Archive for August, 2017

8.15.17

August 15, 2017

“When’s your next trip,” Maga asked.

“Thursday.”

“Oh, I’m having visitors on Thursday too.”

“My mom and dad, right?”

“Yes!”

“I’m also headed west, but not quite to Colorado.”

“And why are you going there?”

“To celebrate my friend’s bachelorette party.”

“Is this a friend from work?”

“No. We have mutual friends in common.”

“Oh. So this is for her wedding shower?”

“Not exactly. The bachelorette party is more like a celebration of her last, wild night out before she has to settle down into marriage.”

“Oh my. We didn’t do anything like that when I got married. Is she from [city we’re going to]?”

“Nope. She’s from here. She’s local.”

“Do you know her from work?”

“No. From mutual friends.”

“I’m glad I’ll have visitors this weekend too.”

“Me too.”

“And if you ever get the urge to travel out west to my area, the invitation’s always open.”

“I always have the urge to see you, Maga! I’ve been out twice already this year which is once more than my usual, but I’m hoping to get another trip out to you under my belt.”

“You have been out twice, haven’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true.”

Although sometimes the urge not to repeat myself 15x does lead me to stretch the truth from time to time… ;)

8.8.17 – 8.9.17

August 9, 2017

The first call was on a train. Too much background noise to hold a conversation with a 96yo.

The second call was too short. Too little time between my friend finishing up and dinner needing to be ordered.

The third call hit a snag as I was unlocking my door and my neighbor, thinking it was his fiancĂ© on the front porch, appeared in the doorway in an outfit not entirely fit for public consumption. My laughter confused Maga who demanded, “Why are you laughing?” as if I was the one being inappropriate. If only she could see what I did.

I tried to explain it, but this being our third time trying to connect this week, me being constantly on the move was too much for her brain to process.

“And how are you?” I steered the conversation back to neutral ground.

“I’m 96. That’s how I am.”

Apparently NOT a safe topic choice. I tried again. “Have you ever been to Maine?”

“Oh yes. Nila Slaven used to invite Nana and I up to visit. She had a tennis court and such.”

“Who?”

“Nila Slaven. She was very wealthy.”

“With a tennis court at her house? I’ll say. Did she have any children for you to play with?”

“No. I don’t believe she was even married.”

“Wow. And all that money?! That’s a story I’d love to hear.”

“She met Nana on a boat to Europe and they became fast friends. She’d invite us up every summer for a couple of weeks.”

“Oh, yes, Blue Hills. My mom showed me where you used to go. It’s fairly close to where we were just staying. How long would it take you to get there? Did you drive?”

“Back in those days, we took the train. Probably to Bangor and then someone would pick us up from there.”

“Uh, in these days, I take the train. That’s what I was doing last night when we couldn’t talk!”

“Good point. I guess things aren’t so different.”

Minus the part where I have friends with tennis courts on their private estates.