We Ate. We Laughed.

Minus the Miralax, this was exactly what I did for my mother yesterday.  Sunflowers, a balloon, champagne, and hot dogs.  And, of course, this card with a sweet message handwritten on the back.  

But not immediately.  In the morning, I asked my mother what she wanted for breakfast.  Nothing.  She didn't want anything, she said.  She'd already eaten some All-Bran.  So I sat with her and coffee for awhile.  I asked her what she wanted for dinner.  

"Hot dogs."

She'd had me buy some at the store a couple days before.  Hot dogs are not the norm.  We have them two or maybe three times a year--4th of July and Labor Day and sometimes, maybe, Memorial Day.  Kinda Monday-like.  But yesterday being Mother's Day and all. . . . 

"I'll be back," I said.  "I'm going to go for a long walk."

"Here?"

"No.  At home." 

And so I packed up and headed off.  And in a couple blocks, the phone rang.  

"Did you leave my two o'clock pills?"

I turned around.  At least she caught me before I got too far.  

Back home, I put on my walking clothes and headed out.  The day was warm.  It was humid.  The churches along the way to the golf course were packed.  One church's crossing guard who sees me on my Sunday walks gave greetings.  By the time I got to the golf course, though, I was struggling.  My knee was killing me.  

Back down a crowded Boulevard, I saw my reflection in the shop windows.  My right knee was bent at least 20 degrees, maybe more, when I stepped.  My gait was fucked.  It was horrible.  More Quasimodo than ever.  Worse, I'd worn a shirt that was everything--except flattering.  My God!  Depressed and in pain, I wanted to hurry away from the crowd.  

But I couldn't.  

Ayyeeiii. . . The Beast!  The Beast!!

Finally, miles later, I was back home with a big mug of sparkling water.  I was soaked in sweat.  I sat down in a non-absorbant chair until I quit sweating.  I was in front of the computer.  I checked my messages.  My Cali buddy sent me this.  

Now THAT was funny.  I copied it to some of my friends.  But it reminded me of something.  All those Steve Martin "Parenthood" kind of movies.  Always the problems of the upper middle class.  

What the hell, I thought, make your own.  

That was it.  That was the life I'd known.  There's MAGA mother, the best in the world.  I liked it, but it didn't really look like a card, so. . . . 

Yes!  Now I was cooking.  I sent these and some other cards I made to people I know.  

"Don't give that to your mother," C.C. said. "You'll confuse her."  

Later, though, I did show them to my mother.  I haven't seen her laugh like that in a loooong time.  I told her I should send that to my cousins.  She laughed and said yes.  

But that was later.  I was now beginning to get a chill from sitting in my wet clothes in the a.c.  The phone rang.  It was my mother.  

"How do I get my t.v. back?"

When I put the t.v. on internet rather than cable, I always have to change it back so my mother can watch endless commercials.  But I'd watched fights and drank until one o'clock in the morning the night before, and I had forgotten to change it over.  My mother can barely work the t.v.  There is no hope of me talking her through the remote settings.  

"I'll be back in a bit."

A quick shower.  Then I went back to the computer to make her the card at the top of the page.  Then a run to the grocers for hot dog buns.  I already had the champagne.  But mom needed Miralax.  I picked up the helium balloon thing, too.  

When I got back and sat the table, it was the spitting image of the card.  Kind of.  We didn't have a marble table and column, but you get my drift.  I toasted the buns and heated the dogs and pulled out the organic non-pasteurized kraut, catsup, and mustard.  I popped the cork and poured champagne.  

It was "like the best meal e-v-e-r!" 

As the kids would say.  

So we did a second round.  

We took champagne to the garage/porch and sat together for awhile.  I checked my phone.  I'd sent a lot of mother's day cards to a lot of people, but I wasn't getting much response.  I'd made something else, too.  

Rather liked that one.  I hope it will play here on the blog.  I don't want to load it into YouTube, and I'm not sure if you all can even watch the ones I do upload, whether you watch them here or there or don't watch them at all.  

But I liked this one as a true bookend to something else I made for "my girls." 

I made four versions and sent them to "the gals."  Oh. . . these got the reception I'd sought.  Lots of positive reinforcement there.  So. . . yea. . . I made another vid. 

I coulda/shoulda sent those to some of my friends whose children are grown and gone, but, I thought, I would need to make another card and video and I was tired from the champagne and the day and wanted a nap.  

When I got up, it was almost time for dinner.  I poured a drink and joined my mother outside.  

"What do you want to eat?" I asked.  

"Oh, Lord. . . I don't want anything."

"Not even soup?"  

"No."

Late hot dogs and champagne had done her in.  So I sat with a scotch and let the day dribble away.  

I didn't make dinner for myself, either, but man, I sure ate a lot of "stuff."  This week old Quasimodo is going to need to change his ways.  

Somehow.  

O.K.  I just checked.  The video won't load, so I will have to upload it to YouTube to post it here.  Drats. 

It won't load here, either, because it is a "short," so if you want to watch it, you'll have to click the link.  Trust me.  It's not a trick.  I'm not like the others. . . I'm your friend!

https://youtube.com/shorts/I1bi0nZhZjk

Wait--I think it worked!!!