I'm sorry for the delay in getting this entry done. I got home far later Monday night than I'd expected to and was, consequently, totally exhausted last night. The work week had been hectic, with a major program review on Monday. I also spent the entire day Thursday at a meeting which set new standards for tedium. I've now established an additional criterion for knowing something is going to be a waste of time. When a briefer talks about the need for "ontology" and then spends a half hour trying (and failing) to define that term, run away or be resigned to having your brain cells turn to mush.
I didn't even get a breather on Friday, as I had to put together the presentation package for a Tuesday morning briefing. That meant scrambling around to print out copies and burn a CD of the package before I could leave for the weekend. Which was fine, as I'd intended to work a full day, despite the holiday. I still had plenty of time to get to Union Station and catch my train up to New York. The train was relatively crowded, but not as bad as my previous experiences, where people were standing in the aisles for hours. We even got in slightly early. I caught the Long Island Railroad out to Island Park, where my mother met me.
The problem with visiting my mother is that she is always seeking to better her performance as to how quickly she can drive me crazy. Between the house reeking of her cigarette smoke and the volume at which she plays the television (or the stereo), it doesn't take much. I'm convinced she needs a hearing aid, but she thinks that having had her hearing checked five years ago is proof she doesn't. We had a minor spat on Friday night because I dared to ask for hangars and closet space to hang up a few things. There are entire countries which have less clothing than my mother does, so the request for space is, um, challenging. On top of which, she tried to give me wire hangars, despite knowing full well my stance on that subject.
But we didn't get to major yelling and screaming at each other until Saturday night. Of course, part of that is because we keep different hours. I went into the city to see Sondheim's Assassins during the day. My conclusion was that Sondheim is extremely brilliant and very very twisted. I was already familiar with much of the show because I have the original cast recording, but the non-musical parts make it even sicker. I laughed a lot, but I kept catching myself thinking "oh, my, what am I laughing at?" The parts involving Sam Byck are even more shocking in the post 9/11 world, too. The show does take a stand against assassination, but it's sometimes questionable along the way. All in all, I thought it was worth seeing, but it isn't for everybody.
By the way, the city was particularly crowded. I know that tourists have to gawk, but can they please learn to do so without blocking intersections for pedestrians who might be rushing to Penn Station? You can see the Empire State Building just fine from further away and, besides, the Chrysler Building is ever so much more attractive.
Back on Long Island, we went to Ben's for dinner, which meant having to listen to a lot of Mom's complaints about the service. The sour pickles only partly made up for the sour attitude. Given that she kept insisting on giving me more of them, it seems unreasonable that she then complained when we got home and I asked her where she'd put the bottled water she told me she had. The real blow-up came when I started going through folders of papers for her. Now, bear in mind that she asked me to tell her what she should and shouldn't keep. The chore would be a lot easier if she organized things in a sensible way. For example, she had credit card statements mixed in with IRA statements because they're from the same bank, but she had all the information from the other IRA she'd rolled over into this one downstairs buried deep in another folder. Then she got annoyed when I told her she didn't need to shred unmarked window envelopes. In the end, I succeeded in getting rid of a fair amount of paper (including income tax returns from the 1950's) but there's still way too much junk there. I don't understand how my mother can think it's vitally important to keep information about bond she sold twenty years ago and then turn around and throw out the Mother's Day card I sent her earlier this month.
Sunday was somewhat better. I took Mom into the city to see Wonderful Town. We had the usual difficulty finding somewhere to eat lunch. Short of a time machine to take us to a Chock Full of Nuts coffee shop, circa 1970, it's always a struggle to find somewhere that is cheap, has table service, and doesn't serve food that has too much actual flavor. We didn't really have a hard time finding a suitable coffee shop, but Mom kept insisting that there weren't any, while I knew full well where there were several. As for the show, it was very entertaining, with a notable performance by Donna Murphy. There's a jazzy Leonard Bernstein score and exciting choreography, but the book is a bit weak, with too abrupt an ending. I recommend it highly for people who like the more traditional musical comedy style.
I kept Mom fairly diverted during the evening by getting her to listen to the CD I'd given her a while ago of selections from the Yiddish radio project. I also shredded a lot more papers. In fact, I ended up spending much of the day Monday shredding records from my father's business. I also discovered where all of the carbon paper that everybody used to use went to. It's in my mother's house, which is now officially known as "the American museum of carbon paper." She hoards office supplies in general, apparently out of a belief that the manufacture of pencils is going to be outlawed any day now. Then she complains about not having enough room for things. On a more serious note, the last time I was there, I persuaded her to send for the free "vial of life" kit that her township provides. This is basically a plastic vial, similar to a prescription drug container, which is used to store medical records. But, not only does she insist that she doesn't need to record all her prescriptions on it, it doesn't seem to me much good to put the vial of life in the refrigerator if you're going to refuse to put the sticker on the door that says you've done so.
So, after being driven crazy by Mom for a few days, I was happy to be heading home. The LIRR worked fine, but Amtrak was less efficient. My train had some sort of motor problem, so we hat for over half an hour in the dark while they switched motors. We ended up leaving 45 minutes late and getting more late as we went on. Then I had to wait 19 minutes for the Orange line (which runs every 20 minutes at its least frequent, so you can see the luck I was having), so I ended up not getting home until nearly midnight.
Finally, I can't end this without writing about the 17 year cicadas. Brood X is in full buzz. I'm fascinated by them, though I could live without all the noise. My poor secretary, however, is terrified of them and screams every time one lands on her. Definitely a natural phenomenon that can't be ignored.
Copyright 2004 Miriam H. Nadel