I'm not sure if you know that Mother has always been obsessed about kidnappers.
It started when I was four or five, living on the lovely tree-lined Westwood Avenue, and Mother told me not to leave the yard with strangers who would come by in a large, black car because they would take me out way out into the woods and cut off my arms and legs. I am sure that she told me this not only as a deterrent to my talking with strangers, but because she was convinced that this strategy would insure that I would stay in High Point, if not her front yard, forever. Instead, the reverse happened and I determined that I would need to leave a place where strangers roamed around, creating torsos with heads, and that it might be best if I headed for a big city where I could be anonymous.
Fast forward 40+ years--I have lived in a variety of big cities including Boston, New York, and Miami. Mother is still convinced that I could be kidnapped at any time. She is a special devotee of the kidnapping ring of which she points out the vagaries on a bi-weekly basis. There is no situation where I find myself that Mother cannot think of a way that I will be kidnapped either by a ring that has just formed, a long-standing ring, a man or woman working alone, or someone employed by the hotel or restaurant where I am currently ensconced.
A couple of years ago, I was on my way to a Miami Heat game at the American Airlines arena. I told Mother this fact knowing that there could not be kidnappers at an NBA game where I would be surrounded by a multitude of husky, strong men. Mother was adamant--"you are going to be kidnapped tonight because they have a kidnapping ring organized at the basketball games"--I replied, "I don't really think we need to worry because I will be surrounded by friends". "They are looking for people like you" was her confident reply. "It is going to happen tonight".
My dear friend P came to stay last month. Mother was convinced that he was part of a kidnapping ring that was using the guise of his friendship to enter my home and confiscate me. I took P to the hotel where he was staying for a conference and called Mother knowing that she would be delighted that he was no longer staying in my home. But, no. Her response--"You are an easy target for the kidnappers because as long as saw P in your car as you were driving around Miami, they would leave you alone. Now, they see you by yourself. Why couldn't P have stayed longer?"
I must tell you that, through the years, this kidnapping theme has gotten very old. I can be in Paris or Santa Monica or Chicago, having the time of my life, and I have to listen to how to watch out for people walking by me carrying Kleenexes because they are doused with chloroform. I was almost to the point of asking her to please, please stop talking about this absurdity when I had an insight. Mother is not known for being particularly affectionate or sentimental. She is not going to wrap up a gift card to Williams Sonoma for me or give me a big hug when she sees me. She is not going to say please tell me what is troubling you and let's talk it through. Warning me of kidnappers is the closest she can come to telling me how important I am to her and how much she treasures me.
Once I realized this, it has given me much more patience with dealing with her. Last week, I went to book club and parking in a parking garage across from the bookstore where we meet. I was chatting with Mother as I navigated my way through the garage. Without thinking, I said, "ok, I need to hang up now because I need to focus on parking". When she found out that I was in a parking garage and would be taking an elevator to the ground floor, she said, "this has got murder written all over it". I replied by telling her that there had not been a robbery at this particular garage for over two weeks. She said, "you call me before you leave that garage so that I know you are all right and that I do not need to contact the Miami police department to report a kidnapping".
This brings me to a new tradition that we have begun--when she "rides home" with me. When she knows that I am going out at night, she will say, "do you want me to ride home with you?". Huge sigh. I was going to politely decline when I realized that this is Mother's way of keeping her child safe and of staying connected to me. We have had some of our best conversations as she rides home with me.
Mother swears that she would not pay the ransom if anything befell me, but I think it safe to say that I have kidnapped Mother's heart.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Family of One Flies Home on a Jet
You will be happy to know that, after the misadventures experienced on the flight to Charleston, I had nothing but a pleasant time on the regional jet to Charlotte. And, being upgraded on the flight to Miami was a lovely surprise on a Friday afternoon. I was feeling unusually wistful about returning home with no plans or no one to see. When I am wistful like that, I try to remember to ask myself--are you really sad or just tired?--and I decided that I was just tired after all of the fun trips to NYC and to my parents' anniversary weekend and to my beloved Charleston. Once I acknowledged my exhaustion, I was very excited about the plane taking off.
