sistawendy: (drama)
Bad: Dr. Kidshrink is moving to Hawaii next month.

Good: He'll do at least a few sessions with m'boy via Skype.

Bad: Mom apparently has had fraudulent activity on her credit cards, enough to max them out. That's likely due to Mom's giving out her personal information exactly as Good Sister told her repeatedly not to.

Worse: Mom tried to cancel the cards instead of just reporting the fraudulent activity, so of course the credit card issuer shunted her to someone who tried to talk her out of it. In other words, not only is Mom's addled pate getting her into more financial messes; it no longer helps her get out of them.

I missed the usual Sunday morning call time because I was brunching with the Tickler, for which I now feel a tiny bit guilty. I haven't talked to her since what, Friday? Mom, like much of Florida, still has no internet because of the hurricane, so she hasn't been emailing me every morning as usual. GS & I shared a dark laugh that Mom's coming unplugged isn't necessarily a bad thing.

I'm less cranky now about GS dragging me to Florida in January. Watching out for Mom from DC is no mean feat, and she's been doing it for a few years now. She's earned some slack from me, I think.

Where's Evil Sister in all this? Her name hasn't come up. I guess she's in San Antonio, TX, and that's all I know.
sistawendy: (oh yeah)
I didn't get the usual email from Mom this morning, so I called her. Sure enough, she's lost her internet connection, and the wind has picked up. However, she still has power and there's no damage to her house. She got help moving her porch & patio furniture indoors. There used to be a whole bunch of pine trees on her lot, but she got the last of those removed a few years back, thank goodness. The eye wall should be making its closest approach to Gainesville right about now.
sistawendy: (eek)
But first: yesterday evening the Wendling decided to, in the words of his mother, stay in his bedroom in his underwear rather than take his malfunctioning phone to the store. Over the phone I heard her lie to him about my having plans for Friday in an unsuccessful attempt to get him to do it right away. I gently told her to cut that out. I'd already bought dinner ingredients, but he wanted to stay last night with his mother in the other end of the city and handle it this morning. OK, kiddo, I'll cook your dinner and put it in the fridge.
No wait, said Ex, he just took a cooking class and should cook; the new agreement is that he'll do that once a month.
Next week, said I, and made with the chicken as originally planned. This is all a long way of saying, Good grief, the pair of them.
But Ex & the kid are probably in need of slack at the moment: Bigpuppy has cancer. As of this writing no one knows just how treatable that cancer is, but we should know in a few hours. To her credit, Ex hasn't hit me up for vet bills directly even though I once shared custody of the dog. Poor beast. Poor Ex. I don't know how attached my son is to his dog - we got her right before I came out to him - but we may be about to find out the hard way.
And from the Dept. of Old Testament Stuff, about half an hour ago I saw a prediction that Hurricane Irma is going to buzz right up the spine of the Florida peninsula, packing hurricane force winds all the way to Georgia. And who do I know who lives right on that path? My mother, of course. For my whole lifetime and probably centuries before, Gainesville has been far enough north and inland that nothing worse than a strong gale came through. This time is likely to be different.

I called Mom. She seems pretty calm about the situation, possibly because her location has protected her all this time, or possibly because she's run out of fucks now that she's pushing eighty. She says there's no gas to be had, so she has no plans to bug out. I asked her about shelter - basements are hard to build and rare down there - and she said she plans on using her bathtub. (!)

Sure, I almost didn't notice the full moon last night because the wildfire smoke had dimmed it, but I'll take a few days of scratchy eyes over the possibility of losing my roof and/or getting my house crushed by blown-down pines.
sistawendy: (Default)
I never thought I would unironically throw the horns, but I did last night at a benefit for the Satanic Temple at Substation. The ST is the organization that stands up for separation of church & state with great panache by inserting themselves into, say, prayers at high school football games (here in the Puget Sound area) and putting up goaty statues alongside the Ten Commandments on public property (Oklahoma, as I recall).

