Walked across the bridge last night to Lincoln Center where Joshua Bell rolled around and wrestled Tchaikovsky's violin concerto to the floor. Joshua, who I don't even know, can make a noise that reaches right into my pea sized heart and makes it ring. Not sure if the ringing is a prelude to joy or will I bust down and cry.

Now, as we all know or will know pretty soon, other people can make a noise that makes you want to scream. Nothing wrong with screaming. It's gotten bad press. Still I am determined not to scream. If I must, it will be a very quiet scream that only I can hear.

there must have been a time when this birthday stuff was fun. I remember that, I think. But no more. Charge to the bank. I have to remind all my sisters, not to call. Very aggravating when they call. There must have been a time when it was fun when they called. O remember that. Now i just glare at the phone. Everything stops. I think I've become a good glarer. Why let any of this get under your skin, you say? Easy to you to say. You who are not sitting here across from a mad woman. (Is that me or her? Both)

A deep anger has settled in. Mix that up with pity (is that for me or her). Pity is, just to be confusing, a lagniappe. That is, until she makes that noise. At which time, I will figure out if it's time to scream or cry. Definitely not joy. Definitely.

This is a history of mama? Not likely. Not about meds and beds, and bedbugs. More like a history of how we react to who we think she is.
Last night I dreamt I was sleeping in a department store. There were bugs and mice everywhere. Sound familiar? I dropped a pillow and when I tried to pick it up, something on the other side of the nightstand, pulled it back. A roach about 8 inches long was crawling on the sheets.
I was in a panic and there was only one other person around to help.....MAMA. I crept into her room; she was sleeping in the bedding department, naturally. I called her name over and over. Yeah, I knew she was old and tired, maybe even comatose. But I needed her. She finally answered in her irritated voice. She told me where the roach spray was. There was a hole in the wall and I sprayed into it, covering my own arms with cancer causing spray in the process. A wave of rats stumbled out.
Then I went under the nightstand. There was a whole family of mice. Spray Spray Spray. Kill Kill Kill.
And all because a praying mantis bit my thumb yesterday....No, that REALLY happened!

Ring ring.

Did you have lunch? Did you have lunch? Someone is speaking spanish to me and I yelled at him. But who is it? I don't know. Then he hung up.

What did you have for lunch? I'm frying my chicken. I didn't know it was so thick. I'm getting ready to put it in the box. Last night I almost froze. I put the fan on and went to sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night freezing. It was terrible.

What I was going to say. It's going to be the same the whole week. Except Sat-too-daay. Sat-too-daaay it is going to be 95.

Saturday we go to the bank. What! You just went to the bank on Monday. But I didn't bring the checks to deposit. I have to deposit that check. They'll think I'm dead. Nobody's watching.

I wrote the letter to Carmen. I went to the corner and mailed it right away. I didn't want to wait too long.

I better go finish the dishes. I soaked them.

Click. Click.

Old and fragile, she makes a trip to the bank. We should be outraged. Last year, 5 years ago, 10 years ago, we would have been outraged. Sort of funny. Last year, 5 years ago, 10 years ago, she was younger. Last year she was only 90.
All those memories totter to the bank. There she thinks a plot is being hatched against her. Don't know if she is wrong. Could be a plot. That is the madness of her life. She lays out the details for me to understand. My understanding is an arrow but her details are a swirl. We are not matching this jig saw puzzle. Have to tell Mel.