Let’s hope not!

A couple Friday’s ago I got a call from Moma.  I’m always telling her how crazy my life can get, and that you never know what will happen next. So when she called, she said “when I talked to you this morning, we had no idea what this afternoon would bring, but WS2 just called me and wants to come over for a visit”.

My first thought was “Oh, how nice!” and I said so.

That was followed by “I betcha anything WS1 will be there too”, but I was too scared to say it out loud.  I was afraid if I said it, then it wouldn’t happen.

I had a feeling this visit was the result of THE CONVERSATION.  At first, I told her to have WS2 call me while he was there.  Then I said that I’d call and for her to have WS2 answer so I could have some fun with him. 

When I called and he answered, I said “hello? Who is this? You sound like my son!”.  He knew it was me so he laughed and said “you must have the wrong number”. So I said “ok, sorry” and acted like I was fixin’ to hang up.  He said “Mom! Wait! it’s me!”.  Of course, I acted surprised and asked what he was doing there.  He said they (I took that to mean his dad and him) were in town for the night and he wanted to come see Grandma. 

We had a really fun conversation. 

We talked about him getting up at 6:30 running and doing sets of bleachers with his friends to get ready for football.  We talked about the 3 gallons of birthday cake flavored ice cream we ate over the summer (it’s probably a good thing they don’t make it up here-I’d be wide as a house).  We talked about the replacement fan at my mom’s house and how fast it blew air. And of course, we talked about BASEBALL.  Just so happens that the Yankees and the Red Sox (his favorite team for some reason) had been playing. I got to brag about us winning.  

See… fun stuff! 

While we were talking I could hear a deep voice in the background talking to my mom.   I asked WS2 who that was.  He said “idunno” in that I-know-but-not-sure-I’m-allowed-to-tell-you voice.  I even said “you don’t know who it is?”.

Still nothing. 

Did he think Moma wasn’t going to tell me?  Yes, he knew she would. He also knew that information about WS1 wasn’t coming from him.  I don’t know if he’s been told not to say anything, or if he just doesn’t want to get in the middle of anything having to do with WS1.

My gut tells me BOTH.

After we talked a little more, I told him I would let him go so he could visit with Grandma. I told him it was very nice of him to visit her and that I knew that she loved having him there. 

Now I had to play the waiting game.

I had to wait until Moma called me to tell me how things went.  I didn’t play very well.  She finally called me a while later to tell me that YES, WS1 WAS THERE! (How’s that for woman’s/mother’s intuition??)  My BRO2 was there to visit with him too.  She told me all about their conversations.  Where he’s going to school, what he’s majoring in, how he has to live in the dorm his freshman year, that he won’t be playing sports, that school is about 5 hours away so he won’t be going home much,  how he can’t wait for it to start, and how he wishes he had never sold his truck for his Mustang.  He told her they (which now I take to mean as WS1, WS2, and their dad) had come to visit family before he goes off to school. 

When I was talking to WS2, Moma took her chance to talk to him about the nitty-gritty. 

You GO Moma!!

She asked him what had happened between them.  He had a lotta nerve and said that she doesn’t call him anymore.  Wha??  I’m glad she set him straight by telling him that she HAD called him, left messages, wrote in his thank you notes to call her, etc. and that HE was the one who hadn’t called.  He decided that yeah, maybe she was right.  She told him that she was getting older and that they’re missing out on so much with each other. 

His answer: “well, you know I don’t talk to my mom”.

Once again, my mom was my hero.  She asked him “Why is that? Has someone said something about her?”

He said “nobody’s said anything”.

Moma said “because if they have, I’m sure she has an explanation.”

He said “I don’t want to talk about it anymore”.

My hero said “well, nobody in the world loves you more than your mother”. 

I could’ve reached through the phone to hug and kiss her for that.  Instead, I sat on my couch listening and crying.  I cried because I was so happy he came to see her.  This was DEFINITELY progress in the right direction.

I also cried because I was wishing more than anything that he would’ve come to see me too. I cried because I miss him so much.  I cried because I don’t know why he doesn’t want to talk to me.  I cried because I hadn’t cried in a really long time and it felt sooo good.  

