My mother is 98-years-old now. My mother is four scores and eighteen. So many scores to settle. So little time. The scores will not be settled. They will settle themselves in memory. May they settle in peace, tranquility, humor, love and – sorry, mom – FUN.
Enjoy EVERY sandwich. Even the meh ones. Warren Zevon said it. Why he chose sandwich rather than meatball, muffin or mango, we will never know. The sandwich is a metaphor for everything though, even the meh parts, so, to my satisfaction, the question is answered. I know this but do not practice it consistently. Because the questions. Who deserves to enjoy EVERY sandwich? Why would enjoyment be the point of living? If I enjoy this sandwich will I have to pay the piper? Come on, eating, aka life, is for pleasure? Suffering is the human condition, why not me? This sandwich? Now?
Please take my word for it and start now. Do not wait until you are the child of a 98-year-old, even if you are the youngest and so you are not almost 80-years-old yourself. Still… Still enough for pleasure. Be still enough for pleasure. Take your time. Swish it around, let if waft over you, grab it if you need to grab it.
She is not enjoying her sandwiches, hard as I try to make them delicious. Well, occasionally, small twinkle in her eye, seemingly reluctantly, she lets on we struck gold, a delicious gold egg yolk crushed into salad with its white, some mayonnaise, little grated onion, minced celery. Once in a while, so subtle. It is killing me, the lack of enjoyment. Gah, the moments seem especially precious, even though they are the same moments as those given to a baby.
So much stripped away by age. Experiencing it a little, seeing it a lot. Fun is there to be had. You just gotta make it, or take it.
“I am not effusive,” she said the other day. “I am not a mind reader, mom,” I commented. We are both getting mean. I’m still holding a grudge from this long ago remark, “Lisa, you have a maddening way of seeming to always have fun.” Not to put too fine a point on it, but that was not a compliment. And there is this as well, “Lisa, you put a premium on fun.” I’ll take it!
Small aside. I believe the one person we all believe over anyone is our mother. Tell your children they are lovable, beautiful, remarkable. Have fun with them. Fact: we are all remarkable. Fact: we believe it most when spoken by our mothers.
Please forgive me for seeming unkind to the vulnerable, intelligent, complicated woman who is my mother. I am not at all ungrateful. Word.
The Lunch Encounter 