There are Reasons for Everything

Been setting up our garage for the "big sale" which begins any day now. Officially, it starts on June 9th. Unofficially, it begins whenever we finish setting up. That's going to be days from now. It's amazing how much crud one accumulates in thirty, forty, and fifty years. Not only that, but our gift business still has a fair amount of inventory, too. Some of that we will be selling at a loss.

One of my sisters will be bringing some things to sell, and she and I exchanged some emails this morning about it. In them, I remarked how every room our house now looks like a disaster. The reason is that we've brought out nearly every table, desk, and stand to the garage. They will all (hopefully) be sold - so we don't have to move them. I told Judayl (my sister) that our house now looks as bad - or worse - as The Old House which burned down. "All that's needed is for Mom to show up and start throwing the dishes into the refrigerator."

Judayl emailed me back that she nearly wet her pants laughing. You see, Mother did exactly that.

Mother had her moods, and when she had one she was a terror to behold. She could be incredibly violent, and even dangerous to some people. She once chased a friend of Daddy's down the driveway with a cast iron skillet in her hand. Had she caught him she would have clobbered him and probably wound up in prison. I wasn't born at that time, but I heard the story from Daddy and my older siblings. Daddy had thought it funny, even at the time.

Regarding the dishes, she had come home a little earlier than normal, so none of us had been prepared. Generally, we had it timed so that the dishes would be done when she drove up. That way, she would have to look harder for a reason to be angry. Not that it was ever that hard for her to find a reason. But this day the dishes were not done, and Mother lost control.

Ranting and raving at Lynahr and Judayl (who's turn it was do to the dishes), she suddenly came upon a new and wonderful plan.

You don't want to do the dishes? Fine! Then don't do the dishes!

We all stood in amazement while Mother took first one plate, and then another, and threw them at the refrigerator. When she finished with the dirty dishes, she opened the cupboards and took out the clean ones. They were just going to get dirty anyway. And she smashed all of those, too. When she had finished, we had no breakable dishes remaining.

Now clean this mess up!

Like it was our fault. You know?

Poor Mother. I don't think life was ever that kind to her. Not that she went out of her way to court kindness. I used to put puzzles together all the time. I would take them to my room and do four, five, or even six at a time. Large ones, small ones, circles, ovals, rectangles, squares. All nature scenes. Mostly landscapes.

I remember having two 750-piece ovals, a 500-piece round, two 1,000-piece rectangles, and a 2,000-piece rectangle. It was a Saturday. The most risky day of the week. If we could but make it to noon all would be well. Mother generally didn't lose it after lunch on Saturday.

I thought we were going to make it. It was after eleven. So I relaxed and dropped down on the floor (no carpeting - wood - warped) and began alternating the assembling of puzzles. The ovals and round were already finished. All that remained were a few hundred pieces of the rectangles. And then I heard the familiar stomp of heavy steps on the stairs.

She came into my room first because my door was opened. Seeing my room wasn't in perfect condition, she began. Noticing the puzzles on the floor she shifted into high gear.

You can't work on more than one puzzle at a time!

She grabbed a shirt from the floor and began beating the life out of my puzzles. Pieces flew everywhere. I sat and stared at what had been a satisfying accomplishment. Without realizing it, I was ignoring her. She realized it. She tried yelling to get my attention, but I was too stunned to react. So grabbed a broom (she must have brought it with her, because I would certainly never keep an object like that in my room) and began letting the bristle end drop on my head. Finally, I turned and looked at her, thinking, "What the h*ll are you doing?"

She was finished. Now it was time for me to clean up the mess - while she moved on to Judayl's room.

I tried putting the puzzles together, but gave it up. Six different puzzles intermingled. I threw them away. Pity. You don't find oval puzzles anymore. But they wouldn't have survived the fire anyway.

There were a lot of reasons for Mother's behavior. Some I didn't learn until I was much older. But when her baby sister died, her own mother suffered a nervous breakdown and my mother was forced to run the house. She was twelve years old. Her older sister (Aunt Cile) had suffered from a fever when she was young and was not able to run the house. So Mother got the job. In the 1930s that wasn't a fun job for a twelve-year-old. She suffered her own nervous breakdown.

Mother is now past eighty years, and at long last she and life seem to be making their peace with each other. When she returned to her apartment after her cancer surgery she was amazed to find out how many residents in her building were eager for her return. She told us (Spouse, Son, and I) about it when we saw her on Mother's Day. She had become popular at last. Turns out, she's the favorite in the building. They think the world of her.

I should warn them about putting puzzles together in the common room, though.

Nah.