Above – The Devil’s tools.
I went shopping with my mom Clara a few days ago. The planning process for this trip took about 4 years. She is in Assisted Living and in a wheelchair, so we had been plotting and scheming that I would meet the Handi-bus at Walmart and then the two of us would go in. We went over some scenarios and settled on her carrying a handbasket in her lap to put her stuff in.
The plan was solid, I was a go, but Clara was in and out of the plan. If we were criminals putting together a bank robbery, she would have been buried in the desert by now. She had too much knowledge of the plan but she wouldn’t get on board. Criminals would never put up with that. I did. For 4 years.
Then on a Tuesday she announced that we were going to Walmart on FRIDAY. Hmmm. Okay, Déjà vu x 994. I can get down with that. We’re going to Walmart on Friday; if she is up to it; if she isn’t too tired; if the weather is good; if she doesn’t have a cold/diphtheria/tuberculosis; if the Handi-bus will come; if I will show up (I resented that, by the way); if her wheelchair is working (it’s never been broken, ever); if I will show up (my load is heavy); if nothing else comes up; and so forth. Once we got all of the covenants out of the way, I settled into the week, semi-planning for our trip.
Friday morning dawned a snow-free day as it had been for weeks. Weather is good. Check. I phoned Clara at 10:00, taking a chance that I was interrupting her televised Catholic Mass Service but this was much more important.
Me: ARE WE A GO TODAY FOR WALMART?
Clara: WELL, OF COURSE. I’LL SEE YOU THERE AT 2 PM. (Like my confirming of this non-existent trip to Walmart was nonsense – we go all the time).
I got ready and I kept saying to Bru – SHE’S GOING TO CALL AND SAY SHE’S NOT GOING. LISTEN FOR THE PHONE WHILE I SHOWER.
Then, SHE’S GOING TO CALL – IT’S ALREADY 1:15.
Then, IT’S 1:45 – SHE’S SEEING THIS THROUGH OR BLUFFING ME RIGHT TO THE END. I HAVE TO DRIVE TO WALMART AND WATCH FOR THE HANDI-BUS.
Bru solemnly saluted me.
One thing that has to be said about Clara (who is 93 and still sharp as a used tack) is that she is a thief, in the kindest way possible. She eats grapes at the store. When Bru and I were first married, we went shopping with her and he saw her ‘tasting’ the grapes in the produce section by eating 5 green, 5 red and then heading back to the green again. As a cop, he told her that she was stealing. She said NO, THEY EXPECT YOU TO TASTE THE GRAPES.
He pointed out to her that she had already consumed 5 lbs of grapes and if he wanted to, he could arrest her. I don’t recall her response but it likely was not anything I could repeat here anyway. They get along great, but he threatened her grape tasting future and that is simply not done.
Anyhoo, I was parked in front of Walmart, smoking and watching the front drive like a hawk, listening to music that had some good bass, when I saw the Handi-bus pull up. Clara had either called the bluff or this was the worst timed coincidence ever. I vaguely ran my hand through my purse for my meds.
When the bus stopped, I stubbed out my cigarette, turned everything off, grabbed my bags and ran up to the door. The guy was just unloading this little, tiny wheelchair and as I strained my eyes into the gloom of the bus, I saw….CLARA. Holy Sweet Mother of God (not her, it’s just a saying).
There she was. After 4 years of drawing maps, pulling the plans to Walmart, driving the route over and over, taking surreptitious phone shots of the interior and making a master board on her wall that included red yarn, we had FINALLY DONE IT. I was kind of scared now and really just wanted to go home.
When she got out into the sunshine she saw me and casually said WELL, HELLO THERE. I thought, well okay, this is how we’re doing this. So I said hi, too. She’d had her hair done the day before, with a cut and set, and she looked really good, so I complimented her on that right away. She touched her little curls and said that she had been getting compliments on her hair since she got back from the Salon – which is located right in Sagewood.
