Tag Archives: family

I can’t unhear this (Mom)

Copyright 2015 YawningDog/Kate GarrensonMom: Artist’s Hands by YawningDog

Mom has been retired for about six months now. She’s 73 (looks 60 — I should be so lucky). She’s also an artist — a frustrated artist who hasn’t had the time, opportunity or self-confidence to hone her craft other than sporadically.

It didn’t take long for her to go all Telephone Thing on me nearly every day (usually twice a day at minimum). That’s understandable — she’s retired but is currently living with one of my brothers until her cottage is finished (that’s a story in itself, and not a good one). So, not only is she down from working 70 hours a week to none, she’s lost at sea in her own ocean.

The History of Mom will have to be another post, so let me just get this out of my system.

She called tonight just before I was about to put dinner on the table. She tends to go on and on when on the phone (and in person), so I said, “What’s up?”

CallingWoman1MarcelOosterwijkCalling woman I by Marcel Oosterwijk on Flickr

“What are you up to?”

“Dinner.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll let you get back to it. I just wanted to tell you that there’s been a development.”

“A development.”

“A development in my life. But yeah, but I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you all about it.”

I have visions of tossing and turning all night wondering what this development could be. The way things have been in her life lately, it could be anything from a new recipe to a potential boyfriend, and I’d like to get the discovery over with now. “Mom, you can’t just say there’s been a development in your life and then say you’ll tell me all about it in 24 hours.”

“But you’re busy.”

“Tell.”

“A hummus platter.”

I actually take the phone away from my ear, frown at it, put it back. There’s no way she’s calling me about hummus. “What?”

“I was talking to the waitress.”

“Okay. So…?”

*crickets*

“Well… should I have sex?”

My first thought: she just said this in a restaurant. My second thought came out of my mouth — “How the hell should I know?” — at the same time my inner child put its hands over its ears and chanted, La la la la, I can’t hear you!

lalalalaIdontwanttohearthisHildeSkjolbergFlickrLalalala.. I don’t wanna hear this by Hilde Slkjølberg on Flickr

“Well, there are mitigating circumstances.”

Mitigating.

“Mom… if you have desire and want to do it, then do it. If there are circumstances that might make you, I dunno, question doing it or regret it afterwards or whatever, then don’t do it.”

*crickets*

“Well… in a nutshell. Hmm. Okay, thanks, honey.”

“Okay Mom.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Yikers. My ears. My psyche.

Copyright 2015 YawningDog/Kate GarrensonShocked Eyes by YawningDog

Dexter in the Lunchroom

So over dinner the other night, Nitram was telling me stories about work. He misses Tim, who’s a real wiseass, and sounds like someone I’d like a lot, though I’ll never get to meet him now since he’s left for greener pastures.

“This guy Greg just does not stop talking, no matter what. I’m having a peaceful lunch, reading the paper, other people are having their own peaceful lunches — even Greg, for once — when Tim walks in and says, ‘Hey, Greg, tell us all about politics in New Jersey!’ and walks out! That bastard!”

Yes, I’d definitely like Tim.

“We’re all trying to eat and Greg’s forgotten about his lunch, he’s just going on and on and on — and no one’s listening! But that doesn’t make a difference to him, he just keeps going. Oh, I swear, I — if I was a serial killer, I’d, I’d… I’d kill him first!”

I burst out laughing. Nitram goes on about Greg and I can’t stop giggling. He gives me the what look, and I say, “That was really funny!”

“It was?”

“Yes! Did you make that up?”

“Make what up?”

“‘If I was a serial killer, I’d kill him first.'”

“I guess so, yeah. But it’s true.”

My mild-mannered, easygoing mate. He’s going to off some guy for talking too much in the canteen at work. Classic sociopath. Gotta love him.

chainsaw_massacre-16_smallWM

LindaMacphersonPhotography.com

“There is no Spoon.”

This morning Nitram and I are stumbling round the kitchen in an early morning fog. He has the teaspoon out of my reach and looks to be done with it, so I say:

“Spoon.”

He’s laughing. “Spoon! Spoooooon.”

“What. Gimme the goddam spoon.”

He’s still laughing and I tell him he’s missed his cue.

“My what?”

“You know — you’re supposed to say, ‘There is no Spoon.”

“Why am I supposed to say that?”

“Cos in Dog Soldiers, after Spoon gets eaten by the werewolf — but before he gets eaten he’s in its face saying, ‘I hope I give you the shits—’ but after that, when they get back into the kitchen and Cooper asks, “Where’s Spoon?’ the sergeant answers, ‘There is no Spoon.'”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“How could you forget that movie! It was—” and I have to explain what seems like half the plot, while still trying to make my tea and get half-awake.

“Oh, okay. Okay…”

Christ on a crutch.

So tonight we’re talking on the phone and he starts teasing me about how I said “spoon” and I tease him back about missing his cue and he says, “Huh?”

I think my head is going to explode. “This is like déjà vu all over again, in Hell. I can see my life stretching before my eyes now: Your nose and ear hair will be eight inches long, you’ll have food all over your face, and I’ll be trying to figure out a final solution for both of us.”

“What! What?”

So I go through most of this morning’s conversation. Again. The only excuse Nitram can come up with is “but I was sleepy too.”

“Yeah, and I’ll have a good excuse when the police get here. ‘Oh, officer, he choked on his spoon.'”

I’ll just have to make sure there is a spoon.