Eggs

Over lunch with Himself, I mentioned my monthly, fast approaching on the first of the month. The first of the month meant social security checks would be deposited in Weeble accounts. They would have access to the funds by the third of the month, and that would mean a trip to Market Basket, the high point of my month.

I mentioned we would have to find someone to repair the brick steps.

“Your dad told me he had the bricks. We’d just have to mix the mortar.”

“You know how to set brick?”

“I can try.”

I tried to block out the picture that came to mind. Horse’s patoot! and a mad dash to Home Depot as Ray’s is too far to travel. I smiled weakly.

“We can go next Sunday as it’s supposed to rain at the beginning of the week. Things should be dried out by next weekend.”

“I’ll give them a call to plan the shopping trip. Maybe let them know we’ll be out next Sunday.”

“No! Don’t do that. They’re like little kids. If something comes up, and we can’t make it, they’ll be disappointed, and there’ll be hell to pay.”

“There’s always hell to pay.”

“Let them be on a need to know basis, that way, there’ll be less.”

I called the Weebles to let them know I had Friday available for shopping. I actually had Wednesday open too, but Wednesday is the third of the month and every weeble for miles around would be at Market Basket. Dad answered the phone and told me his Senior Citizen Glee Club had a performance rehearsal on Friday. He couldn’t miss it, as he’s The Leader of the Band. I tried not to look to the heavens and sigh. Shopping would have to be on Wednesday.

I could feel a pain begin to form behind my left eye so I went to lie down.

The phone rang, and Himself answered. It was Dad. I chuckled as I heard Himself’s end of the conversation.

“Yeah. Un-huh. Yeah.”

Dad replaying the “She Called Me Stupid ” song for some sympathy.

I pulled the quilt over my head and snuggled into the pillow.
“Yeah. Ok. Well, don’t worry about that. I planned on stopping there on Friday, and I’ll mow the lawn. We’ll be there Sunday to take care of the stairs.”

So much for the need to know basis.

“Here, you can talk to Herself about that.”

“Your dad’s on the phone. He has a doctor’s appointment.”

I tried to pull the quilt higher over my head, but Himself managed to wedge the phone in.

“We have a doctor’s appointment on Thursday at 10:30”

“I told you I can’t take you there as I’m having my chipped tooth fixed and I’ve been waiting since December. Can’t one of your friends take you?”

“But, the doctor keeps us waiting and they’d have to wait!”

I rolled my eyes. Like I don’t wait?

“I’ll call the doctor on Monday and have the appointment changed to Wednesday.”

“No, Dad, I’ll have to take Ma to Market Basket on Wednesday. I can’t take you to the doctor too because she takes so freaking long at Market Basket. You won’t be finished in time for me to pick the Young One up from school. I can come back on Friday.”

“No, I have to lead my group.”

“Ok, well, can’t you call The Van to take you?”

“The what?”

“The Van.”

“What’s that?”

I roll my eyes. Dad has been with the Senior Center for close to 20 years. He has advised seniors on the services available to them.

“The Van. You give them 48 hours notice. Tell them where you want to go, and they will come to your house to pick you up. Take you where you need to go, and bring you home. It will cost both of you $2.” I didn’t mention each way as I wanted this to be a very attractive solution. “If you need physical assistance they will help you in and out of the van.”

“Well, I’ll have to check into that.”
You do that.

“I think I’ll call the doctor on Monday, cancel the appointment and reschedule for the following Monday. Can you come out on Monday.”

“Yes, Dad. Monday. Any Monday during the month of May is good. Make the appointment for 10:30 or 11AM.”

I crawled back in bed. Himself sat on the edge and rubbed my back.

“When you’re over there, give them a subliminal message. Peapod, Peapod, Peapod,” Himself whispered in my ear.

“The only way they would understand a subliminal message would be if someone slammed them upside the head with a two by four and yelled PEAPOD. Maybe we should move the two of them into Prissy’s house. She’d love the company.”

“There you go! You’d have all your eggs in one basket.”

“Only it wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“We’d still have to drive 50 miles to do the shopping at Market Basket, and we’d have to take Prissy too”

Pinball Wizard

I was congratulating myself that this Mahket Basket trip would go smoothly and efficiently. I had told my brother about their shopping pattern. He accurately described it as a game of pinball. Not this time! Each Weeble had a list and each Weeble would work half the store. Ma would cover meat and produce, and Dad would take Dairy and the aisles.

