Tag: tuesdays with maga

“How’s work going?” Maga asked.

“Crazy busy.”

“I’ll bet. I’ll bet you wish you didn’t have to do that sometimes.”

“AHH, WELL,” I said quickly and loudly as if I could erase what she said. “No, I don’t wish that. We had layoffs this summer so I’m quite happy to be crazy busy. Well, maybe not crazy busy. But you get it.”

“Oh, well, don’t wish for that.”

As my thoughts drifted towards my gratitude at being employed, I steered Maga in the same direction as we covered all of the family (long distance and local) who visits her (and not me!) and what her secret is (“I’m an old lady who can’t travel so everyone must come to me”) and how nice it actually is where she lives and how even if the food isn’t great, at least she doesn’t have to cook it herself. It was an exercise in counting your blessings and we both have many.

“Abby, dear. Is it you?”

“It is.”

“Is it Tuesday?”

“It is.”

“I was contemplating calling your mother, but thought it might be too late.”

“It’s not too late for me.”

“No, that’s right because you’ve been out and about at your game night.”

Her memory was spot on tonight, but when I pushed and asked her about her life before this exact moment, she paused, and sputtered, and turned the conversation back towards me.

When two people who don’t want to talk about themselves meet up in a conversation, things tend to go around and around and around. The weather gets discussed ad nauseum at the expense of personal details. Does this mean that if I want to learn about Maga, I have to offer information about myself first? Because there’s so much I want to know about her, but I just don’t think the details of my life are interesting enough to trade upon. I mean she’s the reason I’m here. Her legacy is me / my present, even if that means it’s just me myself and I. What exactly do I have to do to get her to expand upon her memories?

Suggestions? Comments? Please share.

“Did you go to your game night tonight?” Maga asked.

“I did.”

“How’d you do?”

“Third place.”

“Well, that’s great.”

I acknowledged the good cheer and ignored the fact we’d been in first place the majority of the evening. “You played games in college, right?”

“Oh, sure.”

“So, when you played bridge, how’d it go? Like did you play in a specific room or at dinner or after dinner?”

“Well, we had dinner in the dining room, so that would have been hard to play cards in there. We played after supper…”  She trailed off.

And I laid off pushing for more about the time before she met her husband, my grandfather, because I could tell from her tenor that the tendrils of her memories were too fine to grasp tonight. But, no matter how much or how little she remembered, I was a sponge for any detail because those times she experienced were in the same region of the world I’m in now, and yet, so very far away from what I’m currently living. In era, dress, love, finances, culture, and food.

“It’s a strange world,” Maga said. “Lots of ups and downs.”

It didn’t matter what she was specifically referencing; it was apt, it was true, and in the midst of it all, at least we had each other.

“Hi, Abby dear. Isn’t it Monday?”

“It is. But I had some time tonight and wanted to have more time to chat with you.”

“Well I sure do appreciate it. I’m lonely and missing my family tonight. I guess that happens when you get old.”

“Or when you live alone.”

“We’re in the same boat, I suppose,” Maga said. “What are you up to now?”

“Just folding some laundry.”

“That’s so great. Ha. Ha.”

Her use of sarcasm is so rare, I burst out laughing. Her hearing wasn’t top notch tonight, and she wasn’t hearing my explanation, so I quickly collected myself and tried a different tactic. “Actually, I don’t mind laundry. I’d rather do that than cook.”

“Oh. I see. You prefer that to other domestic activities.”

“You got it.”

“I always rather liked to cook. More than cleaning the house and what not.”

We may not agree on the laundry vs cooking debate, but we definitely fall on the same side of cleaning. On a night that felt lonely for us both, I hoped that commonality was enough to tide her over until Aunt J could next visit.

There was quite a bit of back and forth, but we managed to connect.

“MAGA! HI!” I fairly shouted.

“Oh, Abby, dear. So glad we could connect. I’m sorry I was busy earlier, but the pill lady arrived and when you’re 97, that’s a big part of your life.”

“Are you feeling okay? Your back?”

“I have spells when it hurts quite a bit more, but my knee is the really bad part of me.”

“Well, you do live in Colorado. Have you ever tried, you know, maraijuana?”

“Would a doctor prescribe that?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps?”

“My right knee pain is so localized. I don’t know if it would be helpful. I get a cream 2-3x a day right now. Not sure what would be better than that. All those tennis games that went to my knees.”

We chuckled and commiserated and discussed the pictures that came from the most recent glamorous family event. And then Maga dropped some very big family gossip that I won’t repeat.

I was suitably blown away by that news + the dating advice she felt the need to dispense upon me: “you don’t want to get a bad [guy], that wouldn’t work out so well” + the disappearing act she pulled shortly thereafter. I mean are dating habits nurture and not nature? Can I be taught better dating habits via a 97 year old who lives hundreds of miles away?

(I guess anything’s worth a shot, right?)