Need I say more?
You guessed it--just as the plane was literally ready to take off, we were informed that there was a malfunction in the navigation system and we would have to return to the gate. Visions of getting home the next day and spending the afternoon in the food court filled my brain.
But, very interestingly, the attendants made sure that they were nothing but optimistic and kept us supplied with drinks and lovely conversation. I was very impressed by how they reflected none of the anxiety that was permeating the plane.
An hour later, we were on our way and I could finally start envisioning what I was going to do as soon as I arrived home. But, I wanted a word with these delightful attendants, so I walked up to the galley and told them how much I appreciated their fabulous service, especially in light of what I had been through earlier in the week. They wanted to hear more, so I told them; they returned the favor by telling me how badly behaved some attendants can be. They encouraged me to write to the vice-president of US Airways and let him know about this travesty of an attendant, but I told them that I would prefer to focus on the positive and tell him about their exemplary behavior.
Hugs all around! Smiles abound!! Everyone is happy! No one is making sarcastic remarks about my questions about baggage storage. I hope you are lucky enough to see Tracy Schlor and Dianne Britton on one of your flights. They reminded me of how wonderful it can actually be to take a flight.
And, sure enough, I was just fine when I got home, not wistful, just thrilled to be able to have a very quiet weekend.
Need I say more?
You guessed it--just as the plane was literally ready to take off, we were informed that there was a malfunction in the navigation system and we would have to return to the gate. Visions of getting home the next day and spending the afternoon in the food court filled my brain.
But, very interestingly, the attendants made sure that they were nothing but optimistic and kept us supplied with drinks and lovely conversation. I was very impressed by how they reflected none of the anxiety that was permeating the plane.
An hour later, we were on our way and I could finally start envisioning what I was going to do as soon as I arrived home. But, I wanted a word with these delightful attendants, so I walked up to the galley and told them how much I appreciated their fabulous service, especially in light of what I had been through earlier in the week. They wanted to hear more, so I told them; they returned the favor by telling me how badly behaved some attendants can be. They encouraged me to write to the vice-president of US Airways and let him know about this travesty of an attendant, but I told them that I would prefer to focus on the positive and tell him about their exemplary behavior.
Hugs all around! Smiles abound!! Everyone is happy! No one is making sarcastic remarks about my questions about baggage storage. I hope you are lucky enough to see Tracy Schlor and Dianne Britton on one of your flights. They reminded me of how wonderful it can actually be to take a flight.
And, sure enough, I was just fine when I got home, not wistful, just thrilled to be able to have a very quiet weekend.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Family of One Flies on Regional Jets
In a week that has been marked by outbursts not just inconsiderate, but downright uncivil, I wanted to share an experience that connects yet another family--the Family of Frequent Fliers. This week, I flew on back-to-back regional jets from Greensboro, NC to Charleston, SC. Never my favorite mode of transportation, I am finding the two claustrophobic flights to be top candidates for fraying my nerves on a regular basis.
On the first flight, I was seated next to a youngish man who appeared to have an occupation as perhaps a rodeo rider. His "daddy" could not find his seat and demanded that I let him have mine. I let Clint Eastwood, Junior handle the situation since it was determined that Daddy's seat was two rows back. But, then, once in the air, how nonplussed was I to find this young man using a Dr. Pepper plastic bottle as his spittoon. Approximately every 90 seconds, he let go a long stream of tobacco juice into the bottle. This was a first---and, I hope, a last--for me. I tried keeping my left hand over the side of my face as a quasi-screen, but it was not much use. Goodness.
On to the second flight.
