I admired her that she withdrew herself before her presence became annoying, but she was definitely putting herself forward to be available and friendly.
She remembered our names and our aggravations and she gently rapped on my husband’s shoulder to inquire if his rotator cuff problem had been remedied.
Well, I was impressed by that. This is my mother we are talking about!
But on a personal note, how shall I say?—she carried herself with grace.
She liked to wear this loosely knotted scarf, with a loop forward and with a knot, and with the ends of it drooping down her back.
I especially admired her odd selection of teacups and coffee cups and, I think, only once did I have a repeat presentation of a certain Denby Monsoon Veronica.
They were all very attractive—the cups—very flowerful, and the best of them had rims that would turn outward slightly in order to appear more than willing to release the tea.
There were plenty of pitchers and bowls and artwork, but their abundance never reached the level of hemming us in.
And oh, yes, there was one especially unusual amenity in the bedroom that we used—the tiny background noisemaker—that amongst its many other promises pledged it could sedate babies.
So you can understand, then, what we were doing—we were expecting benefits while visiting Mrs. Williams—my mother—for a few weeks.
She said, “Now we can walk and hold our coffee—” as she guided us to our room one Sunday, where there was the cross-eyed Sphinx that I love to get to see, with a ground-down nose, framed in gold.
Only she did keep saying, “I am so happy about that!”
Because I couldn’t be happy about any of the things she said she was so happy about and now I don’t remember what those things were.
But the fact that her citrus plant, when I watered it for her, had seemed to pull up its skirt to expose its private parts—does seem worth the mention.
We heard her go into her own room.
Then she opened and came through our bedroom’s louvered door with her complaint and where he could, my husband sat my mother down.
“What can we do?” we said.
“Call Jim! Hope for the best!” she said. “Do you have Jim’s number?”
We summoned Jim who wore a long black coat when he arrived, and Mother went crazy, but just as soon as Jim took the coat off, she was fine.
“Oh, she’s so worried!” Jim said. But Jim had had to plead with her, “What kind of calculation is this?”
“Now, you’re going?” Mother said. “Write it down!”
In large, over-styled lettering, Jim offered his instructions that were sound.
There were other local personalities who, however, never showed up—Janis Schlitz, Marilyn Issidorides, and the Dufferins—Mother’s neighbors.
I find I have an all-around vigilance. All of the time, I expect to be reached out to, by a particular person, at a particular time.
Today, a small woman—built like a small, strong man with pitted skin—said, “Gimme a cigarette. I doan like to ask.”
I was on foot on my way to the food mart. The woman was folding her hands over her belly, not just clasping her hands—she was braiding her arms, terminating them in the hand clasp with some energy and leaning over to accommodate the weight of her arms and of her hands, and at the same time attempting a dainty pose by placing her legs in a dancer’s position—in which the two legs were close to one another.
I was impressed by that. And when she came over to me I hoped that she would withdraw her presence before it became annoying, but she was definitely putting herself forward to be friendly and she was definitely in full progress. Perhaps she was having a mild attack—expecting me to be genial and gentle—well—at least well behaved.
It seemed to me as if there was an excellent impression I had made here in my favor.