I gotta love that, so of course I showed, courtesy of R. I knew a few of the performers, including a lovely friend of Diminutive's. But the Satanist MCs said, "We're not promoters," and that was painfully evident during a couple of the interpretive dance numbers - really. However, the tunes live & otherwise were good, the black clad crowd had fun, and everyone threw the horns during the little ceremonial bit at the beginning.

Oh, and as surprisingly as sunrise, Eliza Gauger from Friday night was there with copies of her book. I saw her just minutes after I'd excitedly told R about it.
I have my real name on my Twitter profile, and as a result the Hubbell Trading Post followed me. I'll save you the trouble of googling it: it's a trading post at Ganado, AZ on the Navajo reservation and, at least formerly, several satellite posts. It was founded by a cousin of my great grandfather's, and my great grandfather and my grandfather and their families lived and worked at several of the trading posts at various points in their lives.

In 1965, shortly before she died and before I was born, my great grandmother Penny wrote her life story, fifty-seven neatly typed pages. Most of it deals with life at the trading posts. I offered a copy to the Hubbell Trading Post and they accepted it. I've got it ready to mail, with a fair warning about the racist bits - I re-read it yesterday - plus a few stories about my grandfather that Penny didn't write about.
From the weekly phone call with Mom, a bit of subversion from her. First, some background: my Evil Sister has moved to Texas, leaving my niece E behind to get the resident's break on college tuition. Mom had a picture of me - the real, female me - out where where E could see it. Mom asked E if she knew who that was, and she said no. Mom gave her the straight dope. E looked very closely at the picture, and when Mom said I was living as a woman, E said, "Good for her." So at last I have verification that the cat is out of the bag.

I'm amused, and I don't blame E a bit if she doesn't really give a damn: Mom reminded me that she was in a car accident a few weeks ago, for which she's struggling to pay bills, and she starts college in a couple of weeks. And of course I'm proud of my mother. I don't even care what her motivation was. A straight woman of nearly eighty from a small town in the Blue Ridge mountains just struck a blow for trans acceptance, and that is pretty nifty.
sistawendy: (drama)
I've been waking up too early this week, no thanks to my bladder. I'm guessing I need to cut down on salt.
Remember that dream I had about my niece a few nights ago, the one Evil Sister has prevented me from seeing for years? I told my mom, ending the email with, "Goddamn [Evil Sister]." Mom forwarded the email to ES without my knowledge. ES's response? "Nice."

Why did Mom do that? I'm not sure, but probably to remind ES of what an asshole she's been. I'm not too bent out of shape about it because it's a fait accompli without tangible consequences for anyone, but I'd rather Mom didn't do that.
Since I didn't do Norwescon; I'm not doing the Vampire Ball this year; and it's been a cold, grey winter & spring even by Seattle standards, I'm starting to get a bit stir crazy. I'm starting to make plans for Critical, to which I haven't been in five years.

I wonder if it's too soon to ask my ladies about Pride plans. Cruising the Hill with the Siberian Siren, especially on the Saturday afternoon before Pride, has become a cherished tradition. My son's birthday is also that day, so I figure he'll want to go out to dinner that evening. And hey, any of you local queers who'd like to join me for the aforementioned cruising or any of the three marches - trans, dyke, and everybody - hit me up.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
Years ago, my mom & I started the tradition whereby she'd email me most mornings to let me know that she's, you know, alive and OK. She's an early-rising old lady in Florida, and I'm a night owl in Seattle, so her emails nearly always arrive before I get up. You know where this is going: I didn't get the email this morning.

Call Mom. Ten rings, no answer, no voice mail. (Why, Mom, why?) Email Mom.

Half an hour goes by. Call her neighbor. Leave a message.

Half an hour goes by. Call my Good Sister and leave a message appraising her of the situation. Ponder calling the police to do a welfare check. Consider calling Evil Sister, then reconsider. Wonder what to do with the inheritance since my son isn't in a four-year college yet.

Mom emails me and apologizes for the delay. She was on the phone for a long time with her sister because one of their cousins had passed away.

