My parents came on one of their extremely rare visits to my home on Saturday. They live in town, but rarely come out to my home. And, if they do come by, they usually do not come in (just to drop something off or pick something up). On Saturday they actually came in and had a coffee with me. They have no idea how happy that made me. They don’t understand how much I enjoy their company, how much I love them, and how much I wish they would visit more often. Mind you, they probably think the same thing about me. I rarely visit them at their home either.
I suffer from severe asthma. My parents’ home, more often than not, has a blue haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air. Everyone, except my mother, and the youngest of grandchildren and great-grandchildren, smoke in that house. When I go over I end up having an asthma attack that takes days to get over.
My parents’ home is also crawling with rug-rats (grandchildren & great-grandchildren). I love the rug-rats too, but it is noisy and chaotic in their home at the best of times. When you couple that with not being able to breathe, it spells “cranky Ana”. I don’t want the rug-rats only memory of Tia Ana (Aunt Ana) to be of the overly large, super cranky, lady.
It pains me to see my dad in so much pain and discomfort. After years of physical labour, life has caught up to him. He can barely walk now. He did manage to get to a chair and from his vantage point he noticed my art supplies (hard to miss since they are sitting out in the open in the living area). I think it finally dawned on him that not only am I an artist, but I work in coloured pencils. He couldn’t get over my little pencil soldiers, standing at attention in their holder (will add a photo in another post). He knew exactly what my pencil extender was used for. He got a kick that I had a portable drawer system filled with coloured pencils (the back-ups). He also got a kick out of how I glued my pencils together. It finally dawned on him that I paint with coloured pencils. Up until now it had all been an abstract idea in his mind that his daughter is an artist and works in pencil. Now it is concrete.
It was great visiting with mom too. I see her slightly more often than I see dad. I also speak to her on the phone a few times a week. Mom brought two small pots of home-made jam. One is grape jam, the other pear. Both from home grown fruit. Delicious! One taste and I was transported to my childhood.
Mom and dad brought some roses from their garden as well. They are fragrant and beautiful. Every time I walk by them I have to take a sniff.
All in all, I am thrilled that my parents came to visit, and really hope they will come again soon. They were invited to come for Thanksgiving dinner, but have graciously turned me down (again). One of these days they will find out I can actually cook. I hope it is not in the too far distant future.