Ma and I headed toward produce. Not the most logical way around the store, but at least we were headed in a direction. She spotted a table display of bananas on sale. She wanted bananas. I got to the display, reached to grab a hand of bananas. Suddenly, I’m slammed from behind.

“Get a big one!” she yells.

I’m bent over the banana table. “I did!” I roared “Back up!”

Pinball and the silver ball just tilted.

She backed up and roared around to the tomatoes. Big Boys were at a good price. She ordered me to get 3 pounds of the smallest size I could find. As I placed the tomatoes in the bag, I said a prayer for the Big Boy that lost its life at her hands two weeks before.

She went down her list, shouting the item, and I limped along, offered the item for her blessing or excommunication. Some of the prices went up, and she was not happy.

We hunted produce for a ten pound bag of potatoes. All we found were five pound bags of regular and organic potatoes. A worker was putting out bags of potatoes. She told him she wanted a ten pound bag. He told her they didn’t have any in ten pound bags. We circled produce again looking for ten pound bags. Ma asked the produce worker again for a ten pound bag. She kept telling him the store always carried ten pound bags. He told her to buy two five pound bags. She did not buy any.

We finished produce and blessed the meat. I glanced at my watch, smiled as we were making good time. I had spotted Dad a time or two, but he was no where in sight. I wished I had taken my brother’s advice to tie a balloon to Dad for an easy, inexpensive Joe-jack location device.

Ma began trolling the aisles. I winced at every corner she had to take envisioning Little Debbies cascading to the floor. She cruised at ramming speed and slammed a young man in the coffee can. She moved off, shrugging and making apologies. She reminded me of the late President Reagan, and his famous Ronnie shuffle for avoiding the press.

Dad caught up with us, but announced he needed to get pickles.

“You were over that side of the store an hour ago!”

He smiled sheepishly at me and shrugged his own version of the Ronnie shuffle. I decided it would be faster if I got the pickles. I was admonished to get them only if they were 99 cents. Did I find 99 cent pickles? No, found them for $1.19. Now, if this were my shopping, I would follow the Little Princess Method of Shopping. If I wanted the item, I would buy the item and most likely not glance at the price. I head back to where I left the Weebles, but they are no where to be found! Balloons, it would have been so simple.

The store is not large, but suddenly it was enormous. I needed to put out an APB. I went round and round, up the same aisles and down. I heard the pinball machine pinging crazily as I, the silver ball, banged the bumper. Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. At this rate, I was destined for a replay.

Finally found them waiting in line at the deli. The department after dairy where Dad would have started his run. Those Weebles sure play a mean pinball.

The Plumber and Meals on Wheels

I was acting out the ear visit blog for Himself. "Oh, by the way, I volunteered your services at Ma's."


He eyed me suspiciously.





"Their toilet's not flushing."


"What do you mean, 'not flushing'?"


"It doesn't flush. Something's wrong with the handle. I think the chain fell off."


"Did you lift the lid to the tank to check?"


I huffed deeply and looked to the heavens. "Looking inside the toilet tank is not a Little Princess job."


His turn to huff.


"I told Dad about the problem, but just in case it's more involved, I volunteered you. I'll bring meals on wheels, and we can go for a visit on Sunday, and you can fix the toilet," I said brightly. I spent Saturday making two poor man's lasagnas. One to take and one for the girls to heat up. I knew they would prefer to stay home with the Xbox, computer, and cable tv rather than a visit to Grandma's where they don't even have a toilet that flushes, let alone cable.


Sunday morning, I called, just in case the toilet had been fixed. Dad answered the phone. "Hi, it's me. Did you fix the toilet?" I knew what the answer was going to be. After I hung up, I grabbed Himself armed with his tools, and my lasagna, and we headed down the Pike. We stopped at the store, the nice, clean, modern, grocery store, two miles from the folks' house. We did not stop at Market Basket. I picked up a loaf of Italian bread, bag of salad, cherry tomatoes, soda, and a lemon meringue pie to top off dinner.


Ma was happy to see us, happier to see Himself as the toilet was not in flush condition for at least five days. I didn't want to think about what they had been doing in those five days.


Himself lifted the toilet lid and braved the inspection inside the tank. "It just needs a new handle," he informed us. "It's a five minute job."


I held my breath because I've heard five minute jobs before. I followed him out to the car.


