Monday, August 27, 2007
"Did I ever tell you about the time that..."
When my mother sits back in her rocker, or a dinette chair, as she did two nights ago, and asks me this, there's a 50/50 chance that I haven't heard the story she's about to tell. She finished the introduction with, "...[her sister] and I decided to buy a house for ourselves, so we could live together..."
"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "You mean without Dad and [her sister's husband]?!?" I was incredulous. I hadn't heard this one.
"This was after Dad died," she said. This pinpointed it for me as the period in which she and her sister made a concerted effort to really bond, which they'd never done, due to an eight year age difference (my mother being the elder) and careers, families, travel, all the things that wedge between siblings. "If the kids and other members of the family (sly way of putting it, I noticed) wanted to come live with us, of course, they were welcome, but we wanted a place where we could live together."
This, in itself, revealed a piece of information to me that I'd suspected but of which I'd never had proof: That my mother and her sister took after most of the women in their ancestry who considered men handy and entertaining to have around but pretty much an afterthought and children, always, a highlight.
"So, you and [her sister] decided, after Dad died and before she became ill, that the two of you were going to set up housekeeping alone."
"Well, yes, I guess you could say that. We fully expected family to be visiting all the time. But, that's not the funny part."
Oops. Okay.
"We found a house we both liked..." she continued,
"...Oh, wow, you guys were really serious..."
"...Oh, yes! Of course!" She gave me a look that told me my surprise was out of order. "Anyway, it was a wonderful little house, perfect for us..."
...this was exquisite...I could just imagine my mother and her sister, sitting at their shared table, coffee cups at hand, feeling smart and oh, so right with one another, planning their adventures, "In Scottsdale?" My aunt lived there with her husband and both sisters loved Scottsdale.
"Oh, no, this was in Mesa, Scottsdale was a little too close, if you know what I mean..."
Ah, I thought, yes, too close to, well, to put it diplomatically, authoritative members of the family.
"Anyway, one of us noticed a for sale sign, so we stopped, went up to the door, tried it..."
"You mean you didn't knock or ring the bell???"
"Well, no!" she said, surprised that I'd question their tactics. "Anyway, the door was open, so we went in, looked around, really liked the place. It was furnished, so we assumed it was being sold with the furniture. We were trying out the sofa when a man came out from one of the rooms and wanted to know what we were doing there. Apparently, he owned the house, and it wasn't the house for sale!"
We both laughed. "So, I guess you guys were pretty embarrassed," I said.
"Oh, no! We liked the house so much we tried to get him to sell it to us anyway! He was determined to keep the house, but he was so surprised at our insistence that he made coffee and invited us to stay for lunch!"
Why am I not surprised, I thought. My mother and her sister have, and had, no fear.
"It seems it was the house next to his that was for sale."
"Did you look at it?"
"Well, we tried to. The man went over with us and we tried all the doors..."
I could imagine them talking him into doing this and he being so caught up in their determination that he agreed.
"...but that house was locked up tight. We looked in the windows, though, and didn't like what we saw."
"So, did you look at any others? And, what happened to your plan?"
"Oh, we talked about it, you know, and when we were driving around here and there..."
I knew they'd spent a lot of time together, but I had no idea they were regularly cruising the metroplex.
"...we'd see a house we liked, but the ones we liked were never for sale."
We laughed again. Funny how life turns out.
"Then, I decided that you needed to come back home..."
This was another surprise. Since she initially asked me to come and live with her, she's never, again, referred to her request. I was surprised to discover that I was enchanted by the way she put it.
"...and [her sister], you know, was always busy with her family..."
This was certainly true. Not too long ago I was complaining about how little attention our family pays to us, almost as though we exist only at their convenience, and she said, "Now you know how I felt about [her sister and her family]."
"Are you sorry you never got to do that?"
"Well, it would have been nice, but this," she waved her hand between the two of us and extended the gesture to include the entire house, "is much nicer, I think."
Still, I love the idea that she and her sister made a plan like this and revved its engine, even though it never got off the ground.
Apparently, Mom likes the idea, too, enough for it to still tickle her. It's funny, because the few days leading up to her telling me of this, although she'd been pretty active, she'd also been having a lot of difficulty remembering who was dead and who was alive. She'd asked me several times, "Where's Dad (meaning my dad, I always have to clarify this because sometimes she means her dad)", and "What do you hear from [her sister and her family]?" Strange, and interesting, that when remembering this incident, she was clear on who was and is dead.
Which leads to a short conversation we had tonight. While we were preparing her for bed, she remembered that her brother is dead and has been "for some time." She asked me to elaborate on the time span and the details, but needed only a little reminding for the episode of his death to flood back into her memory.
"Well," she said, "it's too bad, but I guess those things happen, don't they."
"Well, yeah, one of these days they'll happen to you and me."
She did a hard, long single take, only half comic. "It won't be happening to me," she said.
"Oh, that's right," I said, "I forgot. You're Methuselah."
"Mrs. Methuselah," she corrected.
I left the bathroom for a moment to deposit her clothes in the washing machine. When I returned I said, "Okay, let me get this straight. If you're not going to be dying, what about me?"
"Oh," she said, matter-of-fact, not even bothering to underline her assurance with a glance at me, "I need you. You'll stay here with me."