Call Good Sister, give the all clear. Have a nice, relaxing heart attack.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
Yes, my mom dropped an info bomb, but I'm not the target. I'm the payload; my Evil Sister is the target.

A bit of background: Evil Sister's husband has been working in Texas so much that the rest of the family is moving out there to join him later this year. The complicating factor is that ES's elder daughter, E, is right around college age, and will need to continue residing in Florida to get that wonderful in-state tuition. So there was a question of where E would live.

Enter my mom. She & ES haven't been getting along too well or speaking much for years. Even if I could remember all the details I'd spare you; suffice it to say that they mostly make my Evil Sister look sympathetic, and Good Sister backs her up on that. So it isn't too surprising that ES said that E will not be staying with Mom, even though Mom has abundant room in her house.

So what does Mom do? Tell E that she'd been thinking of adding another bathroom for her at the back of the house, but that her Aunt Maura had talked her out of it. This is the first E has heard that she has an Aunt Maura. I just found out from Mom via an insomniac early-morning email check. I don't know if my Evil Sister knows yet.

It occurs to me that, if E's so inclined, she might just find this journal referring to her mother as Evil Sister numerous times over the years. Yeah, well, I call 'em the way I see 'em. I hope I get a chance to explain.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Even though I lived in Gainesville, FL for all of my youth that I can remember, I never made it out to Payne's Prairie, a nature reserve and Florida's largest state park.* Seriously, this was a bucket list item for me. No, I didn't see much in the way of wild animals or birds due to the time of year, but I did get to walk on a forest trail for that eerily quiet primeval vibe with plenty of palmetto, magnolias, and vines & Spanish moss hanging off the live oaks. This little walk, plus walking up the steps of the 50' observation tower, just about did Mom in.

Speaking of Mom and her condition, well, it could be better. She's wobbly, and I wish I had a buck for each time I'd helped her remember a word since I arrived. (Unlike Ex, though, she can describe the word she's trying to remember. Get Oliver Sacks on the seance phone.) Mom has no intention of moving out of her big, beautiful house if she can help it. I don't blame her, but I wouldn't bet a lot of money on her being here in another five years. She's getting a reasonable amount of exercise, I think, but Good Sister & I concur that she isn't eating right. And I dare you to try telling her that; I already have.

Yesterday afternoon I drove up to the University of Florida campus. That may seem an odd place to go alone over the Christmas holiday, but it was my home away from home when I was young. I went for a stroll down memory lane: my dad's old office building, the duck pond by the student union where the whole famn damily would go feed the ducks, the library where I stealthily read everything I could get my hands on about transsexuals, the Music Building where I had so many lessons and orchestra rehearsals, the auditorium next door where I played and heard my fair share of concerts. Next to the auditorium I had to sit down and cry for my dad, the state of the country and the world, and for the roads I didn't take. To be fair to myself, though, nearly all of the fucking up I did happened after I left Florida.

There's a hippy-dippy used bookstore about ten blocks' walk from Mom's house that's been around since I was here. Now that's the Gainesville I remember. I walked over there with Mom and got something light & fluffy**. I've read it already; I don't care. And for about the umpteenth time in as many years, I walked Mom into the ground again. She's really hesitant about stepping onto verges or off curbs, and I think that's for the best.

When Mom went to bed, I bopped over to chez [ profile] cardinalximinez & [ profile] fizzgig_bites for some much-needed time with people my own age. I hadn't seen their daughter in five years; the girl is proudly kicking butt in school & extra-curriculars. I'm happy for them all, and not so much jealous as beat down about my own son's difficulties. But still, it was a wonderful evening and I owe them all for helping me recover some sanity. If we make it out to the University Club - Gainesville's only gay bar - drinks are on me.

