Visits from my daughter are always a pleasure, but they also generally make me feel like I'm a little lost in space. Plans change on the fly, so to speak. It started off with a series of frantic telephone calls on Friday evening. Voice messages, about 10 of them, expressed extreme concern over my whereabouts.
"Mother, where are you? Call me!"
"Mother, are you okay? Call me!"
"Mother, I'm getting worried. Call me!"
"Mother, I've called you on your home phone and your cell phone and there's no answer! Call me!"
"Mother, this is ridiculous! I've been calling you for two hours! Call me!"
"Mother, it's getting late and you still haven't called me back! Call me!"
"Mother, we were thinking of coming over to see you, but it's late for that now! Why haven't you called me?"
"Mother, it's me! Call me!"
"Mother, well, you aren't answering. Call me when you get home."
"Mother, it's 8 o'clock at night. I'm really getting concerned. Please call me!"
Well, heavens to Betsy! What on earth is this all about? I really am not a feeble person. I'm not at all likely to be lying injured on the floor with my arms and my legs up in the air like a turtle flipped over on its back. I am not saying that is impossible, but it's just not likely. At least, I've never done it before (not to my daughter's knowledge anyway!).
I had been to dinner with a dear friend. I don't answer my cell phone when I'm at dinner. I turn off my cell phone unless I'm expecting an important call. I don't talk on my phone or "text" or play games on my cell when I am with other people. Maybe that's because I'm old.
I telephoned Sheila about 8:10 PM and asked her "What's up?". She railed for a few moments about how worried she had been about me. "Mom! Your husband is away and you really need to let people know what you are doing!" Uh, really? I get a call from my daughter about once a week, or once every other week. If I am not home, she can leave a message. I will call back when I get home. Seems reasonable to me.
Because Sheila had been so worried about me, she announced that she would be paying me a visit the next day. (I think she wanted to make sure I was not eating cat food and/or drinking malt liquor to excess since "my husband is away".) I told her I would love to see her and that we could have lunch on Saturday. Simple plans are always best, I think.
On Saturday, Sheila phoned about noon to propose that we change our visit from Saturday to Sunday. That was agreeable to me. We again decided to shoot for lunch, and that Sheila's husband and daughter would be joining us. Sounded fine.
I called my daughter at 11 AM on Sunday to see when she was leaving. Sheila told me that they were all still in bed, but they would call me in a few minutes to set up a time. (I thought to myself, "Queer. Don't people have lunch around noon?") Never mind. Sheila called an hour later with a new plan. I'll lay it out for you here:
"Mom, new plan. Why don't we come over about 2 or 3 this afternoon and I'll bring a fish. I'll cook for you and we'll do all the clean up afterwards. How does that sound?" Well, frankly, bringing a fish to visit me or to cook for me just didn't tickle my fancy at all.
I said, "Never mind Honey. I'll make pork chops." Stunned silence and then peals of gratitude rang out of the phone! "Oh my god! I love your pork chops so much! I can't wait! See you at 3 this afternoon!"
Of course, at 3 in the afternoon, Sheila was just getting out of the shower when I called her.
But my pork chops really are divine.