Anyway, we are in limbo. Every day is Groundhog Day. Tonight I visited her as usual after dinner. When I came into her room, she was sacked out on her hideously patterned, beige pastel flowered 1970s sagging couch. One foot was on the couch, one was on the floor. The shade was drawn to block out the hazy evening light. The television was silent. Rarely is the TV not blaring HGTV.“Howdy, howdy,” I said. “Wake up, slacker.” That is my usual greeting. Every time I see her napping on the couch, it crosses my mind that this might be the moment when she doesn't respond and I get my first glimpse of an actual dead person.
Not this time. She reared up to a sitting position.
“Howdy, yourself,” she said, springing immediately to full alert. She's more and more like my cat. Zen master of the moment. Waking from zero to sixty in one ear twitch.
I sat next to her on the sagging cushions. She grinned at me. I grinned back. It was a moment.
“How is your ankle today?” I asked.
She looked at me blankly. “Wha...?” she said. She looked down at her white socks and little black Merrell shoes. She knows where her ankles are. That's a good sign, I thought.
“Last night you told me your ankle hurt.”
“I don't remember,” she said, frowning.
“Does it hurt now?” I touched her right ankle. I couldn't see or feel any swelling, not that I'm an ankle expert. I know that since I've turned sixty, on hot days my ankles have started swelling, so I'm not totally ignorant. I don't want to talk about that.
She bent down and felt her ankle. “It hurts right here.” She pointed to a spot.
“Does it hurt to walk on it?”
“No.”
“How about your hip, how is that doing?” Last week we visited the doctor to get some feedback on her sore hip. Diagnosis: hip flexor strain. How did she strain her hip flexor, I wondered to myself. Is she doing aerobics when no one is watching? I suspect the black hole on the couch where she sits all day is the culprit.
“My hip?” she echoed.
“Yeah, you know... your strained hip?”
“Oh, yeah. You know, maybe it is better,” she said in wonder. I was like, hallelujah. Maybe that piece of particle board I brought last week and stuffed under the cushion made a difference. Who knows? I was just glad to hear she wasn't in pain.
“Ready to go outside?” She grabbed her gear and off we went to pick up Jane, her smoking partner.
Jane was sitting by the door, ready to go. We pushed the big button by the front door and marched through as it opened in front of us. As we walked by the rose bush in front of Jane's window, I pulled out Mom's beat up garden clippers and snipped off one more stem. It took a mere second. I cut the stem into pieces. Mom suggested I hide the evidence in the dumpster, so I did. Voila. Another stem gone, one less thing for the old ladies to complain about. Any day now I'm sure I'll be busted by the rose bush police. Oh well. It's for a good cause.
Tonight is the peak of the Perseids. We have smoky, cloudy skies over Portland. No comets for me. But maybe tomorrow I can see some shooting stars. While I'm waiting.
