Microscopes

Yesterday's post brought tears and memories and a gentle chide to mother from daughter #2. Good tears, good memories, and a not so good memory. Sometimes, it is good to wait. Paula had to wait for several Christmases, it seems, and #2 had to wait for high school and university. My bad. It isn't easy, being the mother of a scientist, when you are not scientifically inclined. It would appear that Paula and #2 have something in common. #2's professor said of her, " she is the only student I've had that is equally proficient in both arts and science. She could do either." (Paraphrase, going from memory, and retelling: something akin to the above.) Paula chose to be an economist, but perhaps could have been an equally good scientist. In her comment, she said, "I buried myself in a world of very tiny things that became as large as life with that microscope. Bug wings, blades of grass and blood droplets were things of beauty and joy."

Now I watch #2 with her camera set on macro, looking for the small details. Or lens open wide, capturing the moose grazing at the edge of the forest, or the valley from the mountaintop. I don't actually see her photographing the moose and the valley, I see the results. Today, I am regretting that microscope that did not appear beneath the stocking. Is there something that #1 wished for, as a child, that did not appear under a stocking? We might as well open it up and deal with the regrets (perhaps not publicly - depending on what they were). For a Mom or Dad, there are probably just as many regrets as there are feelings of accomplishments, for many reasons. My husband wanted a horse. He did not get a horse. His parents had a good reason, which he now understands.  I cannot recall a significant childhood request that I did not get, but I always kept my expectations within reason, having some idea of the family budget, for whatever reason, that now compels me to micromanage mine. I do not count go-go boots and denim jeans as overly significant; anyway, I was well into my teens when I wanted them.

I want to say that becoming the mother of a scientist was a long transition for me. I'm about as artsy as they come, and so is their father, and so is #1. So were my parents before me, although my Dad was happiest in the woods. My brain is a slow adaptor. And I nurtured the artsy things that #2 enjoyed, simply because, I suppose, that is what I knew. Unlike her sister, she didn't take to fiction unless it morphed from person to animal or lived in a boxcar. a lonely cottage with a garden,  or middle earth. If the animal in the story died, she didn't do well, so I took to reading the last chapter of the book before I purchased it. I should have known. Early essays on whales and the book she chose on raptors should have had my brain cells acclimatising to the fact that her bent was different than mine. I think I did change, but it took a long morph. By the time I rescued the salamander from the busy road he was on and brought him home, insisting he be released later, I was on the way. When I picked up the garter snake with a stick and placed it in her hands and watched it slither up her arm, I knew. But, for reasons unknown to me, I did not buy her a microscope. And that, I regret. I regret that #1 did not get her dance lessons. I regret things that I won't mention here.

I do not regret the hours we spent reading, for that we did. We spent much time in the library and bookstore, and I don't think I scrimped on books. We learned about worlds unknown together. Today, #1 travels to worlds unknown to me. I see beautiful photographs from places I will never see. She betters the lives of children and friends. #2 knows her raptors and songbirds and shorebirds, and helps to preserve their habitats. #1 crosses oceans and #2 climbs mountains. They both enjoy wide genres of music, art, and literature. I am so proud of them. They seem fearless, although I don't think that is it. They do not let their fears hold them back from enjoying life.

Carpe diem, my lovelies.

#2 in lab, #1 in Beijing (I think).