"It's not going to take the two of us to go buy a toilet handle. You're running away!"


"Damn straight, I am. After you told her it was only a five minute job, I didn't want to stick around to hear another chorus of the "He's Stupid" song. By the way, did you bring the epoxy that you used to fix the crack in our toilet?"


"No, it just needs a handle. What?"


"I didn't say anything," I looked out the window.


We returned from the big hardware store with the toilet handle. I set the table, dumped salad into bowls, and held my breath waiting to hear the exclamation, "Horse's patoot!" Dad came in from church, pleasantries were exchanged, and we could hear the happy gurgle of a flushing toilet.


I was ready to serve the main course, and I was getting nervous. At least ten minutes had elapsed with Himself ensconced in the bathroom. I approached the closed bathroom door, and listened. There was the rush of water, but no "Horse's patoot!" I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. "Is everything ok in there?"


He opened the door. "Yeah."


"Good, let's eat."


We had a nice lunch and stayed for a short visit as Himself had to work on a project for a text book publisher.


Dad walked us to the door, and we all eyed the crumbling stairs. "I have some bricks and when it gets a little warmer, I'll fix the stairs."


While starting the engine, Himself was mumbling. He backed the car out of the driveway and we waved goodbye to Dad.


"What are you mumbling about?"


"He won't even lift the lid to the toilet tank to see what's wrong, and he's going to fix the stairs!"


I laughed. I didn't even breathe that maybe lifting the lid to the toilet tank wasn't a Little Prince's job either. "Hey, what took you so long in there. I thought you said it was a five minute job."


"It was less than five minutes. I was trying to stall so he wouldn't catch hell all afternoon."


"Yeah, she's going to be singing the "You're Stupid" song like the anvil chorus all afternoon.


"Course, I don't blame him. When I'm 88, I don't want to be bothered with home maintenace."


"I hope we get one good son-in-law out of the deal to do the work."


"The hell with that! I have no attachment to the house. We're going to move into a condo where I don't have to worry about maintenace, shoveling, mowing."


"Sounds good to me, though I'll miss the sunroom."


"Maybe we can find you a patio with a southern exposure."

NB: No tomatoes were injured, maimed or murdered during this production.

Can You Hear Me Now?

Ma had an appointment with the ear doctor. She was to have her ears flushed out and then we would all have to mind our p's and q's.

I thought I'd arrive early, have a bit of a visit, and score some brownie points. I rang the bell several times and waited as bolts and locks were turned.

"What? Still in your pajamas?"

"I knew I didn't have to rush today."

"Where's Dad?"

"He went to the library."

She finished getting dressed and then came into the living room with her shoes. "Put my shoes on for me."

Ma had told me her father used to tease her, call her Donna Fifi, The Lady Fifi. I had an odd feeling as to whether I was lady in waiting or parent. "These aren't your new shoes? Why aren't you wearing your new shoes?"

"I don't like them, they hurt my feet."

"Why didn't you tell the doctor?"

"He got awful angry with me last year when I sent the shoes back because he ordered the wrong size. Put the kettle on for tea."

We sat in the kitchen, sipping tea. I had an odd sense of deja vu as I sat at my place. We were woven into a fabric of tea and gossip. Ma used to invite Himself's mother over for tea and I was always included. Even as a young teen, Ma never excluded me. How sad that most of the people that we talked about were gone. Grandma, Auntie, her daughter, Himself's mother. Still it was a pleasant ritual of chatting bits of nothing, and it was peaceful. A momentary stab of guilt sliced through me as I thought how pleasant it is spending time with only one parent at a time. How different they are when they are not with each other.

I glanced at the clock. "Will Dad be coming to the doctor's with you?"

"I don't know."

I looked at the clock again, still time, but I only knew the location of the office, date and time of the appointment, not which doctor she had to see. "Do you know which doctor you're supposed to see?"

"No, HE knows, but HE doesn't tell me." I'm a little irritated. Dad has a habit of not keeping Ma in the loop, and there are some two hundred doctors at the medical building. I wondered what percentage of them are ENTs. No, matter. I decided I could call the doctor's office that gave her the referral. I went upstairs to Dad's office to hunt for a telephone directory. As luck would have it, on the keyboard of the dusty computer, is a scrap of paper with the ear doctor's name, suit number, phone number, time and date of the appointment. Thank you, Jesus!

