Weeding, for instance. And chopping and cutting and clearing ten years worth of plant growth outside. The place is looking not unlike Grey Gardens, that overgrown house in Long Island owned by crazy cousins of Jackie O's. Outside Bob wasn't here when this place was in its prime, when Odd had the place manicured. Now it's machete time. I suppose there's no pressing reason to clear it at all except I can't stand seeing it this way. I want it to look the way Daddy planned it. I do it for him.
_______________
Progress also on the Pill Front. Peg has finally agreed she needs Bonnie's help sorting her meds into individual daily doses in those blue plastic pill boxes, like Bonnie did for Odd. This decision was after Peg this morning turned on the tap inadvertently INTO her plastic pill bin, drenching the INFO LIST and the PILL DIAGRAMS--Bonnie has had to write it all out for her, what she takes when, what shape the Norvasc is as opposed to the Digoxin or the Amaryl or Alpurinol or. Peg takes 16 pills a day. Correction: she is supposed to take 16 pulls a day, but by the time she has them all out on the counter like some science experiment and next thing is three are on the floor or in the garbage or sink or back in the wrong bottle, who knows what the hell she's taking, or when.
I watched all this going on today and finally and to take over. What's astounding is that A) she let me; and B) for Peg's entire life, at least for as long as I've been aware of it, she has made a HUGE DEAL, and I mean huge, about taking pills, claming she has a small throat and chokes, the result being she wouldn't take any pill, even a minute one, without peaches and cottage cheese, tapioca pudding, applesauce--anything to make it go down more easily and it was such a (boring) production number and she made such a meal of it that by the time she finally got the morning pills down it was time to deal with the afternoon ones.
So now, today, this morning, once I'd got the pills all meted out in a little dish and was about to move into canned peaches mode, I see her tip them all into her mouth at once, swig a little water and--down the hatch! Well! I am stunned. I mentioned this. She said she has no problem with pills at all.
________________
STAFF ON CALL: Outside Bob, who besides clearing the forest is helping get piles of stuff in the drive ready for The Dump, tomorrow's excitement, and another pile (which we are keeping hidden for now on the porch so Peg doesn't haul stuff back in) for the Tag Sale in Hinsdale that Bob is having in 10 days time and says I can horn in on. I am looking forward to it. How sad is this.
I have given Bonnie a much-deserved week off. Terri is in Alabama seeing her son. Dominick is I/m not sure where, New York I think. Going to see if he, being Italian, wants the electric Pizzelle-making iron I found in the larder.
_______________
8 GUNSHOTS YESTERDAY as we had lunch. Had seen the Boundary Guy's car up near all the pink ribbons earlier, so wondered if maybe he'd shot his surveyor or encountered a bear. Got into the car to investigate and found an elderly guy (younger than me no doubt) on Leland Road, also concerned. He said the shots had come from the house next door but there was a police car in the drive so he assumed all was OK. I came home and called the Fire Department about this because well, what if a policeman had been shot, and because I couldn't find the Police local number, and was told oh yeah, Leland, all OK down there, no worries, no one hurt, only "disposing of an animal". I then lay awake wondering what kind of animal takes eight shots to dispose of or was it just that the guy was a terrible shot. The General Store was robbed last night, Outside Bob told me, plus a couple of "breaking and entering" not far away. I am now creeped out and won't let him tell Peg. Who I am again feeling kindly disposed towards, despite having to watch The Top Ten Worst Tornadoes with her on the Weather Channel, all of which showed the usual devastating images of flattened houses and all looked the same. My main mission tomorrow is to track down the person who wrote the intensely irritating tune the Weather Channel plays when they show you the weather across the States, which they do about every ten minutes--and kill the fucker.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Saturday, August 9, 2014
GUILTY!
Peg got a condolence card from some relative in the Midwest with the usual sentiments including that "Odd is happy now and has gone to a better place".
Really? How does Sharon know this? Better, how? In what way? What exactly is it that makes it better than Becket, Massachusetts, where Odd was in fact deleriously happy (until he became just delerious period, at the end), does it have pine trees and rhododendrons? Central heating? 'Revelation' brand pipe tobacco? Marinated herring? It doesn't have his Peggy (yet) that's for sure, so it can't be THAT much better or in fact any place he'd want to be for one second, Sharon, just so you know, unless my mother were there too, and she doesn't appear to be remotely ready.
