So, I began with the title, "one million reasons.......". Let's face it folks, I can't list them all, but a lot of them you can probably figure out on your own, especially if you've ever helped a relative clean up after a holiday dinner, only to discover, at the age of forty, you can't possibly know how to load a dishwasher properly, or wash a pan.
Older folks are pretty darned quirky, and it doesn't mean we don't love them, it just means that sometimes its easier to love them from one town over. Prior to my temporary stay in my childhood home, I felt pretty independent. I could wash a dish without supervision, and operate a microwave without fear that my wrongdoings might further damage an already seriously effed ozone layer.
One month later, I don't trust myself to do much of anything. I can't wring a dish cloth properly, I sometimes forget to turn off the coffeepot in the allotted three seconds after emptying it, and I occasionally don't close the cupboards after extracting something from the time-spattered shelving within. Plain and simple, I have so much in my mind at any given moment, ie: the new book I'm outlining, the one I am writing, the six part time freelance jobs I am doing, my quest for the perfect full time job, my upcoming theater audition, my volunteer work, the endless supply of logs in the front yard, the strange smell coming from my aging dog's left ear, and the status of the EPA disaster at my cabin, etc, etc, etc, ad nauseum, that I sometimes screw up the minutia, these intricate details older folks are positively obsessed with. I also obsess over run-on and poorly punctuated sentences. A lot.
I digress.
I can see an F4 tornado plowing through my childhood home, and I don't mean in a crystal ball, or a Captain Crunch-induced dream at 2:00 AM, I mean more like imagining such a thing for the sake of humor in this blog. I should clarify I find nothing humorous about natural disasters, but as Gilbert Gottfried said, "tragedy and time equal comedy." And, those of you who know me, know I can laugh at anything. It beats an indeterminate stay in a facility for those who've gone bat shit, which is where I might be without the laughter.
Moving on.......
So, I can imagine this tornado whipping Mom's old ranch around for a few seconds, whilst she and I huddle in the basement cavern, surrounded by whining pets. We emerge sometime later to the disorder created by flying monkeys and my neighbor riding by on a bicycle, and Mom looks at me dead serious, and says, "did you forget to close that cupboard again?" And I, dazed by the confusion, and her ability to recall such detail (this is the same woman who forgets what I told her five minutes ago), say, "you know, Ma, I don't know. It could have been me, or it could have been the freakin' tornado. Hard to say. Oh, look, isn't that your car in the tree?" Now to this statement, she would inevitably respond, "if you hadn't parked so far away from me, the wind might not have taken it." Just to clarify, I am also responsible for the sinking of the Titanic, the Alamo, and Pluto being denounced as a planet. I am all powerful. Tread lightly.
Now, on to the grocery shopping. This should be an Olympic event. Grocery shopping with someone over seventy is a major event. My mother, and let me again speak of my undying love for her, can take six minutes to select a box of Kleenex. In this same six minutes, I've spent fifty-five bucks on everything on my list, but on the upside, it's easier to keep track of our elders this way. I fill my cart, and leave her with the Kleenex. I know where she is, and if she falls, the paper towels on the bottom shelf should cushion her fall.
It's equally taxing to do this solo. I inevitably forget to check the date on everything I purchase. It's probably because I am writing in my head, while I brainlessly toss things into the cart. So, I've decided to propose that grocery stores change the way they label goods. I DON'T CARE HOW MUCH IT IS. JUST TELL ME WHEN IT EXPIRES. I will pay seventeen bucks for a gallon of milk, if you display a sign that says "EXPIRES ON MAY 11TH."
I will stand proudly at the checkout, successful in my task, and sign over my house (which isn't a good deal for the grocer these days), and leave with my basket full of shit that's good until June.
Job well done.
Stay tuned for the other million-or-so reasons. They're coming. Oh, and just for a head's up, I'll be taking this on the road as a stand-up routine, but out of respect for Mom, I'll either do it under the cloak of Witness Protection, with the help of Joan River's plastic surgeon, or wait for Mom's passing some years in the future.
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