Another look back – Sarah Grismore

My mother died on October 17, 2009; I thought about it all day and am still thinking about the days following. When I happened on that old website of mine, I found this post about her:

I am one of those people who reads – a lot; fortunately for me, when they talk of addictions they don’t call readers addicts – they call them bookworms. I have learned to adapt my reading to what is going on around me after all these years, but sometimes I revert to my primal state. Tonight was one of those times. After several questions from my grandson, I asked loudly, “Can’t you see I am READING?”

That brings my granddaughter out to where I am to quote what I said to her the night before: “If you can’t ignore people talking, you are not a good reader.” And, of course, I had to answer that there is a difference between people talking and being asked a direct question. But then, to her anything her brother asks is not worthy of note and I am wrong not to ignore him as well

So, I get them off my back . . . and then I get a phone call. Okay, fine, we’re talking, talking, talking and then that call is over and I settle in. I always call my mother in the evening to make certain she is all right; tonight she called me and after a while I told her I was reading, almost to the end of the book. Finally, finally she gets off the line.

Then 30 minutes later the phone goes off on the table, playing Honky Tonk Blues and vibrating against the wood. And I knew. I really, really knew. I answered with a gritted out hello and I heard, “Did you finish your book and then . . . and this is from a notoriously grouchy lady . . . laughter.

This is that lady, in case you don’t remember:

 

This day is up for grabs

UPDATED*

Well, not really. I think I’m going to LaGrange County . . . after the dryer man comes, Now there’s a thrill; I have yet to go peek into the laundry room and see if there are dirty clothes I have to haul out and that knowledge underscores my sarcasm in “thrill”.

Gosh, I’m in a crabby mood today. Really crabby. If I could draw a crab, I would; but I can’t, so visualize it . . . big old claws smeared with peanut butter.

*UPDATE RIGHT BELOW.

Yes, down here. I think I’m not so crabby now, maybe it was the peanut butter – or perhaps the aspirin and Vitamin D and these other pills. It is possible that I thought, “Crabby is no way to do your first official Senior year, dear.” It’s amazing, I am going to go to my grave with some sort of word association thingie: I just thought that as I reached senior status, the country was getting more senor strata. And, of course, what is the difference between the two? Could it be my narcissistic “I”?

Oops, maybe the crabbiness is not abating, just slipping into the shadows. Well, whatever the reason, I was able to deal with the dog throwing up and my almost stepping in it with concern about Shane and not with a loud “What now?”

Actually, the now is the “Now he is six,”reality. M it’s time to get a lot more cautious about what he is fed and to ease into the rice diet. On the other hand, I find it difficult for him to have trouble with a Laura Lean drained ground beef meal with dry dog food and a bit of shredded cheese. It could be the silver polish on his bowl is upsetting his stomach. Oh, that was a little snippy; I  think I would rather be snippy right now than brood over Shane getting older. I just have to accept it and be prudent in our spoiling of him.

Because I definitely feel chatty, I am making myself close this post.