The oatmeal raisin journey

You either laugh with it or cry over it. I suppose it is better to laugh, and I assure I mean no mockery towards my mother and her condition as I tell tales such as this.

She's taken quite a liking lately to these particularly large oatmeal raisin cookies which are kind of hard to find. Naturally enough then, when any of us siblings find them we buy her one (or more if they're available). Especially as her doctor's orders are to encourage her to eat just about anything unless in absurd quantities, we keep things like those cookies at the fronts of our minds.

So when I had Mom with me yesterday running errands and stopped for gas, I was delighted to see exactly one of those gems in a basket by the cash register. It was the only one (of course) but still, you take what you can get.

Hopping back in the car I said, "Look what I found!" as I handed her the cookie.

"Is that for me?" she asked, childlike and with a wide smile.

"Yes, ma'am," I answered, tickled myself.

She said she would have it later, after lunch. She's still a Mom and saw no reason to spoil a meal. She set it on the console between our seats.

A little while later we ate. A little while after that she looked down and saw the cookie. "Is this mine?" she asked, wide eyed and hopefully.

"Yep, Have at it," I encouraged her. But she decided to wait a bit.

We were gone about five hours, and several times we had similar exchanges. Each time she put off eating it. Whatever; I didn't care that much. It was hers after all. She could have it when she wanted.

Eventually I had her back at her house. She dutifully picked up her oatmeal raisin treat, and I helped her up her front steps and inside.

Once in the kitchen she went to my brother Pat and thrust the cookie into his hands. "Here. I brought you something," she explained. He happily took it (I don't begrudge Patrick that BTW).

I just sighed and half-smiled. What are you gonna do?

I'll buy her one of those oatmeal raisin cookies the next time I see one just the same.

Terror on the highway

You want to know what panic is? I'll tell you what panic is.

Generally home bound these days, Mom gets anxious to go out anywhere, even with me. As I had some errands to run yesterday I walked down the block to see if she'd care to tag along. Before my coffee could cool she had been to her room, combed her hair, put on a little makeup (she still frets about her looks) and stood in the kitchen doorway saying hopefully, "I'm not rushing you but I'm ready when you are." So we went.

As I said, she still worries about her appearance. So it was no surprise as we tooled down the highway that, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her pull down the sun visor above the passenger seat. She opened the mirror flap and began to touch up her lipstick.

Exactly as I was approaching a very rough patch of road.

But the left lane looked smooth. I took a quick glance over my shoulder, hit the turn signal, and slid into the better lane just in time to avoid the potholes and uneven tar patches which had seemed our destiny. Disaster averted.

And her lipstick was perfect.