Roman NASCAR

Mahket Day. I didn’t want to go. Hate to go, but I took some Rapid Release Tylenol and put a smile on my face.

I told Himself about my gladiator blog entry. He laughed. “You’ll have a good time at Roman NASCAR.”

When I got to the Weebles, Ma met me at the door. I was surprised because usually we have a last minute runaround getting shoes on, hunting for the check book and finding the pockabook. She turned from me after her greeting. With Auntie Rose smiling down at her, Ma shuffled to her table where she keeps her “business.” She began shuffling paper from one pile to another.

While she was occupied, I decided I had time to see if I could run the antivirus program from my thumb drive on Dad’s computer. I took the stairs two at a time with Dad close on my heels.

I booted up the computer and looked at the back to see if there was an available port.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for a USB por…a plug so I can plug this in to run a program,” I said showing him my thumb drive.

He nodded knowingly.

As I got the program up and running, there was grumbling from downstairs.

“What’s her problem?” I said.

“Mother just said when you come to do things for her, you should stay with her. She’s just jealous.” Dad chuckled gleefully.

With the antivirus program running a scan, we went downstairs. I put my jacket on. Ma placed some papers in her hand in a pile on her right. Dad had his hat and coat on. Ma picked up paper she had just put down, stared at it, and put it in a pile on her left. I sat down. Dad sat down. And we waited, and we waited.

“Well, what are you two waiting for, Ma snapped.

Dad made his grrrr face and was about to say something. I smiled at him and shook my head. No use getting everyone’s dander up.

“Take these.”

Ma shoved a thick stack of envelopes from her “business” at Dad. There were at least two dozen envelopes in the pile held securely by an elastic band. Hand to God!
“What should I do with these?” he asked looking at me.

I shrugged. “Put them in the mailbox.”

Dad put the stack in the mailbox. I went down the front steps so I could take Ma’s walker and get it in position so she could get to the car.

As Ma started down the stairs, she caught sight of the envelopes sticking out of the mailbox like a white tongue. She grabbed the stack.

“Take these so we can drop them off at the post office,” snarled Ma at Dad.

“No, I’m not going to the post office….”

“You’re not going in! He is!”

“No, we’re not going to the post office.” I tried to keep my voice level.

“I have to get these to the post office,” Ma shouted.

The shouting match went on for several minutes until it escalated to a screaming match.

The Weeble’s neighborhood is as quiet as a tomb during the week. Everyone is away at school and work. Good thing too because I could hear the echo of my tongues

“KING…ING..ing…FIS…ISS…iss.” With my soundwaves broadcast to outerspace, I knew I was teaching the aliens that observe our planet the nuances of speech.

Ma was livid.

Dad was rooted to the top step. The expression on his face was a mixture of shock and delight. He rarely talks back to Ma. He looked at me and I could see a “you go, Girl” look in his eyes. His gaze shifted from me back to Ma. All he needed was a bag of popcorn as he watched the sparring match.

I had an outer body experience and almost laughed at the scene. Three of us players in theater of the absurd.

“Well, if you’re not going to do things for me, don’t bother coming!” Ma shouted.

My first instinct was to shout FINE, jump into the driver seat and burn rubber out of the driveway.

“We are not going by a post office,” I explained calmly. “We are not going anywhere near a post office. I’m not driving out of my way for your foolishness.” End of match.

Dad put her stack back in the mailbox.

We all got settled in the car.

“Where’s my pockabook?” Ma screamed at Dad. “Get me my pockabook.”

Dad grumbled, but got out of the car.

“Why didn’t you get my pockabook?” she screamed before he slammed the door.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day in the neighbor would…

“Why does he have to get your pocketbook. Why didn’t you get it yourself?”

“What the hell do I have a husband for?” screamed Ma.

“Not to be your personal servant.”

Dad made an appearance at the front door. Sans pockabook.

“It’s behind the door in my bedroom!” shouted Ma through the closed car windows.