I boarded this regional jet with my standard black carry-on, the exact suitcase that you and thousands of others have. As i was in row 2, I looked for a convenient overhead bin, but every bin was full until about row 12. In what I promise you was a lovely, kind voice, I asked the attendant why the bins were so full. She replied in a frosty, tense voice that those were the crew's bags. I did not ask the question that was on my lips--why in the name of Amelia Earhart would the crew take up all the space at the front of the plane--but said to her, "would it be easier for you to check this bag?" She rolled her eyes and said, "There is no way that I am taking this bag back to baggage claim for you. You made the choice to bring this bag on the plane, it is up to you to find a place for it". Once again, the word "nonplussed" sprang to mind as most attendants almost dance with glee at the thought of having one less bag in the cabin. Thankfully, a kinder attendant named Jeremiah came from the back of the plane and said that he would find a place for the bag and that he would make sure that I got it as soon as the plane landed.
Now, it is time for me to take my seat--2F. There is a casually, but elegantly, dressed gentleman in 2D. I say--once again in a lovely tone--"sir, could I trouble you to let me take my seat?" He stands up, but snarls at me, "An excuse me, sir would have been enough and even preferred--don't you have any manners?"
As I sit down, he says to the aforementioned hellcat of an attendant, "this is exactly what we have been talking about" and points at me as if I am Kanye West at the VMAs. She screams with flirtatious laughter and says, "yes, she is a perfect example."
Once seated, I say to the gentleman, "Sir, I am sorry if I have offended you but not using the phrase excuse me, but I felt that I was awfully polite in the way I asked if you would let me in". Again, he snarled, "it's obvious that you have no manners."
Just when I think that things cannot get any more uncomfortable, the attendant takes the microphone and proceeds to regale the cabin with the fact that Republic Airlines, our regional carrier for the flight, is known for their witty and warm conversations with the passengers. She proceeds to read her itinerary for the next several weeks, pausing to trash Greensboro, NC and what she insists on calling Myrtle Beach, North Carolina as particularly backwards places. She then talks to each person in the first two rows, pointedly ignoring me, and asking each person to tell a little bit about themselves. To a woman with one young child, she delivers a five minute lecture on the importance of not having another child for a long time.
I am reminded of the wonderful scene in Annie Hall when Woody Allen wishes for a sock filled with a manure to use on a self-important moviegoer standing close to him in line.
I manage to avoid any further exchanges on this dreadful flight by keeping my Pat Conroy novel completely held upright and completely in front of my face.
Once landed, I ask the attendant if it would be better for me to deplane and have Jeremiah bring my bag to me to prevent my holding up the line. In an exasperated voice that implies I have the IQ of Cheetah, she says, "if you step off this plane, we are not responsible for what happens to your bag". So, when some unfortunate soul about midway back gets caught between the seats, I take the opportunity to race back and get my bag and, I must admit, haughtily depart the aircraft.
You will be relieved to know that I only have one regional jet flight tomorrow.
On the first flight, I was seated next to a youngish man who appeared to have an occupation as perhaps a rodeo rider. His "daddy" could not find his seat and demanded that I let him have mine. I let Clint Eastwood, Junior handle the situation since it was determined that Daddy's seat was two rows back. But, then, once in the air, how nonplussed was I to find this young man using a Dr. Pepper plastic bottle as his spittoon. Approximately every 90 seconds, he let go a long stream of tobacco juice into the bottle. This was a first---and, I hope, a last--for me. I tried keeping my left hand over the side of my face as a quasi-screen, but it was not much use. Goodness.
On to the second flight.
I boarded this regional jet with my standard black carry-on, the exact suitcase that you and thousands of others have. As i was in row 2, I looked for a convenient overhead bin, but every bin was full until about row 12. In what I promise you was a lovely, kind voice, I asked the attendant why the bins were so full. She replied in a frosty, tense voice that those were the crew's bags. I did not ask the question that was on my lips--why in the name of Amelia Earhart would the crew take up all the space at the front of the plane--but said to her, "would it be easier for you to check this bag?" She rolled her eyes and said, "There is no way that I am taking this bag back to baggage claim for you. You made the choice to bring this bag on the plane, it is up to you to find a place for it". Once again, the word "nonplussed" sprang to mind as most attendants almost dance with glee at the thought of having one less bag in the cabin. Thankfully, a kinder attendant named Jeremiah came from the back of the plane and said that he would find a place for the bag and that he would make sure that I got it as soon as the plane landed.
