Friday, October 31, 2008
"Trust the instinct to the end, though you can render no reason."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
I spoke with Mater yesterday and decided, on a whim, to perform some gentle exercises at the same time. One leg up high, down again, the other one up, then down, as I marched back and forth purposely across the cold kitchen floor.
I stated that they were gentle: they were almost not exercises at all, so mild and nondescript were the actions. They took place without interrupting the flow of a reasonable conversation.
Then, from nowhere: "why do I get the feeling you are doing exercises? Your voice sounds as though you are."
It was a lucky thing I was standing on both legs at the time, or I might have tipped right over. Surprise can do that.
With my mother still at the other end of the line, I brewed a cup of tea. I added the requisite portion of sugar, an amount known only to me- or so I thought until I realised the futility.
"Are you scraping something from a container?"
Were Mater to calculate the number of times she heard the spoon touch the box, and then gauge the weight of each spoonful by the sharpness or dullness of the clatter, the precise volume of sugar could be ascertained.
I contemplated the ramifications of having a mother who sees everything.
"Big Mother is watching." I sipped my tea and heaved a sigh.
"Believe it," came the gleeful retort.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 10:14 AM