The following is a review from Amazon: www.amazon.com/Comfort-Food-Kate-Jacobs

Kate Jacobs’s debut novel, THE FRIDAY NIGHT KNITTING CLUB, was a word-of-mouth bestseller, catching on not only among avid knitters but also among fans of women’s literature in general. It’s now even set to become a feature film starring Julia Roberts, which will release sometime in 2009. 

With her second novel, COMFORT FOOD, Jacobs again delves into the lives and loves of a group of interconnected friends and family. This time, however, the ending is decidedly less weepy and more, well, comforting. 

Augusta (Gus) Simpson is a familiar face to millions of Americans. She’s the star of the longest-running series on the Cooking Channel, “Cooking with Gusto,” and her face adorns not only countless television sets but also her own line of cookware and other household products. But as Gus’s fabulous lifestyle (her TV show is filmed out of the spacious kitchen in her Westchester manor home) marches on, so does time — and Gus is staring 50 squarely in the face. Is it possible that this energetic, hot mama has left her youth behind her? 

It seems that Gus’s bosses at the Cooking Channel are asking themselves the same questions. With a roster of new, hip television chefs and a handful of new extreme theme programs designed to appeal to ever-younger viewers, perhaps Gus’s show seems a little, well, old. Can Gus and her friends at the network figure out a new format that will preserve it from cancellation? 

For Gus, the answer to her problems is right under her nose — at her kitchen table, in fact. When an unexpected cancellation leaves Gus scrambling for show guests, she recruits her friends and family to serve as co-hosts and sous chefs, with humorous, and delicious, results. This accidental pairing of Gus’s closest friends and family — including her twenty-something daughters Sabrina and Aimee, Sabrina’s ex-boyfriend Troy, and Gus’s painfully reclusive neighbor Hannah — with aspiring Cooking Channel host (and former Miss Spain) Carmen Vega leads to a new hit show…and plenty of tension. As the guests come together at Gus’s table, tempers flare, tensions mount, and there’s plenty of time for everyone to discover not only delicious food but also new truths about themselves. 

At times, COMFORT FOOD can seem like a glimpse into a particularly fractious group therapy session, as sisters bicker with each other (and their mother), as former lovers try to become friends, as jealous co-workers negotiate professional boundaries, and as at least one woman tries to overcome her past mistakes. Jacobs successfully balances these somewhat tiresome exchanges, however, by offering numerous flashbacks into each character’s past, providing much-needed character development that can help gain readers’ sympathy for these sometimes prickly individuals. 

Gus herself is a winning character, and readers will be cheering for this mature, lively heroine to achieve both professional and personal success — which may even include love, an ingredient that’s been missing from Gus’s life since her husband’s death years before. Happy endings and a mid-life shot at romance will leave readers of COMFORT FOOD satisfied but looking forward to another helping of feel-good women’s fiction from Kate Jacobs. 

— Reviewed by Norah Piehl 

Last Friday afternoon our cat Esther had a vet appointment.  Just the usual annual exam, updating of shots, and the always fun fecal test.  Sounds easy enough.  Easy, but not fun gathering the poo-poo to carry into the vets office in a SEE-THRU zip loc bag.  why I have a problem with that, I dunno… maybe I feel bad for her because I’m exposing her personal excrement to a waiting room full of people, only to place it in a kidney shaped puke bowl on the counter after the receptionist asks, and rather loudly I might add, “did you bring a fecal sample?”.  It’s as if I’m announcing “HERE’S ESTHER’S POO!”.

Anyway, I’m obviously digressing if I’ve taken the subject down to cat poop.

Esther has a sixth sense. She sees veterinarian people. Even before they see her.

I know she reads my mind, after all, she IS a girl and has female intuition, which more often that not, IS SO RIGHT, don’t you agree??

I tried so hard not to do any of the usual things that would make her run to play hide and go seek:

I didn’t get my purse ready, didn’t even LOOK at it.

I didn’t put my flip flops on, didn’t even take them OUT OF THE CLOSET.

I didn’t get her crate out, which is a definite NO-NO. I didn’t even go near the closet it’s in.

I didn’t ask her if she wanted a treat at the same time I’m getting her toy out.  She knows I’m such a fake with that.