Now, it is time for me to take my seat--2F. There is a casually, but elegantly, dressed gentleman in 2D. I say--once again in a lovely tone--"sir, could I trouble you to let me take my seat?" He stands up, but snarls at me, "An excuse me, sir would have been enough and even preferred--don't you have any manners?"
As I sit down, he says to the aforementioned hellcat of an attendant, "this is exactly what we have been talking about" and points at me as if I am Kanye West at the VMAs. She screams with flirtatious laughter and says, "yes, she is a perfect example."
Once seated, I say to the gentleman, "Sir, I am sorry if I have offended you but not using the phrase excuse me, but I felt that I was awfully polite in the way I asked if you would let me in". Again, he snarled, "it's obvious that you have no manners."
Just when I think that things cannot get any more uncomfortable, the attendant takes the microphone and proceeds to regale the cabin with the fact that Republic Airlines, our regional carrier for the flight, is known for their witty and warm conversations with the passengers. She proceeds to read her itinerary for the next several weeks, pausing to trash Greensboro, NC and what she insists on calling Myrtle Beach, North Carolina as particularly backwards places. She then talks to each person in the first two rows, pointedly ignoring me, and asking each person to tell a little bit about themselves. To a woman with one young child, she delivers a five minute lecture on the importance of not having another child for a long time.
I am reminded of the wonderful scene in Annie Hall when Woody Allen wishes for a sock filled with a manure to use on a self-important moviegoer standing close to him in line.
I manage to avoid any further exchanges on this dreadful flight by keeping my Pat Conroy novel completely held upright and completely in front of my face.
Once landed, I ask the attendant if it would be better for me to deplane and have Jeremiah bring my bag to me to prevent my holding up the line. In an exasperated voice that implies I have the IQ of Cheetah, she says, "if you step off this plane, we are not responsible for what happens to your bag". So, when some unfortunate soul about midway back gets caught between the seats, I take the opportunity to race back and get my bag and, I must admit, haughtily depart the aircraft.
You will be relieved to know that I only have one regional jet flight tomorrow.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Family of One Celebrates a 60th Wedding Anniversary
Even though I have just returned from New York where I had a four star dining experience at Eleven Madison Park which I am eager to share along with many other urban adventures, it hit me today that I really need to speak about my upcoming weekend.
I am leaving tomorrow to fly to High Point to celebrate the 60th wedding anniversary of my parents who were married on September 11, 1949 in a lovely ceremony. As you know, my parents are still in their home and still very engaged in the world around them including, but not limited to, watching Tar Heel sporting events, asking me how my sales are, and casting aspersions on President Obama.
Several months ago, I asked them how they would like to celebrate the day and offered them a plethora of choices including a party at a local club, a dinner at a local bistro, any number of friends they wanted, a day trip somewhere. They were not keen on any of the above. As Mother put it, “we don’t know from one day to the next if we’ll even be here, so let’s not get carried away with plans”. Her suggestion—put out locally made chocolate layer cake in her three different dining areas, invite in folks, and let them have at the cakes.
This idea was later ixnayed because Mother felt that she would be sure to forget someone and there could be hurt feelings and testy exchanges.
Our plan is for me to spend an entire weekend in their company and, hopefully, journey to a variety of local eateries including Rainbow Diner, Spyros on South Main, and Carolina Diner. This sounds wonderful to me not only because they are both able to enjoy these places, but because they all serve fabulous fried shrimp which is very hard to obtain in the greater Miami area. We will not be going to IHOP because we went there last month and Mother was apoplectic because the bill was $30 for the three of us. I am taking the new Pat Conroy book to enjoy on their lovely back porch and look forward to some reading time as well as reminiscing with Mother and Dad.
