After the rough nights
Some days, I feel like I am 90 years old. Maybe some of you 18-24-year olds out there can relate to this. When I sit down, my joints breathe a sigh of relief so loud, I blame it on the cats. I went out dancing 10 days ago and my hips still hurt. I have to keep dancing if I want to stretch the muscles out or lay down on my back and move my body so it look like a 'v.' I take a few breaths like that. It hurts so good. It takes me more time for me to get up than I remember it doing before.
Maybe I'm starting to think this way because of my extended family's Memorial (aka Decoration) Day cook out. Everyone there was my parents generation and older. At their age, they apologize for not going to the cemetary to plant flowers. Everyone was talking about things I don't know from POVs that I couldn't believe in. I don't sympathize with their views on politics or rhodedendrons. My step grandmother (yes, the one who thought the gold fish at Bok Tower were "large carrots") was at the cookout. She's a riot. You all may think you know of an old woman who's a riot, but she is THE RIOT. She gave my dad the wrong directions home after the party. To her, we were on one road that would take her home, so when he turned left onto Grubb Rd, she hollered, "NO! Straight!" Me and my mom got a kick out of that one. Not to mention the time when she correctly reprimanded my dad for "going through a red light." She sings--a lot for those of you who haven't heard about it. Memorial Day brought out "God Bless America" and "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah" (even though she slurs sometimes, so it was really like "Gory, Gory, Hallelujah"). She tends to come to these family functions and make it until the main course is over. Before dessert, she said, "Let's go" many times, also "prepare to go!" which was my mom's most-quoted Marionism on the way home. She started moving around in her chair, restless, because really she was making use of her diaper. We all smelled the truth.
On the way home, my dad talks to her like he does our cats at home: "Take it easy." and "You'resuchafunnyface!" There's a new stray cat we're feeding now. He's black with white boots. He haunts our basement when there's food. My mom says she doesn't want him but calls "here kitty" when he peeks his head from the grass outside.
Maybe I'm starting to think this way because of my extended family's Memorial (aka Decoration) Day cook out. Everyone there was my parents generation and older. At their age, they apologize for not going to the cemetary to plant flowers. Everyone was talking about things I don't know from POVs that I couldn't believe in. I don't sympathize with their views on politics or rhodedendrons. My step grandmother (yes, the one who thought the gold fish at Bok Tower were "large carrots") was at the cookout. She's a riot. You all may think you know of an old woman who's a riot, but she is THE RIOT. She gave my dad the wrong directions home after the party. To her, we were on one road that would take her home, so when he turned left onto Grubb Rd, she hollered, "NO! Straight!" Me and my mom got a kick out of that one. Not to mention the time when she correctly reprimanded my dad for "going through a red light." She sings--a lot for those of you who haven't heard about it. Memorial Day brought out "God Bless America" and "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah" (even though she slurs sometimes, so it was really like "Gory, Gory, Hallelujah"). She tends to come to these family functions and make it until the main course is over. Before dessert, she said, "Let's go" many times, also "prepare to go!" which was my mom's most-quoted Marionism on the way home. She started moving around in her chair, restless, because really she was making use of her diaper. We all smelled the truth.
On the way home, my dad talks to her like he does our cats at home: "Take it easy." and "You'resuchafunnyface!" There's a new stray cat we're feeding now. He's black with white boots. He haunts our basement when there's food. My mom says she doesn't want him but calls "here kitty" when he peeks his head from the grass outside.
posted by LRuggiero_temp | 7:31 PM
2 Comments:
I think I understand what you're saying about feeling like you're 90 sometimes, but I don't dance... I drink...
heavily.
I love parental units and their denial of how much they want another cat.
Post a Comment
<< Home