Plans Go Oft Awry*

I try to stay positive about life, as those who know me have observed. It seems too sad, too futile, to dwell on the darker sides of life. Yet when I see myself getting too Polyanish I remember this poem by Bobby Burns: 

To A Mouse

Small, crafty, cowering, timorous little beast,

O, what a panic is in your little breast!

You need not start away so hasty

With argumentative chatter!

I would be loath to run and chase you,

With murdering plough-staff.

I'm truly sorry man's dominion

Has broken Nature's social union,

And justifies that ill opinion

Which makes you startle

At me, your poor, earth born companion

And fellow mortal!

I doubt not, sometimes, but you may steal;

What then? Poor little beast, you must live!

An odd ear in twenty-four sheaves

Is a small request;

I will get a blessing with what is left,

And never miss it.

Its feeble walls the winds are scattering!

And nothing now, to build a new one,

Of coarse grass green!

And bleak December's winds coming,

Both bitter and keen!

You saw the fields laid bare and wasted,

And weary winter coming fast,

And cozy here, beneath the blast,

You thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel plough passed

Out through your cell.

That small bit heap of leaves and stubble,

Has cost you many a weary nibble!

Now you are turned out, for all your trouble,

Without house or holding,

To endure the winter's sleety dribble,

And hoar-frost cold.

But little Mouse, you are not alone,

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes of mice and men

Go often awry,*

And leave us nothing but grief and pain,

For promised joy!

Still you are blest, compared with me!

The present only touches you:

But oh! I backward cast my eye,

On prospects dreary!

And forward, though I cannot see,

I guess and fear!

               ***

I had high hopes for today. I was to take my granddaughter and her boyfriend to church with me. They had gladly received my invitation and accepted it. We were to have had a lovely day. Lunch afterwards, maybe a trip to the beach or a good movie. It might have been a big help to all three of us. But I just received a call, and the message? “Grandma, I’m so sorry but I’m not feeling well today. No, I don’t need you to come, but you can pray for me.”

So, here I am, and I could look on the bright side, knowing, in the words of another poet, Robert Browning, that "God's in His heaven and all's right with the world."

My disappointment is small compared to that of the little mouse who lost his home in the winter. Or that of the many who lost their homes in the hurricane Sandy last year. But I’d imagined I could fill a need for these young people, give them a little grandmotherly encouragement. And lunch. That's usually a good hook. 

I’m a grandma today who’s been told where I’m not useful. Bummer! But the message from on high went like this:

“Dear little grandma, I don’t need your help today. Your grandchildren don’t need it either, except in your prayers. But don’t feel bad. I’m not a grandparent either. Never could be. So take the day off and have a good time! Stay in your robe and slippers if you like, read, watch TV, play the piano. What's that you asked? Can you write a blog? Why, of course, my dear, but keep it short.”