Dad cupped his hand behind his ear in an imitation of President Reagan’s “I can’t hear you.”

I rolled the window down and relayed the orders. From the Captain to the XO to the COB. Unfortunately for the Chief, there was no crew to assign to this detail. He put his grrrr face back on and mumbled something. It didn’t look like Aye, aye, sir. A few moments passed, and he came back with the pockabook in hand.

“Did you get my checkbook? On the table. Somewhere.”

There was more grumbling.

“Never mind! I don’t need it. I’m not paying!”

Finally everyone settled, we pulled out of the driveway. Chug, chug, toot, toot.

From the back seat, I distinctly heard the word ‘ungrateful’ before the voice settled into a low mumble of tongues.

In a perverse sort of way, I was amused. All those years growing up as the youngest in the family being bossed around, controlled. You can’t do this. You can’t do that. The midnight curfew when I was in college. Now, in my peri-weeble way, I was in control. You can’t go to the post office. You can’t go to every blessed store along the way for one item. You have to be finished with shopping or appointments so I can leave by 1pm. I’m in the driver’s seat. It took great effort not to laugh.

Ma usually nods off to sleep before the back wheels have cleared the driveway. Not this day. She sat in her seat, her back stiff and her mouth set in a taut, rigid line.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood…

Ma wasn’t happy with me. She had called Friday last hinting she wanted to go shopping over the weekend. I wasn’t feeling well, and told her I would never take her shopping on a weekend. The Mahket is crazy and crowded enough during the week. The weekend crowds are horrendous. She hinted for a trip on Monday. Monday was the third of the month. The day all the social security checks come due. The day every weeble across the lower 48 comes to the Mahket to do their shopping. No effin way.

I pulled into the parking lot and there was a handicap spot right in front. Perfect. Inside all the shopping scooters were gone. Not good.

Ma pushed her walker up the aisle grumbling about Dad not getting a carriage.

I spotted an abandoned scooter near the last register and I sent Dad to get the vehicle. Good. He brought the vehicle up behind Ma and for a split second I wondered if he would just mow over her and not even feel the bump.

With Ma settled in the scooter, the expedition began. I trotted back to the car with her walker and retrieved two bags of soda cans. Dad was hot on my heels so I gave the cans to him to take to the redemption area. I went in search of Ma.

Before we left for the store, Dad had given me a shopping list. Ma and I would take the outer ring of the store, as we had been doing for the past year and a half. Dad thought his idea was brilliant. I almost laughed when I read the list. Deli, fish, meat, vegetables. As if we wouldn’t know what to buy.

I found Ma at the cans of store brand soda. She was sitting on her scooter, three feet from the items, leaning across trying to grab a 12 pack of root beer. Help me, Lord!

“Don’t take that. Let him get the big items. Your basket isn’t big enough to hold stuff like that. Let’s go to the meat.”

She didn’t say anything as she hit the accelerator on the scooter. She came to an abrupt stop near a come on display of canned good. She grabbed two cans of mandarin oranges. I have never seen mandarin oranges in their house. I could read the look on her face.

“I’ll be damned if you’re going to tell me what I can buy.”

And I wouldn’t. After all, she’s not paying for any of it. He is.
She took a hard left and thumbed the engine to produce. This meant we were going against the flow of traffic. Salmon swimming upstream.

She stopped at a frozen food case for a special on frozen vegetables. Five packages for $5. I was ordered to grab Italian green beans, cauliflower, broccoli. Too bad they would probably thaw before we finished shopping, but far be it from me to suggest we do the frozen foods after we got the rest of the items.

We made our way to produce. Some green beans were lying on the floor like pick up sticks, but we didn’t murder them.

She saw a display of peppers and frowned at the price. Obviously, they were too expensive. We completed the first pass through the department.

“Let me go back and look at the peppers. I suppose I’ll have to buy them even though they’re expensive because I can’t shop the way I want.”

