I said, "Okay." It was a strange request, but after being married to her for nearly 44 years, I knew better than to press. She was perfectly capable at hanging pictures, nailing boards together, and even turning an occasional wrench, or vice grips. Years back I'd made her a little plastic box filled with a few odd screws, nails, and even fencing staples, and I would keep it restocked any time I went to use it. I also bought her a cheap tool box with a hammer, screwdrivers, and a few little things I knew she'd never use. Asking to use my drill was a step beyond the usual, but I went out to my truck and brought it to her.
"Are you sure you don't need my help?" I asked. "Yep, I'm sure." she said as she glided out the door.
A little bit later I could hear my cordless drill motor just outside the window where I was sitting watching TV. She was humming, (as she often did when she was working around the house), and about twenty minutes later she came back inside with her box of screws. She put the drill on the table next to my recliner with a smug smile and went into the kitchen. I calmly got up and went outside to see what she'd done and found that she'd put up some kind of funky wire type plant holders, with a funky grass like mat in them. She'd put one on each leg of our trellis. Better yet, they were hung better than what I'd have done.
Hmmmmmmmm!
For the next two years she would change the matting until she got stung by a red wasp that had made a nest in the bowl of matting. She went out with wasp spray and killed them...dead, I mean the mat was dripping with wasp killer. It was like the great flood with drowned wasps falling to the ground. Hell hath no fury like a woman stung!
The next summer she didn't get a chance to change the matting because she was fighting for her life against brain cancer. Sadly, she didn't live more than eight months and during that time I didn't bother to check the condition of her planters, and she didn't ask me to. She died in September of 2023, and I moped around through the winter doing small things around the house that I couldn't do while she was fighting cancer. She'd had a 'honey do' list before she was diagnosed with cancer, and to say the least none of it got done. A couple of months after she died, I found it in a drawer in my office, and I stuck it to my work order board. I felt like I needed to do the things she wanted done even though she was gone. Our little 80 year old house was our nest, and I still felt the need to finish the things she'd wanted done. BUT, the wire plant baskets were not on her list. I blindly walked past them day in and day out without giving them a thought until the other day when I was walking with my grandson around the yard. He stopped suddenly and pointed toward the basket and asked; "What's that Grandpa?" I looked closely and could see where the small hole that had once only been big enough to let wasps go in and out was now big enough for a wren or a sparrow to nest in. I got on my tip toes and could see the remains of eggs at the bottom of the nest. In my mind's eye, I could imagine two sparrows feverishly working to build a soft mattress at the bottom of the nest, while awaiting the eggs that would soon appear. Nature goes on even through tragedy and death.
Now, I don't think Glenda had ever foreseen that her little decorative plant holders would be used for a bird nest, but I knew her well enough to know that she would have enjoyed it, and forbid me to do anything to ruin it. My love of sparrows will keep it 'as is' as long as it endures the weather. It will be a home for a new sparrow family next year.
Seeing that empty nest started me thinking about 'home' a lot. Glenda, and I put a lot of work into our remodel of this old house, and with the exception of about five projects, it was what we'd planned for it to be before she died. It was 'our' home. It has a garage that she laid claim to, and she'd been with me through the nearly 18 months of remodeling we did before work, after work, and over weekends. It was her home, her little nest, and has her stamp on it. For me, it was a place I could finally call...Home! It was a place to hang my hat, and to know that my 'heart', Glenda was there.
I would wager that almost everyone has heard the saying "anywhere I hang my hat is home," or "Home is where the heart is." In my childhood, I always associated these sayings with wanderers, or vagabonds. As a child, I always thought of home as where my mom was. She was as solid as a rock, tender, kind, loving, and wise. She was a place I could run to when I faced things I didn't understand. My dad, was a truck driver during my formative years and didn't have much influence over my early development. On the other hand, my mom was the center of my universe until I graduated from school. She was the one who told my Dad that they were going to buy a house instead of living in the 12 x 60 foot trailer we lived in. So, buy a house we did! She was the one who went to work out at White Sands Missile Range so that she could furnish her new home. Dad was forced to leave his truck driving job and become a mobile home repairman in town so that he could help provide the stuff for the nest and help her raise us boys. It was 'my' home for nearly ten years, and the memories of that small tract house in the suburbs are still with me to this day. It's funny how "home" stays with you forever.
