Come back unto me

Immunity. Hell. What a concept.

A topic on my mind, most all the time, is the mortality of the ones I love. Mostly my moma and my dad. I can't help it. It's not morbid to me. It just is. I think already having lost a parent will do that to you. The preciousness never escapes. I need _____?

So anyway my mother. Her sense of humor grows daily in these incredible leaps and bounds. Like she will never be bawdy, my mother, not like me. Not like how I love to fall out of my chair, laughter rising from the gut, crying, loud (as I am loud), pure laughter. She doesn't get most pop references, or maybe better yet, irony eludes her. Not to say my moma isn't the brightest, most hard-working woman I've ever met. But it's that difference between people who have to study and those who don't. Moma doesn't hold the hand of the humor muse. And that's fine because when she is funny, it's the most genuine. It's pure and true. It's really, shockingly funny. Dry. Intense. So different than the woman I know. This woman doesn't "get" The Simpsons but she "gets" her life (and does a wicked Thorazine patient in the process). So in what I have to learn from her, the wiser she gets, the funnier she becomes.

For example: When I became engaged, my moma and I were, more or less, at wit's end with each other. For differing reasons that mean nothing now, she and I were not getting along. My getting married was a hard hurdle for her. It's okay and had nothing really to even do with me or the man I married. (Aye, there's the rub). So basically she'd been a big brat. And knew it. And my parents also knew my devotion to a dear Mr. Swiffers (dream dachshund puppy extraordinaire). And came across a free dachshund puppy, who became, as you all know, my dear Wuppy Puppy Wilbur J. Waddlesworth, III. He's a black and tan. Black with tan accents all over.

So we're playing with him in the yard. He's TINY. So freaking tiny. And he just follows me around everywhere and I just instantly love him. My little man. And my mom and I are sitting on the porch at their old house in Salem, and watching puppy and dad play. And my mom leans over to me and asks me what I'll name him. And I'm not sure yet. I haven't learned his personality. I go into all this blah blah about the importance of a name, the talismanic effect (as I was once told) of a good name, etc etc. And she's just sitting there. Blinking. And she goes:

"Well, you know what I would name him?"
(Silence)
"I'd call him Anus. Because that little brown heart on his behind is just too cute!"
Straight faced, she gets up and walks toward the dog going, "Come here little Anus!"

Is that where I get it?

Don't ask me where this came from. All these jumbled up thoughts pour out rather randomly some times.

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You're eating cartilage. shark-eyes. shark-heart.
all present tense.


all time fav!
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Who doesn't love Momma Biden? I was sorry I missed Bill speak last night but we got our timing wrong. Also sorry I missed Hill speak but you know, whatever. The past is in the past for a reason. Time marches on. I'm ready for a change.