Our friends go on cruises. Well, we go on cruises too. Up and down the plumbing (electrical, hardware, lumber,…) isles of Home Depot. (The house is getting older and needs the architectural equivalent of: lung transplants (AC/Heating); major plastic (paint/plaster) surgery; and knee and hip replacements (doors). The analogy breaks down with tummy tucks, which we DON'T need (architecturally, anyway): - want all the space we can get. Whoever equated empty nesters with downsizing never met Kathy's book collection. Or....
We had Margaret’s family for the (Christmas) gift exchange. So, what do you want? we asked. “Besides a year’s supply of Prozac..” (She has a high energy night job as mom of a toddler who keeps waking up and screaming, and a high energy job night as an OB Nurse to women who keep waking up and screaming with every contraction, and you can only take so many caffeine tablets.) “Well, how about a benzo drip?” she answered. “Justin (her M.D. husband) says I need a benzo drip.” (which is an IV delivering a “happy, chill-out drug” right into your vein.) (I want a benzo drip, Mom said.)
Jonathan is now home from his mission to Maine - where he drove a 4wd pickup, wore boots, met people who lived in trailers with holes in the floors, and learned to talk without r’s. (In one of life’s small no make that big injustices, he had all the lobster he wanted and he’s criminally indifferent to lobster.) “I bet you really feel pretty bad about yourself since you can’t even beat your old Mother at arm wrestling,” Mom said after she beat him over the kitchen island (using both of her arms against his one.) “Actually, I’m feeling pretty virtuous about myself for letting her win,” he airily said. OK so maybe. (Mom had thrown her whole body into it and his arm had not budged, until he got bored and suddenly let it go slack.) Jonathan has the sort of build that would easily qualify him as a Mardi Gras bar bouncer or personal escort to any ATM in south central L.A. He also has the sort of wit that even keeps Mom on her never-pedicured toes, and a mind that will revolutionize the auto parts industry – as soon as he finds …. (this thought never got finished. Enter the "end this sentence" contest and win - a chance to arm wrestle Jonnie. Hurry - he's only getting stronger- and more wily?!)
We went to Sarah’s house in Nashville for Thanksgiving. The food spread got professionally documented (by Sarah Clark Photography) and may get featured in Bon Appetit, who knows. (It even tasted good, though Mom discovered that Turkey oven bags will melt at a certain high temperature..in all the excitement she forgot what it was.) Michelle’s new husband Paul Dozier got down on his hands and knees to retrieve something the kids had dropped. “Wow, you could eat off this floor!” he exclaimed. “There’s a whole meal down here!” (Paul is a charmer. He is an “international economic analyst” for the Fed, and Janet Yellen once smiled at him during lunch.) Sarah lives on what was just a big old Brentwood cow farm when she was born near Vanderbilt, but instead of cows her next door neighbor is now the lead guitarist for Matchbox Twenty - yet they don’t practice in the garage - which we guess is a good thing, or it would keep Sarah’s baby up. (She’s already up. Every 15 minutes? or so - all night long.)
Sarah likes to call Mom while she’s barreling down the freeway, to help her stay awake. This makes Mom nervous. “Sarah, are you driving?” Son in law Chris works for Asurion, the insurance company that caters to klutzy people who keep dropping their phones into water and stuff like that. The Clarks actually park both their cars in their garage, along with a big boat they inherited from Chris’s parents (now in Hong Kong). We somehow feel awed and a little alien around people who have garages they can park in. We can barely walk sideways through ours, and only after going on Medifast for three weeks. It’s a sad situation, really, and there’s probably some sort of therapy available, but Kathy is afraid it would (further) cramp her style. Which is already cramped, obviously. Son-in-law Chris said he would take her on an all-expenses paid vacation if she could ever get her car in the garage, but he knows he’s safe.
After a teary farewell, Sarah helped her children Facetime us the next day. “Ethan, do you miss Grandma?” “No,” he chirped. (Frankness is a virtue..?)
(That's all Grandma wrote. must'a gotten interrupted - but probably not by a call from Ethan...)
2020 addendum: Ethan rocks big time. Totally love that kid. We're great buds. He smiles at my jokes.