To Delegate Or Not To Delegate
October 31st 2008 22:03
To Delegate Or Not To Delegate
"I just want to spend the day on my own," Rosa explained, holding the receiver away from her ear so she didn't have to hear whether her youngest daughter approved or not. When she heard the disapproving tone change to one of lament, Rosa wished her daughter, Angela, a good night and hung up the phone.
Ten minutes later, Rosa took the phone off the hook and settled in for a night of nothing more than chamomile tea and bed.
She planned to drink her tea in bed; savoring the calming smoothness of this golden brew.
Sipping it slowly, Rosa embraced the silence, especially when it gave way to the many creaks and groans that only her home could bring.
She smiled to herself, content that after so many years she had made a stand and decided against getting up with the chickens and cooking for hours and hours.
How many years had she woken at sunrise?
How many years had she scrimped and saved and cooked and cleaned?
She loved the festivities as much as any other person and she loved having her family around and of course, she loved the cooking and the planning but –
She was exhausted.
The chamomile tea's calming attributes took effect, and Rosa found herself resting her cup on the beside table and then embracing sleep.
There was a time she would count down the days; testing special meals and desserts as the time grew closer and closer to that special one.
Not this year.
Of course she could have delegated. She'd heard many a youngie talk about the art of Delegation.
She never delegated anything in her entire life.
Her daughter Angela, sounded very upset on the telephone, which meant she'd be passing on her side of the conversation to her siblings by now.
"Give me strength," Rosa prayed as she succumbed to sleep.
...000…
Awakened at daybreak by persistent knocking, Rosa broke another of her rules and instead of dressing, answered the door in her dressing gown and slippers.
"Merry Christmas, mum!"
"Nonna!"
Rosa watched in awe as her children, grandchildren and partners jovially pushed past each other, to give her a warm peck on the cheek and continue on through the house.
"Goodness," she muttered, clutching the front of the dressing gown higher up the neckline. "Oh, dear," she sighed.
A small hand slipped into hers. "Nonna. I made Chocolate Crackles, and mummy made lasagna but not like you make it," little Rosalba explained.
"My mummy was going to make lasagna but your mummy told her not to, so she made potatoes," little Antonio piped up, pushing Rosalba.
"Merry Christmas, mum," Angela said, breaking away from all the commotion in the kitchen to take Antonio and Rosalba's hands. "Thought we'd give Christmas Lunch a try this year," she explained, steering the grand kids away from them.
Rosa felt her eyes burn. She blinked quickly.
"I'm sorry about all I said – you know, demanding that you do Christmas and – "
Rosa nodded, held up a hand and disappeared into her bedroom.
It took Rosa the longest time to dress, but when she emerged from her bedroom, she stood silent and watched as her kitchen and living area became a hive of activity with her dinning room table threatening to collapse under the weight of the festive fare.
Rosa had to concede that she didn't have to delegate.
"I just want to spend the day on my own," Rosa explained, holding the receiver away from her ear so she didn't have to hear whether her youngest daughter approved or not. When she heard the disapproving tone change to one of lament, Rosa wished her daughter, Angela, a good night and hung up the phone.
Ten minutes later, Rosa took the phone off the hook and settled in for a night of nothing more than chamomile tea and bed.
She planned to drink her tea in bed; savoring the calming smoothness of this golden brew.
Sipping it slowly, Rosa embraced the silence, especially when it gave way to the many creaks and groans that only her home could bring.
She smiled to herself, content that after so many years she had made a stand and decided against getting up with the chickens and cooking for hours and hours.
How many years had she woken at sunrise?
How many years had she scrimped and saved and cooked and cleaned?
She loved the festivities as much as any other person and she loved having her family around and of course, she loved the cooking and the planning but –
She was exhausted.
The chamomile tea's calming attributes took effect, and Rosa found herself resting her cup on the beside table and then embracing sleep.
There was a time she would count down the days; testing special meals and desserts as the time grew closer and closer to that special one.
Not this year.
Of course she could have delegated. She'd heard many a youngie talk about the art of Delegation.
She never delegated anything in her entire life.
Her daughter Angela, sounded very upset on the telephone, which meant she'd be passing on her side of the conversation to her siblings by now.
"Give me strength," Rosa prayed as she succumbed to sleep.
...000…
Awakened at daybreak by persistent knocking, Rosa broke another of her rules and instead of dressing, answered the door in her dressing gown and slippers.
"Merry Christmas, mum!"
"Nonna!"
Rosa watched in awe as her children, grandchildren and partners jovially pushed past each other, to give her a warm peck on the cheek and continue on through the house.
"Goodness," she muttered, clutching the front of the dressing gown higher up the neckline. "Oh, dear," she sighed.
A small hand slipped into hers. "Nonna. I made Chocolate Crackles, and mummy made lasagna but not like you make it," little Rosalba explained.
"My mummy was going to make lasagna but your mummy told her not to, so she made potatoes," little Antonio piped up, pushing Rosalba.
"Merry Christmas, mum," Angela said, breaking away from all the commotion in the kitchen to take Antonio and Rosalba's hands. "Thought we'd give Christmas Lunch a try this year," she explained, steering the grand kids away from them.
Rosa felt her eyes burn. She blinked quickly.
"I'm sorry about all I said – you know, demanding that you do Christmas and – "
Rosa nodded, held up a hand and disappeared into her bedroom.
It took Rosa the longest time to dress, but when she emerged from her bedroom, she stood silent and watched as her kitchen and living area became a hive of activity with her dinning room table threatening to collapse under the weight of the festive fare.
Rosa had to concede that she didn't have to delegate.
[ Text and original characters copyright © 2008 by Teresa Strati ]
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