Yup, sux for you.

So we start another lap around produce and I’m struck with Himself’s idea we’re at Roman NASCAR, otherwise known as the chariot scene from Ben Hur. The camera pans to the top of the circus as a brass fish is pulled down indicating the end of the first lap.

Ma hugged the inside track tight and took the curve on one wheel. She slammed into another weeble’s carriage. Mamacellus’ chariot wheels with the saw blade hubs ground into the carriage as Mamacellus roared by. I started to laugh.

The weeble woman gave me a dirty look.

Hey, be thankful you’re not the poor bastard that gets flipped over the chariot tongue and trampled by his own team, chariot, and the chariot coming up from behind.

Another fish down.

We make our way into the meat department. We bless the poultry, the meat, and because it’s Lent, the fish.

Dad caught up with us, and I offloaded some of the items from Ma’s overflowing basket into his carriage.

“We need coffee,” Ma said.

“I saw coffee on Dad’s cart.”

“We need macaroni.”

“He had some. Don’t know what kind, but I saw boxes of macaroni.”

As we were discussing the items in Dad’s carriage, a weeble gentleman on a scooter coming from the opposite direction pulled up along side.

“Did you have to wait long for that cart?” he asked. “I had to wait for over an hour!”

My first instinct was to say ‘Do I look like I have I care stamped on my forehead?’ But then I decided he must be like Dad, has to stop and talk to strangers to get validation and a little happiness. I clucked my tongue sympathetically. It seemed to be the right reaction. He waved and toodled off.

Having exhausted the outer ring twice, Ma scooted up the cleaning products aisle. Dad was wheeling his carriage from the opposite end.

The two of them blocked traffic as they discussed cleaning items they were looking for.

Another weeble woman smiled at me knowingly. “You need to have lots of patience,” she said.

“Tell me about it.”

“We need tea,” Ma said.

I looked at Dad. “Did you get tea?”

“No.”

“He didn’t get tea. Want me to go get it?”

“Only if it’s a good price,” she called after me.

As if I would know whether it was a good price or no.

There was a dolly filled with can goods chocked in front of the brand of tea Ma prefers. I couldn’t see a price label. That’s another thing I hate about this store. Prices are not visible. As I was frowning at the box of tea, Dad came up the aisle.

“I don’t know how much this is.”

“Oh, I usually go up to the register to ask them to scan it.”

To the register for a price check and back to where I last saw Ma.

“The big box is $2.99”

“That’s too much!”

I went back to the tea aisle and another fish went down.

No sight of Ma when I got back, but I found Dad in the bread aisle.

“Think I should buy some bread?” he asked.

“If you want to buy it, buy it.” The Little Princess philosophy.

“I have some,” Dad mumbled to himself, “But maybe I should get another loaf.” He began squeezing the loaves. All he needed was a white manager’s coat, and he’d look like Mr. Whipple squeezing the bathroom tissue.

“Is that it?”

“I just have to get some ice cream.” We separated.

As I came out of the bread aisle, Ma spotted me.

“Is that everything?”

“Dad went to get some ice cream.”

“No! Stop and Shop.”

Eerily I knew Ma meant the ice cream here was too expensive and she wanted Dad to go to the Stop and Shop to buy the ice cream.

I sprinted after Dad.

“She says she wants you to get the ice cream from Stop and Shop.”

Dad turned the cart to the registers sans ice cream.

“Y’know, you’re too good to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if it was me, I’d grab two half gallons of Heavenly Hash because I know she hates that flavor. After all, you’re paying for it.”

He chuckled and went to stand in the check out line behind Ma.

I went out to the car to wait. Another fish went down.

Back at the house, Dad and I unloaded the groceries. Since the expedition had gotten off to a late start, it was nearly time for me to leave.

“Time for me to make tracks.”

“Fine. See you in a month.” She raised the back of her hand to her forehead.

