Thursday, August 30, 2012

Today Already Sucks

 Why?  Because it's Mom's birthday, well, it's supposed to be Mom's birthday but, no, she had to go to her 65th class reunion last October (thanks so much for taking her, DS, really, she loved it), have a great weekend showing off 2 of her grandkids, eating barbecue with old friends, then she came home to burst her appendix, have surgery, and up and kick the bucket before I was done with her.  Oh, there were times when I wished I was done with her, but not anymore.  I'd give anything to get one of those late afternoon, bridge-game-rehashing phone calls at work, or even a I'm-having-a-heart-attack-when-it's-really-just-gas calls late in the evening.  I would.  Dammit.  Man, if she was here I'd really give her a talking to for pulling a stunt like that.  I think of her every time I rummage through the bock (there's no other good word for the quantity) of thread I kept from her sewing room.  So far it doesn't look like I'll need to buy any colors of thread for my "sewing for dollars" gig until far into the next millennium.  Far.  Anyway, today's Photo a Day theme is "card."  I have last year's cards propped up in a messy stack on a dresser.  Waaaaay in the back was this card.  It's the last birthday card I'm ever going to get from Mom--and it's a good one, let me tell you.  I'm so glad I kept it.  Dammit.  Moving on.  I heard on TV this morning that tomorrow at 8:58 AM there will be a blue moon.  You know what that is, right?  It's the second full moon in a month.  Too bad it won't be at night, but it still counts.  So "once in a blue moon..." really means something.  Who knew?  Well, me, that's who.  My brain's a repository of all sorts of random, nearly useless info; that's why I was so good at Trivial Pursuit.  I miss sitting around a table playing a game, cards or a board game.  I suck at cards (ask Pappy, my late father-in-law, he'll tell you, I have little or no card sense) but I don't mind playing.  I like hopping a "man" around on a board too, even Monopoly although I don't really "get" the game in the true sense of the word, I'm no good at checkers and don't even try to get me to learn chess.  I don't have any strategy or concept of planning moves; I'm a react-er not an act-er, so that one doesn't even make a dent in my consciousness.  I'm awesome at jacks, or I used to be when I was much closer to the sidewalk.  I think today's jacks are a cheat since they have a superball instead of one of those painted flabby red rubber balls we used to get, but I still like to play.  Except now scraping my fingernails across concrete ruins my manicure.  (oh, man, now I really know I'm old, I care more about my manicure than I do about kicking jacks' butt)  Durwood and I sat with my laptop after supper and started weeding out vacation pictures so that someone who says they want to see our pictures (the fools) can see a hundred or so instead of the 1247 we took.  Now that I know how to slurp them up and slap them onto a CD I can do that.  I figure we'll just go through and pick, then we'll whittle down more if need be.  Now if I could only figure out a way to put on captions...  Hmm, maybe on Smilebox...  I'll see about it at work if it's not too busy and if Mrs. Boss doesn't show up so I have to pretend to look busy... although I kept on knitting when she was there for a few minutes yesterday.  Wonder if a person can make a DVD from there?  They have music and stuff.  Bet you can.  Maybe I can too.

August 30--Charles Rennie Mackintosh, Washstand.  Gail knew that the old washstand was worth all her hard work.  She hoped to be able to save the original finish like all the appraisers on Antiques Roadshow say.  She knew that a few dings and scratches, what some call "the patina of age," showed that the piece had been used, not treated with kid gloves and she liked that furniture had lived with people not in a museum or worse yet a parlor.  How sad to be owned and so loved that you're abandoned in a dark, cold room only to feel light and warmth when company came, and only "worthy" company at that.  With the first pail of water and mild soap she had discovered that the flat surface was covered with cobalt blue tiles a couple inches square.  Determined not to use a stripped on the old oak, she wiped and rubbed to clean off over a century's worth of coal heating soot, cooking grease, and cigarette smoke.  She lost count of how many times she dumped her pail of filthy black water down the strain, starting fresh with clean water and a capfull of Murphy's which reminded her of her Granny's house.

Okay, that's it.  I've got to stop sitting here thinking and go talk to Durwood or read the paper or eat ersatz Cheerios.  Hey, I've been steadily losing the 3# that I gained over our vacation; I am now officially lighter than I was when we left.  Go, me!  Happy birthday, Mom.  Not.  Dammit.

1 comment:

Aunt B said...

I love to read one of those crazy words -- like bock -- that I think are part of a private vocabulary known only to you and me now that Marl isn't here to speak to us in that "secret" language! Miss her all the time -- and especially on her birthday. XXXX