I was having a hard time coming up with an appropriate gift for them. For their 50th anniversary, G and I took then to Wild Dunes for a week at Christmas where we had rented a beach house out of some fabulous chick flick. I was still pondering the gift when I went to NYC last week. I took along with me a very charming picture of them as newlyweds. I ventured into Tiffany’s on Saturday afternoon which resembled a ride at Disney World more than it did a scene out of a Blake Edwards film.
The gift department had a calmer ambience, so I selected an Art Deco frame and the lovely assistant placed in into the frame for me. I had barely glanced at the price, so when she handed me the bill, I was a bit taken aback. I quickly computed that I could buy my parents two TV sets or several iPods or, well, you get the picture (no pun intended).
I took a deep breath and looked out the window which had a perfect view of the Plaza Hotel with Central Park in the background. It was a lovely September day. I thought about how very fortunate I was to be standing there in a city that I love so dearly and looking forward to seeing both my parents on such a special day. I acknowledged to myself that there would have been a time that I would have practically thrown myself on the floor at Tiffany’s because I would be journeying to High Point alone, without a mate, and worrying about how we had no family with which to celebrate.
And, then, I smiled my biggest smile and said, “I am so thrilled to have found the perfect gift”. There were hugs all around and I departed in a cloud of goodwill.
I really don’t know what Mother will think of the gift. I think she will be amused that Ms. Astorbilt (as she refers to me) shopped at Tiffany’s for her. But, the day that I bought the frame will be a wonderful memory for me and that is worth a lot.
And, now, it's time to celebrate the fact that 60 years ago, a wedding took place between a young woman who had the clever idea to untie the bow on the sleeve of her dress and ask a certain young pharmacist if he would mind retying it for her. Yes, that is how their first date happened--when Mother walked into Dad's drugstore with an untied bow.
I am leaving tomorrow to fly to High Point to celebrate the 60th wedding anniversary of my parents who were married on September 11, 1949 in a lovely ceremony. As you know, my parents are still in their home and still very engaged in the world around them including, but not limited to, watching Tar Heel sporting events, asking me how my sales are, and casting aspersions on President Obama.
Several months ago, I asked them how they would like to celebrate the day and offered them a plethora of choices including a party at a local club, a dinner at a local bistro, any number of friends they wanted, a day trip somewhere. They were not keen on any of the above. As Mother put it, “we don’t know from one day to the next if we’ll even be here, so let’s not get carried away with plans”. Her suggestion—put out locally made chocolate layer cake in her three different dining areas, invite in folks, and let them have at the cakes.
This idea was later ixnayed because Mother felt that she would be sure to forget someone and there could be hurt feelings and testy exchanges.
Our plan is for me to spend an entire weekend in their company and, hopefully, journey to a variety of local eateries including Rainbow Diner, Spyros on South Main, and Carolina Diner. This sounds wonderful to me not only because they are both able to enjoy these places, but because they all serve fabulous fried shrimp which is very hard to obtain in the greater Miami area. We will not be going to IHOP because we went there last month and Mother was apoplectic because the bill was $30 for the three of us. I am taking the new Pat Conroy book to enjoy on their lovely back porch and look forward to some reading time as well as reminiscing with Mother and Dad.
I was having a hard time coming up with an appropriate gift for them. For their 50th anniversary, G and I took then to Wild Dunes for a week at Christmas where we had rented a beach house out of some fabulous chick flick. I was still pondering the gift when I went to NYC last week. I took along with me a very charming picture of them as newlyweds. I ventured into Tiffany’s on Saturday afternoon which resembled a ride at Disney World more than it did a scene out of a Blake Edwards film.
The gift department had a calmer ambience, so I selected an Art Deco frame and the lovely assistant placed in into the frame for me. I had barely glanced at the price, so when she handed me the bill, I was a bit taken aback. I quickly computed that I could buy my parents two TV sets or several iPods or, well, you get the picture (no pun intended).
I took a deep breath and looked out the window which had a perfect view of the Plaza Hotel with Central Park in the background. It was a lovely September day. I thought about how very fortunate I was to be standing there in a city that I love so dearly and looking forward to seeing both my parents on such a special day. I acknowledged to myself that there would have been a time that I would have practically thrown myself on the floor at Tiffany’s because I would be journeying to High Point alone, without a mate, and worrying about how we had no family with which to celebrate.
