My Mom

My mom drives me crazy. No, she doesn't, she's wonderful. It's just that she's 78 now and I think she should no longer be allowed to read the newspaper. Every time I see her or she calls she has another completely bizarre story to tell me that's purportedly from the paper. She looks at a picture and comes up with an entire story to go along with it that has nothing to do with the actual picture or article. Or she reads an article and somehow processes it upside down and backwards in her head until it comes out, well, different. For some reason (and I know I should be more patient and understanding, age comes to us all, there too will I be and sooner than I think, etc., etc.,) this makes me go completely berserk. Internally, of course. I don't actually put on a bear skin shirt and take after her with an axe. However much I might like to.

Last Wednesday I went with her and her charming if completely gaga friend Jill to see Ladies in Lavender. I hated it, btw, it was so slow that I couldn't stand it and I spent the entire long, long, long movie trying to figure out how I could just leave. "Uh. . parking meter? Bathroom?" I calculated how long it would take me to quietly gnaw through the wall and I counted the little lights along the path. Then we went out to dinner after I, seeing my pal D though the window, had dashed in to the New New with a completely random story to my mom of urgent computer confabs (she is afraid of computers) and slugged back some Makers Mark fast. At dinner she told me at some length about the new underwater movie theatre that had just opened in my neighborhood. This was all based on one picture of the Dive In Movie that they do monthly at the Malvern Hills Pool. I tried to explain this; it took a while.

This morning she called me all excited about this article about ebiblio, the rare books finding company. Turns out it's based in Asheville. My mother was convinced that the article said they were hiring and she wanted to get this important information to my brother right away. She also thought they were doing the same thing as the old dotcom startup ebrary that my brother worked for back in the dotcom days. It took me forever to explain to her what the article was really about, how companies like this actually work, how they make money & etc., & etc. God.

Then I felt guilty as hell for not just letting her run with it - wtf is my problem anyway? Why can't I let her get all excited and ignore the "truth" behind the article. It doesn't matter at all. I should just shut the fuck up. STFU, Fliss! Bitch that you are. I don't know why it bugs me so much when she does this. I can't understand this stupid need I have to correct her, make sure she gets it right. It just makes her feel bad and then I feel worse. Gah. Gods save us from the complicated geometry of parents and children.

I got all worried about M last night and then dreamt that I was with him, his father, and his father's stepfather John Kefover the painter. They were "restoring" old books by rubbing this silver leaf stuff over the covers to fill in the cracks and I knew that they were then going to sell them as valuable antiques. I was trying to tell them that they would destroy any value the old books actually had but then I figured it was pointless. John gave me a set of Chinese paintbrushes and I was very touched. M called this morning and he is totally happy and cheerful - I miss him terribly.

My dog is eating a dog training book right now. I wonder if it will all sink in?