We finished tea and moved the gossip session to the livingroom. Ma had the curtains pulled back and was watching out the window for Dad.

He came into the house and sank into a nearby chair. He was breathing heavily. "I..I...ran...all...the...way...up...the....hill."

"Ya dumbass! What did you do that for?" I should have been more sympathetic, but I was alarmed and the worry came out as a smartass remark.

"I completely forgot she had an appointment today. I didn't remember until I was halfway up the hill."

Ma sat down with me standing behind her. "If you're starting to forget things," she said, "I'm going to put you in the home!"

I chuckled and held up two fingers.

"What?" he asked.

"You go as a two-fer."

"What?"

"A BOGO. By one, get one free," I winked.

"I'm not going to the nursing home with him!" shouted Ma.

Somehow the conversation turned to final wishes.

"And you're not going to bury me in this town! For 63 years, I've been buried up here..." Ma was a city girl born and bred and the town isn't on the subway line. It's been a sore point as long as I could remember. Though according to Dad when they found the house some 56 years ago, this was the dream house, the one Ma had to have.

"Alright, Ma, where do you want to be buried? Do you want to be buried in the cemetary where your parents are?"

"Oh, no! That's too hard to get into. Besides, no one will come to visit. IF I have to be buried in the ground, I want to be buried where your Uncle Chick is buried."

We've had this conversation before. Ma has some sort of problem about being buried in the ground. She wanted to be buried in a vault or mausoleum. I actually think it's more of a case of sibling rivalry as her sister is buried in a vault. I had once related this information to Dad. His answer was "We'll burn her!" I never figured out whether that was to be considered an economical alternative or a funeral for a witch. I also refrained from telling Ma that since Uncle Chick is buried near the NH border, chances are no one would want to make the Memorial Day trip. Like most New Englanders, we barely drive an hour from our home area.

It was time to drop the morbid subject and head to the doctor's office. There was a moment of tension in the elevator as Ma yelled at Dad to get out all the insurance cards she would need. He had been fishing in her pocketbook for the wallet and she snatched it out of his hands and it fell to the floor.

"Knock it off!" I roared. "We can take care of this in the doctor's office."

I approached the secretary's cage, handed her the Donna Fifi's insurance cards, and sat down with my book in the waiting room. The doctor was writing notes on a patient's chart on the far side of the secretary's cage.

Ma had thought this was the first time she would be seeing this doctor and then remembered she had seen him once before. "Oh, I don't like this doctor. He's not as good as the one your girlfriend sent me to." I try very hard not to laugh. Ma is as subtle as a rash, and she does not whisper.

The doctor came to call Ma into his office. Dad picked up a magazine and I settled in with my book. We could hear the doctor admonish Ma about the use of Q-tips. The doctor stands before Dad and I.

"Are you with Mary?"

I go back to reading my book.

"When you get home. Take the Q-tips and throw them away! She has impacted the wax against her ear drum. The Q-tips are not necessary and are bad to use." The doctor returned to Ma with a huff.

I leaned over to Dad and whispered, "Good luck." As if Ma will throw away the Q-tips or allow them to be tossed out.

On the ride home, I noticed Ma has her hand against her left ear as if she's an old time radio announcer.

"Are you okay? What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to see if I can hear out of this ear."

"It would probably help if people were talking. Can you hear me now?"

Big Boy

Monday was a planned shopping expedition. Ma had asked me to come early so I arrived at 9am. She wasn't dressed so I puttered with Dad's computer trying to explain to him the need to turn it on for more than a minute every month. The poor machine nearly choked with all the Windows updates. After twenty minutes, Ma shouted impatiently, "I'm ready." We whirled into the usual flurry of looking for the check book, getting her coat, her walker, and the soda bottles for return.

The ride up was pleasant. Ma nodded off, and I left Dad to enjoy the peace and quiet of his own thoughts. Since we were shopping on the fifth of the month, there were quite a few handicap spots available. Social Security checks were deposited on the first and funds available to seniors on the 3rd. I helped Ma across to the sidewalk. Dad came tooling out on a scooter for her. As I was taking the walker back to the car and hoping I could spend time reading my book, Ma shouted, "You come back and help me." Deep sigh.

From the entrance, I could see people jumping out of the way and I knew Ma is in that direction. I passed Dad at the bottle return machines, slowly and carefully feeding the cans and bottles in.