I, on the other hand am at the door, car keys in hand, just give me directions, because I would rather be any place than here, right now, I swear, because the past 24 hours have not been particularly easy, because a phone conversation I had with my friend Annie last night, in which along with the usual Becket Moans I told her how, tee hee, when Peg's back is turned I throw out letters she'll never answer, including a huge wodge of ones she gets from some fan three times a week (we're having to devote an entire bookcase now to his stuff) and after the call Peg materialized next to me in the office, steaming, saying she'd heard every single word over her the extension next to her bed which apparently was marginally off the hook, marginally enough to land me in deepest water and it's safe to day I feel pretty badly about this and am still racking my brains trying to recall what else I may have said that a mother should never hear. Jesus. What a shitheel. Me, not her. She who is getting so deaf but won't admit it, you have to repeat everything 12 times, and now here's the one conversation you'd prefer her not to hear first time round, not to mention at all, and it's registered clear as a bell.
A two maybe three hour row followed. Which I will detail another time--my "sister" Jennifer just arrived for the night--but culminating in Peg picking up David Sedaris' "Santaland Diaries" (my recommendation) and me stomping off upstairs to bed, but not before texting Annie to say "She's loopy and tonight I fucking HATE her ".
Nice. What a nice daughter.
Really? How does Sharon know this? Better, how? In what way? What exactly is it that makes it better than Becket, Massachusetts, where Odd was in fact deleriously happy (until he became just delerious period, at the end), does it have pine trees and rhododendrons? Central heating? 'Revelation' brand pipe tobacco? Marinated herring? It doesn't have his Peggy (yet) that's for sure, so it can't be THAT much better or in fact any place he'd want to be for one second, Sharon, just so you know, unless my mother were there too, and she doesn't appear to be remotely ready.
I, on the other hand am at the door, car keys in hand, just give me directions, because I would rather be any place than here, right now, I swear, because the past 24 hours have not been particularly easy, because a phone conversation I had with my friend Annie last night, in which along with the usual Becket Moans I told her how, tee hee, when Peg's back is turned I throw out letters she'll never answer, including a huge wodge of ones she gets from some fan three times a week (we're having to devote an entire bookcase now to his stuff) and after the call Peg materialized next to me in the office, steaming, saying she'd heard every single word over her the extension next to her bed which apparently was marginally off the hook, marginally enough to land me in deepest water and it's safe to day I feel pretty badly about this and am still racking my brains trying to recall what else I may have said that a mother should never hear. Jesus. What a shitheel. Me, not her. She who is getting so deaf but won't admit it, you have to repeat everything 12 times, and now here's the one conversation you'd prefer her not to hear first time round, not to mention at all, and it's registered clear as a bell.
A two maybe three hour row followed. Which I will detail another time--my "sister" Jennifer just arrived for the night--but culminating in Peg picking up David Sedaris' "Santaland Diaries" (my recommendation) and me stomping off upstairs to bed, but not before texting Annie to say "She's loopy and tonight I fucking HATE her ".
Nice. What a nice daughter.
Friday, August 8, 2014
PAPERWORK
Mountains of it. Odd's Social Security. Odd's work pension (Beloit Corp), Odd's Norwegian pension, Odd's Papermachinery engineering death benefit, Prudential Life Insurance forms, which have three teeny tiny stocks attached, Verizon, Vodophone and Comcast, which I have been advised to sell, for the grand sun of about two cents, but to do this we have to go through Probate and list me as executor and open an Odd Ronning estate bank account and--all because of these stupid three mini stocks. Otherwise the estate could just carry on as normal since we cleverly divided it (we meaning Virginia the Elder Services lawyer) ten years ago into Peg and Odd separate trusts thus avoiding Mass State inheritance tax. Not that I'll have any now, it's just a pain, because the whole day has now revolved around these stocks which will net us, oh, $1000 if we're lucky.
On top of which no sign of Peg and Odd's state marriage license, only the church one, which is no good as far as stupid Verizon, Vodaphone and Comcast go, apparently, so now have to write, as Peg, to Manhattan City Clerk and get two copies ($25) but can't pay by credit card, have to truck to Post Office for Postal Money Order.
Also cancelled Odd's Mutual of Omaha Travel Accident Policy (and will get reimbursed $43). And have found Odd's original Prudential Life Insurance policy, sitting tidily in the safe deposit box at Berkshire Bank and have now copied the beneficiary pages with Peg's name on it and will send them off to Prudential because they don't seem to be organized enough to hang onto that record themselves.