Mom didn't have a proper whistling teakettle until I got her one this morning at the big mall across the street from my elementary school. (My sisters & I remember when it was a horse pasture.) Recent events had me extra alert for signs of hostility, but the only thing remotely like that was one blue-collar looking dude taking a smoke break who discreetly checked me out - I saw his reflection - for reasons uncertain. Mom warned me about the likelihood of a crush of last-minute shoppers, but it was less crowded than a typical weekday afternoon at a Seattle-area mall. I wouldn't have known it was Christmas without the decorations and Santa hats. It is to laugh.

This afternoon, Mom took me on a tour of... new construction. No, really, new apartments and shopping centers. Why she's interested and why she thinks I'm interested I'm not quite sure. But nevertheless, I've seen plenty of evidence that Gainesville is prospering, driven at least in part by an influx of retirees attracted to medical facilities, which owe much to the U of F.

ETA: Mom has sensibly given up climbing, so she needed me to change a compact fluorescent light for her. The base of it was so hot that it burned my hand, and I dropped it. It broke. I may have huffed a little mercury vapor, but I also may have saved my mom from dying in a fire. Go me?

*The Everglades are a national park.
**Bill Bryson, Notes From a Small Island.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
I spent all day yesterday traveling to my mom's house, which is also the one I grew up in, in Gainesville, FL. As I walked between gates at ATL, I heard a lady behind my thanking all of the numerous soldiers we passed for their service to the country. Ah, the South. Less charming was he old lady wishing the gate agent a merry Christmas and then saying, "We can say that now." Gosh, geezer girl, you were so oppressed.

As I walked out of the Jacksonville airport in just a sweater, I felt the Florida "winter". I couldn't help laughing.

Mom had cornbread & pinto beans with ham waiting for me when I arrived at about 2130 local time, well past her bedtime. She'd asked earlier what she should cook, and that was one of my favorite meals growing up. Nom! But as I was walking around the now-quiet house, I had to tell her, "I miss [Good Sister]. I miss [Evil Sister]. I miss Dad. I guess I better unpack before I start crying. Estrogens. Ain't they grand?"

I walked around my neighborhood with my mom and one of her friends, M. You know that thing where older people are often full of stories and need someone to tell them to? Yeah. M's sweet, but yeah.

I walked around my neighborhood some more and then to my high school. Saw one bumper sticker for Trump, and one small pro-Trump piece of graffiti on the actual school. To the little snot that likely wrote it, I say, enjoy your wrecked future: there's a reason why his supporters skew old. Fuck my distant past. This isn't the Gainesville I remember, but then again a) it was the 80s and nasty was the norm, b) as a budding geek I was good at staying out of the loop, and c) when you're to all appearances a cis white dude your life feels a lot safer and more cheerful.

I guess I'm not really feeling this vacation, am I? At least not yet. Maybe the beach or my friends my own age can help with that.

yin & yang

Dec. 16th, 2016 12:15 pm
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Good: An OKCupid nibble, and a nice rejection from a lady who says she's still figuring out just how queer she is. Some of my queer girlfriends have told me that's a great big nope anyway, and I believe them.

Meh: Cold. I'm wearing my black patent 20-eyelet Docs, two pairs of wool blend socks, two pairs of leggings (outer pair: the scissor leggings from Bombsheller), a short-sleeve velvet top, and my hoodie with tails right now. I'm not overly warm indoors. I've had to remember to bring my slippers into the shower with me so my toes don't go numb.

Good? Planning for Florida. I leave in five days. Lately, an ornery mom doesn't seem like that big a worry.

Bad: The world may end real soon now.

Good: Pho with m'boy Wednesday. His idea.

Bad: I haven't updated in three days, mainly because I had nothing to say.

Good: My son & I finished The Seven Samurai last night. My son approves.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
As I type - on my work computer, because I left my personal machine at my ex's by mistake - I have sore feet from yesterday at Emerald City Comicon (plus old injuries), and a sore back from last night's date. Let me take it from the top:

I spent much of Friday & yesterday doing paperwork and emailing back & forth to co-sign on the mortgage for Ex's new place. She needed me to do that, she says, because she's been (officially) getting maintenance from me for less than six months; apparently the threshold used to be three months. She promises to re-fi as soon as she can, which would be July, and get me off the hook.

