed.
I inherited the pillow gene.
When I had my first home, I found myself scouring stores for unusual throw pillows for every room. My bed was loaded with extra pillows. I told myself the extras came in handy when I had guests, but who was I kidding?
When my son moved from a crib to a bed, he too, found more pillows than he needed. If I didn’t remove the extraneous pillows before bedtime, he just pushed them aside and found a place to lay his head.
I admit I had become the new Pillow Queen. But there are worse things, right?
During our drive to NY, my son began sharing stories of my father/ his grandfather. He began to laugh, and when I asked what he was thinking, he said, “pillows.”
He didn’t have to save anything else. I knew exactly what he was thinking.
We laughed as we envisioned my Dad neatly stacking the many pillows from the bed in a pile on the chaise lounge in their room (the perfect place for unused pillows.)
My son admitted he gave up the pillow challenge long ago when he walked into his room and found more pillows had mysteriously been added to his bed. ( I couldn’t resist the soft linen shams that went with his new quilt). I asked why he never said anything, and he just shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
On Thursday night, as I retreated to my room after a long day on the road, I stopped in front of my bed.
I counted ten pillows.
As I removed each pillow and stacked them on the chair in my room, I thought of my Dad and whispered, “Mom and her pillows.”
From Pillows to Trash
While my mother had a place for everything in our house, my father took over when it came to the trash.
I grew up thinking that all houses followed a similar trash process, only to learn that the one at my house was definitely not the norm.
Now, nearly two years after my father’s passing, my son and I laugh each week as my mother offers my father’s trash directive to my son, despite our desire to just toss the trash like most normal people.
My father’s obsession with the trash was so noteworthy that when my parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary, I mentioned it in my comments when addressing those that joined us to celebrate their special day.
My father’s trash system looked like this:
Trash receptacles were found in the kitchen pantry and each bathroom. On a daily basis, bathroom receptacles were emptied into the kitchen pantry trash can. Then the pantry trash bag was emptied into a 32-gallon-lined bucket in the garage.
When the 32-gallon bag was full, that bag was moved to the large trash receptacle provided by the town, found next to the 32-gallon bucket in the garage. Under no circumstance were you to throw trash directly into the 32-gallon bucket or the town-provided trash receptacle.
When it came to recyclables, they were placed on the kitchen counter next to the sink until my father took them to the appropriate bins in the garage. If I asked why we were collecting cans or paper on the counters, my mother would simply respond, “just leave it for your father.”
When my brother was old enough to take over trash duty, he rebelled against my father’s system, and it remained a bone of contention for years. My mother would referee as best she could but ultimately gave up. When my brother left for college, I celebrated the fact that the trash wars had finally come to an end.
Unlike my brother, I didn’t argue about my father’s process.
I think it had something to do with pillows.
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Until next week, stay mindful and be safe.
For the many Remy fans out there, here is your weekly dose of sweetness:
This is so spot on!!! It made me laugh and remember wonderful times in my life. Your Dad was one of a kind and a very special gentleman .He was true to himself and extremely loyal to family and friends. !
I have numerous pillows on my bed too. The big ones I use to prop up for reading. A neck pillow & extra ones just because. Totally relate to the trash process too. 😊