In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.
At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.
This episode is out of order because of the Christmas Holiday
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Happy Holidays
Christmas Eve day with the Weebles was a nice affair. They were excited about a recent visit from The Brother, and the fact he was going to drop by on Christmas Day.
I’m sure it was a not so subtle hint that we could drop by too and then the Weebles would have the whole family together on Christmas. Himself and I began a tradition when the Eldest came along. We stayed home for Christmas. The door is open to those that want to drop by, but we don’t move from the house.
“Oh wow, that will be nice for you,” I said and smiled at Ma.
A while ago, Dad had given me his old movie projector, screen, and some reels of film he had shot. The film had lived for five or more decades under the eaves of their house alternately sweating and freezing. I thought it would be fun to drag out the projector to watch the old home movies. Dad had told me the bulb on the projector was burned out and Himself and I wondered where we would even begin to look for a bulb. Fortunately, we had a fallback. Himself had his dad’s old movie projector, and it worked as we had watched Himself’s home movies several years ago.
So, after dinner Himself lugged up the movie screen and set it up. We shifted the sofa and the Weebles around so they could see the screen. Their faces glowed as they watched the flickering images of their siblings (gone now) and themselves as young parents. We watched the antics of The Brother with cousins, waved at my Grandma (Ma’s mother) and admired how cute I was as a baby butterball.
As the Young One turned on the lights, Ma turned to me.
“Well, you certainly took everything you could get your hands on (film, projector, screen), didn’t you?” she sniped.
I felt my blood boil at her remark which was the only thing that had marred an otherwise pleasant visit. I had a very hard time controlling my tongue.
“Excuse me?” I croaked. “I didn’t take. I was given!”
She must have realized she was about to cross a dangerous line because she backpedaled the remark.
I served tea and pie, talk turned to very neutral subjects and soon it was time for the Weebles to go home.
After Himself got home from shuttling the Weebles to their home, I groused about the remark.
“Don’t let it upset you. It’s just your mother’s way,” he said.
I’m always amazed at his equanimity. His feathers rarely get ruffled, and he is easily able to give others the benefit of the doubt while I run around yelling eff off and muttering in tongues.
“Still, it hurts to be accused of stealing from your mother.”
“I know. There’s a faculty member at school who’s the same way. The focus always has to be about him. Your mother is the same way. Let it go.”
Christmas Morning
We had spent a leisurely time as we opened gifts one at a time to be admired, oohed, aahed and savored. (Himself thought this organized method was weird as his family Christmas gift opening tradition was a feeding frenzy). The girls had gone to their rooms with new items while Himself and I were still in the living room.
Himself had given me a digital picture frame, and I was searching the packaging for instructions written in English. I had the Spanish pamphlet in my hand.
“Y’ know,” he began. “That would make a great gift for your folks.”
I looked up and gave him the look that goes with a politically incorrect Boston expression. “No way.”
“It’d be great!” he insisted.
“Yeah, I can just hear Dad now. THEY don’t give him his email and now THEY won’t give him his pictures. No electronic gifts for the Weebles.
Himself chuckled.
An hour later he was sitting at the kitchen table using the laptop.
“Hey? I just had a thought about the burnt out bulb in Dad’s projector. Do you think the bulb from your dad’s projector would fit?” I asked.
“I’d hate to touch the bulb as it’s really sensitive. Just moving it, could shake the filament.”
“It was just a thought. I didn’t try out Dad’s projector. Just took his word that the bulb was blown out.”
“Yeah, like they don’t give him his email.”
"Point taken."
