and it's hard to dance with a monkey on your back..........

i'm exhausted, drained, void of funny.

fine, fine, fine - she's beating me. and if you didn't know it was a contest, well it is. and if you don't know who i'm talking, it's my mother. maybe if it wasn't so hot i'd be able to compete. she told me a couple of days ago that old people can take the heat. i'm sure that's not true, she's just playing with my mind. that's what she does -it's called offense.



so i'm going to tell you something about her. why hold back? i'm pretty sure i've tipped the "no going back blog scale" already. i'm not going to be able to explain away any of this shit, so why not go for volume. terri this bit for you



my mother has many names for her lady bits. it's curious that someone that old would find it necessary but she does. most of her names are nautical in theme; this i assume is because we come from the sea. but for the last while she has been calling her nether regions -  monkey. now, this comes up in the morning, usually after tea." well", she says," i must go wash my monkey" i think yes, yes for christ sake get in there and wash that thing. the children laugh and say "oh, grandma" and then we all try to go about our business and not think about what's going on in the bathroom. except we can't because as i've mentioned my mother is fantastically old and she often is a bit sketchy when it comes to recalling hand towel protocol. our family is extremely paranoid about where those towels have been and what they have been drying. nobody wants to end up with old lady monkey on their hands.



there i've let the monkey out of the bag. now, that feels better. nothing says freedom like exposing embarrassing family secrets.



i am not my mother's favorite child. in fact it is fair to say i am my mother's least favorite child. she told me. not in a roundabout way, not in such a way as to cause confusion. just lobbed it out there a hanging curve ball. here's the play by play of a fable told oft in our home



mom: that fact is beverly, i had my family when i got pregnant with you

me: yes mom, i know



mom: i had my boy and girl. i really didn't want anymore

me: yes mom, i know



mom: and you nearly killed me, you were so big and you were a girl

me: yes mom, i know



mom: your father named you, he was so damn happy

me: yes mom, i know



mom: you were so queer, always sticking things up your nose and you chewed the varnish right off the windowsills. and you never shut your mouth you talked and talked

me: yes mom, i know



mom: but i guess it all turned out. i love you but i can't say i ever was all that fussy about having you

me: yes mom, i know

as mom gets older she and i have this exact same conversation more often. for mom i think it like confession time. Not that she any sense of guilt, it more of the" let's get a few things straight" talk. for me this talk is comforting, it confirms and reaffirms everything i have known since childhood. the information is strangely freeing. there are no expectations placed on me. i am free to come and go as i please.

my mother has spent a lifetime fretting and worrying over my brother and sister. now in her 80's she has turned her attention to me. i have become a novelty act. i am now the favorite by virtue of being the child she thought about the least. she is forgetting all the wonderful things my siblings did growing up and is left with the memories of me. all the odd, quirky, queer, instances that punctuated her relationship with me.

this sounds oh so pitiful and sad but it's not. my mother loves me and i her. this new found focus on me. allows two people who have always been wary of her other to share their common history

now off you go to wash that monkey of yours

bev

ps. 2nd best line of the visit

mom: you're not much entertainment

me: i know