And, then, I smiled my biggest smile and said, “I am so thrilled to have found the perfect gift”. There were hugs all around and I departed in a cloud of goodwill.
I really don’t know what Mother will think of the gift. I think she will be amused that Ms. Astorbilt (as she refers to me) shopped at Tiffany’s for her. But, the day that I bought the frame will be a wonderful memory for me and that is worth a lot.
And, now, it's time to celebrate the fact that 60 years ago, a wedding took place between a young woman who had the clever idea to untie the bow on the sleeve of her dress and ask a certain young pharmacist if he would mind retying it for her. Yes, that is how their first date happened--when Mother walked into Dad's drugstore with an untied bow.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Family of One Takes a Holiday
Wishing everyone a happy Labor Day weekend! Those of us in college textbook publishing are exhausted from the rigors of fulfillment season when we help our customers with their materials as the students go back to class. I will be lolling in New York City for a couple of days, but will be back next week to give you a report.
In the meantime, I want to thank you for the enthusiastic response that you have given this blog. It has been very interesting to hear from so many of you about your own situations. At least 40% of you have told me that, even when you are married with children, you often don't have a close friend in your town and rely on technology to stay connected to those whom you treasure the most in your friendship circle.
I look forward to hearing more from you, so feel free to post under the comments section here.
With much affection, MJS
In the meantime, I want to thank you for the enthusiastic response that you have given this blog. It has been very interesting to hear from so many of you about your own situations. At least 40% of you have told me that, even when you are married with children, you often don't have a close friend in your town and rely on technology to stay connected to those whom you treasure the most in your friendship circle.
I look forward to hearing more from you, so feel free to post under the comments section here.
With much affection, MJS
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Family of One Interacts with Mother
You may know Mother. If you have not met her in person, you may feel as if you know Mother. She is very—unusual. She is 87, still lives at home with my dad, and still offers her opinions on everything. As she has gotten older, she has retained her beauty, but the filter that would keep one from being a little too honest has dissipated so that talking with her often requires the skills of the publicity handler for Jon and Kate.
For example, on a recent visit to High Point, Mother said in a very conversational tone as her attention was turned to the omnipresent Fox News, “do you regret that you never had any children?” She had never asked me anything so thoughtful or provocative about my choices, so I thought about my answer carefully. “Yes, I think it would have been wonderful to have had that experience and I think I would have been a good mother”. Very calmly, and without taking her gaze from the TV, Mother says, “you would have been a terrible mother. All you think about is where your next meal is coming from”. This was, shall we say, a bit shocking in its brutal assessment and, once again, I wanted to reply as calmly as possible. “I think that had I married one of the delightful men that I dated in my 20s or 30s, it would have been fine. I would have been a good wife and we both would have been good parents”. I was very pleased with this reasoned answer. Once again, without turning her head, “no, you cared just as much about where you were going to eat back then. It would have never worked out’.
So, it was not without a little alarm that I spoke with Mother last week about the possible demise of Aunt Louise, who is 93 and lives alone in an independent living facility. Her phone had been off the hook all day and Mother was convinced that she was lying dead on the floor. I tried to explain to her that since Aunt Louise wears a Life Alert necklace, we would know if she had been incapacitated and that we would have to accept that her phone was off the hook. Yes, it was very annoying to continue hearing her message, but, perhaps, a tiny break from dialing the phone every ten minutes was in order.
It was very troubling to both of us that we don’t know anyone at the “home”, as Mother calls it, who could check on Aunt Louise. I assured her that Aunt Louise would pick up the phone to make a call and all would be well.
Mother is nothing if not determined, so she called the management of the “home” to no avail. She then called and told me that she was going to take the extraordinary step (in her mind) of calling Bobby Auman, who used to deliver prescriptions for my father’s drugstore. As a rather new resident, Mother hated to impose on him and she was also not comfortable with the male/female dynamic involved, but she was getting really shrill, so I told her to go ahead.
