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Like mother, like daughtersYou don't know how much it pains me to say this, but my sister was right. I'm turning into our mother. I was supposed to be a lot older before this happened. Then again, I've never been conventional, so why should I start now? Look, I love my mom, and I respect her very much. I'd do anything in my power for her comfort and happiness. But, I can't believe I let this happen to me already. Joni warned me that once I left home I'd find myself doing things in the same manner as Mom, but I didn't believe her. But, the other day I opened my kitchen junk drawer and the realization hit me--along with the hammer that fell out and onto my toe--that I was looking into an identical clone of my mother's junk drawer. It's even loosely organized like hers is, by which I mean I throw stuff in the drawer and smoosh it down enough to close the drawer and then forget about it. The process works until I need to actually find something in the drawer, or something falls out and breaks my toe. In which case, I then lose my temper, dump everything in the trash and swear to be neater in the future. The promise never lasts past a week, though. I looked around my kitchen and saw that I had once again accumulated enough plastic grocery bags to open my own discount chain store. Like Mom I keep them out of some Heloise-induced guilt over throwing anything recyclable away without using it again. I guess that also explains the stockpile of butter tubs and cardboard boxes in my cupboard. Most disturbing, though, is the "nesting" habit Mom passed on. When she and Dad drive a long distance, she likes to make a little nest in the pickup seat. She doesn't go anywhere without her back pillow, a neck pillow, and one more pillow for good measure. She rests her feet on a small step stool because they don't quite touch the floor and it hurts her legs to ride without them resting comfortably. She's not truly content without a blanket to ward of Dad's air conditioning fixation, and the dog on her lap for extra comfort. All in all, her nest takes over the front seat and two-thirds of the back seat of Dad's extended cab Dodge dually. The other day, I realized that I had truly morphed into my mother when, on a long ride, I had my pillow, a blanket, my feet propped up on a cooler and Shiloh the Wonder Dog dozing happily in my lap. All I was missing was the habit of waking every 10 minutes in a panic mode thinking the sound of shifting gears meant we were driving off into a ditch. My friend, who was driving at the time, just about ran off the road when he realized the similarities. I'm never going to hear the end of it from him. I can't say my older sister didn't warn me about all of this. After all, Joni does have a few years of experience on me in these matters and told me this might happen any day now. I chose to ignore her warnings, though. I mean, I'm too young to be complaining about loud music from my neighbors and the price of fuel. But you know, obnoxious music at 10 p.m. is a little disrespectful, and really, the price of gasoline has gotten out of hand lately. And, since when did they start playing the song I first danced to in junior high school on the easy listening radio station? Whitney Houston's version of "I Will Always Love You" is not "Adult Contemporary." According to Joni, pretty soon my priorities will shift from Friday night parties with my friends to Sunday morning brunches with them. And, then, I'll officially be an adult. Big whoop. I hate it when Joni's right. Jennifer Latzke can be reached by phone at 620-227-1807, or by email at jlatzke@hpj.com. Date: 10/26/04
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