Write about the making of beds.
Every morning without fail my bed was made. It was a rule in my house. You did not leave your room until your bed
was made. I did not question the
rule. I just made my bed every
morning. When I grew up and moved away
and lived in my own space, I made my bed every morning. I like how it felt to start my day that
way. And intention for the day. A prayer.
Smoothing the sheets, fluffing the pillow, turning down the
comforter. Give us this day our daily
bread. Give me this day what I
need. What did I need?
Stability. Comfort. Peace.
I don’t make my bed much anymore, except sheet washing
days. I married a man who stays in bed.
Longer than I do. Always. So, he makes
the bed. Every day. Without fail.
We have never had a conversation about this. I don’t know what the rule was in his house
as a kid. It was a house full of boys,
so I could assume they had no such rule, but his dad was in the military so
maybe they did have that rule. My dad
was in the military too.
My husband has been in the military for over 20 years
so perhaps that is why he make the bed.
He is a creature of habit and a lot of the ways he handles things are
inspired by those times when he has to be away for months at a time on
deployments. Like the way he folds his
socks or the way he packs for a trip.
Maybe he makes the bed to be helpful.
I know there is something about seeing the bed made
that gives me comfort. Makes me feel
loved somehow. That even in the hardest
seasons of our lives, he makes the bed.
And somehow that act nudges me to see love in it.
This is where I went wrong.
I admire you so much that you look for the jobs that
interest you. I said this to my daughter
in law one time and I truly meant these words.
She worked as a baker’s assistant because she loved baking. She worked at the kennels because she loved
animals. I thought this was so
sweet. A bit naive. Dare I say lucky, I mean I haven’t really
worked at jobs that I hated. Other than
a collections agent but it was kind of a bait and switch situation and I needed
the money, so I stuck it out for 119 days.
Yes, I counted the days. In 10-minute breaks and 30-minute lunch
breaks.
Right now, I am taking classes to become a
paralegal. It feels a bit scandalous.
And indulgent. 50 years old and learning
yet another skill. I have a certification as a life coach, a Montessori teacher
and degrees in business and theology. Yes,
I like to learn but not this much and certainly not with this price tag.
I have looked at this paralegal certification a few
times. I am interested in law. I have been all my life. I don’t remember much about my childhood, but
I remember when I was 8 years old I had one of those little fortune teller
paper games. And I remember one day
choosing the perfect life: 25 years old, driving a jeep, a lawyer in Colorado,
married with 2 kids.
I started the paralegal certification about 2 weeks
ago now. But I am kind of keeping it a
secret. Again, with school, Robin? But the thing is as I am learning all the
legal terminology, it all feels so familiar to me. And memories are starting to come back to me. Like one of my first jobs was at a law firm
as a file clerk. And I got promoted to
legal bookkeeper. But then I got
pregnant with my first child and I needed to make more money. So, I waited,
hoping for a raise. 18 months in and
still no raise. The office manager said
there was a freeze on wages. So, I
started to look for another job. And I
became practical. I now have been
trained in accounting. So, I started
doing accounting jobs. Then I was promoted to supervisor. So, I started taking
on roles as managers.
I got a glimpse of my path again about 20 years
later. While I was at the collections
job, I had plenty of time to think. So,
I looked on Craig’s list and found a job for a law assistant. I applied all
starry eyed and felt the winds of change.
Until the manager reconfigured the position to tax assistant instead of
the promised role of legal assistant.
And then my oldest suddenly got married.
And then my dad suddenly died.
And I was kind of paralyzed. So,
I quit that job and began hobbling something new together. Art. Teaching.
Another wrong turn? Who’s to say.
I don’t know what this next step will look like. I am not assuming the answer is paralegal
because the world is such a different place and this step can mean so many
things. But that talk I had with my daughter in law rings in my head that there
is nothing wrong with doing something you like to do.