Voice
Feeling great and filling an intensely selfabsorbed slice of the body, I really enjoyed being able to re-type my mother's last letter and start to see some of my own voice in it. In college she was a more feverish penpal and those letters, gone as they are, will always strike me as near-perfect in their shine and sheen of care, advice, and friendship. Never quite "motherly" or expressly parental, always with poking and prodding, and without a single trace of plaguing nagginess that can sometimes cloak a letter from mother to son. Happily, I share:
Hello, Pilgrims.
First of all, Grandmother's surgery went splendidly. We met at her home at 5:30 this morning and got to the hospital a little before 6. In the car and for the first few hours it was just yours truly, Mary, Kit and Mom (Lisaaaaaa arrived about 9:30). Mom is comfortable and resting well in room 745 at St. Mary's.
But I know what my pilgrims really want is to hear ....."The Dirt."
So Mary and Kit started in with each other around 5:45 a.m. and it went on all day. I swear, those two can look at each other and argue over the color of their eyes -- Mary is a "religious racist" and Kit is "uninformed and needs to be educated." My sisters are exhausting. So is Mom. It was so much fun listening to her answers to all of the (and there must have been 20 at least) nurses and doctors questions along the way. Good thing there were the four of us to offer all of our opinions. I don't want to say that we confused the medical staff - just that we expanded their thought process. Nobody laughed.
Kit and I stole several gloves, surgery "hats" and surgical markers (to confirm the correct operable limb), and we wanted to be waiting in all of our (stolen) surgical garb when the orthopedic surgeon arrived to wheel her out and to offer our help in the O.R.. Mom did not laugh. Did not think it was funny and begged us not to. We couldn't anyway because Kit and I had already wet our pants laughing so hard. Mary did not laugh. I guess it wasn't that funny. We thought otherwise and we have our pants to prove it.
It was downhill from there.
Fortunately, Mother did not see the rest of the shenanigans (the medical team did, but Shirley doesn't know about that as she was sedated and I wish I were too.....I complemented the doctor on his cute surgical hat and almost got a date, we stole more stuff, and raised hell that the temperature in Grandmother's room was 85 degrees).
This was quite a day. I hope Mary and Kit are having a nice evening. I will after a glass of wine (or whine). I may call them. Or not.
Love to you all and drop the Fair Shirley a card if you can. Love to you, my Pilgrims.
First of all, Grandmother's surgery went splendidly. We met at her home at 5:30 this morning and got to the hospital a little before 6. In the car and for the first few hours it was just yours truly, Mary, Kit and Mom (Lisaaaaaa arrived about 9:30). Mom is comfortable and resting well in room 745 at St. Mary's.
But I know what my pilgrims really want is to hear ....."The Dirt."
So Mary and Kit started in with each other around 5:45 a.m. and it went on all day. I swear, those two can look at each other and argue over the color of their eyes -- Mary is a "religious racist" and Kit is "uninformed and needs to be educated." My sisters are exhausting. So is Mom. It was so much fun listening to her answers to all of the (and there must have been 20 at least) nurses and doctors questions along the way. Good thing there were the four of us to offer all of our opinions. I don't want to say that we confused the medical staff - just that we expanded their thought process. Nobody laughed.
Kit and I stole several gloves, surgery "hats" and surgical markers (to confirm the correct operable limb), and we wanted to be waiting in all of our (stolen) surgical garb when the orthopedic surgeon arrived to wheel her out and to offer our help in the O.R.. Mom did not laugh. Did not think it was funny and begged us not to. We couldn't anyway because Kit and I had already wet our pants laughing so hard. Mary did not laugh. I guess it wasn't that funny. We thought otherwise and we have our pants to prove it.
It was downhill from there.
Fortunately, Mother did not see the rest of the shenanigans (the medical team did, but Shirley doesn't know about that as she was sedated and I wish I were too.....I complemented the doctor on his cute surgical hat and almost got a date, we stole more stuff, and raised hell that the temperature in Grandmother's room was 85 degrees).
This was quite a day. I hope Mary and Kit are having a nice evening. I will after a glass of wine (or whine). I may call them. Or not.
Love to you all and drop the Fair Shirley a card if you can. Love to you, my Pilgrims.
______________________________________
Firstly, I had not noticed upon first reading the nice "No one laughed" ending the third (and most wonderful) paragraph. It's placement, perfect as it is, is like seeing something in the mirror and only after a minute saying to yourself "aha!" I'd used the exact sentence to end a very heavy paragraph in a short story, and the build up to it and the dropping-off-the-cliff feeling of the phrase had almost as nice of a ring to it as when my mom slips it in. Mine was forced, her's is natural.
Lastly, above is a photo of a dirty old ashtray from the Ritz Carlton which my mother had the divine oppurtunity to secret away in her purse one evening sometime in the 1980s when she was a smoker and a stealer. I remember as a kid she'd always take a pretty salt or pepper shaker from a fancy restaurant; we'd giggle, I'd beam. It is no small joy to me, personally, as a reformed thief, to think of her and her sister causing such a ruckus at the hospital and swiping a few supplies for a laugh. Now, not only am I faced with a voice that is quite in line with my own, but also see the ghostly outline of a bad habit that we both share. Funny, she was always so light on me when I got in trouble for it, and I understand now where that understanding comes from.
Lastly, above is a photo of a dirty old ashtray from the Ritz Carlton which my mother had the divine oppurtunity to secret away in her purse one evening sometime in the 1980s when she was a smoker and a stealer. I remember as a kid she'd always take a pretty salt or pepper shaker from a fancy restaurant; we'd giggle, I'd beam. It is no small joy to me, personally, as a reformed thief, to think of her and her sister causing such a ruckus at the hospital and swiping a few supplies for a laugh. Now, not only am I faced with a voice that is quite in line with my own, but also see the ghostly outline of a bad habit that we both share. Funny, she was always so light on me when I got in trouble for it, and I understand now where that understanding comes from.