I'm deeply grateful to Mr. Right Now for being the muscle that got her ready for her garage sale. She made $1000. I delivered lunch and picked up son (who slept so late he was useless) to go to...

...Emerald City Comicon! I saw, well, everybody: [ profile] cupcake_goth, [ profile] minim_calibre, [ profile] theda, [ profile] speedie316, [ profile] intrepid_reason, [ profile] tereshkova2001, Elder Goth, co worker E, and a few people who I'm too tired to remember and who are probably LJ unpersons anyway. Impulse purchase: one of JSalvador's Super Emo Friends, namely a cartoon of Jar Jar Binks hanging himself. So wrong, and yet so right. The kiddo & I only lasted three hours, but hey, if he's happy I'm happy. We commuted over I-90, 520 being closed, via the mighty convenient Sound Transit 550 from Bellevue. Suck it, parking weasels!

Speaking of I-90, an accident thereupon convinced me to allow way more time than I ended up needing to get to a date with the Tickler. She did something uncharacteristic: instead of the agreed-upon fuck-first date, she took us to a romantic light dinner at Phoenicia (Way tasty!) on Alki and watched the twilight deepen over Puget Sound, and she put a pashmina around my shoulders when I inevitably got cold. Le sigh joyeau. Ahem ensued, but I don't think that was how my back got messed up; she has an unusually soft bed.

I talked to Mom at the usual time from inside my car, parked in front of the Tickler's. (Of course I told her that.) She's back from a week in Acapulco and not much the worse for wear. This is a bigger-than-usual relief because a) I saw how addle-pated she now is in France, and b) she had neither her phone nor her computer. Not much the worse: she had a nasty encounter with unfriendly Mexican microflora.

And now, Much Younger Woman wanted to go for a hike this afternoon. My body is telling me that's not a good idea. I hate to let people down that way, but.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
A Seattle inevitability has happened: Lambert House's landlady wants to sell the house out from under them, and the director Ken says she isn't making it easy on them. Sixty days and out. Luckily, even if he freaked way out at first, he seems to be on the ball about finding a suitable new temporary home. He's also shaking the trees for money for a more permanent home. I'm proud to say that I clued him into a potential source of queer cash. I'm being uncharacteristically but deliberately vague because it's still early days. Considering the number of adult queers I've met in this area who've passed through the doors, though, I'm optimistic about the longer term.
Speaking of real estate, my ex & I close on the old place tomorrow evening. How convenient that they scheduled the signing party for when I'll be there anyway. Cash would be good now.
I got a lovely letter in the mail from [ profile] dagard's parents yesterday. They knew there was lots of spicy stuff about him that he wasn't telling them. He cared for them enough not to.

My mom? Knows everything you do about me. Yeah, even (at least the outline of) entries that I've locked. That is, if she remembers it. I guess I like to talk about myself too much. But as an excuse, let me just say that a) she asked for it - no, really - and b) her generation is the nucleus of queerphobia worldwide. If I lay some truth on her, namely that queers, trans people, and kinky people are, you know, people, she might spread the word.
sistawendy: (blue corset)
Not much in the way of adventures with Mom today, just lunch with m'boy at the Kirkland PCC, where he works, followed by a nap for Mom, leftovers (My fridge is fuller than it's ever been!), and taking the scenic route to the airport. I worked the boarding pass machine and then entrusted her to the tender ministrations of the TSA.

Which brings me to the next paragraph. Once upon a time, she wouldn't have asked me to handle the boarding pass machine. I hadn't seen her since surgery, just a hair over two years ago, and she's noticeably less... capable than she was then. I know how to handle it operationally, most of the time - offer to help her do stuff, help her remember things, and don't expect her to do exactly the kind of urban hiking I tried to do with her on this trip.

Emotionally, though? She was the one I always went to for the hard facts and rational thought in the family. I'm not ready to lose her, not even a small part of her.