I tried to act as normal as I could. I couldn’t think about her appt ‘cause SHE READS MY MIND, YALL!  When I knew I had to start getting her ready, I gave myself an extra 15 minutes, you know, just in case I’d have problems getting her.

It was time to get serious and she was NO WHERE to be found.  I did the obligatory “Esther want a treat?” while I went to get her favorite toy to see if she wanted to come out and play.  She still knew I was a fake. But hey, you never know when it might work. 

Nothing.

I went upstairs to look under our king-sized bed, her usual hang out on days like this.  There she was, surrounded by my books and tote bags, looking at me with I-know-what-you’re-up-to eyes, crouched in that farthest, unreachable black hole of a spot.  Ugh. I’m doomed….

Wait! I have a GREAT idea! I’m going to vacuum our room so I can flush her out. Yeah! I’ll actually be on time for her appointment, maybe even EARLY! (Won’t they be surprised?!?  I’m a habitual 5 minutes late person to just about EVERYTHING, even though I really try and I don’t mean to be…. I guess that’s another blog for another day). I lug the vacuum cleaner upstairs and start vacuuming.

Nothing.

I really thought that would work since she’s usually deathly afraid of the Dyson.  Either that or she’s a typical “child” and wants to be as far from housework as possible. Wait!  I have ANOTHER great idea!  WHILE I’m vacuuming, I’ll turn on the tv to a rock n’ rollin’ music channel and BLAST it! Yeah! Maybe I’ll still have a chance to be early to her appt! SWEET!

Nothing.

I didn’t know this, but Esther must really like Bon Jovi.  She didn’t move even one kitty muscle. Great, now I’ll have to resort to my last resort. So there I am, laying my body and the side of my face on the floor next to our bed (which by the way is a sleigh bed with not much arm room between it and the floor), poking a broom at my cat, with my tennis elbow arm, and my pinned up hair coming out of my bobbie pins.  First I swing the broom back and forth in front of her to get her to move.  Well, she moved. Farther away, if that’s even possible. I’ll have to move my arm even farther under the bed to try to reach her. By now my shoulder is halfway under the bed and I’ve gone from swinging the broom to poking at her with it.  All she does is growl and hiss, then paw at it like a bug. Now I’m really swinging and poking at her. Most of my books have made it out from under the bed, with pages bent, covers coming undone and my arm is killing me. 

Nothing.

Now I’m flustered! She’s getting the works. I turn on the Dyson, blast the music, swing and poke with the broom, and yell with my highest pitched infadel voice “LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!”.  This goes on for, oh, I dunno, AN ETERNITY.  Now there’s no way I’ll be early. I won’t be even on time. I’ll be late.  And not just 5 minutes late. So late in fact, that now I have to call and cancel.

I waved the white flag.

Things I’ve learned from my cat:

·      don’t fix your hair before trying to flush your cat out from under the bed

·      don’t wear black-carpet fuzz multiplies

·      don’t let your cat make you resort to housework

·      don’t think your smarter than your cat

Before WS2 came to visit for the summer, my mom ran into BH’s mom aka FRAU at the grocery store. They’ve always gotten along and thankfully so, since they were once the middle women for the pick up’s and drop off’s of the boys. While they were talking, my mom happened to mention to FRAU that she still didn’t understand why WS1 doesn’t talk to her anymore either, except through thank you notes. FRAU said she would mention it to BH. Moma asked her not to say anything, because if WS1 decided to talk to her again, she wanted to know it was because he wanted to, not because he was being told to do so.

FRAU said ok.

Moma even called FRAU later on to be sure she knew that my mom didn’t want her to say anything to BH.

FRAU said ok.

When Moma and I (along with my aunt and cousin) took WS2 back to his dad after our summer vacation, BH wanted to talk to my mom.

FRAU had dished.

Since BH likes to set people straight, he tried to tell her that when he’s in town he brings the boys over to visit her. Moma told him she hadn’t seen WS1 in about two years now.

Lame defense, BH!

She also told him the only communication she has with him is when he sends her thank you notes for bday gifts, etc, and even then SM has to address the envelope.  BH tried to defend his woman by saying that she does that with her family because she knows them better. Moma said “this is WS1’s family, and HE knows US better. He’s 18 years old, he ought to be able to address his own envelopes.”

