Looking out my Backdoor - Gloomy in Glendive

I would like to tell you it is all about the weather. I would be lying. Even though it seems like rain has followed me from Washington to Glacier to Harlem to Glendive, I am simply not that powerful.

I do not make the rain. Much as I would like to think it is all about me, it is not. Nor is it all about the weather. Weather is weather, variable. Today weather is rain. This is Montana. Tomorrow might bring a heat wave or it might snow.

This week and a half is all about family. My older daughter and her family, to be explicit.

The players: My daughter, Dee Dee. Her husband, Chris. Their daughter, Antoinette who is 12. Older daughter, Jessica who has two babies, Harper, 3, and Kyla, 1 1/2.

Jessica graciously gave me a bedroom in her apartment. The bonus for me is that I get to know her baby girls.

When I arrived in Glendive my Dee Dee was in a tizzy over her own housing. The family has been planning to move — in a year. Suddenly, they were given notice that the owner has other plans which take precedence over their own plans. So much for plans.

Can adult children have meltdowns? Answer: of course. This adult mama almost melted with her. It is allowed. We just have more understanding of where we are when we dissolve into a puddle on the floor than the average 2-year-old. And we did not stay on the floor and did not stomp our feet. Scream and cry — well, a little.

My daughter had visions of living in cardboard boxes under a railroad overpass. Oh, dear, I am afraid I passed that image down to her through some weird genetic transfer.

I wanted to rescue her. I cannot.

She and Chris will find a house. Their sense of panic will recede. They will not paste newspaper for insulation onto the walls of an abandoned barn. Older and wiser, I know this. (That sounds really good, doesn’t it? The older and wiser part.)

I have been telling her for years they needed to get out of that moldy old house. So, panic or no, it is a good thing.

Now for the bad news. Our baby girl, Kyla, happy and bouncy and full of love and kisses, the little flirt, one morning woke up crabby and cranky and warmish. After the usual round of tests, the doctor put her in the ICU. Her white cell count was dangerously high. The doctor quickly ruled out meningitis or cancer. They are shoving antibiotics into her veins, hydrating her, and doing lots of poking and pinching as well as every kind of test. But they do not seem to know the cause. Or they are not telling us their suspicions. (Maybe a good thing.)

We human creatures, helpless most of the time, seem to think if we just know what “it” is, then we can control it or fix it or make it go away. When we find out what “it” is, we usually find out we are still helpless.

That certainly puts our small woes into perspective. It is difficult to worry over one’s own paltry concerns when a baby is suffering. Everyone pitched in to take care of 3-year old Harper while her mom is at the hospital with the baby.

What next? I said it. Snow. Big deal. That is simply weather. When September waved good-bye, she went out with an evil cackle of witchery, piling up snow over Montana. October stomped in, boots crunching through frost, snow and a glaze of ice. This is Montana.

I’m headed home to my little casita and what flowers the iguanas have not eaten. I would whine but nobody would listen.

Weepy eyes, runny nose, scratchy throat and all, still, I sing, “But I’m on my way, won’t be back for many a day. My heart is down, my head is turning around, I had to leave a little girl in Glendive town.”

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. Email [email protected].