Given my status as Freddo Corleone, and the fact that this coming weekend (12/19) is the big Family Holiday Fuckfest Extravaganza, I decided to visit my mother last weekend (12/12). Barring any post-holiday health drama in January (always January, why? I haven't a clue), I should be set to visit her again right around Spring thaw, near her birthday in March.
Anyway. In preparation for visiting her, I made a pot roast, an orange-date cake, and a tray of baked french toast. I had a bag of salad, mashed potatoes and some pumpkin puree with roasted root veggies on top too. I did all this on Friday night after work, when any normal person would have just been vegetating, and relaxing. Not me. However, I think this is the last time I go to this degree of preparations. I might even make a shorter visit (not sleep over), too.
The litany of the weekend commenced at 9 a.m., as I had a physical therapy appointment before everything else. And that was the tipping point for me. If I could not drag myself out of bed and get showered and out of the house for THAT, then the entire weekend would not have happened as planned. But fortunately for me, I managed to get to the appointment on time, and get out of there by 11.
From physical therapy, I headed to Jersey. First I stopped in Ho-Ho-Kus to gas up (holy shit! $1.89 a gallon?). I then headed to Delicious Orchards to pick up coffee and cheese and a few what-have-yous--and to stretch my legs and to use the restroom. Then I was off to Walmart, because there's almost always a "Oh, can you get me this" list. And lastly, I arrived there.
If I overlook or omit the dry-heave-inducing aspects of the visit (i.e. the "scent story" layering of urine/ammonia & too many candles & too much Febreeze, coupled up with mom insisting on unwrapping her legs in front of me), I guess it was a nice enough visit--but still had its negatives.
Mind you all the cooking above was for her, not really me, though in honesty, I did reserve two piece of pot roast (at home) for myself. Not one thank you was uttered. Instead, I was informed that my cake was dry (erroneous!), and (last night she informed me that) my pot roast gave her the shits (of course it couldn't POSSIBLY be the box of chocolate covered cherries she inhaled! of course not! Oh and she went into graphic detail about the duration of her alleged pot-roast shits).
Saturday was not without its own little drama. Mom was concerned that my sister would show up while I was there (not sure why she thought this, given the last visit, my sister clearly saw my car in the drive way and just kept driving past the house). So mom enlisted my brother for advice, and he texted my sister and told her this was my weekend. My brother in turn told mom that he likes to remind our sister that the house is mom's (and note: No, mom does not live with my sister or in a mother-daughter arrangement. She lives in a house of her own a half mile away).
That notwithstanding, roughly around 9:30 Saturday night, with the front of the house dark as a tomb, there was a knock at the door. I flooded the house with light and as I got to the door, I heard my niece say, "It's me, I want to show grandma my dress." So I let her in, all the while my sister sat in the car, outside, like a cowardly weasel).
Both, my mother and I were stunned. I felt awkward and unsure of what was transpiring, and was so thrown off kilter, I failed to have the presence of mind to snap a photo of her in this dress. The visit had all the unexpected timing of a drive-by shooting, and before it was done, my niece turned to me and said, "It's good to see you," and hugged me. Which I thought was sweet, but confusing.
So of course, mom and I spent the rest of the evening analyzing what transpired and the possible motivations for it. Mom suspects it was my sister's attempts at an olive branch being extended; whereas I believe the visit was entirely my niece's doing. Also, you don't send a child into a situation/problem caused by adults, and think that's going to fix everything. I viewed this entire thing with a jaundiced eye: that IF it was motivated by my sister, this is not an olive branch, but a means of trying to manipulate me by way of baiting the hook with a big fat worm, expecting ME to make the next move, and call HER. At this point in time, my mother was trying to convince me to get a Barnes & Noble gift card for my niece for Xmas, which, of course, I immediately shot down. I'm not mad at my niece, hell, this has nothing to do with her directly. But my sister used her as a pawn, and I refuse to take the bait and do the same.
My sister has a long wait if she thinks I'm going to call her.
Sunday I awoke to a headache bordering on a migraine (fortunately it never bloomed fully, but tormented me all damned day), and I realized I failed to pack even one spare tablet of migraine medication. I refused the offer of a vicodin because that would ensure I wouldn't get home, or at a minimum I would not be able to finish out my Sunday as planned. And yes, I always have a plan, and I always stick to a set schedule, otherwise the entire day or even the entire weekend will get sucked into a big black hole where time doesn't exist, thus putting me squarely behind the eight ball, playing Beat the Clock, and of course, setting me up to be a flake on other people, with whom I've made plans.
By 11 a.m., still stifling dry heaves and wondering how the day would play out as I was clearly feeling like shit, I forced myself to stick to my schedule. Other people were counting on me, so that's a good motivator (most of the time).
I left her house, headed to Edison to do some Indian grocery shopping, and to pick up some very special take out the Maharajah ordered online. From there, I headed to my great aunt & cousin's house for a visit. And this visit was very nice. My cousin is a year older than I am (actually a first cousin of my mother), and my great aunt (his mom) is actually the sister of my grandfather. The visit was lovely, and he's a superior baker, so I was a bit reluctant to give him the cake I made for him--especially given my mother insisted it was so dry--when clearly it was not.
Three hours later, I begged off and headed home. I didn't want to stay too long and over-stay my welcome, plus I wanted to be on the road while still daylight and in that, I did fail, as I left at dusk, and darkness quickly descended on me while I drove. The drive from there is not normally too demanding, as it's only an hour from my home, but I was tired, and fighting off that headache, and driving with bifocals, and it's now dark, and I felt more than a bit anxious driving home.
I got home totally, physically spent. I immediately heated up some heating pads for my neck, fixed myself a cocktail (a Boulevardier), got situated with some snacks, and called my mother to let her know I got home okay but a longer call would happen Monday night as I was exhausted. And I was. Exhausted.
And on Monday when I called mom to let her know how the visit with our aunt and cousin went, she tried, yet again, to manipulate me into buying a gift for my niece, which I shot down yet again. I could tell there were more things she wanted to say (perhaps things my sister said to her about me). But I did not push. I did not ask, "So, what did she say?" Because in all honesty, I don't give a shit. Ultimately what happened a year ago was both, compounded by years of her bullshit jealousy as well as something utterly stupid which could have been remedied AT THAT TIME, yanno, if she were an adult.
A friend of mine who knows of this SHITuation was listening to a song, Boy With a Gun, recently and it reminded her vividly of the current state of things, and it truly is fitting:
He knows well his wicked ways
A course of bitterness
A grudge held from his childhood days
As if life had loved him less
Reading down his list of names
He ticks them one by one
He points the barrel at the sky
Firing shots off at the sun
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