1 January 1999: Big Moo

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This one worked better.

Okay. I admit that to name a day upon which I was reminded of a Peter Schafer play and took a long walk "Trequus" stretched the boundaries of even my own auto-amuse function, but to name a day upon which I begin to read Moo, which reminds me of Neal Stephenson's Big U., "Big Moo," must be allowable.

Progress

I had a reasonable conversation with my mother tonight in which she found me amusing. Her not finding me amusing frustrates me but of course I find it insulting too. So this was good. Also it was short, so offered less opportunity to infuriate. This year for Christmas, she sent a full, still wrapped box of Andes mints instead of last year's half a package with the receipt from CVS, so I figure I rate higher now.

She said she just wanted to wish me a happy New Year, which was nice of her, and so she called me while she making supper. You could charitably interpret this as she thought of me and couldn't wait another moment to act on her impulse and therefore called despite being busy, or you could interpret this in my usual way, which is that supper afforded her an excuse not to prolong a call placed on her nickel. Whatever. Such interpretation is so immediate that it requires no conscious thought and does not, these days, inspire resentment, which I call improvement.

She asked what we did last night. "We had a conga line going through the apartment and wound up jumping on the bed." She a) didn't need the furn term "conga" explained to her and b) thought that sounded pretty fun. Hey! She did say that they did the same--the latter half, that is. She did? This I had to question. "You jumped up and down on the bed?" No, she clarified, they'd jumped into bed. I hoped she just meant that they were tired at the end of the night and wanted no further detail on that.

But she had a question too. "I thought you two had a waterbed?" Yes, we once did but were given a regular bed for a wedding present, which I was sure I had told her before this and which she might have noticed when she lived in my house for one of the longest weeks ever recorded. I have improved so much that I didn't even get impatient with her failure to remember such slight details. RDC's best man's family owns a furniture store and so EJB provided us with boxspring and mattress and his parents with a frame, which I consider to be two presents: the sparing us of sleeping on the floor and about 30 cubic feet of underbed storage space. BJWL seemed to follow this explanation with but one complaint: "You're talking with your mouth full."
"Well if I am it's your fault because what I'm eating is an Andes mint."
And glory be! She laughed at this as if she understood that it was a joke instead of that pained, laughing off an insult, fake laugh, that was for so long the only sort I heard from her. I'm so pleased.

More Progress

In fact both my parents seem happy now and less resentful of the fact they're alive. This is such a blessing. Although I know I shouldn't talk about either to the other and still less to the other's other, I couldn't resist exclaiming about it to Sheryl when I last talked to her. She told me my father decorated the Christmas tree this year. He did? He participated in the festivities to an extent greater than purchasing three identical toiletry packs from the drugstore that he'd then ask one of the three of us to wrap? I told her how grateful I am to her for making him so happy and how pleased I am that both my parents are happier now than I had any idea they were capable of. As usual, she made a self-depracating comment, and as usual, I bit my tongue.

Mulching

Tomorrow the tree goes to the big mulching machine in the sky. Usually I dismantle the tree on New Year's Day, since I neither watch football nor get hungover. This year I wanted HAO to see it, so I'll drag her here from the airport and not bring her home until much later, after I force her to comment on our lovely ornaments and after we go to see "Shakespeare in Love."

She called last night from her party to tell me her flight plans, which made for an amusing conversation as we each tried to participate in the other's festivities. Our tree-topper is a star, a fake mother-of-pearl and gilt affair that I bought in a moment of desperation and meant to replace at some post-Christmas sale. We discovered that our tree was cheap because it has quite droopy boughs, and by now the tippity top spire has lost what oomph it has. It hangs at about a 45 degree angle, and all HAO heard over the music and talking on her end was someone on my end commenting on its flaccidity and that it maybe needed to be rubbed.

Meanwhile someone in Oklahoma--these wild Sooners--had a kit used to determine what size catheter a man would require. There was some sort of template, with sizes. I thought of one of those protractors used in geometry with the holes cut through them, or that ridiculous utensil I sneered at in a kitchen store to measure servings of pasta. Quite a party favor.

Perhaps the above paragraph shouldn't occur under the heading "Mulching."

 

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Last modified 16 January 1999

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