Ma usually offers to make me lunch, but she was not happy with me. She turned her back to me and shoved the produce into the fridge.

Okay. I didn’t bother to tell her that Dad had piled a bunch of heavy stuff on top of the egg cartons. Not my monkey.

I certainly had a Roman holiday. It started out with fireworks and Roman candles in the driveway. We didn’t make 9 circuits around the Circus Maximus like Ben Hur did, but we completed a respectable 6 laps. I was heading home to a well deserved bottle of whine. I deserved it.

Another Appointment

Another doctor’s appointment. At least it beats going to Market Basket. I arrived at the Weebles a half hour before their appointment. I ring the bell, open the door and announce at the top of my lungs, “It’s me! I’m here!”

Ma screamed for Dad to answer the door.

I yelled “I’m here!”

Again, she screams for him to answer the door.

We were in a live version of “Who’s on First?”

Dad came downstairs and told me to present myself to Ma.

She was in her room getting dressed.

“Oh, you’re here.” It sounded as if she’s surprised. As if I would forget the appointment. Maybe she was hoping I’d forget the appointment just so she wouldn’t have to go.

I go back to the living room to sit and wait.

Dad is grousing because Ma isn’t ready and we’ll be late.

I pointed out the doctor always keeps them waiting so if we’re late, it’s really no big deal. If need be, we make another appointment.

“That’s not fair to you,” he grumbled.

I shrug, and begin collecting the necessaries. I moved the walker into position. Grabbed Ma’s coat and pockabook from the closet.

Ma finally toddled out. She yelled at Dad. “You know I need help putting my shoes and socks on.”

“You should have asked.”

“Thank you very much! You know I need help putting my shoes and socks on.”

“You should have asked.

The conversation spiraled to a Burn and Schreiber routine.

“You know?”

“Yeah”

“You know?”

“Yeah?”

“You know?”

“Help.”

I tried not to laugh. I helped Ma into her coat and got to the two of them headed to the door. Got them in the car. Chug chug toot toot off we go. A half hour late for the appointment.

The parking lot is packed, and I sailed into the last handicap spot. The waiting room was filled with weebles. Dad checked them in and Ma pushed her walker to the back where the technician would draw her blood. Dad came back and had his turn.

I settled in to wait and Ma sat next to me.

The technician leaned out of her cubby.

“How are things today,” she asked.

“The same. How’s your mother?”

“She’s doing great. I just got off the phone with her.” She shrugged and gave the ‘Help me, Lord’ look.

“She sending you for more lotion?”

She laughed. “No not this time.”

Ma usually nodded off in her chair while waiting for the doctors, but she was very alert and was watching the two of us.

“So, Ma, you have your daughter with you,” smiled the tech. “She’s sitting there with valium in her back pocket.”

“No, I took it before I left the house.” We laughed and she ducked back into her cubby.

“Where do you know her mother from?”

“I don’t know her mother. Just from what she’s told me when we come here” Almost busted.

Ma was in a good mood. “Your father is so stupid. He called a plumber.”

Sometimes it’s hard for me to follow Ma’s conversation. She has forgotten that I haven’t lived under her roof in over 20 years. So she leaves out bits and pieces because she’s convinced I know the whole story. Sometimes, talking to Ma is like playing game shows. I never know whether it’s ‘To Tell the Truth, ‘What’s My Line’ or ‘Who Wants to Be a Millionaire’. I tried to put bits and pieces of her conversation together about Dad, a leak in the basement, and the cost of the repair. Ma’s pricing system skidded to a halt during the depression.

Her eyes are round as saucers when I tell her a plumber and his helper get $100 an hour.

She told me she wanted to remodel the bathroom, but only if the contractor will do things her way. She wanted to have the tub removed and a shower installed, but she doesn’t want to replace the tile. Sounded like she asked the plumber about her idea and wasn’t happy with him. Course the remodel would have to wait until her money came in.

