Sunday, September 14, 2008
Meet Ima Little Teapot.
I visited my mother today and told her I'd found Gram's teapot, and she called it "very old." I'm 50 and a mere child in her eyes, so I'm really wondering how old Ima is. Probably 75, maybe even older. I am not planning to use her, she's too dignified; but she will live in my kitchen. If Ima's style rings a bell with anyone, I'd love to know her history.
I just got a kick out of how awesome she looks in a modern kitchen. I took the picture on a bookshelf to catch what was left of the light, but seriously, she rocks on the dark granite countertop.
We didn't make it to Carmax. I had no energy left and a lot of other shit to do, and Girl has been working 12 hour days all week and had cramps, and needed to go sit around Carmax like she needed another day at work. So we blew it off, and I made the mistake of mentioning that to my mother when I visited this afternoon. I GOT YELLED AT BY MY MOTHER! when I told her. She got mad! She got over it fast, but anybody lurking and thinking that I'm selling her life out from under her - she's just pissed that I'm not doing it faster. Seriously, I'm busting ass in all directions, and there was no burning need to do this today instead of next week or next month. I took it in the way I think it was intended, and it's sad. My mother is bedridden and frail, but still aware, and being unable to get up and DO things is driving her crazy. It's making her nuts that she can't go to Carmax with me and unload the car, or help sort stuff at the house, etc., so she settles for bitching because I'm not doing it fast enough. And yeah, I can shake my head and not take it personally; I understand where she's coming from.
The 2 units of blood made her color look wonderful, but she was dozing when I walked in, and my first thoughts were first, Holy Shit she looks just like her mother now, and second, how can someone that tiny and fragile still live. Her body is a wrinkle in the blankets, but her spirit is fierce, which is why I actually treasured getting lectured for not selling her goddamn car fast enough.
You'd think I'd be used to this by now, this is the third close family member I'll be losing in 5 years. And it's my mother, for godssake. No matter how she drives me crazy when she's crazy, she's my mother. And what I'm doing now - winding down her life for her while she is still alive - is possibly the hardest thing I've ever done. When my husband died I was pissed and running on the adrenaline of the insanity of those years, and determined that this was not going to take the family down. And it didn't. And I worked my ass off for the last 5 years, fighting hurricanes and job changes and of course that pesky friggin' Brain Thang, and I survived it all. But now I'm steadily losing ground against the economy, and I truly have no idea about my own future. My own plans have stalled, because her needs have had to take priority due to the urgency of her situation.
I had an email from a reader in the UK (Oh, doesn't that make me sound all international and sophisticated?), an email that I didn't see for at least 2 weeks because I don't check that Gmail account as often as I should. The issue of privacy while blogging came up. I've been on the Net since 1992 in one form or the other, and periodically I'll Google myself, to see if I'm visible under my real name, and so far, I'm not.
And that also made me think a bit about my blogging style. Once upon a time, this was a knitting blog. Yes, I still do knit, and will work on Boy's second sock later. But my knitting was hardly worthy of a blog then and still isn't now. But am I spilling my guts here, talking about really personal stuff? Not really. In the big picture, I'm sharing 10, okay, 30%, of my life. There's a lot more going on than I am willing to discuss on teh innernets, for privacy reasons.
A lot of better wordsmiths than me have blogged about blogging while trying to be sort of private, so I won't even try. I try to be honest about life experiences that may be common to others - elderly parent issue being the theme of the year - not the one I'd have picked. I was rooting for a much more upbeat and cheerful theme. I don't make up, embellish, or distort what I say here, but I do leave out things that could be a privacy issue, for me or somebody else.
So when I say that I am fantasizing about a mani-pedi, it's a fantasy, it's not because I'm just not taking time for myself. I do take time for myself. I am sitting here now, typing this, with a beer at my side and mindless TV, and that is my time for me. Anything else has to be scheduled into a life that is already way overscheduled, and budgeted into a life that is running in the red. I take my downtime where I can. If someone wants to buy me dinner, I gladly accept. If I get away to Cousin C's, I will suggest the mani-pedi before High Tides. I am a woman of very simple tastes. Tonight's downtime will be sponsored by the NFL and Miller Lite.
And tomorrow it's effing Monday again.