"That's Donald Stone-
hink," my mother reminded me when I told, this morning, her what I'd broadcast here.
    Sorry, Mom. I always make that mistake. This is also the fellow my mother went out of her way to impress on their first date, when they were in high school, by inserting an entire orange in her mouth, as reported by Mom's now deceased sister, who was there and probably still regales crowds with her reportage on my mother; and confirmed, with bursts of scandalized laughter, by my mother.
    This is an old family anecdote. The first time I heard it I was between the sixth and the seventh grade. Although I was fascinated by boys and had already endured some flagrant crushes, at that age the anecdote didn't seem so much scandalous as absurd, rather like auditioning for the role of Lady Macbeth by hanging a spoon from one's nose or forehead (arguably appropriate for Ophelia, ludicrous for Lady Macbeth). Later, when I was somewhat more, ahem, socially aware, it occurred to me that this unusual skill may explain why Mr. Stone-hink was so eager to imagine my mother as his wife. This was around the time I was also considering that my father may have found my mother's facility with guns and her renown as a crack shot equally suggestively fascinating.
    "Stop that, Gail! That's your mother you're talking about!" Had I ever mentioned either of these speculations to my aunt, she would have said this with an indulgent laugh.
    My mother's response? Indulgent, as well, still scandalized, but she'd consider the source. She's always found me "challenging", her own word, has told me more often than I care to admit that I "make life interesting" for her.
    Could this be the secret to successful caregiving, to keep in mind that it is at it's best when it exists within a relationship in which both members feel the other makes her life "interesting?"
- posted by gail rae @ 14:41   email...this post