Square Peg ● Round Hole







Some of the most interesting conversations happen with my mother.  Right now, things are going well since we have found this amazing caregiver.  I believe that my father delivered this individual as a way of making sure that I didn’t commit the heinous crime of murder.

Tuesday she called to chat, but it was more of a dissertation on what will happen when she dies.   This isn’t something new.  We have this conversation at least once a month.   She tells me about the various items in the house that should not be given away even though I joke that my sister and I are simply going to have a yard sale where everything is a dollar.   She doesn’t find me amusing.

My mother has been putting wreaths at my father’s and bonus-father’s grave every year.   It is kind of her jam.  I personally don’t get it and when I suggested that we add lights and a big blow up Santa,  she rolled her eyes.  Seriously, we would win best decorated tombstone.   This year, she asked if I would continue the tradition after she is gone.   I was honest with a resounding “no”.   She figured and we talked about not doing it this year.  She was hesitant, but I pointed out that Dad and Elliott probably won’t complain.   

Yesterday, she called wanting my input on the fabric that she is picking for her chair.    She had a few samples and figured since it would eventually be my chair, I should have say in the selection.   Then she threw in “I am almost blind, so you might wants to make sure it looks good”.   Of course, I will go over to check out the samples to make her feel more comfortable and, honestly, I want to make sure that it will go well with my decor.  Totally kidding – maybe.  

I am sure that it won’t be the last time that she broaches the subject.  This seems to make her feel as if she has some semblance of control.   I will, however, refrain from mentioning that at the end of her memorial service, “Pop Goes the Weasel” will be played.