Andrea and Kevin invited the General and I to their home for dinner on Friday evening. Andrea said, “Its casual. Take your time. Just show up around 7:00. You don’t have to be in a rush.” I was grateful for both the invitation and for the flexibility related to arrival time. My plane from Washington D.C. didn’t make it to Austin until around 11:30 p.m. on Thursday night. Consequently, it was well over an hour later before I made it home.
I tell myself that I’m functioning on all cylinders most of the time, but Friday was a day where I felt sluggish all day long. It probably had to do with lack of sleep. When we arrived at Andrea’s, she asked about my eyes. I told the truth, they both felt like they were full of sand. I’ve finished the second round of oral antibiotics, but I am still doing four warm compresses a day and treating the left eye with an antibiotic ointment. Although she was across the room, she instructed me to remove my glasses. She wanted to look at the sty from a distance. I could tell from her body language from across the room that she didn’t like the looks of it.
Her response put a smile on my face. She said, “You can blame your mother for this, but I’m going to ask anyway. After all I learned it from her. It that contagious?” That did sound like something my mother would ask. I assured her that I was not contagious. Despite my assurances, she walked to her laptop computer on the cabinet and immediately did a Google search to see what she could find. The long and short of it, she determined that the sty was contagious, but that it really wasn’t. Go figure! When she read me what she found on the Internet, I, too, was confused. I smiled when she said, “I’m not setting next to you at dinner”. True to her word, she didn’t. I guess you could say she threw Kevin under the bus.
For almost as long as I can remember, Mother regularly subscribed to Prevention Magazine. She was almost as skilled at practicing medicine as the General. She generally was a little subtler than Treva in attempting to tell me what to do, but she was predictably consistent in offering recommendations. She was always bombarding me with tidbits of information of things I could do differently related to my health. In addition, she was always eager for me to take one of her copies of Prevention with me. She mistakenly fostered the fantasy that I’d carefully read the articles and take the recommendations seriously.
One of the messages Mother articulated throughout our childhood was that soap and water was cheap; there was never an excuse not to be clean. She provided the oversight to ensure we didn’t cut corners in that area. I wouldn’t describe myself as a “neat freak”, but I don’t gravitate toward finger foods. When I eat Pizza, I eat it with a fork. My grandchildren think I’m weird. I may be, but I don’t get my hands dirty while eating. The only exception I make to finger foods is ribs. Pork ribs are really hard for me to pass up. I like the taste, but they are messy. It is from eating ribs that I learned there is a downside to having a beard. Besides that, I don’t like the momentary residue of barbeque sauce on my fingers.
Mother faithfully followed a rigid exercise program in her quest for staying healthy and fit. She watched her diet, took whatever supplements where highlighted in Prevention Magazine and followed regularly scheduled doctor’s appointments and recommended testing to ensure good health and early intervention. Throughout our childhood years, we too, went to the doctor for routine visits and dental appointments. Health was a high priority from my mother’s perspective.
Mother steered clear from many of the foods I intuitively gravitated toward as an adult. Of course I did, I didn’t have the opportunity to try them in my childhood. Mother’s palate was limited to American cuisine. She would not eat Mexican food, Italian food, Chinese food or any number of other things because she mistakenly (my assessment/not hers) thought they weren’t healthy.
At some level my mother could probably be considered a borderline germophobe. She believed that cleanliness was next to Godliness and she never cut corners in ensuring our home was spotless and sanitized. During the years that she had the cognitive ability to have an awareness of her surroundings, she ensured everything was in order and that it would pass a white glove inspection.
I remember in my adult years, my mom would have my dad move the sofa at least once a week so she could vacuum under it. I always had the thought, “What would she think if she could see under our sofa?” The General is pretty obsessive compulsive, but even she doesn’t move the sofas to vacuum under them.
My daughter’s hint that she was taking after my mother put a smile on my face. I looked at her and said, “I really miss my mother”. She agreed. My mother had the ability to add a wonderful dimension by her presence. She was one of the most “other centered” people I’ve ever met. She was a doting grandmother and every grandchild was her favorite.
What a legacy of love and influence she leaves her family. We are grateful for the gift of memory and for the influence she continues to contribute to our lives.
All My Best!
Don
Carpe Diem 