Alone at Last

Since we returned from St Barth's, my house has been full up with the in-Laws, my BFF from MA, her husband and dog, Jovie, who (or whom if it's a dog?) we washed at a self-serve doggy wash and cooked fresh liver for, even though he seemed determined not to eat it. Luckily he was happy to chase Miss Bean around the yard; having two tongue-dragging tired dogs in the house along with old man Buddha (part Samoyed/Shepherd) was a slight reprieve. And whenever we went out to enjoy the VA Festival of the Book, which was awesome as ever btw, we met up with the Richmond cousins, thankfully staying at the Omni, for many a fine dining experience as well. I'm exhausted! What does it say about me that an 87 year old woman can run me ragged?

But this morning I was able to luxuriate in a long shower, floss ALL my teeth, and have two cups of coffee. Not having to make breakfast every morning is a freeing experience; like not having to actually talk with people before consuming one cup of coffee. When the in-Laws left yesterday - taking with them the pansies she had bought and wanted to plant, and a big piece of the oak tree he wanted to carve when they got home - I was able to sit on the porch and have that Sunday-morning quarterback conversation with my good husband. What exactly is it about my MIL that leaves me so emotionally drained? It's not just that she is like an energizer bunny, waking every morning and eager to take on a day full of action and adventure. It's the things she says...like the filter in her brain is failing and whatever pops into her head comes right out the mouth.

For instance, my cousin wanted to know more about her mother, who is my MIL's BFF and comrade in arms; together they coordinate the multiple illnesses and deaths and general gossip of their contemporaries in northern NJ. Instead we learned about my MIL's mother, and her cousin, who they buried in the back yard (her ashes) next to her best friend's poodle. Always entertaining, we took a trip to Wallmart for planting soil, and learned the intricate details of a salesperson named Steve's life. When my MIL is not talking, she's singing, or she's talking on her cell to: a) a NYC cousin who checks with her every day; b) her 55 year old son who lives with her; or c) the above-mentioned mother of our Richmond cousin who is functioning as The Oracle of Dover while my MIL is away. But I did put my foot down on occasion.

The first night she wanted to stay with our cousins in town for an evening meeting on "Civil Society." This would have meant driving an hour, round trip at night, to pick her up and return her to our home. I said, "No." My husband would have just been returning from work, and I was tired because the sound of Buddha panting was keeping me awake at night. It seems he is like Poe's story of the Tell Tale Heart. Banished to the living room, I could still hear his heavy breathing. Then there is the tale of the pansy, which starts with a Book Festival event on Memoir. A woman wrote a book about her mother, who is a serious hoarder. In her discussion, she mentioned that she and her mother practice "radical honesty." When my MIL showed up mid-way in the week with two flats of pansies and insisted on planting them, even starting to dig (while I was in the shower?) in my perennial bed, I said, "Please, thank you, but no!"

In retrospect, perhaps practicing radical honesty on an 87 year old is not such a good idea. I told her that I view the pansy like a mum, one of those intermediary flowering annuals that would look very nice if I had my own gardener to take care of the property. Then I felt bad...oh Catholic guilt, I thought I'd seen the last of you! Next month my MIL will put on yet another stupendous Seder, for 30 - 40 people. My husband, being the eldest son, will lead it. My FIL told me as they were leaving that she is really tired of the Seder, and she knows that I'd be more than happy to take it on. My Richmond cousin and I would alternate celebrating the Passover festival of Exodus..."once we were slaves." But that NYC cousin, the single daughter of my MIL's older sister long gone, is pushing her to continue the tradition. And so we tiptoe around her. I can only hope to be so active and engaged at that age, and in a very good continuing care facility!