“All that work, and I’ll probably not live long enough to see it.”

Sad when their thoughts turned this way. “Ma, you’ll outlive all of us.”

She huddled in her chair with her own thoughts.

I turned my attention to Dad. He was having a conversation with an elderly gentleman. They were talking about the Red Sox winning the World Series. Then the conversation turned to the good old days of baseball.

“They don’t have pitchers like they used to.”

“No, they sure don’t.”

“I remember a pair of brothers. I think they pitched for St. Louis.”

“What were their names?”

“The Dean brothers,” I supplied.

“You know, the brothers,” Dad said to me.

“Yeah, Dizzy and Daffy Dean.”

“Well, I don’t remember their names, but one brother would pitch one game on Sunday. The whole game, and his brother would pitch the second of the double header.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember. What was their name?”

“Dean. Dizzy and Daffy Dean.”

“Yes, Dean!” The other gentleman smiled at me.

I smiled back. Third base!

Dad told the other gentleman how he used to go down to watch the Boston Braves play when he was a kid. He used to watch the game through a break in the fence.

“Course it’s not Braves Field anymore.”

“That’s right! What’s there now?”

“It’s part of BU. Nickerson Field,” I supplied.

“BU owns it now.”

“Nickerson Field.”

“Yes, Nickerson Field!” The other gentleman smiled at me.

I smiled back. Third base!

Finally after waiting an hour, one of the office workers calls out Dad’s first name. Dad and a gentleman further up the waiting room both got up and went to the young woman. That should teach her to use full names. The appointment wasn’t for Dad. He returned to his chair.

After an hour and a half, the Weebles were called into the examination room. A short time later they emerged. I got Ma’s coat and helped her into it while Dad waited at the reception desk to make the next appointment. The receptionist didn’t set aside her work to make Dad’s appointment. I gave the girl the evil eye.

On the counter was a pencil holder containing pens left by the drug reps. Ma and Dad each grabbed a pen. They took a pen each and every time we visit. It must be the grown up version of lollipops or the Treasure Chest at the dentist.

“Take a pen!” Ma urged me.

“No, I’ll try to keep medical expenses down.” It must cost a small fortune for the drug rep to replace the pens each month. If the drug companies didn’t have to spend so much money on advertising, drug costs wouldn’t be so high.

“Oh!” Ma exclaimed.

“What’s the matter?” I asked

“We forgot to ask the doctor about the shoes.”

The receptionist looked up. “What shoes?”

“The shoes,” Ma explained.

I’m able to translate. “She needs a form signed by the doctor so the podiatrist can send it to the insurance company so she can get orthopedic shoes.”

“Oh, just have the podiatrist send us the form.”

“Nay, nay, nay! We went through this last year,” I said. “The podiatrist’s office sent the form. Twice. The doctor never signed it and sent it back. I made 3 trips all the way from Worcester. I’m not doing that again.” Now I sounded like the martyr weeble.

“Tell them to mark it to the attention of Kath. I’ll see that it’s taken care of.”

She made the appointment for the next visit and I entered it into my PDA. Dad also needed an appointment for an echocardiogram. The test is only done on Saturday. She had an early morning appointment.

“Oh, you don’t have to take me,” Dad said. “I can walk.”

“You sure?” I had a feeling Caesar was refusing the crown three times.

“I can manage.”

“Great!”

“Oh!” Ma exclaimed again.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. I can’t believe they were in with the doctor for a half an hour and now she has questions for the doctor.

“We forgot to ask about the walker.”

The receptionist looked up. “The Walker?”

“She needs a form signed by the doctor for a walker so she can submit it to the insurance company for payment.”

The receptionist looked over the divider and looked at Ma standing there with her walker. Her walker has wheels on the front and whiffle balls to provide traction.

“She wants a walker that has handbrakes and a seat so she can sit when she gets tired.”

“What brand?”

