I love the blog, A Mask to Hide Behind, which is now (June 2009) actually A LIFE IN THE DAY OF ME. In fact, I like it so well that it is currently one of only two Blogs I subscribe to. Of course, it may be they are the only ones who make it easy to figure out how to subscribe to and there are days when it comes in my email and later I click down my blog links and go, “Drat! I already read this one.” and I am disappointed that I have alrady had the experience. So, I am not sure I like this subscribe thing.
But, the “girl behind the mask” writes in such a simple, direct manner, and her family gives her so much good material, that it has become my daily morning laugh. After I am done laughing, I can let out that deep sigh and return to my family, saying, “They’re not all that bad.”
Ah, but they are; just in their own way.
My mother for one: She is of a generation who does not sweat or swear or actually discuss any bodily functions. Words like piddle and sugar are as bad a swear word as she gets. It is also wrong for a woman to have a temper.
Now, my father had a temper that made up for her lack of one. Once, when they were newly married and living in a tiny house trailer, he got mad and kicked the wood stove. The stove leg broke, causing the stove to crash to the side and dump, the pipe came unhinged, and soot and ash covered everything.
“Do you feel better now?” Mom asked him.
“Yes, I do.” He replied.
“Then, clean it up yourself.”
(Honest: I am not sure of the conversation, as I was not born yet, but that is what I imagine the conversation to be. Mind you, that is nowhere near what I would have said, as I grabbed my coat and car keys, but mom did not drive, and the conversation probably ended in her cleaning up the soot.)
Many years later, after the children were grown and gone and the “debates” raged in their house as to whether the sky was really blue, or whether it was a bird or a bear on the deck, or had the electric bill come or who actually put the tax forms in the dash of the car (and that was a good one too, as dad actually <when he found the forms in the dash> had to admit that he had done it, but belligerently he added, “Why did you let me do that?”
Thus, making it mom’s fault.
After all this, came a day when mother had enough of dad’s temper.
They were in the kitchen, when the shit hit the fan, so to speak (and she would never ever say that either). Mother just had enough of dad’s yelling, and she took her hand and swept dishes and a box of Twinkies off the counter.
As I understand it, the Twinkies flew across the room, hit a wall and bounced down the stairs. Dad stood open mouthed at the hitherto unseen violence of mom’s actions and mom took off for the bedroom crying; not because she was mad at dad but because she had fallen so far that she committed a violent act like throwing the Twinkies.
Such an unladylike thing to do! Tisk! Tisk!
Later she would remark that temper serves no purpose, as besides having broken dishes, which also cut her leg, she now had a dirty box of Twinkies
“But, didn’t you feel better, Mom?” I asked when the story was relayed to me.
Head down and eyes up, she sheepishly replied a barely audible, “Yes, but I had to clean it up.”
Read Full Post »