And when I get the Marriage Certficate will send that off to Odd's Norway pension people along with the 7 pages of filled out forms, which I'm sure I've done all wrong, and anyhow is a waste of time because I am fairly sure she will not get any spouse benefits because she's never lived in Norway and doesn't have a Norway ID number, not that I found one for my father either but I guess he must have one.
Oppenheimer Fund, Dreyfuss Fund, and two others remain a mystery as to do we still have them or did we sell them, no dividend checks have come in in four years but this could be because Odd merged it with fuck knows and--today is not a good day for me. Would much rather work on Peg's website with Cousin Tim as I did all yesterday. Fewer form-filling involved. Am now finding myself thinking Peg? Please don't die too soon because the paperwork will kill me.
Am now off to the end of the driveway to meet this Michael Sanders the guy who's instigated this boundary issue to find out if I think he's a sleaze or on the level, and truck through the woods with him pretending I know what I'm talking about. And then come home infested with ticks and get Lyme Disease.
On top of which no sign of Peg and Odd's state marriage license, only the church one, which is no good as far as stupid Verizon, Vodaphone and Comcast go, apparently, so now have to write, as Peg, to Manhattan City Clerk and get two copies ($25) but can't pay by credit card, have to truck to Post Office for Postal Money Order.
Also cancelled Odd's Mutual of Omaha Travel Accident Policy (and will get reimbursed $43). And have found Odd's original Prudential Life Insurance policy, sitting tidily in the safe deposit box at Berkshire Bank and have now copied the beneficiary pages with Peg's name on it and will send them off to Prudential because they don't seem to be organized enough to hang onto that record themselves.
And when I get the Marriage Certficate will send that off to Odd's Norway pension people along with the 7 pages of filled out forms, which I'm sure I've done all wrong, and anyhow is a waste of time because I am fairly sure she will not get any spouse benefits because she's never lived in Norway and doesn't have a Norway ID number, not that I found one for my father either but I guess he must have one.
Oppenheimer Fund, Dreyfuss Fund, and two others remain a mystery as to do we still have them or did we sell them, no dividend checks have come in in four years but this could be because Odd merged it with fuck knows and--today is not a good day for me. Would much rather work on Peg's website with Cousin Tim as I did all yesterday. Fewer form-filling involved. Am now finding myself thinking Peg? Please don't die too soon because the paperwork will kill me.
Am now off to the end of the driveway to meet this Michael Sanders the guy who's instigated this boundary issue to find out if I think he's a sleaze or on the level, and truck through the woods with him pretending I know what I'm talking about. And then come home infested with ticks and get Lyme Disease.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
WET TUESDAY
But only of course for those outdoors having a picnic tonight on the lawn at Tanglewood in Lenox while waiting for the Boston Symphony Orchestra to strike up. My Big Night Out. Accompanied by Tory (She Who Loans Me Cars) and the delightful Solloway clan from Walberswick, overnighting in Stockbridge en route to Lake Placid from Nantucket. Skies darkened at 7:10, we took cover ten minutes later when the thunder and lightning began, crowding into the back aisle of the open sided Koussivitsky Music Shed (I use the term shed loosely, it's a concert hall that seats about 5,000) but got soaked from the splashes. I have never seen rain like this. Stood for 3 hours thinking this little "mountain storm" would pass. Nope. Relentless. Left at the interval. No umbrellas, no rain slickers. Hair looked nice. Drove home to find Bonnie still here (10:45) even though I had asked her to stay only until 8:00. I think she was scared to leave Peg on her own.
Not me.
_____________
STAFF ON CALL TODAY: Bonnie and Outside Bob, who pissed Peg off by opening a can of tuna from the pantry for lunch when there was salami in the fridge.
_____________
Took Peg to Tina the Hairdressers and while she was being washed and blow dried (have finally talked her out of the tight curled old lady look she favours) I raced across town to Price Chopper, Rite Aid to pick up Peg's Neurontin, which I now see we have tons of so don't know who ordered more or indeed know what this medication is precisely for (or care), got gas, then got Peg back into the car, and then Tina, who wanted to point out to Peg some house near hers in Pittsfield for sale that has an "inlaw annex".
