When I was a kid, this time of year was time to change from storm
windows to screens. Now it is time to realize that it is not quite
time to take out the window air conditioners. There is still a heat
wave pending.
This morning there was only the local paper on the front step. No NYT.
I was thinking calling, then realized that we just changed from the
Minneapolis paper and therefore delivery has changed, too.
Yesterday was visit grandmother day. We started with Bernice in Cold
Spring and then moved on to my mom in Sartell.
But the trip really started with an amygdala moment while sitting on
the couch on the porch about 9:00. Dorothea said "Can we go please?"
in a tone of voice that pushed my "blamed" button. I think I said
something not not-so-clever like "why are you doing this?" she
launched into what I perceived as Stab 2: "When you're moving out the
door the children follow."
Now I was pissed. I asked her to please stop. I don't remember if I
had gone inside to get my things and returned, picked them up right
there on the porch, or was about to go get them when Dorothea went for
the jugular, Stab 3: "My mother is expecting us at 11:30 . . ." I said
something like I don't want to deal with this right now. I was turning
to walk out the front door of the porch , and she made some comment
about my not being ready. Stab 4.
Stopped and turned to address her. She said "Don't point."
Still not sure how to recount the exact details, but I ended up saying
that as she described things is not what happened.
Scene Two: The car. We eventually get to the point where Dorothea says
that there are unpredictable times when something that she says or
does triggers an amygdala response from me. True enough. My comment
was that I should have a light on me chest that starts flahing red
when a button has been pushed. The next time that Dorothea said
something that upset me, I pointed to and mimicked the imaginary
flashing. She got it.
Some side notes. Dorothea observed that I respond differently when
Madeline says something disrespectful to me. I agree. I think that's a
testament to the complications of intimate relationships. Also,
Dorothea, because of the complications of the relationship to her
mother, is always a bit on edge about mother visits.
And a side-side bar. Not so long ago--in the last year--we were
playing cards with my mom. We'd asked her to teach us 500. Not only
was she doing that, but she was making us feel like complete drooling
morons. More recently, we aren't even playing cards anymore.
Bernice seemed fine. I for one have no interest in seeing the
baseball-size tumor in her arm pit.
--
David
www.schons.net
