Well, just keep writing. Keep up the chops. The physical effort. The typing. Let your body do the yoga of thought.
What happened today... Sharon came by to drop off flowers for mom. Lillies. Poisonous to the cat. I put them in the vase with water after clipping the ends, decided to throw them out as we left for "lunch," as mom calls it. The bouquet of roses from my brother arrived around 11, and then Chuck needed me to follow him in his new Jeep so he could sell his old one the mechanic.
I came in and took a nap, two hours. I'd been up til 5 sipping cider, jerking off to Chaturbate to calm myself over young female bodies and the varieties of. Mom didn't get up til three. That's okay. At least I got my sadhana in.
Mom's birthday, I was dreading it. I thought we'd go to the book store.
There's plenty of doggie bag food leftover now in the fridge. I've been eating pizza, dough, pasta, burgers with the bun the last week, on top of Ezekiel bread, through the bread is acidic to my esophagus.
We go to Vona's. After we stop and park at Canale's. Mom specifically said, let's go to Canale's, when I agreed, let's go out, it's your birthday. I get her in the car. We're right there. Parked. Engine off. I come out to open mom's door. We're friendly with the staff, and that's worth something. The food is good at Vona's, maybe a light step up, but basically the same menu, good old Italian table cloth comfort food. But Mom then says, let's try something new. Okay. Fine. You sure? Okay, don't wait for an answer. I come back around, after helping her close her door. Vona's right around the corner.
We get in. I always worry about the Corolla 2003 Emergency Brake, but they did fix that cable last time or so, parked on a light slope. The old train station, raised bed like the Old West, the old yard gone, used to be a roundtable, I hear. We go in the door. They just opened, a few people at the bar already. The friendly bar woman comes around and seats us at a booth, Dark wood, and some tribal carve, Lake Tahoe in The Godfather? Mom hovers in everyone's way, as if she can't figure out how to sit in a booth, and the woman has to dance around us, it's pretty clear where to sit, and mom won't take her coat off because it's cold. The view out the windows would have been better with the old train station, gone without hardly a trace.
So, we order from the menu. Mom loves to read menus. My parents were in the restaurant business, she tells me. She pores over the menu, but I have to point it out. "Stuffed mushrooms," she says, bright and happy. "yes, that's an appetizer... we get salads and a side, you'll get a twice baked potato with your entree." So, as I always do, I steer her around to what she might like. She recites the names of the chicken entrees. Yes, I think you had that one last time, mom. I don't remember being here. I don't want to drink, but, it's been a lot of stress leading up to this, so, go along with it. Shepherd us through it.
Our Caesar salads come. Very good. I put ice cubes into my wine glass. Mom looks at me. She looks around, at the paintings. You should get into painting... There's lots of things to do, housekeeping... That's not important. You're right, mom. Thank you. What do you want to paint? Oh, naked college girls... Au plein air, like Van Gogh. Just capture the seasons. I tell her of a few of his paintings, the pussy willow tender branch in a glass of water, when he first gets to Arles and there's snow on the ground.
I can get sad over nearly everything. I guess that's why I write. Keeps my mind moving forward. Present moment, reached by writing down a few things that happened, so you got some ground work.
So, our entrees. Mom's chicken in sherry with dark mushrooms, and the twice baked potato she eyes with glee. Whatever. An interesting old gentleman taking up health stuff, I think, he could be dying, through his tone. "Anyway, here we are..." he says to his lady, stylish hair cut. I hear him mention a nasal spray, Sinex, and then later, when the pork shank osso bucco arrives, the tells the familiar waitress, do you know what when you die to have to fill out paper work...
Then I see my aunt calling on my phone, silently vibrating. So, I come around to mom's side of the booth. Mom takes the phone up to her ear, though I have it on speaker, apologizing later to the nice couple behind us. Okay, Trish, how we doing, we're okay, and then I run a little running commentary to gently correct mom's images of what's going on.
I go back to my side, and share some of the stuffed pepper, the Caesar salad to left of my plate, a second chianti, mom's picking around with her fork, exploratory, happy, talking away, repeating herself.
My brother calls on a family speaker call. He greets us generously and happiness. And I praise, and pass the phone on. It's six o'clock. I joke we're at the Early Bird Special. I turn the phone to mom. I wondered if we'd do FaceTime. It's great to hear everybody, the kids, everybody piping up, signing happy birthday.
And then the rest of the dinner goes.
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