Mother

A Hasty Exit: The Bathroom Catastrophe Unveiled

When I left you, the infuriated man had just escorted Mother in the convenience store, had a long conversation with her about how much he missed his sainted mother, bought her coffee and a snack, and made sure she knew where the bathroom was. Not a word in my defense dropped from her quivering lips, nor did she explain the situation.  I guess it was on a need to know basis and he knew just exactly what she wanted him to know.  I wish he’d hung around for the bathroom catastrophe she initiated next.

As I mentioned earlier, Mother’s bathroom stops are leisurely affairs, involving meditation, warm conversation with new friends from the bathroom, and meticulous hand washing. Afterwards she digs lotion from her bag and admires herself in the mirror from every angle. The minimal bathroom break is thirteen minutes.  She flew in ahead of the rest of us as we were making our selections in the store, since it was just a one-occupant bathroom.  In this than a minute she flew out, wiping her wet hands on her jeans. 

“Let’s go! Let’s go!”

“Just as soon as we go to the bathroom.”  I protested. “I haven’t been to the bathroom or paid for my stuff.”

“Let’s go, now!”  Catching that unmistakable look we’d all seen so many times in the past, we left hurriedly, despite that fact that no one but Mother had taken care of any business.   There had to be something terribly amiss.  Mother never got in a rush to get out of a store or bathroom.

The story came out as we drove off.  After Mother flushed the toilet, the tank kept filling.  Ever the good citizen, she removed the tank cover with the intention of jiggling the lever.  Overestimating her abilities, she dropped the tank cover into the toilet bowl, shattering both, hence her hasty exit.  Water had flooded the bathroom and was pouring out into the hall.  As we searched frantically for another rest stop, Mother watched for a police car to pull us over as our full bladders spasmed. I know Mother would have thrown me to the wolves if we’d been apprehended. 

Keep in mind, this is only the first bathroom stop on this trip.

The Most Fun You’ll Never Have, Kathleen’s Amazing Bathroom Tour!

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Kathleen Swain and her daughters

Upper Left, Linda Swain Bethea, Right, Phyllis Swain Barrington

First Row Left, Kathleen Holdaway Swain (see how deceptively nice she looks)  Connie Swain Miller, Marilyn Grisham
It’s discouraging writing about my mother, Kathleen Holdaway Swain.  Despite my long, rich history of complaining endlessly about the trials of dealing with her, she keeps getting the best of me.  It’s made worse because I tower over her, outweigh her, and am much more physically imposing, but then, who isn’t?  I do my best to take care of her, and should I exhibit the slightest impatience, onlookers treat me like I am maligning a saint.  Granted, she is tiny, far less than five feet tall, has a squeaky Minnie Mouse voice, and looks like a delightful little old church-lady.  Though she smiles and greets every soul she meets, inwardly she is malicious and conniving, constantly plotting to make me look bad.  Sometimes it doesn’t take much.

Not so long ago, my sisters and I took Mother on a girl-trip.  We were laughing just before we got out of the car about the way she’d lecture us against potential bad behavior before she had to drag the five of us hyenas (her word) into a store or business. When we inevitably started to ask for stuff, anyway, despite her stern warning, she’d fix us with a look from Hell and warn, “Don’t start!  Just don’t start!”  That dried us right up.   

First of all, Mother is the slowest person in the history of Motherdom, in case I never mentioned it before.  As she walks along, she keeps a look out for lost coins in the parking lot and frequently finds them, additionally stopping to greet all passersby.  This was the first stop of the trip. I was hurrying ahead leaving her to drag up the rear, since I had to buy gas, thinking my sisters could keep her out of trouble.  Rather than dawdling with them as they got out of the car, she came running behind me like her life depended on not getting left, and believe me, it was not because she intended to buy gas.  She has four daughters to take care of that.  As a joke, she picked it where our conversation left off, calling behind me, “Linda, wait for me!  I want you to buy me…….” 

            Not realizing we had an audience of a couple in their late sixties, I called out behind me, without bothering to look, knowing she was just continuing our conversation from the car.  “Don’t start!  Just don’t start!”  Men in their fifties and sixties just love Mother, assuming she is just a sweet, little old lady, just like their dear mother.  They have no idea of the trouble she is capable of.  The man glared at me, striding into the store, leaving my poor, mistreated, little, old mother alone and uncared for, abandoned in the parking lot.  He took her by the arm and helped her into the store, making sure she had all the attention she needed.  He fixed her up with a sandwich and coffee, after fixing me with a scathing look of hatred.  I had no idea what I might have done till she rubbed my nose in it later.  I only wish he’d hung around long enough to know she was on her way to destroy the bathroom, literally, but more on that tomorrow.

