Saturday, August 16, 2014

Started out at 6:30 this morning. Laundry, shopping, stopping to talk with Deb and Susie at market, driving Mike here and there. Was supposed to go to the farm for cleanup in preparation for the family reunion tomorrow. Too much to do, too tired. Allergies getting to me. Decided to stake out a spot on the porch and finish reading one of the books in my pile of books to be read. Eventually, I invited mom out onto the porch to join me for a change of venue. Mendelssohn piano trios in the background, we sat together with the pups. Gorgeous day, fresh and bright.

But it was not quite the restful afternoon and evening I had imagined.

[Reading] “I couldn’t be happier to have you,” said the older man. He wasn’t smiling—he didn’t smile too often—but there was plain and simple affection in his face. “For starters…”[1]

How long have you lived here?

For 9 years.

Oh.

Where is Rob? Is he sleeping?

No. He’s outside trimming grass.

Oh.

Where was I. Take it from the top: “I couldn’t be happier to have you,” said the older man. He wasn’t smiling—he didn’t smile too often—but there was plain and simple affection in his face. “For starters you must play in the cricket match next weekend, Charles, and then you haven’t seen my garden—and in truth…”

Where’s the white dog?

I don’t know.

He’s so quiet.

She.

Oh.

Where’s Rob? Is he sleeping?

No, no. There he is trimming grass.

How long have you lived here?

Nine years.

Do you like it here?

Yes, I do.

Let’s see: “For starters you must play in the cricket match next weekend, Charles, and then you haven’t seen my garden—and in truth, you’re coming for the best of the season.”

            This Frederick was the reigning squire of Plumbley, just as his forefathers had been since such a thing called a squire had first come to be in England…”

Is this Pennsylvania?

Yes, it is.

Oh. It’s nice here.

Yes, it is.

 

“… and begun passing down the family name from father to son, from uncle to nephew, and occasionally from cousin to cousin…”

Where’s the white dog?

I don’t know.

The black dog is always so quiet.

No, he isn’t.

Where’s Rob?

He’s outside somewhere.

 

“… There was no unbroken line of male succession, yet each Ponsonby who abided at the great house, as the family called it…” 

How long have you lived here?

Nine years.

Oh. Do you like it here?

Yes, I do.

Do you own this house?

Yes, I do. (Sometimes I tell mom that the bank owns it.) 

“… There was no unbroken line of male succession, yet each Ponsonby who abided at the great house, as the family called it, had viewed it in much the same light: There had been no profligate along the way who tore down the land’s timber to pay gambling debts or sold off the estate’s outlying areas for pony-money. Thus the estate—though it was legally…”

Where’s Rob?

I don’t know.

Is he sleeping?

No.

(Rob) Here I am.

Oh there he is.

Do you own this house?

(Me) Yes, I do. 

“Thus the estate—though it was legally unbound and therefore each new heir might have sold it on his first day of taking up the patrimony—had remained intact for many hundreds of years. Only tremendous good luck…” 

Where do you sleep?

In my room upstairs.

Oh. 

[One more time] “Thus the estate—though it was legally unbound and therefore each new heir might have sold it on his first day of taking up the patrimony—had remained intact for many hundreds of years. Only tremendous good luck…”

Sandy, did my Johnny Boy ever come here?

Yes, mom. He’s been here several times. He’s taken us out to lunch.

Oh. 

“Only tremendous good luck…”

Where do I sleep?

In your room.

Oh. Is there a bed in my room?

Of course there is. Don’t you remember? (I know I am not supposed to challenge her loss of memory, but I cannot help myself. She’s challenging me!)

Where is my room?

Downstairs.

Oh. And where do you sleep?

Upstairs.

Oh. 

“Only tremendous good luck had held it all together. Or a peculiar, settled sort of inherited trait in all the Ponsonbys…”

Where do I sleep?

In your room.

Do I have a bed?

Where did you sleep last night? (I know, I know. Don’t challenge her!)

[Mom shrugs.]

Did you sleep in the bathroom?

[Mom shrugs.]

Maybe you slept outside. (I am out of bounds. But I really, really want to get beyond this page!)

[Mom shrugs.]

You slept in a bed in your room.

But where is my room? I don’t know where it is. 

“As a group they were similar, all quiet, all bookish, all in love with home. The portraits that line the front hall showed a long sequence of gentle gentlemen.

            Frederick was no different. He was without aspiration to any greatness of personal achievement, was excessively modest, yet was a merry and genial soul, who took…”

Where do you sleep?

Upstairs?

Where do I sleep?

Do you remember where you slept last night?

No, I don’t.

Well, you must have slept in bed.

I don’t know.

Did you sleep in the bathroom?

I don’t know.

Did you sleep in a bed?

I don’t know.

Do you have a bed?

I don’t know.

Do you watch television in your room?

I never watch television.

Of course you do. You like game shows.

Oh no. I never watch television.

This went on for 3 hours, but I did finish the excellent book, and mom did make it to her room. When we reached the kitchen, I showed her where she eats breakfast.

This is where you eat breakfast every day.

Oh. Where do I go now?

Straight ahead. You’ll see.

Oh.

Upon seeing her room: Oh yeah.

Not one minute later, she called me to go to the bathroom. I made her sit and stand three times to be sure her bladder was really empty and to avoid having to make 3 separate trips to the bathroom.

But now, I just have to remember where the bathroom door is.

Yes, you do.

Minutes later, mom was asleep. The dogs have been out, and I am calling it a night. I wonder how much of the book I read I will remember. But I do know that it left me feeling happy. Nice way to end the night. And I smile at mom’s lack of memory. She is still a pretty woman with a lovely smile. What’s not to smile at?

[1] Excerpts from Charles Finch. A Death in the Small Hours. 2012: St. Martin’s Press; New York, NY.