Tuesday, June 21, 2011

I Can't Fight it Much Longer

My mother and I had a day and a half to ourselves at the beach before everyone else got there. It was a joy to spend time with her, but I had forgotten some of her habits, more I fear I may exhibit as I get older - God forbid.

First she was disappointed with the beach house she had rented. It was on the front row, it sat back from the dunes, separated by, of all things, a volleyball court. When I arrived I found Mama on the front porch thoroughly annoyed. "Honestly, I don't remember that being there when I rented the house," she said pointing to the volleyball court. "That's no big deal," I said trying to console her. "The house is built high enough that it doesn't matter to me." "Well it matters to me." 

Another example was our discussion of her Aunt Mary Martha, whom I personally thought had been dead and buried for some time. "I need to check on Mary Martha and see how she is doing. Really, I'm embarrassed to say, I'm not sure if she is alive or dead." "Mama, wasn't she Granddaddy's oldest brother's wife?" "Yes." "Well, given Granddaddy would have turned 106 last month, odds are she's not with us any more."

Then there was the discussion about a beach house that no longer exists (as we passed the location it formally occupied.) "I think that was where Mrs. Hurlehey's house was. Do you remember her?" "Yes, she was the lady who had that beautiful yard you used to show me as a young child." "Well, her children moved her down here permanently, because they were scared for her safety. You know she would drive back and forth by herself." "Really." "I wonder if she is still alive?" "Mama, she was in her ninety's when you would take her to see her yard when I was ten, I kinda doubt it."

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