There would seem to be a general assumption that now that Daddy is gone, Peg will be moving. Got a letter from an Ann Spadafora today, a local realtor. Sniffing round seeing if I'm putting the house on the market. I probably should have the place valued at some point. I guess. I don't know. I'm so tired of dealing with the house and all it contains I feel like selling it as is, tomorrow, complete with furniture, appliances, 10,000 comedy scripts, and a ninety-seven year old nodding off at the butcher block. The thing is, Peg probably wouldn't mind, she makes friends so easily. Plus I'd leave catheter bag instructions and where to find the Fixodent. And maybe a pencil so they could help fill out that eight page Norwegian Pension Spouse Form that took up most of the afternoon to decipher even though I know she'll never get a kroner from them because she doesn't live there and never worked there and Daddy was a US citizen and so why bother---but you never know, do you, and every little cent helps. All I need to do now is to persuade Peg to stop buying 3 rotisserie chickens every week to leave rotting in the fridge and we'd be away to the races.
Not me.
_____________
STAFF ON CALL TODAY: Bonnie and Outside Bob, who pissed Peg off by opening a can of tuna from the pantry for lunch when there was salami in the fridge.
_____________
Took Peg to Tina the Hairdressers and while she was being washed and blow dried (have finally talked her out of the tight curled old lady look she favours) I raced across town to Price Chopper, Rite Aid to pick up Peg's Neurontin, which I now see we have tons of so don't know who ordered more or indeed know what this medication is precisely for (or care), got gas, then got Peg back into the car, and then Tina, who wanted to point out to Peg some house near hers in Pittsfield for sale that has an "inlaw annex".
There would seem to be a general assumption that now that Daddy is gone, Peg will be moving. Got a letter from an Ann Spadafora today, a local realtor. Sniffing round seeing if I'm putting the house on the market. I probably should have the place valued at some point. I guess. I don't know. I'm so tired of dealing with the house and all it contains I feel like selling it as is, tomorrow, complete with furniture, appliances, 10,000 comedy scripts, and a ninety-seven year old nodding off at the butcher block. The thing is, Peg probably wouldn't mind, she makes friends so easily. Plus I'd leave catheter bag instructions and where to find the Fixodent. And maybe a pencil so they could help fill out that eight page Norwegian Pension Spouse Form that took up most of the afternoon to decipher even though I know she'll never get a kroner from them because she doesn't live there and never worked there and Daddy was a US citizen and so why bother---but you never know, do you, and every little cent helps. All I need to do now is to persuade Peg to stop buying 3 rotisserie chickens every week to leave rotting in the fridge and we'd be away to the races.
Sunday, August 3, 2014
CHIPPING AWAY
...at oh, you name it. Odd's old bedroom upstairs, into which all his recent bedding had been dumped, blankets, clothes he'd worn over the past year or so. Had to go through it. Kind of a lump in my throat the whole time. A large bag went to Laurel Lake Nursing Home, they always seem to be short on sweatshirt type clothes, I remember one time nothing that came back from the laundry there was Daddy's and they had him dressed in some old green homeless-person type tattered trousers which looked like the last wearer had had a not particularly successful set-to with a grizzly. Another bag will go to Goodwill. Bonnie took a polo shirt for her husband's ex business partner that had SYRACUSE on the breast pocket, Odd's old alma mater. Never worn. A gift from me ten years ago. And finally, a shopping bag full of assorted desk items went down to the secondhand store at the bottom of the road here. I got $20 from the guy.
Which I immediately used to buy two bottles of the Becket General Store's Best, some not very nice Yellow Tail Sauvignon Blanc, which, having tasted, have relegated to the back of the fridge. This would be the new fridge Peg has bought, currently sitting on the screened-in porch. And this would also be after mopping up major spillage from some extremely sweet rose wine which tasted like strawberry soda that yesterday's houseguests brought, opened, and then didn't screw the top on very well. The guests who I'd thought were arriving at dinner time but who walked in the door at 10:00 AM.
_________________
Have also culled no-longer-essential (unless of course you are Peg) coffee table books on gardening, plants, Egypt, Norway From Above (aerial views), and a volume devoted to Supertankers which, the stamp inside says, seems to have been withdrawn form the Baldwin Public Library, wherever that is. Anyhow Peg took that one back, along with one of the Oseberg Viking Ship finds.
