I think the thing I like most about writing in this here diary is that there are no interruptions.
I can write anything and I want and you aren't here to interrupt my sentences. You have to wait until I'm done writing and posting before you can say anything at all.
This is unlike my Tuesdays with mom.
In that case, I am interrupted each and every word. The people we deliver meals to can hardly get in a word edgewise.
Today's deliveries were no different and really, all I want to do is slap a muzzle on the mouthy broad.
Now if the words said made any sense within the context of dialogue, maybe I wouldn't have such a problem with them. However, they often don't have anything to do with the conversation at hand. Merely nonsequitors within her head.
You see, my mother does not know how to listen. It's obvious that her hearing is pretty fucked up but that doesn't explain her inability to follow along all the years before her hearing started to go dim.
She has expressed in the past, a discomfort in groups of people. Afraid she'd say the wrong thing. Now you'd think that might keep her mouth from opening. However, that discomfort has the opposite effect and she blathers on incessantly.
One of our deliveries today found us right next door to a father and son from Uzbekistan who happened to be standing outside, cooking Asian food on an impromptu outdoor barbecue, made from an old metal garbage can and huge cast iron skillet of some sort.
I left mom standing outside with them while I went inside the their neighbor's townhome to deliver today's tasty meal of lasagne and brussel sprouts.
When I came outside the son was trying to explain to my mother what he was cooking and where he was from. Having trouble speaking a language you're not familiar with is one thing. Trying to speak it to someone who isn't even bothering to listen is a whole different ballgame.
I'm tempted to go back now for some lunch. They invited us and it would be nice to learn more about them. But I won't because I have other things to do this afternoon, and one of them is resting my back in a horizontal position.
Our last stop today was at our favorite Spice Gal's apartment. Cranky Spice. We'd seen her wearing a nice pair of flannel pajamas lately that were at least two sizes too big so we decided to surprise her with a pair of smaller ones for Christmas.
She was beside herself when we gave them to her and a poinsettia plant, too. But you could see her joy turn to frustration after her attempts to express her thanks were interrupted time after time after time.
I finally had to ask my mother to stop so that our friend could finish a sentence.
This is just exhausting. And embarrassing. Some of these people have no one to talk to. Their children have walked away from them. They are house bound. They are dark apartment bound. We are their only opportunity for human contact.
I continue to think about my Tuesdays with mom and wonder if I should cancel them. However, the thing is that if I didn't have these 1.5 hour Tuesdays with my mom I'd have to figure out something else to do with her. And the fact that we have a mission to accomplish makes this much easier than were I to go to lunch with her once a week or take her to a movie or anything else she'd be willing to do. So I guess that these people are just going to have tolerate her, as I do on Tuesdays. At least they're lucky enough to only have to tolerate her for less than 10 minutes.
It's all good. I'm just getting it off my chest again.
Besides, I think Cranky Spice gets a kick out of watching the Dysfunction in Action she gets for free every Tuesday.
12:59 p.m. - December 19, 2006
Recent entries:
just wondering - June 16, 2012
10 Years of Blogging - October 31, 2010
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