I caught up with Ma and she shoutedthe orders: Get 2 dozen of the medium eggs. I turned to put them in the scooter basket and she roared down the dairy aisle shouting more items: 2 gallons of milk, a gallon of orange juice, two cartons of cottage cheese - make sure it's the one with the pineapple in it. I ran after her occasionally lobbing an item into the basket. She also grumbled about the prices. Seems things have gone up, and Ma is not happy.

At the deli, she told me she wanted a pound of bologna and some provolone. "You like provolone. I'll buy you some provolone." Now, I don't eat raw cheese. Ever. She's only known this for some 50 years. "I'll get you some roast beef for lunch too even though I'm not supposed to have it."

"Ma, don't worry about the roast beef, bologna is fine. And remember I don't eat cheese so if you want provolone for yourselves get it." I take a deli ticket, number 52 and the deli is now serving 48.

"Let your father stand in line." With that she careened toward the meat case.

I headed back to the front of the store in search for Dad. He hadjust finished feeding a few cans into the return machine and is standing in line at the courtesy desk to get cash for his chit. Somewhere in the back of my head an alarm bell began ringing, but I ignored it. "Ma wants you to stand in line at the deli for bologna and provolone."

He looked at the deli ticket. "What number are they on?"

"48."

"I'll never make it."

"Then get another ticket." I sprinted toward the meat cases and nearly lost my lunch as I rounded the corner by the fish case. I smelled rotten fish. Even though I don't do the shopping, I know fish is not supposed to smell rotten. As an aside, I hate this store. It's not very clean. Packages are always dented and I question the freshness of the meat and produce.

Ma had stopped at the meat counter and was in deep contemplation. She pointed to a package and as the acolyte I handed her the first package to have the blessing. We continued down the miles of the meat case. Lift the meat, bless it and put it back.

There was a sale case with Stella D'Oro goodies. Ma put a package of anisette toasts in the cart. One of my favorites. A treat for me to go with lunch. Not a bad reward.

Dad finally caught up with us. "I have to go find the men's room." Vanished. We have been in the store close to an hour and have only progressed to meat. Produce, frozen foods and the aisle territory still needed to be explored. The alarm bell clanged.

In produce, Ma is delighted to have found Big Boy tomatoes at a good price. She prodded, poked and thumped looking for the best candidates. Another sign caught for plum tomatoes caught her eye. I heard a plop and there between my shoes was a Big Boy, murdered at the height of freshness with tomato guts oozing from its split skin. Ma was no where to be seen and I'm suddenly on the receiving end of disapproving stares from other shoppers. I slinked away, branded a tomato murderer.

Dad made another cameo, announced they needed salt, and vanished. The dawn broke. The three or four hour shopping expeditions aren't necessarily blamed on Ma, not with Houdini looking for items.

While inspecting celery Ma found another weeble lady to lament the rising cost of store items. The weeble lady tried to include me in the conversation. Since I don't grocery shop, I wouldn't know the cost between a carrot or a yam. I shrugged and smiled politely.

Dad caught up with us by the ice cream case. Another debate about flavors and Dad critiquing Ma's scooter manoeuver ability. Ma had gotten the scooter wheel wedged under the kick space of the freezers. We had to offload Ma and pull the scooter out.

"Do we have everything we need?

"We don't need to do the big shopping," she informed me. "You come back in two weeks to take us shopping again."

Oh, joy.

"Where's the list?"

"In my pocket."

A fine place for the list to reside. Ma decided the last item needed was paper towels, but another store had the item for a dollar less so she decided we had to go to this store. I wasn't happy but bit my tongue. She was happy because they were saving a dollar. In the mean time, I had to burn another gallon of gas to get to the other store. We have now been on this expedition for 3 hours. We have come close to the time I must leave in order to pick the Young One up at school.

We drove to the second store. "You have 10 minutes," I said to Dad.

We got back to their house at 10 minutes before 1pm. Dad and I unloaded the car. Ma was frantically looking for the lunch items.

"You're staying for lunch." More of a command than a statement

"I can't. I have to leave."

"You never stay to visit."

Oh, cheeze! "I could if you didn't use up all my time. I was here at 9am, but you're dancing around and we don't leave for another 20 minutes. You take 3 hours at the grocery store and then we have to go get one item at another store. That was my visiting time."

I left. No lunch and no anisette toast.