MOTHERS DEAREST
I mentioned on FB, a week or so ago, my mother-in-law got very sick and had to go to the ER. From there, she was transferred to the hospital, where she stayed five days. While there, PG&E cut the power to her house for fire safety concerns.
My mother lives about an hour away from the hospital, and drove up, collected my MIL, and brought her back to (my mom’s) home. It turned out to be uneventful by everyone’s account, and MIL left after a few days.
About halfway through their roommateship, my mother called to apologize to my husband and me for overstepping the boundary between the families. My mother makes these kind of apologies regularly, as she seems to have no real understanding of normal people boundaries, and a painful embarrassment of her inability to suss them out. I told her it was fine, and not my business who she keeps under her roof.
My mother sighed, relieved, and said, “The only awkward part was at the end. (MIL) turned to me right before she left and asked why I had offered to let her stay with me. I guess she thought it was odd.”
“I hope you asked her why she agreed!” I immediately responded, boundaries set to aggressive mother fucker.
“No,” Mom sounded so forlorn, the way people get when they fundamentally don’t understand other people. In the moment, I thought she was forlorn about MIL’s response, but in retrospect, suspect maybe it was a reaction to mine. “I guess I think of her as family. I mean, don’t tell her that. But us old farts have to look out for each other.”
In tangentially related news, Mom has begun floating possible memorial dates for Dad. In mass email, Everyone Give Me Your Black Out Can’t Do It Dates format, so she can put together a big calendar, presumably blacking out every day but one, upon which, we will all convene. This sets us to at least June, nearly a year and a half postmortem. But the thing that I keep puzzling over, and dare not ask anyone about: The Exes are not on the mass email address list.
FIELD TRIP
This weekend, I am attending the Central California Writer’s Day in Thousand Oaks. I’m traveling overnight with two friends; a published author and a playwright whose plays have been whatever the stage equivalent is: produced? Read aloud in front of an audience? I’m not learned in the play world.
I’m that level of nervous a person gets for activities in which one doesn’t really have to do anything: Just show up and wear comfortable shoes and flow through the internal digestive track that is a day of learning.
Because so little is under my control, I’m possibly more nervous about the things which I can control. I found myself wondering this morning if daring to wear a colorful shirt makes me a preening, attention needy peacock and I should stick with a black cowl and grey pants like a civilized adult. OTOH, I have a supremely peacocky shirt that I never wear because School Pick Up Carpool or MOCK TRIAL PARENT’S MEETING also seem ill advised places to wear flashy clothes. Perhaps I just need to adjust my life to fit my fantasy wardrobe choices. Which probably means moving to Vegas and coaxing lions to jump through fiery hoops.
Other things I’m nervous about:
–We are sharing a hotel room! Business/casual friendships will slide into the kind of friendships where they will see me in my underwear! Sleeping! Putting on makeup! It is way too intimate. And yet, I am kind of looking forward to forced intimacy. Life has become boring. I’m riding the anxiety high.
–Not enough alone time for Anne. I keep telling myself it is only for two days. But it goes from talking in a car for hours (the upper limits of my social abilities) and dumps right into conventions (astronomically beyond my social abilities). Even in the bathroom, there will be other people (convention) or the sounds of other people (hotel). Forget about pooping! Just kidding! This will be all I think about.
–What if we all get in a big fight, and I can’t go home because I don’t have a car, but I HATE THEM SO MUCH? This is 100% holdover from a bad sleepover in 4th grade. They played keep away with a pair of my underwear.
FINALLY
A while ago, I wrote some chapters on Wattpad for a story called MIDDLE RAGE. When I abandoned it, a few people emailed me and asked to be updated if I ever added chapters. SURE THING! I giddily but falsely promised. Because although I had excellent intentions, it’s been a while, and I can’t currently remember who I promised or what I did with their contact information. So if this is you, here’s your new chapter! Also, SORRY FOR BEING A FLAKE, BUT I ASSUME YOU PREDICTED THIS WOULD HAPPEN AS YOU KNOW ME. Enjoy your freaking two years later update. Love, Anne
For what it’s worth, communion wafers only become the body of Christ once consecrated, i.e. once a validly-ordained priest says the appropriate prayers in an appropriate way.
So a teenager ordering them off the internet to snack is just eating some very dry bread. 🙂
Dude, I drove through your territory twice in the past fifteen days. Now you will drive through mine, but, alas I will be away this weekend.
Also, alone time is necessary. When it becomes imperative, find closest Starbucks and lock yourself into the single person bathroom! Sometimes it is the only way.
Enjoy!
Oohhh, I feel you on the sleep over. It wasn’t undies, but so much hairspray I applied to my Mormon- do bangs (half curled up, half curled under) that it was beaded up and slightly drippy. This was noticed and whispered about in that mean pre-teen girl way. I ended up traumatised and hid in the bathroom until pickup an hour or so later.
But whatever.
What I came to say is this: you got a phone and a credit card, you’ll be ok. Get in a big fight? Call one of those rental car companies that will pick you up and drive yourself home. Or to Target. Wherever your happy place. Don’t want to talk? Don’t. Like another said, take yourself to whatever coffee/dining/shopping/record store that brings you joy and Zen out. Sneak back to the hotel during the convention when the other two are busy. Find a stair well. Not comfy, but usually deserted. Good for a few minutes of being by one’s self.
But really, HAVE FUN.