During the conversation, Moma asked BH about WS1. She said that WS1 owes her an explanation about why he doesn’t talk to her.  She told him that she doesn’t know anything about what he’s been up to, if he’s going to college, or what.  BH said that’s probably because WS1 doesn’t want her to tell me what’s going on. Moma said “he owes her an explanation too!”.  BH said that WS1 has had a hard time dealing with the “break up” of the family, as though it’s all MY fault. 

She asked him point blank what college WS1’s going to.  She didn’t give him an out, she said he was either going to tell her what school, or that it was none of her business. Thankfully BH told her. I’m so proud of Moma! She stood up for herself, and for me.  Like me, I think she’s getting tired of this whole circumstance and all the drama and theatrics that go along with it, although I really can’t speak for her. I do know that she loves and misses WS1 with all her heart.  Speaking for myself, I love and miss WS1 with all my heart.

I’m so glad they had that conversation. I’m sure to Moma it felt good to get some things off her chest, although I really can’t speak for her. Speaking for myself, I’m so happy to know that WS1 is going to college.

And NOW I KNOW WHERE!! 

It does this mother’s mind, heart, and soul good to have an idea about what he’s doing, since I think about him every day. It’s like going to your friend’s house and then later when she tells you she’s baking cookies, you can picture her in her kitchen.  Now I can picture WS1 going to classes, studying, and hanging out with his friends. And although this isn’t the same as a girlfriend’s kitchen, I can Google (my favorite verb btw, or at least my 2^nd favorite) information on his school like when classes start or what’s happening on campus.  And since I know where he’ll be, I can see what kind of weather he’s dealing with when the weather comes on.  Ahh, it’s the little things….

 Before this conversation, I had nothing to go on. I didn’t know what to think about what WS1 was doing. Now, thanks to FRAU having a big mouth, BH’s always-having-to-be-right and in-your-face ways, and Moma and her question, I have the gift of knowledge. 

That does this mother’s mind, heart, and soul good. 

I have a cold. Or allergies.  How do you tell the difference?

~sniff~

It started the other night. THE DAY AFTER WE GOT HOME. I couldn’t wait to get back here in NY to enjoy our house in the woods again.

And now I have this cold. Or allergies.  I don’t know the difference.

When my throat started getting scratchy, I was in denial.  “NO! NO! NO! PLEASE!  I don’t wanna be sick!!”  So I kept swallowing a lot, thinking I could wash it down with my spit.  You know, that magic medicinal spit of mine.  The same spit I use to make my cuts stop bleeding. Come on, you know you’ve done it! 

“I’ll be better in the morning, I just need some rest. I’ll go to sleep and when I wake up I’ll be good as new.”  Between the begging, the swallowing, and the lying pep talk, none of it worked.  So here I am.

With a cold. Or allergies.

~sniff~

Snot, yes I said it, is just so complicated! One minute it feels all jammed packed and your nose feels like a suitcase full of enough clothes to last a decade.  The next minute it’s running faster than a New York minute.   Other times it’s just hanging around, checking out the nostril scene.

Then there’s the sneezing. AAAAhhhh, the sneezing…. When I sneeze with a cold, or allergies, I just wanna ‘CHOO everything out of my head. Don’t you hate it when you’re waiting for a sneeze to come? All that “aaaah…. aaaaah…. aaaaah  “it’s never going to get here!”  then all of a sudden you sneeze your toenails out.

IT FEELS SOOOO GOOD!

Except then you have to blow your nose. Your ears feel stopped up.  Your nose is red and starting to peel.

AGAIN. FOR THE  5,345,567,927,036^th TIME.

~sniff~

The best part? Oh, the best part is when you wake up in the morning with crusties all around your nose and you can’t breathe and you’re coughing up hardened phlegm, yes, I said that too, and your lips are cracked and bleeding from being so chapped. (No worries there, I’ll just use my miracle medicinal spit to take care of that.)

Isn’t THAT attractive??!?

But that’s where I’m at.  Day 4.  Now I’m looking forward to the day where my snot dries up, my nostrils burn every time I inhale, and new skin has replaced the peeled on my nose and my lip.

Nothin’ like setting your sights high…..