Seder Last Dance for Me
... so it turns out NOT to have been a Passover seder on either night; Mom didn't have time to set everything up. Truly, I weep.
[no; really; the fact that I did a "yesss!" fist-pump when she told me yesterday afternoon has NO significance whatsoever, I tell you ...]
But it was nice. Um. Except for the fact that Vicki doesn't like soup. Or really care all that much for beef. Or like cooked onions at all. Mom seemed remarkably understanding, and the roast--which was quite good; very sliver-thin sliced and tasty--worked out to be something she COULD eat. And though the kugel was heavier than the sort of potato-y fare she's used to, she liked it.
And it didn't hurt that she looked cute as the day is long; wearing a black knit blouse and a nice white skirt which rather emphasized the "she's skinny but has nice hips" nonetheless look.
To start, we stopped over to meet my best friend and his wife. Didn't have much time, but that'll be rectified in the future. At first, Vicki--already nervous at the prospect of meeting Mom--was a bit quiet, but Adam and Michelle quickly brought her out into her regular self. We're thinking of maybe doing a double-date to the shops and such around Quakertown sometime after Passover. That way, we get to split the distance so as not to put anyone out.
We visited Dad first, bringing him food--which was a good thing, as the hospital had unwittingly brought him nothing he actually eats for dinner.
It was stuff *I* would have eaten happily and asked for more, but he's a bit picky here and there. So we heated up some of the chicken soup, kugel, and roast brisket. He had soup left over, so Mom gave it to a nurse to hold in their fridge for him (which soup--and a nice pottery bowl--were promptly stolen by someone later that night).
Dad, who will get out Wednesday, seemed well; the short-term memory lapses are much fewer, and he's got his twinkle, for lack of a better word, back. He still refuses to walk with a cane or walker once he gets home, though, which will cause Mom no small amount of agita.
The earlier crossed-lines concerning what Vicki does and doesn't eat was my fault, really; I should have specified--but I put Mom at ease by taking her aside and putting a word in her ear, explaining that Vicki really doesn't eat certain things due to digestive limitation and that she was REALLY worried about offending her. Mom took this with a startling amount of equanimity; I was very pleasantly surprised.
Also a pleasant surprise was that Uncle Larry looks and sounds well. Despite the sparse hair (from the chemo), he's in no pain, has healed nicely from the surgeries, and has all of his joie de vivre and appetite back. Plus--a BIG plus--we didn't snark at each other at all until one slight unimportant moment tonight. (We bring it out in each other; he remembers my know-it-all phase, some fifteen years back, and continues to ascribe it to me in the now, whereas I see in him the stereotypical Manhattanite [not that he's lived there for thirty years] attitude of, if he doesn't know about it and like it, then it's unimportant.
[here my sister will likely chime in to point out that we're both off-the-mark in our estimations of one another, and she'll be right. But then, that doesn't mean we're WRONG, exactly.])
And they liked Vicki, which, though not terribly important in the large scheme of things to ME (as long as Adam likes her, Paula likes her, and Alma likes her, I care not a whit about the rest of the world), was to her.
After I got home and saw Vicki off, i spoke to Adam on the phone. He likes her (yay!), but asked an interesting question: What interests do she and I share?
And, you know, that's a damned good question. There are a great many things we do not have in common. I read as if it were absolutely necessary to my minute-to-minute survival. She loves reading, but simply hasn't had much time for it of late. Our musical tastes are wildly divergent, touching only here and there. The same goes for food.
But within a fraction of a heartbeat, I replied, "Our outlook." Both of us are deeply passionate about helping other people; about doing right by people. We both hold friendship as the highest state to which people can aspire. We're both deeply empathic. We both love animals (sure, she SAYS she doesn't like cats, but went all gooshy over mine). And we both enjoy finding new things and new experiences, though we've neither of us had enough opportunity for that.
