Wednesday, June 21, 2006
I think I figured it out.
The "messages" episode took place throughout Monday and into early Tuesday morning. Monday's the day our company was supposed to come. We'd both been talking about it all weekend. It wasn't until Sunday night that we found out company would be delayed until Thursday.
The company we'll be entertaining tomorrow isn't genetically family, but they may as well be considered so; it's MCF and her daughter, and maybe their friend/boarder. Mom has known them longer than I have...back into the 1980s. She and MCF, in fact, planned MPS's baby shower for MCNC's birth. She and Mom have a long history. So do she and MPS. She and I do, too, although slightly shorter than theirs. Yeah, they're family.
Now, I know that by "folks" Mom definitely meant her mother and father, since she later defined the word as such. But, this is the way the demented mind can work: One part of the family can substitute for another part. The phone messages? Well, MCF and I had a couple of phone conversations prior to Monday. Although Mom was never on the phone, she was with me when the calls took place and was briefed, in detail, immediately afterward. And, of course, she knows MCF is a "woman", and, as well, MCF is one of the few friends I didn't think to suggest when trying to determine the identity of the messenger because the word "folks" led me to believe that we were talking about Mom's born into family and long ago friends, not recent, chosen family.
So, I think the mystery is solved.
Before I hit the sack, though (luckily I'm so damned tired that I will have no trouble bedding down two hours earlier than usual), I want to record Mom's and my bedtime conversation tonight.
After I'd kissed her goodnight and headed to the kitchen to set up the dishwasher, I thought I heard, faintly, Mom calling me. I checked and it wasn't her. This isn't an unusual occurrence. I'm sure it's connected with low level anxiety, which would certainly describe my evening: Finishing preparations (yes, I did a little, very little, cleaning) for the visit; fixing Mom's hair (which was unsuccessful...I had trouble with the tiara tonight and couldn't remember exactly how I'd gotten it to work in her hair before); trying to convince her to go to bed earlier than I knew she wanted.
So, as I was leaving her room for the second time after checking to see if that "still, small voice" was my mother or my imagination, my mother pulled me back with, "You know, ever since I've moved into this bedroom, every night you've thought I was calling to you right after I go to bed."
Not exactly right. "Well, Mom, I actually imagine I hear you calling much more rarely than every night, sometimes not even every month. And, you've been in this bedroom since 1997. But, what are you trying to say?"
"I think there's some kind of noise coming from this side of the house that sounds like me."
I burst out laughing. "Well, yeah, there is, and it's usually you!"
She flashed her grin of ironic acknowledgement. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, Mom, I do. And, you know what I think? I think it's the Devil, beckoning me to my true calling." I've said this before but until tonight she's ignored it.
"Using my voice."
"Hey! Yeah! That's brilliant, the Devil disguising itself as people's mothers! What a coup! So, I am the Devil's spawn, aren't I?!?"
In her best Inscrutable-Ancient-to-the-point-of-being-vaguely ominous tone, eyes just this side of narrowed: "You'll never know, will you."
You're right, Laurel. Wicked.
This is one of the reasons I'm here; one of the reasons "It's no sacrifice."
That's it. I'm headed for bed. The Dailies can wait. Expect me to be back...
...later than sooner.
The company we'll be entertaining tomorrow isn't genetically family, but they may as well be considered so; it's MCF and her daughter, and maybe their friend/boarder. Mom has known them longer than I have...back into the 1980s. She and MCF, in fact, planned MPS's baby shower for MCNC's birth. She and Mom have a long history. So do she and MPS. She and I do, too, although slightly shorter than theirs. Yeah, they're family.
Now, I know that by "folks" Mom definitely meant her mother and father, since she later defined the word as such. But, this is the way the demented mind can work: One part of the family can substitute for another part. The phone messages? Well, MCF and I had a couple of phone conversations prior to Monday. Although Mom was never on the phone, she was with me when the calls took place and was briefed, in detail, immediately afterward. And, of course, she knows MCF is a "woman", and, as well, MCF is one of the few friends I didn't think to suggest when trying to determine the identity of the messenger because the word "folks" led me to believe that we were talking about Mom's born into family and long ago friends, not recent, chosen family.
So, I think the mystery is solved.
Before I hit the sack, though (luckily I'm so damned tired that I will have no trouble bedding down two hours earlier than usual), I want to record Mom's and my bedtime conversation tonight.
After I'd kissed her goodnight and headed to the kitchen to set up the dishwasher, I thought I heard, faintly, Mom calling me. I checked and it wasn't her. This isn't an unusual occurrence. I'm sure it's connected with low level anxiety, which would certainly describe my evening: Finishing preparations (yes, I did a little, very little, cleaning) for the visit; fixing Mom's hair (which was unsuccessful...I had trouble with the tiara tonight and couldn't remember exactly how I'd gotten it to work in her hair before); trying to convince her to go to bed earlier than I knew she wanted.
So, as I was leaving her room for the second time after checking to see if that "still, small voice" was my mother or my imagination, my mother pulled me back with, "You know, ever since I've moved into this bedroom, every night you've thought I was calling to you right after I go to bed."
Not exactly right. "Well, Mom, I actually imagine I hear you calling much more rarely than every night, sometimes not even every month. And, you've been in this bedroom since 1997. But, what are you trying to say?"
"I think there's some kind of noise coming from this side of the house that sounds like me."
I burst out laughing. "Well, yeah, there is, and it's usually you!"
She flashed her grin of ironic acknowledgement. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, Mom, I do. And, you know what I think? I think it's the Devil, beckoning me to my true calling." I've said this before but until tonight she's ignored it.
"Using my voice."
"Hey! Yeah! That's brilliant, the Devil disguising itself as people's mothers! What a coup! So, I am the Devil's spawn, aren't I?!?"
In her best Inscrutable-Ancient-to-the-point-of-being-vaguely ominous tone, eyes just this side of narrowed: "You'll never know, will you."
You're right, Laurel. Wicked.
This is one of the reasons I'm here; one of the reasons "It's no sacrifice."
That's it. I'm headed for bed. The Dailies can wait. Expect me to be back...
...later than sooner.
