My family isn't from Mayberry

Every family, I’ve come to find out, has it’s internal dramas and life just isn’t going to be smooth all the time. Today was an excellent example of that, and how it can - sometimes - work itself out.

Let’s just say that I didn’t have the best day at work. I came home feeling dull witted and plain stupid … perhaps like I might be in over my head. Probably not true, but there you are.

My Mother isn’t Aunt Bea

When I got home, my 92 year old Mother  - the absolute passive-agressive Queen of the Glass Half Full School of Life Sucks - was sitting in the kitchen with her trademark scowl. Mr. Maven had supposedly told her to sit out there and shut up.

Not on your life would that ever happen.

Meanwhile, he was in the library completing the sale for a car that our little African daughter by default -Natacha - wanted one day, but not the next. That was six grand plus the license and registration out of the checking account.

Things have been a little wonky around here lately. I was fit to be tied. Either hand me a Manhattan or shoot me. Please.

Somedays ‘togetherness’ is more than one can bear

It’s hard being a family. It’s hard to trust when trust hasn’t been a reliable, positive part of your life.

I know this for a fact from personal experience, as has Mr. Maven … Natacha is learning this the hard way, from a lifetime of hard knocks and profound disappointments in Africa. There are just going to be times when you want to wring the other persons’ neck and hand them a suitcase. Or, perhaps just grab your own suitcase and go join the freaking circus.

Mother, Mr. Maven and I went out to eat - and have the Manhattans - and of course Ma performed to expectations. The food ( superb as always, Tim … Bistro 7 in Reno) was was just ‘alright’. She’s as deaf a doorpost and thinks everybody is intentionally trying to cut her out of the conversation.

When we came home, Ma left in a huff and I melted into a blob of blubbering, sobbing flesh.

Oh, the unfairness of it all.

Girly ‘cry fest’

Fortunately, Natacha wandered in and before I knew it we were both wailing, blubbering, apologizing and hugging. It was a real teary, drippy nose festival. She’s all worried that she won’t get her R.N. and be able to take care of me when I’m old.

But the bottom line here is this: you’ve got to learn to communicate effectively. That means listening intently, and understanding that what you hear is filtered through your experiences and may not be what the other person said at all. Ma has never learned to do that, and at 92 the odds aren’t good. She just makes it all up to suit whatever drama is going on in her head at that moment.

Natacha on the other hand is still trainable, and has a desire to change. I’ve got to hand it to her, once you really convince her that you do have her best interest at heart, then she listens and hears. It may occasionally take a ball peen hammer between the eyes ….

Don’t lose sight of today

My message was “sure you have goals … important ones. But they’re not worth destroying what we have today.” She’s been really focused lately, to the exclusion of everything else it seemed. “Don’t bother me, I’m busy.”  I don’t respond well to that. I can’t get past my cancer lessons: today may be all I’ve really got.

We all have things to learn from each other, even at my advanced age, when it comes to listening to actually hearing, and converting that to genuine, considered understanding. That, plus trust and ethical, respectful behavior being the only real things of value we can give each other.

I’m hoping that practice will someday make close to perfect. Tonight, however, it’s pretty close to perfect again.

maven