Breathlessly, she called me back and reported that he would go over and check on her as soon as put his shirt on. Mother was slightly discomfited that he was watching TV shirtless. She stressed to him that “Aunt Louise is an old maid, so please don’t attempt to enter her apartment. Just call out her name and make sure she is alive”. She also encouraged him not to engage in further conversation as she would be waiting to hear from him. Mother is nothing if not focused in her requests.
Sure enough, Aunt Louise was happily watching her beloved Atlanta Braves and very annoyed by this needless drama and appearance of Bobby Auman at her door. Aunt Louise called Mother and there were sharp words exchanged, as one can imagine.
Thankfully, Mother spoke with the management of the “home” and she now has several numbers that she can call when she is worried.
As for me, I am just so grateful for the advent of texting which meant that I could engage with two dear long-distance friends who are having similar issues with their mothers.
It is at times like this that, as a Family of One, I wish that I had some company as I traverse the path of assisting aging parents. But, then again, I wouldn’t have Mother all to myself.
For example, on a recent visit to High Point, Mother said in a very conversational tone as her attention was turned to the omnipresent Fox News, “do you regret that you never had any children?” She had never asked me anything so thoughtful or provocative about my choices, so I thought about my answer carefully. “Yes, I think it would have been wonderful to have had that experience and I think I would have been a good mother”. Very calmly, and without taking her gaze from the TV, Mother says, “you would have been a terrible mother. All you think about is where your next meal is coming from”. This was, shall we say, a bit shocking in its brutal assessment and, once again, I wanted to reply as calmly as possible. “I think that had I married one of the delightful men that I dated in my 20s or 30s, it would have been fine. I would have been a good wife and we both would have been good parents”. I was very pleased with this reasoned answer. Once again, without turning her head, “no, you cared just as much about where you were going to eat back then. It would have never worked out’.
So, it was not without a little alarm that I spoke with Mother last week about the possible demise of Aunt Louise, who is 93 and lives alone in an independent living facility. Her phone had been off the hook all day and Mother was convinced that she was lying dead on the floor. I tried to explain to her that since Aunt Louise wears a Life Alert necklace, we would know if she had been incapacitated and that we would have to accept that her phone was off the hook. Yes, it was very annoying to continue hearing her message, but, perhaps, a tiny break from dialing the phone every ten minutes was in order.
It was very troubling to both of us that we don’t know anyone at the “home”, as Mother calls it, who could check on Aunt Louise. I assured her that Aunt Louise would pick up the phone to make a call and all would be well.
Mother is nothing if not determined, so she called the management of the “home” to no avail. She then called and told me that she was going to take the extraordinary step (in her mind) of calling Bobby Auman, who used to deliver prescriptions for my father’s drugstore. As a rather new resident, Mother hated to impose on him and she was also not comfortable with the male/female dynamic involved, but she was getting really shrill, so I told her to go ahead.
Breathlessly, she called me back and reported that he would go over and check on her as soon as put his shirt on. Mother was slightly discomfited that he was watching TV shirtless. She stressed to him that “Aunt Louise is an old maid, so please don’t attempt to enter her apartment. Just call out her name and make sure she is alive”. She also encouraged him not to engage in further conversation as she would be waiting to hear from him. Mother is nothing if not focused in her requests.
Sure enough, Aunt Louise was happily watching her beloved Atlanta Braves and very annoyed by this needless drama and appearance of Bobby Auman at her door. Aunt Louise called Mother and there were sharp words exchanged, as one can imagine.
Thankfully, Mother spoke with the management of the “home” and she now has several numbers that she can call when she is worried.
As for me, I am just so grateful for the advent of texting which meant that I could engage with two dear long-distance friends who are having similar issues with their mothers.
It is at times like this that, as a Family of One, I wish that I had some company as I traverse the path of assisting aging parents. But, then again, I wouldn’t have Mother all to myself.
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