Let us praise him.

I know it's been a long time since I've posted. I'm a horrible blogger.

Meanwhile, I've been looking into refinancing my place. Interest rates are low. Why not try? I tell this to my mother.

Mom: Well, thank God your car is paid off.

Me: Thank God? He didn't have anything to do with it.

Mom: What are you talking about?

Me: You just said I should thank God. God didn't make the extra car payments.

Mom: Don't get nasty!

Verbatim.

I thought I'd just share the email my mother sent this morning. Bear in mind, there was no "hello," and I haven't talked to her since yesterday.

my mom is very sick. swollem glads, sore throat, coughing, just generally lousy. you know, the older you get and you get sick like that it could mean the end of your life. that is what happened with grandma bklyn. she caught an upper resp. infection, and could not get better.

Good morning to you, too, Mom.

So what.

A few months ago, my mother asked for my opinion. (It doesn't even matter what the topic was, so don't trouble yourself with curiosity.) She actually listened to me, and even followed my advice. But then, last night, she reversed her decision. This is fine with me - it's her prerogative. This is how she explained it:

I know you are going to say I'm wrong, but you know what? So what.

That's one viewpoint.

Mom: I'm going to say something and I know you're going to disagree and I know it's going to start an argument.

Me: Then don't.

Mom: Don't what?

Me: Don't say it.

Mom: Why? I'm allowed to have an opinion.

Me: Of course, but I'm just saying, if it's going to start a fight, why bother?

Mom: Everything I say to you is always wrong.

And Now, a Moment of Reverence.

My honorary godfather died last week, and was buried earlier this afternoon. Of course, my mother came to the funeral. Going into public with her is always a terrifying prospect, and she rarely disappoints in terms of humiliation. Today was no exception. The rabbi got out of his car and walked into the small group of people standing in front of me, my mother and my father.

Mom: "Holy God, the rabbi got so damn old."

That sounds like an extensive list.

Nana: Do you still use your cooker (crock pot)?

Me: No, not really.

Nana: Oh, because you don't eat meat anymore.

Me: Right. There's not a lot I can think of to put in there most of the time.

Nana: All right. So now I know there's another thing you don't do.

Technology kills.

I believe this is a very loose paraphrase, but you - my ever-understanding reader - will understand.

My mother: I don't like putting personal information into forms on the internet. That's how they broke into the Pentagon.

So many things, so many things. Which shall I choose? Having just hung up the phone with my sister, I now have more fodder than I originally planned.

Nana is going blind. This has been a progressive thing for a long time, and it's horrible. It seems as though it's ramping up quite a bit. It also seems a good argument to have someone at least stay with her all day.

The answer, usually, is that her sister spends most of her time with her.

Understand, appreciated reader, that Nana's sister is also about 80 and is smaller than Nana. So if Nana takes a tumble, it's not as though Gloria's going to be right there to catch her before landing. I believe Gloria still drives, which would be a horrible thing, because the last time I was in the car with her she confidently turned the wrong way down a one-way street and nearly killed all of us and several unsuspecting people in a Volkswagen. The idea of 80 year old Gloria - who is probably shrinking due to age and was never really tall enough to see over the steering wheel of the car resembling Queen Mary which she's been driving since I learned to properly apply eyeliner - commandeering a car is bone-chilling.

Well, Gloria fell. As 80 year olds are wont to do. So we've now got Nana getting shuffled over to Gloria to "help." I'm sure the company is nice for both of them and I'm just as sure that the reality is a little scarier for everyone involved. And those uninvolved, because I'm pretty sure Nana's still using the kitchen appliances, even those requiring fire. (Maybe it's an electric stove. I don't know.)

The real question is, why don't they just move in together? If they're going to be with each other everyday, why bother shuttling around? It's not about independence. These are the women who, standing in front of the fish counter, had an epiphany that the butcher probably noticed that they're always there together. To ensure his total understanding of the situation, they announced, "We're not lesbians. We're sisters." And now let the butcher try to erase that memory from his brain.

Would you like to know their reason for not wanting to move in together? First please understand that they live in identical condos. They bought them probably on the same day in 1979 or something. And, for the most part, their furniture is arranged in an identical manner. They also both have the same smell. (The condos, not the women. Although, maybe.) It's a two bedroom, or a one-bedroom with a "den."

The reason they don't want to move in together is that neither of them want the smaller room.