Pam Linn
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not grousing about Mother’s Day in general or this Mother’s Day in particular. I actually did what I wanted to do on Sunday, it just didn’t include brunch at my favorite bistro, or dinner prepared by my children. I did get a beautiful bouquet of violet sweet peas, and a smartly framed picture of one daughter and one grandchild. No Godiva chocolates, but, oh well.
My two sons-in-law took my daughters and their children to brunch at Big John’s (where portion size outweighs culinary subtlety). They knew better than to ask if I wanted to come along.
My son called early to say he had planned to come over but his stable helper didn’t show up for work due to a “self-inflicted illness” (read hangover). So Bobby would spend the day feeding the stock and mucking stalls instead of bringing me chocolates.
I, in turn, would spend the day mucking out my friend’s cabin at Pine Mountain Club to celebrate his return a month after quadruple bypass surgery. I was to meet our favorite plumber there in the morning. He was celebrating Mother’s Day repairing broken faucets instead of taking chocolates to his mother. While he plumbed, I cleaned.
The cabin’s condition was what might be expected considering a bachelor with a heart problem and a Rottweiler occupies it. And it had been vacant long enough for the spiders to have taken over. Every corner of every window and doorframe was decorated with cobwebs. They hung in long, delicate veils from the ceiling beams. It looked like a Charles Adams cartoon.
Thank heavens I had brought my shop vac. Unwieldy as it is to carry up the narrow staircase, at least there’s a chance it would suck up the spider along with its web. A broom is lighter and quicker but it creeps me out to think the spider and its dinner of flies and moths might be unmeshed in the process and wind up in my hair.
I had also forgotten to bring the shop vac extension wand; so a few corners, rafters and skylights were missed altogether along with the carpet on the stairway. For this I would need my Oreck.
Weighing in at a mere eight pounds, the Oreck is by far the easiest and most efficient upright cleaner ever. Last December, in a fit of Christmas splurging, I forked over more than my adjusted gross income for this featherweight marvel, rationalizing what it would save me in carpal tunnel syndrome remedies. Actually, I fell for it because the salesman looked like Richard Gere. One doesn’t expect a vacuum cleaner salesman to look like Richard Gere. He was charming. I was hooked. I wonder if he was selling vacuum cleaners on Mother’s Day or taking chocolates to his mum.
The plumber finished and turned the water back on in time for me to clean out the refrigerator. Curdled milk, sprouting potatoes, a coffee can with congealed bacon fat, a can of Crisco, a pound of butter, nondairy creamer, whole mayonnaise, frozen breaded fish sticks, pizza and chicken pot pies. Out with all the artery clogging stuff. I replaced these with home cooked pasta and vegetables, turkey meatballs, vanilla soy milk, transfat free spread, whole wheat bread, cold pressed extra virgin olive oil, a frozen salmon fillet, fresh salad greens and nonfat dressing. Yum.
My friend got home in time to see the last half of the Laker game. I helped him carry his stuff up the stairs and hauled out the trash on the way down, before he could retrieve anything from the plastic bags. He thanked me for everything then sent me home saying, “You shouldn’t be spending Mother’s Day like this.”
Back home I had just stretched out for a little nap when the kids decided this would be a good day to clean out and fill the spa. And where is the shop vac?
Well, it’s still in Pine Mountain Club. They go down to the old ranch house and retrieve the other shop vac to Hoover up the dust and spiders from the spa. Then they cut the end of my garden hose to hook it up to the shower closest to the spa. Then I have to try to find the nonchlorine and nonbromine stuff to treat the water.
Then it’s dinnertime. My daughter says, “Mom, you shouldn’t have to cook dinner on Mother’s Day.” She heats up the frozen pizza. I don’t even care. I settle down to watch the last episode of “The Education of Max Bickford” and Peter O’Toole was a guest. I’d found a Godiva chocolate bar. Perfect.