Der Bingle can get vocally upset about some things. My mother gets that way about most things. He and she have something in common – they can go over and over the grievance when something reminds them of it. Maybe someone in the world breathed in and out – that can get them going.
Today, Der Bingle calls to inquire about Summer’s mood and ask if Grover had been found. Okay, I’m a little twitchy myself and refer to a “non-action” of someone else. That was enough to get the”inappropriate use of earphones” speech going. Now, I agree with it, as I agree with a lot of what Der Bingle thinks. However, he is sort of like one of those stuffed animals that has a built-in recording. You know, the kind that makes you look for and find a screwdriver and take the battery out . . . and hide the battery.
So, the twitchy one – me – twitched and exclaimed, “You’re like my mother: how many times have I heard about the snowplow man who refills her driveway and mashes down her snow shovel sculpted pillars . . . and the man who mows his lawn too often and . . .” I think we hung up then.
I call my mother to tell her about how she and Der Bingle have driven me bananas. She laughs and then says, “AmeliaJake, I have a serious question for you . . . The refrigerator freezer is letting the ice cream get soft and the refrigerator section is warmer than it should be. Could it have something to do with the outside temperature?”
I know I need a brick wall to thunk my head against because I know Mother is not referring to the outside outside temperature. No, she is referring to the temperature outside of the refrigerator – that is, the temperature of the kitchen. Mother believes in heating by pilot light. Not that she can’t afford heat. She does this . . . and other things because she is, well, Mother.
Yesterday, a particularly angled north wind was blowing, making the use of her favorite little wood stove in the kitchen unfeasible. She could have turned up the regular heat; she did not.She never does. It drives me crazy. She believes in putting on more sweaters. She believes in seeing her breath. She approved of Scrooge’s rationing of coal for the stove where Bob Cratchit worked.
Fortunately for me, Mother gave me some years ago a piece of a foam “brick” wall that I can put on a door and bang my head on when necessary. I use it a lot.
