So. After Mother announced to the family that she’s moving out this weekend, the family mobilized to pack her bags for her. I wrote to you guys about the move yesterday morning and then took the dogs with me to go pick up my new Rx glasses. Once we got away from the house and free of the terrible emotions of my mother’s pronouncements, I must admit that I started feeling pretty good. And well too.
I called back out there to ask Gram what I might need to get from the grocery store. “Fer starters ya can grab yer mother a case a Kleenex. That crazy bitch is already weeping like a busted whistle an’ she ain’t even gone yet,” Gram told me. “An’ we need one a them bung holy jobbers to finish packin’ yer Mother’s shit.”
Huh? My grandmother needs a bung holy jobber to pack my mother’s shit?
Oh, I get it. I told her, “OK, so Mother has already started packing to move and you need a bungy cord to strap her bags closed and Kleenex to stuff her snuffles.”
“I didn’t stutter, boy, an’ who said anything ’bout Mother packin’ her own shit?”
That cleared up everything. The family got pissed at Mother’s pissiness and decided to move her out in advance of her current lease expiration date. I guess my mother has stiff opinions to offer but a weak sensitivity to stiff opinions offered.
Which reminds me. While I think that President Obama has done a decent job with our military and international applications thereof, my antiwar natures still wish that he would pull back from Gaf-loonystan faster and that he would use our military technologies and might more judiciously. But I’m today reminded that my status as an antiwar human isn’t the only reason for us to think more than twice before playing World Police Chief.
In the way of evidence, I give you Libya. We step into the frayed fabric of that Middle Eastern cesspool to prevent their leader from slaughtering hundreds of thousands of his own citizens and our thanks are recent events there. In my personal opinion, the millions of religious freaks that populate that part of the world are much less dangerous to America when governed by the iron fist of a strong dictator than they are when freed to not govern themselves.
If you examine each and every example of the US using its military and financial muscle to intervene in another country’s politics, you will see the long term failure of the strategy. Start with Viet Nam and come on down, America, you’re next up on The Price is Just Too Fucking High.
If we had the money we wasted on our attempts to stabilize unstablizable chunks of mineral-rich political geography instead on sustainable energy resources, we would be energy self sufficient by now.
In fact, my Gram had what I think is a brilliant idea just the other day. “We need ta have all a them convicts and soldiers and tha fucking politicians all blow hard to tha south. Put one a them wind chime dealies down to tha border and make ‘lectricity an’ clean tha global blanket too.”
When I reminded Gram that having political blowhards blow hard would likely have little effect on global warming, she corrected me.
“Them silly fuckers can’t talk and blow too, Mooner.”
While I’m still skeptical as to the reduction of greenhouse gas with Gram’s plan, I can see that the noise pollution might be nearly cured. Add to that the total insane stupidity of Herr Field Marshall Rommel’s attempt to lie about the President for a political point over the attacks on American embassies and I’m even more ready to move to the Land of Enchantment.
Anyway, I stopped to get the Kleenex and stretchy straps and headed home. When I arrived, I found Mother sitting on the back porch amidst a broad assortment of luggage and black plastic bags.
“Why all the plastic bags, Mother? We have plenty of luggage to get you moved,” I told her.
“Your grandmother wouldn’t let me use any luggage but my own—said that since I bought a one-way ticket I’d use the plastic bags.” Mother sighed quite deeply and added, “I’ve never been more humiliated!”
Really? Arriving at her new address with plastic bag luggage is her most humiliating moment? Me, I was most humiliated when the half a Kotex pad I used to pack my infected ass fell out over to Dr. Sam I. Am’s place when I was mowing the grass that one time.
Or was it when I had a wet dream on that American Airlines flight back in 1982? That’s why I always wear long pants on the plane these days. And how sheltered has a woman been to have plastic bag luggage her most embarrassing moment?
Anyway, due to familial intercedence, Mother has moved a few days in advance of her plans. I asked her as she sat beside her possessions if I could load her stuff into the truck and take her to San Antonio.
“Oh, don’t you worry about me, Mooner. Pastor Browningwell has sent the church bus to pick me up. Now kiss me “Goodbye” and leave me alone.”
I did, and except to ask her to phone when got settled in, I have. That was 1 pm yesterday and we haven’t heard from her since. But I’m not worried. I’m relieved.
Sometimes life actually serves you the lemonade.