Tag Archives: mom

LIVE, THINK

whatchugot


A comedy of errors yesterday morning wound up devouring half of my day…. but offered some brain food.

My mom called and asked if I’d pick her up from dropping her car off at the shop.. A little independently owned joint in what’s now become the Bosnian ghetto of inner south St. Louis.

About a quarter of the way into the city I noticed I was almost out of gas… but figured I’ll pass a gas station that sells diesel…. Bad figuring.

I wound up crisscrossing south-city for 30 minutes trying to find a station… but finally did….

Got to the garage – picked up mom – got about half-way out to her place way out in the periphi-burbs and she realized that her house key was on the ring with the car key, which were in the possession of a guy with the name “George” embroidered on his left chest.

Sooo.. Back to the house…… Picked up Chad… Took him to work… Then, since we were downtown, – stopped by Gorman’s warehouse studio and fed her cats (mom’s pet sitting for her) – then went to the garage – then took her all the way back out to the county.. THEN raced back into town for a 12 lunch appointment.

Anyway… When I was searching for diesel I wound up in the most depressed section of south city along a strip of road called “Broadway” which runs parallel to the river and is the address of burnt-out storefronts, industrial chemical tanks and blocks of small frame houses which would make your modern trailer look luxurious.

I stopped and snapped a photo of one of the burnt out blocks with a “River View” behind hit… and subsequently got propositioned by a hustler / bumb… I took the shot quickly – but didn’t take the offer of a twenty dollar hum-job.

It was purely one of those exercises in appreciating what you have…

I tried to explain this to mom, (dramatically), buy pretending to cry hysterically and bitch about my life:

“Ohhh wooois me… We live in a 1400 square foot house!” (*sob*)
“and we’re OWNING it!” ( *sniffle *)
“Ohhhh…. and it has a yard… and nice neighbors” (* sobbing more *)
“Ohhh.. and we can only afford one car….” ( *sniffle* )
“AND IT’S A 2003 MODEL!” ( *balling hysterically*)

She didn’t comprehend the meaning / message / irony behind my melodramatic outburst.

She thinks I’m turning into a socialist.

I think I’m not blogging.

LIVE

institutionalized


Lunch

The last few days I’ve been a ghost.

I don’t like hospitals – trying to work from one is not too fun either.

The complications from mom’s surgery required an extended stay – and meant more trips back and forth between Pannera Bread (to buy three dollar coffees to check my email), Barnes West (to sit with mom), Mom’s apartment (to tend to “The Need”) and home.

The jumps in improvement every day between Tuesday and Thursday were profound. Yesterday she was released and I shuttled her home after stopping by and picking up a small vat of shi-shi chicken salad which would be her first gal-bladderless meal.

Since Sunday she’s had nothing but a steady diet of Broth, Jello, tea and popsicles.

Hardly appetizing – but I dared not obey her demerol-slurred requests to smuggle in Pad Thai.

I’m catching up on sleep and work while I can.

Thankfully I don’t blog – otherwise I’d need to catch up on that too.

LIVE

estrogen and psychics


tarot

Mom had a “Psychic Party” last night. We were invited.

Now I’m not entirely sold on the supernatural “industry”. But I’m not going to be so arrogant to assume that there isn’t more planes to reality / perception than we’re able to take in with our normal senses.

We arrived fashionably late to my mom’s apartment.

The living room was packed with middle aged women and the air was spiked with mom’s potstickers – which of course we made a b-line for.

Speaking of psychic phenomena – there’s this bizarre “earth-mother-estro-secret-club-vibe” when you get a lot of mature women together.

I assume it has something to do with maturity.. Women, once they squeeze out and raise their kids loose the nasty competitive factor I see in so many women around our age. What’s left is this alien ovarian-bonding which makes men, (even gay ones), feel sorta like they’ve broken into a masonic meeting.

Guests would take turns going to the back bedroom where the psychic was set up with a card table.

She pointed out personality quirks which were accurate and rambled off impressions and factoids.

Some of the things I learned (or already knew):

I’m really good at promoting other people but have trouble doing it for myself.

There’s a male buffalo in me.

Kevin REALLLY likes sex. Chad REALLLY likes sleep.

They both love me more than I know.

When I’m not thinking about sex, my preoccupation (and what I base the meaning/value of my life on) is my work.

I need to stop doubting my abilities and make some career decisions this year. Cut out and let go of the things that aren’t working. Apparently the next two years are going to be more successful than I can imagine today.

I’m happy…. Not as successful as in the past… but happier than I’ve ever been…

(*another card draw*)

“God, you’re really happy. And you’re having fun…”

Apparently this impression had such an impact on her that she followed me out after my reading and wanted to meet Kevin and Chad.

“Hello… I wanted to meet the two responsible for all this happiness.”

They blushed.. She smiled… I stuffed another six potstickers in my mouth.

I didn’t need to cough up forty bucks for someone to tell me I’m happy… I already know.

It’s nice to hear from a third-party. (fourth party counting the Astral plane?)

I should have asked the psychic if I’d blog about this the next day.

LIVE

gall


mama

Mom called the other morning… She made idle chit chat for five minutes before mentioning matter-of-fact that she was in the hospital. The woman’s always had a flair for dramatic impact.

Apparently an especially greasy muffaletta at Growlers Pub was the straw the broke the camels back and made her pass a gallstone.

She’ll be alright – but apparently the attack’s pain resembled child birth. They went in and had to unblock a bile duct and got the 411 on the stone.

It’s the size of a golf ball… They need to yank the gall bladder – which they’ll do next week.

I’ve been up visiting for the past two days. Brought her a mess of roses and smuggled her in a Hershey’s bar with almonds. (her favorite).

She should be released today. Good… I loathe hospitals, despite the cute, remotely cruisey, bearded jewish resident with the kippot.

Am I blogging?