Phone calls

Last week, I think, mom called and asked what was new. I told her about the last play I saw, my brunch with friends, and seeing a family friend whose birthday it was the weekend before. Mom said, "Oh. Well, you know, everything happens later in our family. It's genealogical." Upon processing, that statement translates to, "I meant, are you seeing anyone? I guess not. Well, that's okay. Your grandmother married late, and so did I." I would like to, but won't, spare you the reminder that I can't win with mom: if I respond to her "what's new" with "not much," I'm taken to task for being secretive and uninterested in conversing; if I talk about all the great things I'm doing with my life, I get an, "it's okay, you're still young."

So it continues. She probed again this weekend, not realizing that I'm not going to tell her about every date. Does she remember that she found out about F. only when she tried to set me up with someone else? At least dad cares about everything else that's going on, although I could do without either of them having me try to translate or spell the names of the plays I see.

Anyway, mom called yesterday, just as I was getting home from work. I wouldn't have minded--and listened to her carefully--but at the end of the conversation, she made a a snide comment about my minimal participation.This was especially rich because she didn't ask whether it was a good time for me to talk, just launched into her story. I put her on speaker and listened--and even responded appropriately. It's just that, as I listened, I proceeded to toss my apple core and tea bags into the compost, open the door, turn off the alarm, feed the cat, make dinner, and pack lunch for the following day. If it was mom's preference to have my undivided attention, she might have asked me whether it was a good time for me to talk; since she did not--since she launched straight into her monologue--I gave her as much attention as I could, while I proceeded to do what I needed to do.

She wrapped up her story--about how she got stung by a bunch of bees while doing yardwork--by expressing frustration about now having to worry about it. She's so often outdoors, so often out and about, in the woods or in the mountains; how could she possibly reconcile herself to having to get herself to an emergency room should she get stung? I reminded her that I'd been living with that very conundrum for over ten years now. I did not remind her that whenever I did remind her of my allergy to wasps, hornets, and bees, she generally lectured me about how bees and pollen are healthy and I should love them and make the most of the healthy chemicals that they injected into me. No, it did no good to point out that anaphylaxis wasn't just God hugging me respiratory organs tighter. Anyway, she ended the conversation unconvinced that my ten-year propensity to avoid bee/wasp/hornet stings was related to her new-found one, and apparently offended that I said too little while she told her story.