So, folks, it's official. My mother and I won't be dying. Just wanted to clarify that.
Later.
"Wait a minute," I interrupted. "You mean without Dad and [her sister's husband]?!?" I was incredulous. I hadn't heard this one.
"This was after Dad died," she said. This pinpointed it for me as the period in which she and her sister made a concerted effort to really bond, which they'd never done, due to an eight year age difference (my mother being the elder) and careers, families, travel, all the things that wedge between siblings. "If the kids and other members of the family (sly way of putting it, I noticed) wanted to come live with us, of course, they were welcome, but we wanted a place where we could live together."
This, in itself, revealed a piece of information to me that I'd suspected but of which I'd never had proof: That my mother and her sister took after most of the women in their ancestry who considered men handy and entertaining to have around but pretty much an afterthought and children, always, a highlight.
"So, you and [her sister] decided, after Dad died and before she became ill, that the two of you were going to set up housekeeping alone."
"Well, yes, I guess you could say that. We fully expected family to be visiting all the time. But, that's not the funny part."
Oops. Okay.
"We found a house we both liked..." she continued,
"...Oh, wow, you guys were really serious..."
"...Oh, yes! Of course!" She gave me a look that told me my surprise was out of order. "Anyway, it was a wonderful little house, perfect for us..."
...this was exquisite...I could just imagine my mother and her sister, sitting at their shared table, coffee cups at hand, feeling smart and oh, so right with one another, planning their adventures, "In Scottsdale?" My aunt lived there with her husband and both sisters loved Scottsdale.
"Oh, no, this was in Mesa, Scottsdale was a little too close, if you know what I mean..."
Ah, I thought, yes, too close to, well, to put it diplomatically, authoritative members of the family.
"Anyway, one of us noticed a for sale sign, so we stopped, went up to the door, tried it..."
"You mean you didn't knock or ring the bell???"
"Well, no!" she said, surprised that I'd question their tactics. "Anyway, the door was open, so we went in, looked around, really liked the place. It was furnished, so we assumed it was being sold with the furniture. We were trying out the sofa when a man came out from one of the rooms and wanted to know what we were doing there. Apparently, he owned the house, and it wasn't the house for sale!"
We both laughed. "So, I guess you guys were pretty embarrassed," I said.
"Oh, no! We liked the house so much we tried to get him to sell it to us anyway! He was determined to keep the house, but he was so surprised at our insistence that he made coffee and invited us to stay for lunch!"
Why am I not surprised, I thought. My mother and her sister have, and had, no fear.
"It seems it was the house next to his that was for sale."
"Did you look at it?"
"Well, we tried to. The man went over with us and we tried all the doors..."
I could imagine them talking him into doing this and he being so caught up in their determination that he agreed.
"...but that house was locked up tight. We looked in the windows, though, and didn't like what we saw."
"So, did you look at any others? And, what happened to your plan?"
"Oh, we talked about it, you know, and when we were driving around here and there..."
I knew they'd spent a lot of time together, but I had no idea they were regularly cruising the metroplex.
"...we'd see a house we liked, but the ones we liked were never for sale."
We laughed again. Funny how life turns out.
"Then, I decided that you needed to come back home..."
This was another surprise. Since she initially asked me to come and live with her, she's never, again, referred to her request. I was surprised to discover that I was enchanted by the way she put it.
"...and [her sister], you know, was always busy with her family..."
This was certainly true. Not too long ago I was complaining about how little attention our family pays to us, almost as though we exist only at their convenience, and she said, "Now you know how I felt about [her sister and her family]."
"Are you sorry you never got to do that?"
"Well, it would have been nice, but this," she waved her hand between the two of us and extended the gesture to include the entire house, "is much nicer, I think."
Still, I love the idea that she and her sister made a plan like this and revved its engine, even though it never got off the ground.
Apparently, Mom likes the idea, too, enough for it to still tickle her. It's funny, because the few days leading up to her telling me of this, although she'd been pretty active, she'd also been having a lot of difficulty remembering who was dead and who was alive. She'd asked me several times, "Where's Dad (meaning my dad, I always have to clarify this because sometimes she means her dad)", and "What do you hear from [her sister and her family]?" Strange, and interesting, that when remembering this incident, she was clear on who was and is dead.
Which leads to a short conversation we had tonight. While we were preparing her for bed, she remembered that her brother is dead and has been "for some time." She asked me to elaborate on the time span and the details, but needed only a little reminding for the episode of his death to flood back into her memory.
"Well," she said, "it's too bad, but I guess those things happen, don't they."
"Well, yeah, one of these days they'll happen to you and me."
She did a hard, long single take, only half comic. "It won't be happening to me," she said.
"Oh, that's right," I said, "I forgot. You're Methuselah."
"Mrs. Methuselah," she corrected.
I left the bathroom for a moment to deposit her clothes in the washing machine. When I returned I said, "Okay, let me get this straight. If you're not going to be dying, what about me?"
"Oh," she said, matter-of-fact, not even bothering to underline her assurance with a glance at me, "I need you. You'll stay here with me."
So, folks, it's official. My mother and I won't be dying. Just wanted to clarify that.
Later.
