On
Thu, Aug 4, 2011 at 2:26 PM, Tina Martin <tina_martin@sbcglobal.net> wrote:
Dear
Suzy and Jonathan,
I ordered a new swivel chair because all the open sores of the old one
demoralized me so much, and it was supposed to be delivered between 8 and 5, so
I assumed it would be here after a full day of house-arrest for me. But
it came at 10—in time for me to rush to see Mom. (I bribed him to come
back later and put it together for me for $25.00.)
I braced myself for a “Scram!” or, as Nan had yesterday, a sort of dismissal—as
if I weren’t there at all. When Nan arrived yesterday, Mom was
doing a crossword puzzle and asked Nan to just stay seated until she
finished. After 15 minutes Nan asked, “Have you finished yet?” and Mom
said, “Oh, I started a new one.”
When I arrived Kay was not in the room. Mom was in bed, and her hair was
in a pony tail—perhaps not the most flattering style but one I hope felt
good. She was very sweet and welcoming in spite of the fact that I had
interrupted her crossword puzzle activity.
When I said, “Would you like to do
the crossword puzzle together?” she said, “No, honey. I’d rather just
talk about how you’re doing.”
That really caught me off-guard. I
couldn’t remember what I’d been doing besides visiting her. Then I
remembered that I’d gone to dinner at the home of friends last night, so I
brought up the subjects I’d discussed with them—“Spellbound,” the documentary
about spelling bees, and The Invisible Gorilla. That segued well
into the book I’ve been bringing but never getting to, Unlikely Friendship.
I showed Mom the picture on the
cover, a money gently leaning against a dove, and Mom smiled and laughed what
sounded a little bit like a social laugh—a laugh to show appreciation or to be
polite.
When I read her the blurb, she
responded to the part about “a massive gorilla…embracing a tiny kitten.”
“Oh, that sounds so sweet.” So I read it to her first. (In the past
Mom really liked to read aloud, but she hasn’t wanted to do that
recently.)
When I read the word inexplicable with the
accent before plic, Mom said, “Now tell me how you as an English teacher think
that should be pronounced. In EX plicable or in ex PLICable?”
Mother has a very keen awareness
that I’m an English teacher.
She also said later, when we got to
a picture of a bear and a cat, “Now, doesn’t that look make you think of your
students?” and I was afraid she was going to point to the black cat’s “Asian
eyes” --Do Asians have cat eyes?-- but she pointed instead to the bear’s.
“Don’t those look like your students’
eyes, looking intently?” she asked.
I didn’t disabuse her of this notion
of rapt attention in a world where they’d rather be texting.
I had no idea they were going to let the cat die, but close to the end of the
story, the kitten was hit by a car, and Mom said, “Oh, Tina! Don’t ever
read such sad things,” so I vowed to avoid all sad endings.
We read a couple of others, and I asked her about a story I remembered from my
childhood—one about a bobcat and a fawn. I also asked about the Fiat in
South Carolina. Did she remember the pine trees? Yes. Did she
remember Daddy’s driving the Fiat right onto our lawn?
“Yes, but he did that to throw
umbrage on me. So I could get my car out.”
Throw umbrage on!
Divina came in to check on
Mom. Divina said that she had fixed Mom’s hair in the pony tail, and Mom
said, “I think I can keep it like this…maybe twelve more hours.”
When Divina said that it would be
time for lunch at 12, Mom asked, “Tomorrow?” When Divina said
“Today. In a few minutes,” Mom said, “Oh, honey, I won’t be
eating.” (I forgot to mention that I’d brought a bag of cookies—not
home-made—and offered one to Mom, who usually gobbles them up. But this
time, she took one and broke it in two and ate it. I said, “I don’t want
to spoil your appetite, and she said she wouldn’t be eating.)
I asked Divina whether Mom could
have her lunch brought to her room, and Divina said, “Sure! Do you want
me to bring your lunch to your room?”
Mom said. “Well, if it isn’t too
messy.”
I’d been sitting right by Mom on the bed, and it got sort of uncomfortable, so
I tried to resurrect the beautiful brown bear-like bed rest, but Mom told me to
sit on the chair. She was concerned about the missing light bulb and
indicated Kay’s chair, which was closer to the window.
“But that’s Kay’s chair,” I
said.
“No, it’s mine,” Mom said, and then she looked
uncertain.
“I’ll just sit here. I can see fine.”
Then Kay, dressed in a pretty red outfit (but I didn’t check it for her name)
came in, and after I’d greeted her, she said, “Where is she?”
Then she spotted Mom in bed and
said, “Why aren’t you doing your duty? You’re going to go out there and do what
you did to me. Get your music. It’s a mess out there.
The wrong people are in charge. Now I’m in charge, so get out
there. Your piano music is waiting.”
Mom said, “I played the piano for a
long time this morning,” but Kay was not satisfied, and Mom suddenly looked as
if she were under the spell of a mad magician or hypnotist rather than, say, a
life coach.
Mom immediately got out of bed. Then I saw them come as close as I’ve
ever seen them to a physical fight.
Mom said, “I’m going to have to go to the bathroom,” and Kay said,
“No. Get out there now.”
Mom said, “Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” or something conveying that
meaning.
Kay said, “Don’t do a thing,
then. Don’t do a damn thing!”
And they were standing face to face,
but no one offered anything but verbal blows. Kay went out of the room
and then a woman came in and said, “What happened?”
“Are you Kay’s daughter?” I asked, and she said yes. Her name was Cathy.
I told her very briefly what had happened and she shook her head but not as if
she didn’t believe me.
She’s Debra’s sister, but I’ve never seen her before because she doesn’t live
nearby.
“Oh, where do you live?” I asked.
“In the mountains,” she said.
As high up as she can get, I’ll bet.
Mom told them, “My daughter came, but I didn’t invite her.”
“Would you like me to leave now, Mom?” I asked, and she didn’t say
“Scram!” She said, “I think that would be best.”
Love,
Tina/Mom
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