“Aqua Net, Mom?” Extra Super Hold she tells me and begins to fill me on the latest family gossip. This is my favorite part of the visit, the catching up. Tallulah or not, she spins a good story. Spinning is what she does. Rather than serve up the facts cold, she recreates events until the tale in question is borderline fiction. Over the years my sister and I devised the cut and paste method of assembling the facts, used only when we suspect action or intervention on our part is required.
We arrive at my house. Mine for few minutes more, at least until she enters and assumes control. She wraps up the tale of my sister and niece’s recent adoption of a two pound, Yorkshire terrier they carry around in a Paris Hilton pooch-pouch bag. Gigi, the latest installment of havoc in her otherwise calm life now entails babysitting for the dog Nana calls Rat Dog. She confesses amusement watching Gizmo drag the puppy training papers all over the house only to end up taking care of business on one of the carpets.
All this time we are laughing, there were a couple moments of seriousness as we talk about dad, who passed earlier in the year, but on the whole she looks good for which I am glad. I am almost gleeful. I am glad to see her as are the kids but secretly worried about the underlying reason for her visit. Mom has had an emotionally challenging year and I had considered the reason for a weeklong visit involved mother and daughter therapy. Misery loves company. Until leaving for college I was subjected to therapy without question. For me writing is a cure all, for her, cleaning is the solution to everything. Whenever she had to work through one of life’s challenges, cleaning of some sort would transpire. It was not odd for us to hear the vacuum cleaner humming before sunrise, her deep in conversation with that trusty Hoover. Others buy shoes or see therapists, my mom vacuums.
Recruits were not required but she sought them anyway. The usual suspects included me and my sister. I argued the point when I figured her out, I wasn’t sure if it was fearlessness or stupidity on my part. My sister maintains it was a loose screw. My point was we hadn’t been around long enough, our young years was surely evidence we were healthy and well adjusted and not in need of mental cleansing. Arguing only meant double duty. The size of ‘issue’ she had to work through directly correlated to the magnitude effort and length of indentured servitude.
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