Ten-Finger Exercises

...as the pot roasts...

Okay, all that title means is that I have the pot roast in the oven and I'm grabbing a minute or two before Bill comes home and Hap arrives with his chain saw for a weekend's hard work.

I think of my mother frequently, and especially today, for no particular reason. I dreamed about her last night, that she and I were headed to the airport, which was a long way away, like Seattle. We passed some sensational homes along the road, ones with great views of mountains and rivers, and she wanted to stop and see them. Next minute, we're standing inside one which we've walked right into without even knocking. The woman of the house comes into the living room, and I explained how much Mother wanted to see her house. She does not seem surprised by the request or annoyed by our entry, but goes about showing us around with a small frown on her face, as if she's trying really hard to do what we've asked. The house has many, many wonderful features besides the view. It has a silver mobile that is twenty feet wide and at least half that tall. Best of all are the water features, pools and fountains and hot springs inside and out.

Then this morning I was talking to a woman whose mother briefly lived in the same group home with mine. I was saying nice things about the house, and the woman took great exception to that and told me all the things that were wrong with the care her mother received. I realized I had forgotten about the bad points, which didn't affect my mother in the same way they did hers anyway. I felt sad though, to remember those days of her increasing confusion, as if I could once again see her slipping through my fingers.

Tonight when I took the roast out of the meat tray and turned it over to wash and season it, I saw how much fatter the under side was, and I remembered my mother again.

She had several habits that I, as a teenager, was embarrassed about. (I'm sure I did too by that age, but my daughter was kinder than I was.) One was to walk up stairs one-legged, instead of alternating feet, to save her knee that bothered her. I do the same thing. Bad knees must run in the family. But she never had to have hers replaced, and I hope to fare as well.

The other particularly irritating habit was her careful scrutiny of both sides of any piece of meat before she'd buy it. She'd ring the bell for the butcher to come out and unwrap it for her so she could see the under side. I will say I don't remember her rejecting more than two before deciding, but maybe I'd slunk away by then. It was teaching time though, and a little lecture from her went with it, about what to look for in a cut of meat.

Changing subjects, I didn't get to the laundry yesterday, but did today. Alas, it was 3 pm and, in the Adventist town where the nicer laundromat is, everything closes at 1 because it's Sabbath eve. I realized the grocery next door closed on Fridays, but didn't know it was that early; and I thought maybe the laundry would stay open anyway, cleanliness supposedly being next to godliness and all. (Did you know there is nothing Biblical about that? Some people don't.)

So, while the roast burns, maybe I'll go downstairs and put a load of wash in manually. It's annoyingly time consuming, and cold down there, but better than nothing.