This isn't to say, though, that this past week wasn't the best Christmas break I've had in a long, long time. Sure, I talk to Mom every Sunday morning on the phone, but it isn't the same. I got to share my life with her for a few days, which I think is something I've wanted to do since I got it back.

Speaking of sharing my life with someone, I've told Mom she has to stay alive & alert until I find Ms. Right and marry her. Then Mom has to stay alive until Ms. Right and I conceive a child together.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
The Asian art museum, a walk on Broadway, and roast pork chops & sauerkraut, which I probably hadn't eaten in nearly thirty years. There were no falls and only mild culture shock. This has been the mellowest of days since my mother arrived.

Mom leaves tomorrow night. *Sniffle.* I think back at some of what I've read right here on LJ, and I'm lucky that a) she hasn't worn out her welcome, and b) she was alive and healthy enough to come here in the first place. May lightning strike me if I ever take that for granted.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Christmas dinner included ham, i.e. Southern style, at my Lake Place with m'boy and Mom. (She did the cooking.) Afterwards a walk around Green Lake in the sun. When you walk three miles, you're three time zones west of home, and you're three quarters of a century old, you may be excused for falling asleep three hours before everyone else does.

Today: the Seattle Art Museum for the (mainly pre-Columbian) Peruvian art exhibit. Yes, it's lovely, stunningly crafted, and occasionally sexually explicit, but what really got to me was the number of indigenous civilizations that have risen and fallen in Peru in the last 3000 years, sometimes mysteriously. Sure, the Inca conquered the Chimú et al., but it looks as if the Mochica and the Wari, who preceded both of them, succumbed to climate change and a resulting collapse of the social order. That's something to think about as you gawk at 1500-year-old pornographic ceramics.

Yours truly got a wild hair and we three went to Red Mill for burgers because my son loves them even more than I do. So there we were, carless and busless, at the top of Phinney Ridge, while my place is at the bottom. That means a ten-block walk, which is no biggie for my son & me - his whining notwithstanding - but m'boy & I had to hold onto Mom to keep her from barreling down 70th St. I thought we could relax once we got to level-ish ground, but neau: poor Mom tripped on a sidewalk joint. I got a piece of her, but I couldn't break her fall. Luckily, she's ambulatory. For now.
sistawendy: (drama)
But first: Mom & I went grocery shopping at PCC. Now, PCC is pretty crunchy and a little pricey (thought not as pricey as Whole Foods). Mom had insisted on buying, but was taken aback by the prices. I should have seen that coming.

After a restful afternoon, I took mom to Dina Martina at Re-bar, where she met the Siberian Siren and her girlfriend L. I get the impression that the SS is a little too enthusiastically femme for my mother's taste, not to mention being young and very gay. It was heartwarming for me, though, to see them talking from across the room. As for the performance, I laughed way more than Mom did: lots of mash-ups of pop music from the last thirty-five years and some local jokes. Nevertheless, Mom hasn't disowned me. Luckily for me, she loves playing Margaret Mead, and there were a whole lot of metaphorical Samoans there at Re-bar.

Oh, and one more thing: I did the number crunching for Lambert House's annual report to the city, which gives the house lots of dough, on Monday night. I was up there in the director's office with him until 2 A.M.. Jesus, I'm not doing that again. My poor mother was alone for several hours on Wednesday morning as I tried to get some adequate sleep. I thought it would be OK because Mom went to bed relatively early.
sistawendy: (taco madonna)
Mom, m'boy, and I took the 358 to MOHAI yesterday. I think she liked the museum, even if she started to wear out once we got to the 1970s, but the closure of the Mercer street bus stop for construction meant a fair amount of walking to & from MOHAI. Mom wouldn't be the only immediate family member living in Florida whom I'd inadvertently walked into the ground.

Next, a long-anticipated dinner with [ profile] cupcake_goth.

