The other day I went to my mom’s house to supervise the
installation of a new cesspool. I also had the clean team coming so I was
spending the day there it seemed. As the time wore on, I got a little hungry
and went looking for something to eat.
At first I was a little hesitant and felt maybe I shouldn’t
be doing that, then thought about it and decided that it was mom’s house, my
mother, and this house is where I married from, why not?
I looked in the frig and nothing got my attention except for
some olives, but no, that wasn’t what I wanted. Then it hit me, cookies, yes
cookies would do it! So I started looking in closets, opening drawers and
standing tiptoe to see, and something was happening. I was getting these
strange vibes like someone was looking at me, watching me, and ready to bear
down on me.
I was suffering from the old malady of mine, stealing
cookies from mom’s cupboard! I was also feeling guilty, and maybe feeling I was
ready to be discovered once more, just like the old days! What if I found a
unopened box? How would I handle that? I could use the trick I once used where
I carefully slit the glue away without tearing anything and gluing the box back
intact. But what if I really liked the cookies, would I eat too many and mom
would be wise? Suddenly I could picture the wooden spoon coming down on my
head, leaving the echoing sound I hate when wood hits wood, and my retreating
to the old bedroom, that is no longer a bed room, but her den.
But hey, what should I be afraid of, she is almost 96 years
old, what could she really do to me? Then there is the question of guilt,
whole, unadulterated guilt: the kind mom lays on me when she was too tired to
chase me.
I guess I’m too tired myself to do this anymore, she won! I
didn’t find any cookies and I didn’t want to anymore. So I went to mom and
confessed, and she said: “Don’t be silly, if I have any cookies, have them!”
Dam, I hate this aging process, I’m never sure anymore!
No comments:
Post a Comment