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2002-12-09 - 8:28 a.m.

My ears hurt!

I spent Friday with Mom, and, boy, can that little old lady talk up a storm! I had an exam scheduled at Women’s Health in Columbia, and Mom decided she needed an exam, too, and she wanted to shop. So off we went, and her motor ran full speed ahead all day.

Our appointments were at 9--it’s a 90-mile drive--so Mom set our departure time at 6:30! It’s impossible to leave on a day-trip without first stopping at Hardee’s for breakfast and an invigorating gossip session with her old friends. For an hour I drank too weak coffee and listened to who had had the latest surgery or medical procedure, who was currently residing in an adult care center and which snowbirds had hooked up their rigs and headed to The Sunshine State.

Finally, when she was satiated and I was yanking my hair out, we headed south. The previous evening she had gone for dinner in Macon with her antique car club, and for the first 30 miles of our trip she pointed out houses with Christmas decorations and provided a lengthy description of each seasonal display.

“Oh, and that house. They had the prettiest little white lights allll over the place. And a Santa Claus. Oh, and that house up on the hill had lights, too. Billie Jean, watch your road rage. Um, I think they were all white, too. But no Santa. No, maybe they had the Santa. I don’t think this was one with lights.”

And on and on.

“Oh, look, that little house sold. Billee Jean, watch your road rage. Look at the horses. Don’t you know they get cold standing in the fields in winter. If I had a billion dollars I’d build a dog ranch. I like that gray brick house. Where’s SouthFork?

“Oh, I have a cute little joke. A little boy was digging a big hole in his back yard. The old man living next door said: ‘Why are you digging such a big hole?’ The little boy said: ‘To bury my fish.’ ‘Big hole for just a fish, isn’t it?’ ‘My fish is in your cat!’ Isn’t that cute. Charlie told me that last night. Billee Jean, watch your road rage!”

When we were about 12 miles out, she asked me what the exam would involve and what she would be asked. I told her, including the question about breast self-examination.

“Oh? I’d better do it then so I can say yes!”

So all the while I’m driving in four lanes of morning rush hour traffic, my mother is zealously feeling herself up.

The exams go off smoothly and she takes off in dead run to the car. Someone else might buy up the mall before she can get there!

“You want a sweatshirt?”

“No, Mom.”

“Oh, look. Let’s go in that jewelry store.”

“What the hell for?”

“Wouldn’t you like a diamond necklace?”

“Jesus H. Christ, NO!”

Hours later I’m huffing and puffing and panting along behind her back to the car.

We head home, and she’s still in high gear.

“Have you been to Evergreen this year. Oh, Charlie told me another joke. Hm, I can’t remember all of it. Maybe I’ll remember it. Watch your road rage, Billee Jean. I can’t believe some people just up and kick their kids out. Why, good heavens, I’d never foresake you. My goodness, we had some pretty worthless dogs in our time, but we never once were cruel to them or gave them away!”

Thanks, Mom.

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