Mome

You never know who's going to influence your life. Or, who's going to give you a nickname.

I got to be the first grandchild on my mother's side of the family. I nicknamed my grandmother "Bobbye." No one knows why. My friend Carol's grandchildren call her "Grandma Chi Chi." Big S's grandchildren call her "Da." Her husband is "Boo." My friend Cynthia's mother is "Mome." I used to call her Mrs. Summers but after a few years of nudging us to call her Mome, it stuck.

It's been almost 20 years since I first met Mome. She has a full family, tons of friends and she certainly doesn't need me in her circle. Occasionally, I stick myself in there anyway. She has always welcomed me with open arms.

At her 90th birthday party, I was honored to sit beside her. She allowed me to cut her meat. She allowed me to dig through her handbag for something she needed. She trusts me and I feel blessed.

In the early days, we used to go to the lake cottage with our friends, little kids, dogs, etc. -- and Mome. We've spent many years sharing stories, sharing a bathroom, sharing books and gossip. She is always a sport. We might not eat until 9:00 or later. She just hung out like a trooper.

Yesterday, my girlfriend (Mome's daughter,) took her to the lake to see the improvements they've made to the cottage. A wheelchair and a walker were involved. Her vision is extremely limited. Her range of movement is skewed. Yet, a trip to the lake was thrilling, I imagine. I've spent some time moving oldies in wheelchairs and dealing with walkers. I've coordinated it with airlines and hospitals. I need to buy this girl a drink!

During their visit yesterday, Mome told her daughter that it was her last visit to the lake. That's probably true. When someplace has been a part of your heart and history for 90 years, I can't imagine making this declaration.

Here are some of the things I've learned from Mome:

Milk cartons do not belong on the table
BenGay cures it all
Good manners will carry you a long way
A little gossip is ok, as long as you're not malicious

Calling someone Grandma seems to be passe. I'm not anxious for grandchildren but when they come ... if I get a vote ... I want them to call me Mome.

A Storm

Storms are magical, especially when you're safely tucked in.

My friend's lake cottage is a marvelous place to watch a storm. We can be on the pier and see that it's raining across the lake. We see the big clouds looming and watch the lightning in the distance. I know the routine and we become a well-oiled machine. We stack and tie down the pier furniture, gather our stuff and head to the patio. We take in the cushions and close the windows. Then, we pour a glass of wine and go back to the patio to watch the storm approach. We wait until the last second to run inside. (We're at the lake -- we're already wet.) Her dogs get a little antsy but my puppy seems oblivious.

After the storm, everything smells clean. The air is calm. We open the windows and put everything back in its proper place. We run outside to see if there is a rainbow. All is well.

I wish household storms were so fun.

17 Steps

This is in no way a comment about people with autism or parents with autistic children. But, I am fascinated with it and I'm self-diagnosing here ... I have a touch of it. Not enough to become Rain Man, just a smidge.

When I can't sleep, I play numbers games in my head. I remember numbers in a way that is bizarre. I spend my day playing with words; I spend my nights with numbers, trying to bore myself into slumber land.

Muscle memory is a weird thing. I've been going to my friend's lake cottage for almost two decades. I know every step and every dip. This year, they redid the patio, walkway and the steps to the pier with some new space-age material. It's fabulous, yet, it has me stumbling. (Stupid reading glasses don't help.) Muscle memory kicks in. I'm supposed to step down here. No!

My friend told me it's 17 steps from the patio to the pier. Now I can count and that helps.

Water

The pool is open! Many of my friends have pools but that has never appealed to me. Looks like a lot of work. Instead, I wait impatiently for our club pool to open and then jump up and down like a 5-year old when it does. As old members, the girlfriends and I have commandeered our special spot. We call it "Cocktail Corner." After golf, the husbands are allowed to join us. Every once in a while, some unknowing person ventures into our space. Wrong! We find a way to move them along. (We're usually polite.) You have to have been around the block a time or two to sit in Cocktail Corner.

I have friends with lake cottages. I can be packed before I hang up the phone. My blood pressure goes down significantly the moment I see the lake. Dogs and friends make for added fun but mainly, I like looking at the water, watching the sunset, cocktails on the pier and our other routines. (The wet dogs make Big Daddy crazy.) Dinner at 8pm? Dinner at 10pm? Who cares? Let's all go for a boat ride.

I love the ocean. Some people have this weird thing about flying over water. Are you any less dead if you crash in water versus on land? Call me crazy but I don't think so. I love to walk along the beach, I love the crash of the waves, I love the enormity of it all. I love the smell of ocean air. I love the memories.

The husband has a similar fondness for the mountains. I understand that. Mountains are majestic and I am in awe of the beauty they behold. I still need some water.

When I need an escape from the oldies, I love to take a swim in my tub.