Sorry for skipping yesterday’s blog. I’ve been out of town visiting my mother whose home is WIFI-less.
Anyway, last Thursday Tom and I drove from Columbus to Seaford, Delaware to spend Memorial Day weekend visiting my mother, who will be 94 on June 24.
Anyway, last Thursday Tom and I drove from Columbus to Seaford, Delaware to spend Memorial Day weekend visiting my mother, who will be 94 on June 24.
Before we left Columbus we’d already turned down my mother’s offer – or rather her several insistent offers -to have dinner ready for us when we arrived. We held our ground that we would not be there for dinner and prevailed upon her not to fix any food for us.
We felt pretty confident that we’d won this food fight until I called my mother on the road to let her know that we’d been stuck in three different traffic jams over and above the standard issue Memorial Day traffic and that we’d be arriving later than we thought, probably not before 10:30 pm.
“You’ll want something to eat when you get here,” she said, as if we hadn’t settled this issue half a dozen times already
I assured her that we wouldn’t want anything to eat, that we’d already stopped for dinner along the way.
“Well, you’ll at least want a snack. Maybe an omlette? Or some sausage and eggs?”
No omlette, I insisted. No sausage and eggs.
“You’ll want a little something,” she bulldozed right over me, “I’ll have a snack ready.” And that was that.
People are always amazed when they learn my mother’s age. But when I hung up it occurred to me that what’s truly amazing about my mother isn’t so much her many years, but that at a few weeks short of 94 my mother hasn’t yet crossed over the line between being able to take care of herself and do for others and no longer being able to do for others and needing others to take care of her. In fact she’s still far from that line:
She attends Mass every morning.
Every Wednesday night she attends her church group meeting.
She plays cards with with her bridge club twice a month.
Every Sunday she drives a (much younger) friend to church.
Two weeks ago she had her church group over to her house for brunch.
Several weeks before that she had her bridge club over for lunch.
The third Sunday of every December she throws a big catered Christmas party in her home to which she invites only her closest friends. All 90 of them. This year only 50 were able to attend, but it was still a wonderful party, as usual.
Here are some photos of my mother’s home:
We felt pretty confident that we’d won this food fight until I called my mother on the road to let her know that we’d been stuck in three different traffic jams over and above the standard issue Memorial Day traffic and that we’d be arriving later than we thought, probably not before 10:30 pm.
“You’ll want something to eat when you get here,” she said, as if we hadn’t settled this issue half a dozen times already
I assured her that we wouldn’t want anything to eat, that we’d already stopped for dinner along the way.
“Well, you’ll at least want a snack. Maybe an omlette? Or some sausage and eggs?”
No omlette, I insisted. No sausage and eggs.
“You’ll want a little something,” she bulldozed right over me, “I’ll have a snack ready.” And that was that.
People are always amazed when they learn my mother’s age. But when I hung up it occurred to me that what’s truly amazing about my mother isn’t so much her many years, but that at a few weeks short of 94 my mother hasn’t yet crossed over the line between being able to take care of herself and do for others and no longer being able to do for others and needing others to take care of her. In fact she’s still far from that line:
She attends Mass every morning.
Every Wednesday night she attends her church group meeting.
She plays cards with with her bridge club twice a month.
Every Sunday she drives a (much younger) friend to church.
Two weeks ago she had her church group over to her house for brunch.
Several weeks before that she had her bridge club over for lunch.
The third Sunday of every December she throws a big catered Christmas party in her home to which she invites only her closest friends. All 90 of them. This year only 50 were able to attend, but it was still a wonderful party, as usual.
Here are some photos of my mother’s home:
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And of her kitchen, where she was waiting for us when we arrived with the little snack.
We actually were a little hungry.
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