So into Walmart we went. I grabbed the basket, popped it into her lap, made sure she was comfortable with that and we began our first shopping trip ever with her in a wheelchair and me pushing.
I believe it is now important to point out that in her eyes, I am 4 and I smell like pee. I apparently also have some look on my face that I have just done something bad, like took a nickel out of her purse or ate a dog biscuit on a dare from my brother. Whatever it is, I am always in trouble so the dynamics of this shopping trip were nothing like they looked. She was totally in charge – make no mistake. I was nothing more than THE HELP.
So we began by hitting Ladies Wear and she had me hold certain pieces in front of her so she could see and touch them.
One more thing about Clara. She is extremely tactile and has to touch EVERYTHING. Shopping with her when I was a child was absolute and complete AGONY because I don’t want to walk up every single aisle and touch every single thing. We don’t and have not shopped together for millions of years for just that reason. Fun Fact: When I was a kid, she thinks that I got lost in a store after we had been shopping for 90 minutes. No, that is not true. I was trying to run away. Anywhere would have been better than that shopping trip we were on in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan in the 60’s. They didn’t ‘find’ me, they caught me and brought me back.
So here we were in Walmart, she working her Tactile Fuckery and I can feel it all coming back, but I am an adult now and I have years of experience to draw on and manage my emotions. We work our way through Ladies, she picks up a few nice pieces, we head to Cookies and Candy where she stocks up pretty good, over to Stationery to feed her other fetish where she gets pens, a ruler and some other stuff to make signs to warn people not to touch her stuff and then she says… LET’S GO TO PRODUCE.
WHAT?
LET’S GO LOOK AT THE FRUIT.
MOM, THEY DON’T HAVE ANY FRUIT HERE.
OF COURSE THEY DO, I SAW IT WHEN WE CAME IN. I WANT THOSE THINGS, OH WHAT ARE THEY CALLED? THEY ARE RED AND GREEN. WHAT ARE THEY?
I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT.
IT’S THE FRUIT THAT IS RED OR GREEN.
Rats.
GRAPES?
YES, GRAPES. TAKE ME TO THE GRAPES.
So, there it was. This whole trip was a smokescreen because she had been jonesing for a Crimewave. And I was her accomplice. Who is going to put a 93 year old in jail when they can pluck her stunningly beautiful 60 year old daughter off the floor and throw her in prison instead? Besides, Clara would roll on me in a heartbeat. I was done.
I pushed her over to the grapes, my shoulders sagging at all I was going to have to give up – Netflix, Facebook, good coffee with creamer, ordering stuff online, and so much more. We got to the fruit and I found a bag of red grapes and brought them over to her. I opened the top a bit and said – JUST LOOK INSIDE AND YOU CAN SEE WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE.
And then, like a flashback from my childhood, my early married days, and every other time, her little bony hand snaked into that bag and grabbed a couple of grapes. It whipped out so fast I kind of had to blink. She stuffed the grapes into her mouth and said NEH GEB ME SUB GREEN WUDS. Her mouth was full, no stroke or anything.
I went over to get the green grapes and I brought them over and opened that bag too. Replay and she was chomping down on a few. Oh God, where was Security? Were they watching us?
I saw her hand heading back for the bag and I snapped it shut and I said NO, I WILL NOT BE A PARTY TO YOUR GRAPE STEALING WAYS ANY MORE. IF YOU WANT SOME GRAPES, YOU BUY THEM. Then I waited.
OKAY, she says. GET ME SOME RED ONES, BUT NOT A FULL BAG. Good, I thought, we can use the bag you ate from – there’s about half left.
So that was easier than I thought. She bought the grapes along with all of her other stuff but I doubt that they tasted anywhere near as good as they did in the store. We paid for her stuff, the Handi-bus came and whisked her back home, while I followed in my car, dutifully carrying her bags and walking just a little bit behind, exactly where I belonged.