What brand? How the hell should I know what brand! Get her a Raleigh. Make it pink. Raleigh has handbrakes. The Schwin she’s pushing now doesn’t and she has a hard time back pedaling to stop it. I try not to give the receptionist the ‘Help me, Lord’ look.

The doctor came out of the examination room and was giving instructions to another patient.

“I’ll have to ask the doctor about this.”

“You do that. In the mean time can you make a note to ask the doctor so we don’t have to stand here for another half an hour. You can give Dad the information when he comes for the EKG.”

With that settled, two and a half hours later, I herd the Weebles home. They are disappointed I can’t stay for lunch as I have to head back home to be in time to pick The Young One up from school.

“I’m afraid the doctor used up all my visiting time,” I said with I hope the right amount of sadness. It’s not that I don’t like visiting the Weebles. Sometimes it can be quite entertaining. I don’t like visiting at meal times. Dad’s culinary skills are not that polished and I didn’t have any Pepto Bismal with me.

The Silent Meeting

The waiting room was long and narrow with a row of chairs along each wall. It reminded me of a subway car only there were no advertisements above the heads of the passengers to allow you to discreetly observe fellow travelers. A young man sat across from me. He was thoroughly absorbed in one of the dozen of sports magazines in the doctor’s waiting room. Next to him sat an elderly women with her arm supported in a sling. A woman roughly my age was sitting next to the elderly woman. We smiled politely to each other.

Ma started grousing about the wait.

I tried to count the impressions on the dentil molding and not to eavesdrop on the elderly woman and her companion. The elderly woman was complaining about the wait too.

I smiled politely to the companion. She inclined her chin towards Ma and Dad and then pointed her chin my way.

I nodded with a sheepish smile. Yup, they’re my folks.

She tipped her head towards the elderly woman sitting next to her and then rolled her eyes. This is my Ma.

We both hid our smiles. We had made a connection like Masons and the secret handshake.

Ma was called into the examination room. Dad trailed after her dragging the pockabook behind. Several minutes passed and then Ma could be heard complaining about the wait. She had to use the ladies’ room and it would serve the doctor right if she went right then and there.

I shook my head at my sympathetic companion and rolled my eyes. Help me, Lord!

She shrugged. What can you do?

A short time later, Ma’s examination was done and she pushed her walker down the hallway. More complaints about the wait. At least she seemed happy she didn’t have to wear the sling any longer.

I got up and opened the door to the lobby. I was standing next to the woman with the elderly mother. Sotto vocce, I hummed the theme to Mr. Rodger’s Neighborhood. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day in the neighbor…

The woman patted my hand. You are not alone.

Minutes from The Ladies' Sodality July 3rd Meeting

The younger parishioners of Our Lady of the Perpetually Clueless got together at the North Parish Hall for a night of fellowship and fireworks.

The Brother cooked hamburgers, hotdogs, sausage, on the grill to perfection. Macaroni salad, baked beans, tossed salad, chips, salsa, fruit salad, cookies and soda. Supper was eaten al fresco. As always, the Sister-In-Law was the perfect hostess.

The evening’s entertainment was provided by the city, a spectacular fireworks display. The North Parish Hall is on a hill so we had the perfect spot for viewing, sheltered under the gazebo away from the bugs.

After the fireworks display, the Ladies’ Sodality met in the kitchen for an emergency meeting to discuss whether or not to make a pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Perpetually Clueless to pay obeisance to the Weebles and their long marriage on the Fourth of July, 64 years of marital bond…er bliss. The Knights of Kyrie Elieson joined the meeting. There was some discussion as to whether this was a Holy Day or a High Holy Day.

The gist of the discussion was that if a celebration wasn’t held, there’d be hell to pay, and if a celebration was held, there’d be Hell to pay. It was rather like a pork roast, the one who was not going to have any fun was the pork.