_________________
LATEST MOTHER- DAUGHTER DISCUSSION:
Lamb Ribs as opposed to Lamb Chops. In the freezer in the bar fridge--as opposed to the new kitchen fridge, or the porch fridge, or the fridge upstairs in Daddy's old office--are two packets of what the labels say are $54.87 worth of "Lamb Spare Ribs" and which Peg keeps saying are lamb chops. Berkshire Organic, which has taken over where Burgner's Turkey Farm was, now has a meat counter apparently. Sometime before I arrived, Peg stopped there with Bonnie and asked for lamb chops. The man handed these plastic packets to her, which she accepted. MY point is that no one (in her right mind) who'd asked for lamb chops would have accepted these spareribs. And tonight, I also learn that when Bonnie buys Peg chops, she buys racks of lamb ($$$$) which Peg then slices. And I guess that's what Peg thought she was getting at Berkshire Organic. Racks of lamb. But they are not, they are spareribs. Which I don't know what the fuck to do with but I guess will sling on the barbecue at some point. Anyhow she's now walked out of the room after banging the counter.
Why did I bring it up? Why couldn't I just let it lie? No idea.
__________________
GOOD NEWS ON FRUIT FLY FRONT:
Had noticed an inundation, and promptly either fridged or Zip-locked everything fruit or veg-like sitting out on counters. Seemed to make no difference. Was convinced something lay dead under a counter but never occurred to me to look in the wine/liquor cupboard in the bar. Principally because there are only 3 bottles of wine in there, two of which are champagne Odd saved from my first wedding, in 1976. We'd moved all the hard stuff out to a cupboard in Peg's room long ago to stop Odd drinking it all--a cupboard which, today, Peg and I were cleaning and, Daddy no longer being here, it was decided to return the bottles of scotch, vodka, akvavit and so on back to their home on the shelf in the wine cupboard. When I opened it, my eyes were drawn to a Price Chopper bag, knotted, lying flat on the shelf--containing what, I couldn't tell, but it looked nasty, about the size of a T-bone steak, and was repulsively alive with fruit flies and crawly things. I yelled for a Zip-Lock, Bonnie came running, we dropped it in, zipped it, then tried to figure out what exactly we'd captured and it turned out to be three bananas. How they got there, we don't know, I might possibly have done it, last May, to keep Daddy from eating one every time he passed through the bar, because too many bananas a day, as we know, does not bode well for someone who doesn't always make it to the bathroom in time.
___________
Weeded the entire front of house area. Looks infinitely better, plus succeeded with zero ticks or mosquito bites. Except now I'm starting to itch, just typing those words.
Which I immediately used to buy two bottles of the Becket General Store's Best, some not very nice Yellow Tail Sauvignon Blanc, which, having tasted, have relegated to the back of the fridge. This would be the new fridge Peg has bought, currently sitting on the screened-in porch. And this would also be after mopping up major spillage from some extremely sweet rose wine which tasted like strawberry soda that yesterday's houseguests brought, opened, and then didn't screw the top on very well. The guests who I'd thought were arriving at dinner time but who walked in the door at 10:00 AM.
_________________
Have also culled no-longer-essential (unless of course you are Peg) coffee table books on gardening, plants, Egypt, Norway From Above (aerial views), and a volume devoted to Supertankers which, the stamp inside says, seems to have been withdrawn form the Baldwin Public Library, wherever that is. Anyhow Peg took that one back, along with one of the Oseberg Viking Ship finds.
_________________
LATEST MOTHER- DAUGHTER DISCUSSION:
Lamb Ribs as opposed to Lamb Chops. In the freezer in the bar fridge--as opposed to the new kitchen fridge, or the porch fridge, or the fridge upstairs in Daddy's old office--are two packets of what the labels say are $54.87 worth of "Lamb Spare Ribs" and which Peg keeps saying are lamb chops. Berkshire Organic, which has taken over where Burgner's Turkey Farm was, now has a meat counter apparently. Sometime before I arrived, Peg stopped there with Bonnie and asked for lamb chops. The man handed these plastic packets to her, which she accepted. MY point is that no one (in her right mind) who'd asked for lamb chops would have accepted these spareribs. And tonight, I also learn that when Bonnie buys Peg chops, she buys racks of lamb ($$$$) which Peg then slices. And I guess that's what Peg thought she was getting at Berkshire Organic. Racks of lamb. But they are not, they are spareribs. Which I don't know what the fuck to do with but I guess will sling on the barbecue at some point. Anyhow she's now walked out of the room after banging the counter.
Why did I bring it up? Why couldn't I just let it lie? No idea.