Is that enough for a lasting relationship? I don't know. But if you look at the two of us and how we interact, it certainly seems as if it might be.
[no; really; the fact that I did a "yesss!" fist-pump when she told me yesterday afternoon has NO significance whatsoever, I tell you ...]
But it was nice. Um. Except for the fact that Vicki doesn't like soup. Or really care all that much for beef. Or like cooked onions at all. Mom seemed remarkably understanding, and the roast--which was quite good; very sliver-thin sliced and tasty--worked out to be something she COULD eat. And though the kugel was heavier than the sort of potato-y fare she's used to, she liked it.
And it didn't hurt that she looked cute as the day is long; wearing a black knit blouse and a nice white skirt which rather emphasized the "she's skinny but has nice hips" nonetheless look.
To start, we stopped over to meet my best friend and his wife. Didn't have much time, but that'll be rectified in the future. At first, Vicki--already nervous at the prospect of meeting Mom--was a bit quiet, but Adam and Michelle quickly brought her out into her regular self. We're thinking of maybe doing a double-date to the shops and such around Quakertown sometime after Passover. That way, we get to split the distance so as not to put anyone out.
We visited Dad first, bringing him food--which was a good thing, as the hospital had unwittingly brought him nothing he actually eats for dinner.
It was stuff *I* would have eaten happily and asked for more, but he's a bit picky here and there. So we heated up some of the chicken soup, kugel, and roast brisket. He had soup left over, so Mom gave it to a nurse to hold in their fridge for him (which soup--and a nice pottery bowl--were promptly stolen by someone later that night).
Dad, who will get out Wednesday, seemed well; the short-term memory lapses are much fewer, and he's got his twinkle, for lack of a better word, back. He still refuses to walk with a cane or walker once he gets home, though, which will cause Mom no small amount of agita.
The earlier crossed-lines concerning what Vicki does and doesn't eat was my fault, really; I should have specified--but I put Mom at ease by taking her aside and putting a word in her ear, explaining that Vicki really doesn't eat certain things due to digestive limitation and that she was REALLY worried about offending her. Mom took this with a startling amount of equanimity; I was very pleasantly surprised.
Also a pleasant surprise was that Uncle Larry looks and sounds well. Despite the sparse hair (from the chemo), he's in no pain, has healed nicely from the surgeries, and has all of his joie de vivre and appetite back. Plus--a BIG plus--we didn't snark at each other at all until one slight unimportant moment tonight. (We bring it out in each other; he remembers my know-it-all phase, some fifteen years back, and continues to ascribe it to me in the now, whereas I see in him the stereotypical Manhattanite [not that he's lived there for thirty years] attitude of, if he doesn't know about it and like it, then it's unimportant.
[here my sister will likely chime in to point out that we're both off-the-mark in our estimations of one another, and she'll be right. But then, that doesn't mean we're WRONG, exactly.])
And they liked Vicki, which, though not terribly important in the large scheme of things to ME (as long as Adam likes her, Paula likes her, and Alma likes her, I care not a whit about the rest of the world), was to her.
After I got home and saw Vicki off, i spoke to Adam on the phone. He likes her (yay!), but asked an interesting question: What interests do she and I share?
And, you know, that's a damned good question. There are a great many things we do not have in common. I read as if it were absolutely necessary to my minute-to-minute survival. She loves reading, but simply hasn't had much time for it of late. Our musical tastes are wildly divergent, touching only here and there. The same goes for food.
But within a fraction of a heartbeat, I replied, "Our outlook." Both of us are deeply passionate about helping other people; about doing right by people. We both hold friendship as the highest state to which people can aspire. We're both deeply empathic. We both love animals (sure, she SAYS she doesn't like cats, but went all gooshy over mine). And we both enjoy finding new things and new experiences, though we've neither of us had enough opportunity for that.
Is that enough for a lasting relationship? I don't know. But if you look at the two of us and how we interact, it certainly seems as if it might be.