The Ladies’ Sodality bent under the pressure and decided a pilgrimage with coffee and would be the best way to save the bacon. The pilgrimage would begin from the North and South parish halls. Parishioners would arrive at 2pm at the Cathedral. The North parishioners would supply the coffee, and the South parishioners would supply the cake. The Weebles could be counted on to provide the fireworks.

The meeting was adjourned.

Respectfully submitted,

Herself

Juggling Monkeys

I thought I would have a free and clear day. There was nothing marked on the calendar on the fridge. I'd get the Young One to school, the Eldest to work, and then I'd be able to settle in and work on the book project. Maybe even have it finished by the end of the week.

As the Young One got ready for school, I took my morning tea and booted up my square headed spouse. The hum of the disk drive spinning up was meditative. The desktop widgets blinked to life. The Heath birthday countdown calender. Big Bopper's cheery "Helloooo, Baby!", the day's weather, monthly calendar, and the day planner. My eyes popped out of my head. It couldn't be. A 10:30 Weeble doctor's appointment? We were just there a week ago! It must be a mistake! Yes, that's it! A mistake. I marked the wrong date.

Before I left to take the Eldest to work, I made the mistake of calling the Weebles. Ma answered the phone.

"Do you have a doctor's appointment today?"

"Yes, at 10:30."

My heart sank at the loss of productive me time. At least I'm good at juggling monkeys.

Ma must have been in a good mood because she was yelling at Dad when I got to the house. She went to get dressed and Dad and I had a few minutes alone.

"Did that check clear?"

"No, the bank is still holding it."

"Do you still have the letter from the postal inspector?"

"What for?"

"Because I want to give him a call."

Dad gave the letter to me, one spy making a drop to another.

Ma's good mood held as we left the house. She yelled at Dad as she tried to maneuver around the metal folding chair that was on one side of the stairs. The bricks had come loose so she wanted to make sure no one would kill themselves on the loose bricks. Course, I don't know what she'll put out so people won't kill themselves on the metal folding chair. I helped Ma down the stairs. She took another breath in the car and began singing the "Your Stupid" song to Dad. I looked in the rearview mirror, and he was feverishly making the sign against evil. She sang repeated choruses from the parking lot to the lobby to the doctor's waiting room.

"Enough!" I yelled at her. "This is not the time or the place for that! Sit over here!" I'm not sure whether I'm their parent or the referee. The waiting room was fairly quiet so I wandered back to say hello to the lab tech and to hold an OPD Support Group meeting.

"Weren't you here last weeek?"

"Yeah, that was to see the middle toe doctor. This week they're here to see the big toe doctor."

"How are they today?"

I took a cautious peek around the corner. Ma was nodding off in her chair, and Dad was flipping through the pages of a magazine. "Good. Today, they're being good. How's your mother?"

"Oh, she's just wonderful! She had an operation, and it's like she's a new woman."

I wondered if the procedure was similar to what happens to the pod people in The Body Snatchers, but as I was about to ask, patients came in so I went to sit down in the waiting room.

As I was just getting engrossed into the latest happenings of the characters in the book I'm reading, another weeble lady sat down next to me. She was terribly concerned with the goings on of the trial for the body of Anna Nicole Smith. I refrained from rolling my eyes, smiled politely and turned back to my book. She didn't seem to notice, but happily kept on chattering.

A half an hour had drifted by, but the doctor hadn't sailed in. Rather frosts my fanny the office books appointments at 10:30 but the doctor doesn't show up for another half an hour or so.

Finally the doctor arrives and calls them into the exam room. My waiting room weeble neighbor asks me what time my appointment is.

"Oh, I don't have an appointment, I'm just the chauffeur."

The Weebles are in an out before I've finished my sentence. Ma had fallen earlier in the week. This now being a weekly occurence. She handed the doctor's prescription to me. He had written a prescription for Advil and Ben Gay. "We can go to the Stop and Shop to get these," I told her.

Dad decided to come in to the store with me to get the "prescription filled." "Would she mind the generic Advil and Ben Gay because it would save you a few dollars?"