__________________
GOOD NEWS ON FRUIT FLY FRONT:
Had noticed an inundation, and promptly either fridged or Zip-locked everything fruit or veg-like sitting out on counters. Seemed to make no difference. Was convinced something lay dead under a counter but never occurred to me to look in the wine/liquor cupboard in the bar. Principally because there are only 3 bottles of wine in there, two of which are champagne Odd saved from my first wedding, in 1976. We'd moved all the hard stuff out to a cupboard in Peg's room long ago to stop Odd drinking it all--a cupboard which, today, Peg and I were cleaning and, Daddy no longer being here, it was decided to return the bottles of scotch, vodka, akvavit and so on back to their home on the shelf in the wine cupboard. When I opened it, my eyes were drawn to a Price Chopper bag, knotted, lying flat on the shelf--containing what, I couldn't tell, but it looked nasty, about the size of a T-bone steak, and was repulsively alive with fruit flies and crawly things. I yelled for a Zip-Lock, Bonnie came running, we dropped it in, zipped it, then tried to figure out what exactly we'd captured and it turned out to be three bananas. How they got there, we don't know, I might possibly have done it, last May, to keep Daddy from eating one every time he passed through the bar, because too many bananas a day, as we know, does not bode well for someone who doesn't always make it to the bathroom in time.
___________
Weeded the entire front of house area. Looks infinitely better, plus succeeded with zero ticks or mosquito bites. Except now I'm starting to itch, just typing those words.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
SURPRISES NEVER END
Woke Peg at 9 PM to see if she wanted any food (I had had popcorn and wine so was happy and full). Heated her some mushroom soup from Stew Leonard's (after pureeing it so no big unchewable chunks of mushrooms). Could not get the kitchen TV off of "NO SIGNAL" so asked if she'd perhaps like to hear a chapter of DK's autobiographical audio book, "Key Changes", while she ate (and complained about small chunks of mushrooms).
I knew we were onto dangerous ground but asked anyway. Dangerous because this is how Peg consistently listens to Denis' music:
"I want to hear your new show! Put it on! Put it on! I can't wait!"
We then put on the CD of DK's demo or latest musical or album, whatever, and Peg sits down, all ears, but within two bars she's up, in search of a Kleenex, a glass of ice water, her glasses, a pillow, a sweater, talking to the dog, going for a pee, and so on. While Den and I quietly (or sometimes not) seethe.
Anyhow, last night, she says "Yes! I'd love to hear it! Put it on!" as normal, so I get my laptop and find the tracks (unmastered as yet but good enough to listen to, certainly by someone who's going to be off looking for her Fixodent any minute) and we sat at the butcher bloc. I pressed PLAY and on came Chapter 1.
And then a miracle occurred. Peg stayed put. Listened. Reacted. Laughed when she was supposed to. Tittered. Tutted. Patted my arm in appreciation. Was completely engaged. Not only that, asked for more. And more. And still more. We sat there for three hours, listening to the entire first section. Not once did her attention falter. Afterwards she said how marvelous it was and how proud she was of me.
If I have ever, ever, and I do mean EVER said anything bad about my mother, I take it all back, it must have been merely a temporary mental aberration. Because I mean, God. What a remarkable woman she is, so wise, so astute, so--well. Perfect.
I knew we were onto dangerous ground but asked anyway. Dangerous because this is how Peg consistently listens to Denis' music:
"I want to hear your new show! Put it on! Put it on! I can't wait!"
We then put on the CD of DK's demo or latest musical or album, whatever, and Peg sits down, all ears, but within two bars she's up, in search of a Kleenex, a glass of ice water, her glasses, a pillow, a sweater, talking to the dog, going for a pee, and so on. While Den and I quietly (or sometimes not) seethe.
Anyhow, last night, she says "Yes! I'd love to hear it! Put it on!" as normal, so I get my laptop and find the tracks (unmastered as yet but good enough to listen to, certainly by someone who's going to be off looking for her Fixodent any minute) and we sat at the butcher bloc. I pressed PLAY and on came Chapter 1.
And then a miracle occurred. Peg stayed put. Listened. Reacted. Laughed when she was supposed to. Tittered. Tutted. Patted my arm in appreciation. Was completely engaged. Not only that, asked for more. And more. And still more. We sat there for three hours, listening to the entire first section. Not once did her attention falter. Afterwards she said how marvelous it was and how proud she was of me.
If I have ever, ever, and I do mean EVER said anything bad about my mother, I take it all back, it must have been merely a temporary mental aberration. Because I mean, God. What a remarkable woman she is, so wise, so astute, so--well. Perfect.
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