We were not sure we would make it through the week. The jury was out. My brother, his family, and I were all trying our best to keep my mother happy and so far we were not doing very well. It seemed everything needed to revolve around Mama. I could not speak for anyone else, but I was getting dizzy with the revolving activity.
If Mama was not talking nonstop about subjects she knew nothing about, she was muttering under her breath. My fifteen-year-old niece bravely agreed to accompany her to the post office, knowing full well that was guaranteeing her a forty-five minute jaunt around the island visiting several rubber snake emporiums, all the while being a captive audience to Mama’s non-stop monologues. My niece returned with a sarcastic smile and announced, “OK, someone else has to go next time; I just took one for the team.” (At least she had maintained a sense of humor.)
The cooler under the back porch that housed the wine and vodka fueled our sanity. My poor nephew was chastised every time he went in or out of a door – “too much coming and going.” The ceiling fans needed to be kept off. (Our theory there was too much movement.)
Small paper plates needed to be used during the day. The large ones needed to be saved for supper. The fact we had 200 large plates was irrelevant, much less the possible use of “real” plates given we had a dishwasher. (God forbid.) The lasagna had to be reheated for lunch. My theory here was cold lasagna falls in the same category as bad beach water – it was sure to bring on serious illness or certain death.
(to be continued when the book is published.)
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