Plan A: the Stumbling Goat, which is closed Mondays.
Plan B: the Gainsbourg, which doesn't allow minors like my son.
Plan C: Naked City, which turns out to have some mighty fine beer that they brew, burgers, and fries.

My mom was pretty quiet due to the death march described above, but I had a fantastic time, not least because I got to introduce the two women who, more than any others, made me who I am today. I enjoyed cluing Mom into Goth in general, plus all the history and the in-jokes that [ profile] cupcake_goth & I have built up over the years. Mom describes [ profile] cupcake_goth as "vivacious".
sistawendy: (mad woman)
The Coming of Mom has arrived, finally. After picking Mom up at the airport yesterday & a necessarily quick tour of my lake place, we headed over to the east side to pick m'boy up from Dr. Kidshrink and then head over to What the Pho in Bellevue, one of the nicer Vietnamese places around. It didn't occur to me that Mom doesn't know how to use chopsticks. Ah well, she managed to ingest the pho solids and appeared to enjoy them. She says I "preach" too much to m'boy. Hmph. I can't help but wonder how she'd handle sixteen years with an Aspie ADDer. (I forgot to remind him to take his meds, so he freaked out and called & texted his mother several times. She was Not Pleased. Oops.)

After getting her installed on the folded-out futon Davenport with an air mattress, she conked out at about 8:00 last night - she'd arisen around 2:00 AM Eastern, which is 11:00 PM Pacific the previous day. I'm surprised she made it as late as she did. So, I bopped on over to the Agora for something from [ profile] gfish's cocktail engine, homemade egg nog, and way too much good food. Out of deference to Mom I was home by midnight.

Today? Handel's Messiah by the Seattle Symphony at Benaroya Hall - her idea. I got us decent seats in the middle of the orchestra section, so we were more or less at eye level with the soloists. The soprano, Amanda Forsythe, had an amazing voice and hypnotic eyebrows that seemed to say, "How you doin'?" I could hear the director's feet as he lunged during the Hallelujah Chorus. I want the mezzo's dress. Badly. I took Mom back to the green room to meet [ profile] kathrynt, who's in the chorus.

Then on to Dahlia Lounge, where Mom remarked on the prices but we had a fantastic meal. I had the tuna & falafel, which I liked better than her bread pudding, but still, the food & service were definitely up to scratch. I hadn't been there since about '04.

There's something very satisfying about spoiling one's mother, especially after not seeing her for over a year and a half. I'm tempted to rank today up there among the best dates I've ever had.
sistawendy: (flirty hippy)
Chanukah started on Thanksgiving this year, and I'm not proud to say that I finally got around to getting a present for the Wendling this week. I think I made up for it, though. M'boy likes graphic novels, history, the news, and pinko politics, so I got him a copy of the first volume of March, a memoir of the civil rights movement in the '50s and '60s by Congressman John Lewis, as seen on The Daily Show. He actually wanted to read it instead of walking the dog with me.
As I type, my mom is in the air on a direct flight to Seattle. It's about damn time, and I'm a shower away from being ready.
sistawendy: (blue corset)
The Coming of Mom is delayed by a whopping forty-four (44) hours. My mom gets to enjoy beautiful Atlanta for two nights because, ultimately, a plane skidded off the runway in Salt Lake City. Then Delta had four gate agents to rebook 350 passengers, thereby enabling Mom to miss a flight to Philly that would have gotten her to me today.

It gets better: Mom left her medications in her checked luggage. She's not supposed to skip a day of some of them.

So now I'm alone in a my squeaky-clean apartment. Le sigh.
And in other old person news, I went over to my Aspiring Ex's dad's last night to get Windows 8.1 on his recently repaired 'pooter. I plugged everything in, but I couldn't connect over his DSL, which he says is provided by - wait for it - AOL. I had to get m'boy home to bed, so I gave him a brain dump of what I did and left it to him. We'll see.

I have to say, though, that even after two TIAs he's more mobile and coherent than his wife. If no one had told me about them I wouldn't have guessed they'd happened.


sistawendy: (Default)

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