To be continued…….

More Travels with Mother

hotmama.https://nutsrok.wordpress.com/2016/01/05/the-low-down-on-lunch-with-mother/
Travels With Mother (Part 2)

The Most Fun You’ll Never Have, Kathleen’s Amazing Bathroom Tour!

It’s Not What You Tank!

 

God was with us.  We got to our destination, Hot Springs, Arkansas without a lot more drama.  We checked into our room, a nice suite with two king-sized beds and an extra bed for the fifth in our party.  For some reason, though it was 104 degrees, we freshened up a bit before going out to see the town, allowing us to start out with a less vintage sweat.  Within minutes, we were rank.  Not to be deterred by a little thing like heat exhaustion, we explored every shop on Main Street, till Mother found a little shop selling belly-dancing costumes. She wouldn’t be budged.  Now, as I’ve said before, Mother is tight.  She had no intention of making such a frivolous purchase, but had to admire herself in one. Every inch of the stifling shop was crammed with exotic outfits with no space devoted to dressing rooms. The proprietor obviously didn’t expect belly-dancers to be overly modest. Not to be denied, Mother just slipped her favorite on over her clothes, despite the heavy customer traffic. She is a little old church lady, after all.  I would never have expected so much business in a store selling belly-dancing costumes. 

Mother had us hold her things while she tottered and struggled into her racy choice, bumping customers at every turn.  They had to have thought her mind was gone and we should have looked out for her better, or that we were in geriatric sex-trade, pimping her out to some perverted creature with a fetish for demented, antique belly-dancers.  Neither choice made us look good.  Eventually, she pranced a bit and had us take a picture or two for her Sunday School Class, before being convinced to leave.  The store clerk was not amused by any of this, but I figured if she thought she was big enough to straighten Mother out, she could go for it.  I know when I am whipped. 

Bigsmilemotorcyclemama

An amused motorcycle guy and his girlfriend were taking all this in and invited Mother to meet their friends waiting on their bikes just outside. I think the burly guys exact words were, “She reminds me so much of my mama!” With him as Mother’s escort, we escaped the wrath of the store owner who was obviously thought it was past time we left.

Mother charmed his friends.  Her new friend invited her for a ride, which she refused, but she did climb behind him on his bike to get her picture made.  Regretfully, he helped her off, after telling her, “Ma’am, you don’t have to go home with these girls if you don’t want to.  We coaxed her away after she exchanged phone numbers and addresses with them, insisting they all come visit.  
Later that evening, we made it back to our hotel, only to find the air-conditioning and bathroom both out of order in our room.  Mother took charge, went to see the manager, and got us transferred to the only room they had left, the Presidential Suite, complete with a hot-spring bath.  I suspect the manager thought, “She reminds me of my mama.”  For once, a bathroom drama with Mother worked in our favor.

We enjoyed the rest of our visit.  On the way home, my sister Connie hung her purse strap on a toilet handle and broke the toilet in a station.  She takes after Mother.

 

The Quirky Dining Adventures of My 96-Year-Old Mother

I am running a series I originally did in 2016.   Just so you know, Mother is thriving at ninet-six.

Mother is ninety-something years old and enjoys the health and enthusiasm of a ten-year-old, with a few added quirks. Let me preface this by assuring you, I don’t mean her mind is going. She hasn’t changed in all the years I’ve had the great fortune to know her. Also, I am not complaining about her, just passing on a few things I’ve learned a person will experience should they spend a little time with her.

Lunch out with Mother always starts with an understanding. I understand I will be paying unless she tells me otherwise ahead of time. Let me give you a little background. She is a tightwad. When we stop for a cup of coffee, she always holds her little yellow change purse where I can’t see it, pretends she has no change, even though it’s bulging, and asks, “Can you pay for my coffee? I hate to break a dollar for coffee.” Technically, this is true. She never said she didn’t have change. She just hates to break a dollar for coffee. If we went to a car dealership, she’d say, “Can you get this. I hate to write a check for a car.”

First of all, bathrooms are a priority at every stop. In the name of good hygiene, a bathroom visit is the first order of business at a restaurant. Handwashing before a meal is a laudable practice. As soon as we get in line for a table, or are seated, Mother makes a bee-line for the bathroom. This is not out of the norm. The minimal bathroom visit is thirteen minutes. This includes waiting in line, stepping back for anyone in distress or with children, conversation with other bathroom goers, and meditation and stall inspection time. Then she has get in line to soap, wash, dry, and inspect her hands,face, teeth, and general appearance before leaving. It goes without saying, she steps out of line at any opportunity, giving up her spot to any and all, in the name of kindness. (Kindness to the public, not her party) Eventually, she rejoins her party at the table, after we have put the server off a time or two.

