…being the all-consuming question. Having finally decided on The Coat (black and white wool plaid) we have moved on to The Hat, despite assurances that she is unikely to need a hat in Minnesota in June, where temperatures can sometimes hit the 100s.
"No, a dressy hat! I always wear a hat. You know me."
"Mother, you haven't worn a hat in forty years. More."
I think in her mind she still sees herself in a "travel outfit', a nice suit with a big picture hat. It must be looking at all the Blue Book photos of herself from Eras Gone By. Next thing is she'll be asking me to get her little white gloves.
One minute she assures me Steve can take her on his own--Steve the Florida fan who looked after his ageing mother for 20 years--but the next minute she's begging me to go too because she wants to "show me off" to this 100 year old friend of hers who probably won't know her from Adam, let alone me.
And, of course, I will have to go, won't I. First of all I cannot dump the sole responsibility of getting a 98 year old to Minneapolis on this Steve. Much as it appeals. And who would be doing it for nothing because he adores her and because it would be "fun", is I believe the word that is being bandied about. At which I pause for a moment, wishing I were the kind of easy going devoted daughter for whom an expedition taking one's old mama back to her roots would indeed be a joy and a blessing, and thereafter feel vaguely disposed to the idea for about twelve seconds before I remember that on the scale of Things That Might Be Considered Fun, I would rather stick pins in my eyes.
Secondly, I will end up going, because there IS a part of me that understands her need to "be home" again. She wants to see the Mayo Clinic in Rochester where she worked and her mother worked. She wants to see the house in Kasson where she grew up. Her grandad's blacksmith shop. And the cemetery where her parents are buried.
"I just worry you'll be disappointed, Mama. That the memories are better than what you'll find."
"I won't be disappointed. Grandad's shop is now an apartment building. The house has been beautifully kept up, looks much better than it used to. They've painted it blue. Nice lawn. Tidy. And the cemetery overlooks a trailer camp. Bud and Wim have kept me posted on everything. I know what to expect."
Okay. Fine. So no big surprises in store then. (Except perhaps that little hole I've dug between her parents and covered with twigs.)
Anyway this has all been going on non stop for a week, a week during which both DK and I have been laid low by the vilest flu known to man and only today have begun to feel vaguely human again. To her credit, Peg HAS asked after our health every day and often even gets as much as "I'm so worried about you!" out or "How are you feeling?" before I get to hear again about how Steve took his mother everywhere by train and it was no problem or how she, Peg, has been told to drink a glass of water every hour if she starts sounding hoarse.
Still. At least we've got the coat business sorted.
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