"No! You better get the real stuff, because they'll be hell to pay if it's not exactly what the doctor ordered." I rolled my eyes, but got the items. We headed to the check out. "Do you need anything while we're here? Bread, milk, juice? The bank?"

He shook his head.

I dropped them off at the house and was on my way home in hopes of salvaging some of my work day.

"Before you go, give your father a ride downtown to the bank?"

"To the bank? We were just there!" I roared. "Why does he need to go to the bank downtown?"

"I got another check for $2000 and he needs to deposit it."

I silently borrowed a phrase from Himself. No, not horse's patoot! Help me, Lord! All morning Ma and I had been dancing around the issue of the check. Both of us desperately wanted to tell each other "I told you so!" but the jury was still out for both of us.

Dad turned me toward the door as I was still sputtering. "You go on. I can walk. I need to get a haircut."

Yes, a walk would do him good. It would get him away from her for a couple of hours. He didn't need to hear the "Your Stupid" song being hammered out like "The Anvil Chorus." I was going back to the Stop and Shop to pick up a bottle of baby aspirin to eat on the ride home.

Waiting

Yesterday, took Ma and Dad to the doctor's office. I was hoping the doc would be on time as I needed to be out for the afternoon run to driver training and school pick up. Ma was ready, waiting, and half way out the door when I arrived.

We were 15 minutes early for their appointment, and Ma was hoping the doctor would take them early. The waiting room is set up like a bus station with two rows of seats facing each other. Nearly every seat was taken. Blew Ma's idea about the doctor seeing them early. Ma and I found two seats at one end of the room, and Dad took a seat by himself at the other.

The med tech saw me and said, "Are you here again?" (Since the Weebles have a doctor for every toe, we were there two weeks ago to see the heart toe. Yesterday's appointment was to see the primary care toe.) Two weeks ago, the med tech and I had an OPD Support Meeting. "So, how's it going?" she asked. "The same. You?" "Same." We both laughed. She was busy so I couldn't chit chat with her.

After ten minutes, she looked out from the lab area, "Wow, they're really quiet today." Ma had nodded off in her chair, and Dad was reading a magazine. "Oh," she said, "You have them separated." I winked.

Their first appoitment came and went. Their second appoinment came and went. They weren't called until a half hour after the first appointment. Why can't doctors keep their appointments? It's so rude. Makes me want to send the doctor a bill for the wait time, and then a denial to pay from the insurance company.

We were there almost an hour and a half just for them to have their blood pressure taken. Still, I got them there and back and made it home in plenty of time for the afternoon run.

Click on the picture of the Kitty clock.

Too Pretty to Whine

Fall is not my favorite season, but yesterday was too pretty to whine about anything. Val and I took a road trip to Mystic. We wound our way through the back roads and farms under a brilliant blue sky and blazes of color as the trees have reached peak color.

Old Mystic Village is a collection of quaint gift shops arranged like a colonial village. We were surprised there was hardly anyone in the village when we arrived. We had the whole place to ourselves and poked into some of our favorite stores. The general store has free samples of fudge so we sampled the flavor of the day and of course, we bought some to take home. Yes, it even managed to arrive home still in its packaging.

We had no time limit, no commitments. What a relief to be just me for a whole day. I wasn't anyone's wife, mother or daughter for the entire day. I didn't have to shuttle, do, find, plan, help, or answer. I ate my lunch while it was still hot, and didn't have to clean up afterwards.

Sandwich

I've been a bit surprised in my travels with a bottle of whine, how many of us are sandwiched between commitments in our lives: family, parents, work, friends, church, etc. Sometimes it seems no matter how long or fast we dance, we just can't please everyone. So how does one deal with stress and frustration? You just keep on dancing the best you can.

A friend asked if whining...er...blogging was cathartic. Heck, yeah! And it's cheaper and more fun than therapy too. (-;