walk the line
2006-03-07 - 10:43 a.m.
So my mother is here. She is driving me crazy, but in a sort of amusing way. M took her aside yesterday and told her gently that she would be the most help if she just did the normal sorts of things, like laundry and emptying the dishwasher. In fact, that really would be helpful.
But she is absolutely itching to organize my life. And while I admit that when we move in 6 weeks it will be helpful to have everything in boxes, I actually think I would be a lot less stressed out if, for the 6 weeks I am still living where I am living, I am able to continue to eat of plates, cook with spices (currently, according to our latest phone call, packed in the clementine box. The clementines are apparently happier in a bag with some lemons.) and wear clothes. Last night she informed me that my closet was a disaster, and could she just get rid of everything. Well, she could, but then I might have a little trouble getting dressed in the morning.
I'm now understanding how my poor grandmother feels when my mother goes to visit her. The visit usually ends with my mother feeling dreadfully insulted and my grandmother with all her feathers in a ruff. No wonder!
Anyway, I am biting my tongue and trying to work through the phone calls and trying not to feel too terribly violated as she paws through absolutely everything. Currently I've got her distracted by looking through my yarn and knitting books. I do have nice yarn.
I think she was a little horrified by the new house, too. We went to see if yesterday. It does look dreadful at the moment -- the foundation people have pulled the front porch all apart and the inside is full of old lathe that has to go in a dumpster, but can't until the foundation guys are out of the driveway and there is room for a dumpster.
It does not seem to have stopped her from imagining that a move is immanent, though.
Anyway. N and I watched Walk the Line last night -- what a good movie! Poor Johnny Cash. Anyway, it was really good. And I am so glad June Carter finally married him.
Okay, reader. Now I'm going. If I believed in god I would ask you to pray for me. But I don't. You can anyway, though.
Okay, I'm smiling.
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