THE BLESSINGS OF WORK

Scrounging through some old writings, I came across this, penned after a particularly (though not unusual) hectic work-and-what-you-find-when-you-get-home-day. This had to be circa 1974 (?). I was working at Anaheim Library and raising a baseball team sized family at the time.

Ah, work! It was Gibran who said
Work is love made visible.
I wonder if he also knew
It keeps life risible.

To write, to think, to be of help
Is satisfying toil.
It keeps my sanity intact.
My brain stays tightly coiled.

I left my job tonight to face
Nine kids and peanut butter
Spread everywhere around the house
Amidst perpetual clutter.

The dogs are there to welcome me.
I trip at the front door.
Kita, the pregnant Labrador
Lies sprawled across the floor.

Then Candy greets me with a kiss,
Her paws all dripping mud.
The kitchen tile is evidence
Of where she walked or stood.

The cats are sleeping on my bed
And shedding now, it's true.
The bedspread looks as if it might
Be growing black fur, too.

There's frantic searching going on.
The snake escaped his cage.
We wouldn't want poor Stanley to
Die hidden, of old age.

One cat's in heavy, high disgrace.
He mauled Gene's rat, it seems.
And now the tail-less rodent stares
At us, red eyes agleam.

The stereo blew up today.
Its innards simply tired
Of blasting hours upon end.
It set itself afire.

All hands take part in jockeying now
For TV seats down front
To keep their pop show's ratings up.
It's mayhem, to be blunt.

Before I left my office desk
The phone rang. Nan was drear.
"You've GOT to get some creme rinse, Mom,
I just can't STAND my hair!"

Of course, I stopped at Rexall Drug
And saved her tresses dear.
She DIDN'T tell me that we needed
Bread and eggs and Cheer.

So when I feel a ham and cheese
Would really hit the spot,
While I relax with Weather Girl
And all the news that's hot;

I find the fridge an empty shell
And settle for a beer
With peanut butter crackers.
(The weather will be clear).

The evening's gone, my makeup's off,
The tribe is fast asleep.
It seems a shame to waste the peace,
but quiet times will keep.

Someday an empty house will greet
me, entering unperturbed.
The living room will be so straight
And bedrooms not disturbed.

I'll have whatever I desire
From kitchen pantry shelves.
The children will be on their own
And have some kids themselves.

How dull it all will seem somehow;
How sad in some ways, when
The beds stay made and spilled-on floors
Might never stick again.

Problems, money, all the hassle
Will be worth it then,
Knowing I raised five good women;
Helped train four good men.

Work will still remain my savior
When I'm all alone someday.
For sure I'll get to babysit;
Love's all I need for pay.

I'll write and sing and even paint
Perhaps, when I retire.
I plan to go on loving life,
Whatever may transpire.

Just bring me children, strong and loud,
To make a mess awhile.
I'll clean it up when they've gone home
And do it with a smile.

Hmm. I probably should do some revising.  I'm not alone yet (thank goodness), and I don't have the legs to run after small fry while babysitting.  Oh, and  I'll NEVER learn to paint. I can only hope that the good men and women thing still holds.  I'm still working - sort of - as the chicken wrangler on our little spread, and obviously still get a kick out of putting thoughts on paper.  I am still loving life with all its vicissitudes.

9/3/11