Looking at pictures
So my NOLA girl wants her own set of pictures for Christmas...old, new, in between. I've offered over the years, but this year she actually said that is what she wants. So I've been looking through some that I have readily available, and later tonight, I'll start going through the boxes that I've put away for the kids over the years. Remember when "doubles" began? Well, I was actually organized enough to put envelopes of pictures in the boxes to save. Now I just have to find which boxes I put them in!
As most of you know, the problem/pleasure of going through pictures is the slowness of it all. When we put together pictures for Mom's post funeral lunch, my sister and I, along with my husband took our time and picked out what we thought would be best. We talked, and laughed, and cried as we did this project. Then I cried more when I put them on a big board.
So yesterday, I took the board apart, putting the pictures that are my sister's in her pile, and my pictures in my pile. It was again, agonizing and hilarious to me. A picture of my Mom with a cast on her arm...
It was the night before the night before Thanksgiving back in the late 1970's. I was at the kitchen table, studying for a business final right after I got home from work (SHU and SNET). Mom, crazy woman, was on a chair, with her dust cloth and Pledge, spraying the stupid plate rack above the cabinets (Dad HAD to have that up there - he always loved his stupid plates)...see, the 'rents had this grand open house party the night after Thanksgiving every year and tall people would be there. So Mom always got worked up and went on a cleaning spree that week. Mom moved the crap that was on the rack over, sprayed the rack, wiped the crap and put it back. However, instead of moving the chair (which would mean she had to get down), she just hopped to the next chair and wiggled it close to where she wanted to be.
What? A recipe for disaster? Well, of COURSE! I had my head down in my textbook (typical!), and heard the fall before I saw it. She was on the floor, still holding the Pledge and the dust cloth (we never called it a rag - wonder why?).
"Ma, what are you doing? Can you get up?"
"What the hell do you think I'm doing?"
She got up, holding onto first the chair, then the table, but couldn't move her right arm at all. Being right handed, this could be trouble for so many things - remember, this was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving - yes, we always had it at our house. Then there was the grand party on Friday night.
"Ma, get your coat. We're going to the hospital."
"No, I'm fine. We'll wait till Daddy gets home."
Yeah, that wasn't happening. Dad bartended at Pop's down at the Seawall a few nights a week, and this was one of them. I called the bar and told him I was taking Mom to the hospital, she fell, yadayadayada...he laughed, then said, "Oh, Shit...OK" and hung up.
"Let's go, now."
"You have a test tomorrow night."
"Yeah, I'll bring my book."
Off we went...miraculously, Bridgeport Hospital's emergency room was nearly empty. We still waited for a pretty long time by the clock. Waiting with Mom wasn't like waiting at all, though. She had something to say about everyone we saw, about the magazines that were 3 years old, about the book I was reviewing. I had her quiz me with chapter questions, too. Finally we got called to X-Ray and went on a hike through the old ER. After 2 hours, we were on our way home...Mom was in a cast, with a home made sling - some poor intern gave up a bandanna for her - no slings in supply that night that were small enough. Turns out she broke a small bone in her elbow and so she needed that immobilized for a few weeks.
She got some good drugs on the way out, too, and forgot about cleaning the kitchen, cooking a turkey...I finished up what she had been doing in the kitchen when we got home, got the siblings to help with the rest of the house, and Mom went to bed.
That year was when Nancy began to learn to cook for Turkey Day, Amy finally found out what Pledge was for, and I got to be bossy. We all had to be around to help for the big party as well that year - we usually made ourselves scarce after the horses doovers (yes, that's what Mom called them) were out of the oven.
All those memories came flooding into my mind as I looked at the picture and carefully peeled the tape away from the back of it, to save it and include it in the pictures that will eventually make their way to my kids' albums. As I sat there on the floor, I had to be sure that the tears didn't hit the other pictures all around the floor.
So many stories, need enough time to pass them on, along with the pictures.
As most of you know, the problem/pleasure of going through pictures is the slowness of it all. When we put together pictures for Mom's post funeral lunch, my sister and I, along with my husband took our time and picked out what we thought would be best. We talked, and laughed, and cried as we did this project. Then I cried more when I put them on a big board.
So yesterday, I took the board apart, putting the pictures that are my sister's in her pile, and my pictures in my pile. It was again, agonizing and hilarious to me. A picture of my Mom with a cast on her arm...
It was the night before the night before Thanksgiving back in the late 1970's. I was at the kitchen table, studying for a business final right after I got home from work (SHU and SNET). Mom, crazy woman, was on a chair, with her dust cloth and Pledge, spraying the stupid plate rack above the cabinets (Dad HAD to have that up there - he always loved his stupid plates)...see, the 'rents had this grand open house party the night after Thanksgiving every year and tall people would be there. So Mom always got worked up and went on a cleaning spree that week. Mom moved the crap that was on the rack over, sprayed the rack, wiped the crap and put it back. However, instead of moving the chair (which would mean she had to get down), she just hopped to the next chair and wiggled it close to where she wanted to be.
What? A recipe for disaster? Well, of COURSE! I had my head down in my textbook (typical!), and heard the fall before I saw it. She was on the floor, still holding the Pledge and the dust cloth (we never called it a rag - wonder why?).
"Ma, what are you doing? Can you get up?"
"What the hell do you think I'm doing?"
She got up, holding onto first the chair, then the table, but couldn't move her right arm at all. Being right handed, this could be trouble for so many things - remember, this was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving - yes, we always had it at our house. Then there was the grand party on Friday night.
"Ma, get your coat. We're going to the hospital."
"No, I'm fine. We'll wait till Daddy gets home."
Yeah, that wasn't happening. Dad bartended at Pop's down at the Seawall a few nights a week, and this was one of them. I called the bar and told him I was taking Mom to the hospital, she fell, yadayadayada...he laughed, then said, "Oh, Shit...OK" and hung up.
"Let's go, now."
"You have a test tomorrow night."
"Yeah, I'll bring my book."
Off we went...miraculously, Bridgeport Hospital's emergency room was nearly empty. We still waited for a pretty long time by the clock. Waiting with Mom wasn't like waiting at all, though. She had something to say about everyone we saw, about the magazines that were 3 years old, about the book I was reviewing. I had her quiz me with chapter questions, too. Finally we got called to X-Ray and went on a hike through the old ER. After 2 hours, we were on our way home...Mom was in a cast, with a home made sling - some poor intern gave up a bandanna for her - no slings in supply that night that were small enough. Turns out she broke a small bone in her elbow and so she needed that immobilized for a few weeks.
She got some good drugs on the way out, too, and forgot about cleaning the kitchen, cooking a turkey...I finished up what she had been doing in the kitchen when we got home, got the siblings to help with the rest of the house, and Mom went to bed.
That year was when Nancy began to learn to cook for Turkey Day, Amy finally found out what Pledge was for, and I got to be bossy. We all had to be around to help for the big party as well that year - we usually made ourselves scarce after the horses doovers (yes, that's what Mom called them) were out of the oven.
All those memories came flooding into my mind as I looked at the picture and carefully peeled the tape away from the back of it, to save it and include it in the pictures that will eventually make their way to my kids' albums. As I sat there on the floor, I had to be sure that the tears didn't hit the other pictures all around the floor.
So many stories, need enough time to pass them on, along with the pictures.
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