If anybody wants a sheep

Perhaps you are sick of my steady stream of epiphanies, or at least wondering where they're coming from. The last one hit as I was driving back from the Birchmere, where I'd gone to get Dar Williams/Loudon Wainwright tickets (I'll go back for the actual concert tonight, but I have to pick a friend up at the metro, so I had to leave and come back anyway). So I was driving, and Pink Floyd's "Learning to Fly" came on and made me think of St. Exupery, which made me remember that my mom had thrown St. Exupery at me that morning that we last talked.

I called her out on it at the time, not because, as she suggested, I always had to have the last word, but because in that case, the last word belonged to me. I mean, what do you say when someone commands you (for the umpteenth time) to "read St. Exupéry," when you've read a lot of St. Exupéry, but say, "I've read a lot of St. Exupéry, thank you." I didn't even add,  "even if I hadn't read "The Little Prince" in several different French classes, that line that you're referring too (about the essential being visible only to the heart) is very frequently quoted, and even more frequently quoted in France (and Francophone Switzerland), where I've spent a lot of time." Just sayin'.

So as I drove, I pondered this absurdity--of mom's throwing St. Exupéry at me--and I recalled that it wasn't the first time she'd thrown French literature at me. Which, again, is hilarious, because I've read a $hit-ton of it. I've cited, perhaps on these pages, a lesser known Exupéry quote--that of, if having an extra fourteen seconds, using them for a leisurely walk to the water fountain--in reference to instant "nutrition." But I digress.

I recalled the time, years ago, when dad picked up my suitcase on the way to the car, on the way to the airport. Mom yelled at me, said I should carry my own suitcase, but of course dad would never allow it because he is the Father Goriot. To which I said, "will he make me fresh pasta?" It was lost on her. She asked me if I knew who the FG was. I said, yes, he is a maker of fresh pasta.

I tell you this not to awe you with my broad exposure to French literature (if only) but to point to another absurdity of my mom's: her self-imposed rules, on everyone else. Like I said, the only natural thing to say when someone says tells you to read a book you've read is, "I've read it." But if you say the logical to mom, you've broken a rule of hers, which is that you play along with her constructed universe.

I'm wondering whether I should call mom tomorrow, on her birthday. I probably will. Whether she'll talk to me is another question.