Friday, August 11, 2006
Ahhh...days like this...
...when I can't write for thinking and I can't think for doing. Sweet. Another late night for Mom, although it rained all day until 1600, yessss, so what was meant to be a 1400 arising (12 hour mark) became a very slow 1430 arising. I didn't make it to Costco, and didn't care. I decided to hunt and sort today...a lovely day for this. The urge struck me a few days ago, when I was rummaging through the boxes in my closet looking for a 3.5 floppy (Remember those?) of really old essays. It was such a hassle that I made a vow to begin Box Inspection "soon". Today turned out to be soon enough.
The mess in the living room, once Mom made it out here, intrigued her. We had a great time going through stuff we forgot we have.
When she asked, I told her, "This, Mom, is the beginning of all the boxed stuff in our closets that you've been suggesting we just dump without examination, since we can't remember what's in the boxes."
"Well," she said, "I certainly don't want to get rid of this...or this...oh, and I've been looking for this (although she hasn't, literally, she probably has, in her head)...remember when [her dead sister] gave me this? Oh my, and this! We could've used this not too long ago..."
"I know. That's been packed away since the flood."
"Oh, my goodness! That was ages ago (a little over six years ago)!"
"Yeah, so I guess we got along all right without it, huh."
A sly grin. "But, we won't be able to get along without it now."
There goes Dr. Thomas' theory that The Ancient lose their materialistic urges. Perhaps they simply lose the energy to go through their stuff, unless they have a child handy to do the work and leave the fun of ownership to them.
As I retime this post, Mom just finished a bathroom run. "I haven't been to sleep yet," she said.
"I guess that means I should start counting down 12 hours now."
"Oh. At least."
I'm peering down the hall, now. Her bedroom light is on. I wonder what's going on...she's sitting on her bed, staring into her closet at those boxes (the ones we prowled through, today, are from my closet).
"You aren't planning on going through those, are you?" I asked. "I don't want you trying to get those boxes down without my help."
"No...I won't do that."
"I was planning on going to bed, but if you want to get back up, that's okay. I think I've still got a little life in me."
"Well," she said, "I don't have much left in me. I think I'll read a little more. That'll settle me down."
"Okay. I'm going to bed soon, though, it's been a long day for me, so, if you want to stay up, you'd better head out to the living room soon."
"Nooo...I'm tired, too."
"Okay, Mom. Night, night, again." I kiss her again.
"Not nap, nap?" This is a reverse of our little nap "joke", where I tell her "Nap, nap"...
...she says, wistfully, "Not night, night?"...
...and I tell her, "Nope, nap, nap, not night, night,"...
...and she sighs dramatically and says, "Well, okay, only nap, nap, if you insist,"...
It's 0303 now. Her light's still on. I'm heading in, in part because I'm ready and in part to make sure that she doesn't drag her day out any longer than I can handle, tonight.
Later.
Her light went out at 0315.
Much later, I guess.
The mess in the living room, once Mom made it out here, intrigued her. We had a great time going through stuff we forgot we have.
When she asked, I told her, "This, Mom, is the beginning of all the boxed stuff in our closets that you've been suggesting we just dump without examination, since we can't remember what's in the boxes."
"Well," she said, "I certainly don't want to get rid of this...or this...oh, and I've been looking for this (although she hasn't, literally, she probably has, in her head)...remember when [her dead sister] gave me this? Oh my, and this! We could've used this not too long ago..."
"I know. That's been packed away since the flood."
"Oh, my goodness! That was ages ago (a little over six years ago)!"
"Yeah, so I guess we got along all right without it, huh."
A sly grin. "But, we won't be able to get along without it now."
There goes Dr. Thomas' theory that The Ancient lose their materialistic urges. Perhaps they simply lose the energy to go through their stuff, unless they have a child handy to do the work and leave the fun of ownership to them.
As I retime this post, Mom just finished a bathroom run. "I haven't been to sleep yet," she said.
"I guess that means I should start counting down 12 hours now."
"Oh. At least."
I'm peering down the hall, now. Her bedroom light is on. I wonder what's going on...she's sitting on her bed, staring into her closet at those boxes (the ones we prowled through, today, are from my closet).
"You aren't planning on going through those, are you?" I asked. "I don't want you trying to get those boxes down without my help."
"No...I won't do that."
"I was planning on going to bed, but if you want to get back up, that's okay. I think I've still got a little life in me."
"Well," she said, "I don't have much left in me. I think I'll read a little more. That'll settle me down."
"Okay. I'm going to bed soon, though, it's been a long day for me, so, if you want to stay up, you'd better head out to the living room soon."
"Nooo...I'm tired, too."
"Okay, Mom. Night, night, again." I kiss her again.
"Not nap, nap?" This is a reverse of our little nap "joke", where I tell her "Nap, nap"...
...she says, wistfully, "Not night, night?"...
...and I tell her, "Nope, nap, nap, not night, night,"...
...and she sighs dramatically and says, "Well, okay, only nap, nap, if you insist,"...
It's 0303 now. Her light's still on. I'm heading in, in part because I'm ready and in part to make sure that she doesn't drag her day out any longer than I can handle, tonight.
Later.
Her light went out at 0315.
Much later, I guess.
