The Bride's Mother
I have been talked into attending an event that normally I would avoid like the plague, a big wedding, this coming Saturday.
I scarcely know the bride, though I have always admired her from what I have heard and the little that I have seen of her, which has been only twice that I can remember.
She is the only child of parents that lately I have come to know quite well. Nearly every Tuesday her father drives over here to play chess, while his wife goes walking with my wife. (He has yet to win a game,but that continues to be another story, concerning which I swear my innocence. His constant losses are his fault, not mine, and he is mistaken when, secure in his belief in his abilities, he claims that it is because I'm getting stronger. I mean, how can that be? I am a shaky old man, with vision that is not the best, or nerves either, and I've forgotten all my pet opening lines.)
His wife, B. is the one with Pick's Disease, a disorder of the frontal lobes that is lumped in with but is not a form of Alzheimers. It is supposed to be worse than Alzheimer's and to get worse, but so far she is as happy as a lark.
Like so many of the other Great Truths of Life that are well-known but never acknowledged, big weddings are held purely for the benefit of the bride's mother. But in this case the bride's mother lives a life in which she is taking a nonstop little stroll through meadows in the summer enlivened with birds singing and the warmth of the Sun and clouds with interesting shapes in the sky, and the grasses teeming with cats, rabbits, and many other small, cuddly animals.
That being so, at this upcoming event that my phobia at going anywhere causes me to anticipate with dread, so that a big countdown has now started, B. will act as if she is highly pleased with being among all these pleasant people who have such high regards for her, though she will not really remember all those beaming relatives at all, especially those of her husband, who will be in the great majority, and I am curious to see how this will unfold, and especially to see how aware the bride's mother will be of the significance of the event and of the crowning fact that her beloved lovely daughter is the star of it all.
It should be interesting, and I hope the rechargeable AA batteries that I have ordered online will get here in time. It would not do for the fancy digital camera that I have had for three years but still barely know to use to conk out right in the midst of things, and me with no fresh batteries on hand to augment with picture-taking all the people- and bride- and bride's mother-watching that promise to offer themselves in colorful profusion.
I scarcely know the bride, though I have always admired her from what I have heard and the little that I have seen of her, which has been only twice that I can remember.
She is the only child of parents that lately I have come to know quite well. Nearly every Tuesday her father drives over here to play chess, while his wife goes walking with my wife. (He has yet to win a game,but that continues to be another story, concerning which I swear my innocence. His constant losses are his fault, not mine, and he is mistaken when, secure in his belief in his abilities, he claims that it is because I'm getting stronger. I mean, how can that be? I am a shaky old man, with vision that is not the best, or nerves either, and I've forgotten all my pet opening lines.)
His wife, B. is the one with Pick's Disease, a disorder of the frontal lobes that is lumped in with but is not a form of Alzheimers. It is supposed to be worse than Alzheimer's and to get worse, but so far she is as happy as a lark.
Like so many of the other Great Truths of Life that are well-known but never acknowledged, big weddings are held purely for the benefit of the bride's mother. But in this case the bride's mother lives a life in which she is taking a nonstop little stroll through meadows in the summer enlivened with birds singing and the warmth of the Sun and clouds with interesting shapes in the sky, and the grasses teeming with cats, rabbits, and many other small, cuddly animals.
That being so, at this upcoming event that my phobia at going anywhere causes me to anticipate with dread, so that a big countdown has now started, B. will act as if she is highly pleased with being among all these pleasant people who have such high regards for her, though she will not really remember all those beaming relatives at all, especially those of her husband, who will be in the great majority, and I am curious to see how this will unfold, and especially to see how aware the bride's mother will be of the significance of the event and of the crowning fact that her beloved lovely daughter is the star of it all.
It should be interesting, and I hope the rechargeable AA batteries that I have ordered online will get here in time. It would not do for the fancy digital camera that I have had for three years but still barely know to use to conk out right in the midst of things, and me with no fresh batteries on hand to augment with picture-taking all the people- and bride- and bride's mother-watching that promise to offer themselves in colorful profusion.
posted by Carl (aka Sofarsogoo) | 2:01 PM
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