Sharon Kennedy

Sometimes the answer to our troubles is right in front of us, but we’re so focused on the problem we can’t see it. And sometimes we know the answer but don’t want to admit it. We all have an inner gauge, that quiet little voice telling us what to do, but we often tend to ignore it. I suppose I should share with you something that’s been bothering me for quite awhile. It has nothing to do with a guilty conscience or a deep dark secret so if you’re looking for a bit of juicy gossip this morning, you’re out of luck.

What nags at me is fairly simple. It’s the title I gave this column. It’s misleading because I’m no more a “matriarch” than you are an astronaut. God saw fit to bless me with only one child, my daughter. She lives in Denver. She has no children and has no interest in becoming a mother so unless she marries a fellow with children, I’ll never be called “Granny” which is the name I would prefer.

Most of my nieces and nephews live downstate or out of state. We rarely maintain contact, although two are Facebook friends. The two who live in the Soo are adults and have their own lives and no time for an old biddy. I would immediately put them to work with miscellaneous chores if they stopped by for a visit. I’m like Mom in that respect. After Dad passed, Mom shanghaied every visitor into helping her with an outdoor project. I didn’t understand then, but I sure do now.

When you live alone and don’t know much about construction or caulking or kitchen plumbing, you look through the want ads for a “handyman.” But if you’re a proper matriarch, you call a member of your family. It’s my guess they’re willing to do whatever needs getting done. In payment, you bake a batch of cookies or their favorite dessert. Helping the family matriarch is one way for them to show their love and appreciation for her. Unless, of course, she’s a tyrant. Then I suppose that’s a different story.

I must confess I’m from the old school when an older woman who lived alone didn’t have to ask for assistance. Young people were brought up to see a problem and fix it without being asked. Visiting an old aunt or grandmother and noticing her grass was long meant the visitor got the lawn mower out of the shed, checked the oil, filled the tank with gas, and spent an hour cutting, raking, and generally making himself useful. Tasks were done without complaint.

At least that’s the way I remember it, but maybe I’m way off base. I don’t know, and at this point in my life, like so man others, I don’t really care. Things are the way they are and there’s no point in complaining because nobody wants to listen. The world around us is changing at such a rapid pace, it’s impossible to keep up with it. Just turn on your television or some other electronic gadget and within five minutes you’ll hear more foolish, absurd, or frightening “news” than you ever heard in the days of your youth.

Sometimes I wonder if people in the political arena have traded their conscience and sense of right and wrong for the power that comes with their office. Here I am concerned about calling myself a “matriarch” when leaders at all level of government have no problem telling half-truths, alternate truths, omission of truths, and outright lies.

If I call myself the matron of a large and nonexistent family, nobody cares. If political candidates call themselves representatives of their constituency, nobody cares because we know, for the most part, it’s simply not true. Syntax is not what it used to be. Word-smithing and clever slogans have replaced the need for logical debates on everything from the state of our union to the destruction of our environment to social unrest and everything in between.

What got me going on this “matriarch” business was Facebook. The other day I typed in the name of my column and up popped an identical name that has nothing to do with me. I don’t know who it belongs to, but it’s about “art, poetry, and multi-dimensional writings” all very nice topics I’m sure. However, I have no clue if the site is run by a matriarch or a teenager. That’s the way things are in our modern world. Everything’s a mystery.

So just for the record, I’m not a true matriarch, but I do enjoy musing. There’s lots of stuff to think about. Even when you’re watching television or attending an opera or reading this column, there’s a good chance your mind is wandering to that last piece of chocolate cake on your kitchen counter or the load of laundry that needs washing. See what I mean. We muse all the time. If you disagree, just wait until a friend loses her train of thought and asks you where she was. I’m willing to bet you’ll have no idea.

Musings, whether from a matriarch or a woman who lives alone without even a cat for company, often lift our spirits and bring a smile to our lips. Now my conscience is clear. I’ll rest easy tonight.

Editor’s note: Sharon M. Kennedy of Brimley is a humorist who infuses her musings with a hardy dose of matriarchal common sense. She writes about everyday experiences most of us have encountered at one time or another on our journey through life. Her articles are a combination of present day observations and nostalgic glances of the past. She can be reached via email at sharonkennedy1947@gmail.com. In addition, Sharon has compiled a collection of stories from her various newspaper columns. The title of her book is “Life in a Tin Can.” Copies are available from Amazon in paperback or Kindle format.