Mothers and Daughters

At some point, I think each young girl wants to be like her mother.

Then the game changes around age 12 and she wants NOTHING to be like her mother. Then at 32,42,52 she sees she is her mother. Hmmm,I have given this subject lots of thought.

I went to visit my mother over the holiday. She is now 84, and wanted to see both me and my brother together. This was THE TALK about where things are, what her final wishes are, and how she would like the end of life to unfold. She is in relatively good health, but figures that with a little of this, and a little of that, the wheels may fall off the bus anytime. She guides me in wisdom yet again.


My brother was all business. He has some paralegal background, and the paperwork of dying was his only agenda. He dictated what jobs he is going to do, and what he wants me to do. Mother really could care less, she just wanted us to know her wishes. I don't think he wanted to hear her real message of wanting to spare us as much pain as possible when she passes. She has lost a husband, and saw me lose one, and knows that these things can happen without warning, and family members can be tortured with the what ifs, if they have not been spoken in advance.


Not all children are trustworthy to fulfill their parents' wishes. I have seen awful fighting, rivalries, and "getting even" at the time of a parent's death. It is so very sad to see that the respect and reverance for a parent are not foremost in a child's mind, but petty egocentric behaviors prevail. Then there is the free for all for the loot. So very very sad.


Not my mother and me. We really are on the same page. I have come to know that I am rooted in her, but am my own person. She will always see me as her child, but then, I always see her as my mother. So we are even.


 I caught myself allowing her to cook and serve me, when it should have been the other way around. I rationalized that this made her feel good. Good and tired I think. I basked in the womb once more.............feeling very much loved and cared for. I know it helped her to feel our connection, which is deep and strong.  This trip, I helped her up and down, got things from the high shelf, and lifted her walker onto the curb. We went to a museum, and then shopping. I helped her try on clothes. It was good to be a helper again. We wore each other out, and left each other with a deep feeling of satisfaction for the visit. The business had been done, and no tears were shed. She still has insight and good advice for me, and made sure I didn't go out with anything dripping from my nose, or forget my lunchbox.


Until next time...........................

The Car

I think of myself as a capable woman. But I do have a very large chink in my kevlar.

THE CAR.

I really don't know anything much about cars, and that is how I like it. My concept of a car is that it is a thing that gets me from point A to point B in more or less comfort and safety. Driving is another matter.
Now, I do enjoy driving like a bat out of hell. That's fun. So I look for cars with the power to go fast.


It is an overwhelming annoyance to fill the tank with gas, let alone remember and pay attention to a maintenence schedule. So I tend to drive cars with flashing signals to tell me when the gas is low, when I need to change the oil, and have a 911 button, connected to a navigation system and a concierge service.If the little bugger doesn't work right, I am very put out. Like this weekend.

Believe you me, this was the icing on the cake! I returned from Denver from a lovely wedding. The day started with me waking up in the Mountain Time Zone a couple of hours earlier than needed. I lollygagged and finally got to the parking lot of the airport hotel, ready to scoot to the gas station and then turn in my rental car.

DEAD AS A DOORNAIL!

Not good. Try the darn thing again. No luck. Call AVIS and tell them THEY HAVE A PROBLEM. I told them where to collect their miserable junk heap, not to charge me for the day or the gas, and tossed the keys the front desk clerk and boarded the shuttle.

Forward past a long flight to Tampa and then a four hour delay. I had a good book,but it was getting toward the end of the book, and I'm on Weight Watchers, so I couldn't just drown my boredom in chocolate.
Well, after finally getting back to my little home airport, collected my suitcase and tromped off to the garage with my hi tech open the door remotely clicker.

After a bit of wandering late at night alone in a parking garage I found my little darlin and click........click.......not a GD thing happened. Quick phone call to the daugher in law who gives me the emergency number to call for the extra $199/ year I pay to get me out of this kind of trouble.

OK we'll attempt a remote door unlock. Just pick a time from 5 minutes to 17.5 hours from now for us to try it. This is not a joke, they want you to pick a number from out of a hat to ATTEMPT a remote unlock. Now when I got this car and was told that the assistance # could remotely unlock your door, they didn't tell me about this little piece of news #1 it doesn't always work #2 you have to hang around to wait for it . They explained the longer that they got to unlock the door remotely the more likely it would be successful. Well, there I am in this garage with a target painted on my forehead, late at night by myself, and they are asking if I am in a safe place.

OK I'll give you 30 minutes.

During these 30 minutes in 90 degree heat at 10pm, I am phoning a man I am seeing. My mind is saying

WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, and WHY HAVE YOU LET THIS HAPPEN TO ME?

He is a man, who ultimately is responsible for all mechanical things, and I am taking this personally.


In realtiy I am describing my tale of woe. He lives in California and comes to see me in Florida about once a month. This just plays into my concerns he is not really going to move here, or he would have been here to run interference in life for me. OK, I have now joined the dark side. Women who want a man to take care of them. That's why I was married. This is about the only time I really really really miss being married.
On the other hand, my first husband told me to read the manual when I broke down about 50 miles from home. That was a day I realized the marriage was doomed. So I don't have a good track record with men and THE CAR.

The upshot is that I marched off, took a taxi home, got the extra clicker/key and begged a ride back to the airport, where I put putted back home. I ususally don't do drama, but there are exceptions.


Until next time................