I have fond memories of that old house on Wilshire Street in El Paso. Later when us boys grew up and moved away, we always referred to it as the 'Wilshire house'. I saw a picture of it on Google Earth a while back, and it looks nothing like what I remember. During the 60's, and 70's it was a magical place with a lush green carpet of grass in the front yard, bicycles abandoned all through the yard, and the laughter of children everywhere. We lived in a great neighborhood, with fantastic kids for friends. Over the years the house was given a few remodels inside, and the walls covered in paneling which was the rage back then. My brothers and I were required to dust the living room every day because...we lived in the desert southwest. My mom taught us how to do the dishes, how to do laundry, how to vacuum, make beds, and as we grew older, how to cook. She made sure we could take care of ourselves, but she also liked being the kind of Mom who provided everything we needed. Mom had her little nest, and she was happy with it, until...we all began to grow up and leave home. I was gone about ten years after they'd bought the house, and my younger brother left 3 years later. The youngest brother had the house to himself for about 6 years before he left. As time went by, I noticed that my mom wasn't as happy as she used to be. She'd stopped playing the beautiful organ my Dad had bought for her, and she didn't sing around the house like she used to. The only time she was happy was when we brought the grandchildren home to visit. I'd seen the old adage come to life that a house isn't a home without people in it. She, and Dad spent more time on the road going to see all of us kids than they'd ever traveled before. Mom definitely suffered from empty nest syndrome, while Dad was just happy for any excuse to get out on the motorcycle.
I saw the same thing happen with Glenda and I. After our youngest left home, Glenda went into a blue funk that I couldn't fix. Then the grandchildren started coming, and she was filled with joy. Only the grandchildren could make her smile. Don't get me wrong, I love our grandchildren, but they were hers. She made their visits fun, and allowed them to do things their parents wouldn't let them do. Our home was filled with laughter and love once again. Now that she's gone, I find myself sitting alone at home trying to figure out what I want to do. The grandchildren are almost all grown now, and my children have their own lives to live. I've tried not to put any demands on them for visits, or guilt them into visiting. Still, I miss the busyness, the noise, and mostly the wonder of children. It's especially bad when the weather gets extreme like this summer has been, and eventually like the winter will be, I sit inside wondering what I can do with my time. Now, before someone jumps up and says go back to work, let me tell you that having had to 'work' since I was eight years old, the idea of going back to work isn't what I want to do. I believe every man, and woman deserve a time of rest in their life, if finances allow it. I'd hoped to go through this time with Glenda, but I guess it wasn't meant to be. I'm not depressed, and I'm not destitute. Glenda, and my parents all died within two years of each other, which left me a good inheritance, and a small compensation. I can't afford to go crazy and spend that money on silly stupid stuff, but I have enough to last a few years thanks to my parents.
What amazes me, is that the little 'empty' nest I made for Glenda, is not really a home without her here. I watch 'youtube' videos, play video games, and do all the necessary daily things that everyone does. When I think about home, there isn't a time that I don't think of my Mom and all that she taught me to do. It's because of her that I can cook, I keep the 'house' clean, and do my laundry. Good job, Mom! Because of my Dad, I have to be busy, so I try to do one spruce up project a month. Sometimes when I'm busy cleaning the house, I'll find myself thinking about my mom and hearing her sweet alto voice singing hymns. It was part of my childhood and is written in deep memories that I hope never fade. Other times, I swear I can hear Glenda humming in the kitchen, or laughing in the living room. She was the life that made our house a home for 47 years. I'm just marking time till I join her, but still thankful for the home she left me. Don't feel bad for me, I'll get going again this fall once the weather cools down a little, and I'll do a few things in the yard that need doing. One thing I won't do is change out the planter material. Sparrows need a home just like we do.
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