As often as not, we’ve already ordered beverages, which include an iced tea for her. This implies someone else will be picking up the tab for lunch, since Mother has no intention of ordering tea. “It’s too expensive. I’ll have tea at home.”
She peruses the menu while regaling us with tales of those she observed or became acquainted with in the restroom or enroute back to the table, fascinating fare. I am not kidding. She has come back with people’s life history, including tales of running away with the circus, being born with an identical twin incarcerated in one’s body, to miraculous spontaneous cancer cures. I have no idea how she elicits these stories. Eventually, she chooses her choice of the chicken and vegetable offerings of the day, to the relief of the server, and turns her attention to the other diners.
There’s always a story. She sees someone she knows, someone who looks interesting, or someone who reminds her of her Cousin Kathleen from Virginia, and she’s off. “Remember how Cousin Kathleen always shut everything down to listen to her “bituaries” (obituaries) on the radio, and was so full of stories about all the dead people? She knew all the recent and ancient gossip on everybody and resurrected it when their obituary aired.” Cousin Kathleen did know a lot of great stories. It was interesting to hear about the spicy pasts of her octogenarian neighbors, proving there’s definitely nothing new under the sun.

Mother enjoys her food, and is a slow eater. I usually finish my meal and have dawdled over two or three glasses of tea by the time we let the server know Mother needs a takeout box. She loads it up with her leftovers, and anything left on our plates, eventually rounding up enough for two or three meals at home. “If you’re not going to eat that chicken, I’ll put in my takeout box…and if you don’t want the rest of your salad, and that roll……..”
By this time, someone in the group has confessed that they will pick up her tab, though she protests unconvincingly, just for the sake of good manners. She was “raised right.”

Mother disappears to the bathroom for her post-prandial visit, “as long as we had to wait for the check.” The check came while she was gone. She came back, totally surprised to find me paying check. “I didn’t know the check would come so soon. I’ll pay you back later…….
It’s always easy to tell I am supposed to pick up her ticket. If she intends to pay, she lets me know before getting to the restaurant. “Now don’t try to pick up my ticket. I’m paying my own today.” This usually happens when it’s her trip to the doctor or her special errand. I am content to pay for her meals forever, it’s such a pleasure to still have her company.

Quite often, a stranger, usually a man in his sixties or seventies from a nearby table insists on buying her lunch, just because they’ve enjoyed overhearing her conversation at lunch, often saying she sounds like their mama. They were “raised right.”
Another trip to the bathroom is in order before we hit the road. Another thirteen minutes, while I pay the tab and keep up with her takeout box. Finally, torn from the bosom of all her new friends, ready for the next step. ………..To be continued

Lou and Lynn Part 17 Family Bonds: A Day of Hard Work and Laughter

Uncle Albert was in his sixties, the weathered family patriarch. He’d had a hand in raising all his sister’s children since their father died young. They were all well aware that they might have starved without him. He was grouchy and not particularly fond of youngsters, so the young cousins had learned to steer clear of him.

Well-digging was an arduous task. A sturdy frame was built over the chosen spot. The nephews took turns using a pick and shovel to dig. Others pulled up buckets of the hard, red clay. Before long, they were all shirtless and sweating. Despite the difficulty, the work continued at a rapid pace since there was always a fresh worker to take the place of a fatigued one.

They enjoyed working together and laughed frequently.
The women laid out a feast and called the children to eat before calling the men. Lou had never seen so such a large family. There must have been twenty children, most under twelve. Lynn had three cousins her age. Billy had three his age. There was a gaggle of babies and toddlers. There was never a quiet moment. The frantic mothers served their children plates of potato salad, beans and fried chicken and sent them off to sit on the ground and eat. The kids gobbled what they wanted and wasted the rest, rushing back to play.

The men crowded around the table, heaping their plates high. The women served themselves last. “This sure is some fine cooking.” one said.

”Pass the beans!” said another. They teased each other and the women all through the meal.

”Ronnie! Get out’a the road.” shouted Aunt Bessie! “Don’t make me get my switch.”

Warnings were frequently shouted at the wild children if they went near the well, hill, or river.

Lou had never played so excitedly. There were simultaneous games of baseball and hide and seek. General chaos ensued when younger children got too close and went down like bowling pins.

There were scoldings and swats aplenty when kids pushed their harried mothers too far, something that Lou had never seen. Most amazing of all, Lou was introduced to the outdoor toilet, a crude outbuilding built over a hole in the ground. “This is gross!” Lou said as she examined the facilities.


“You think this is gross! Wait till it’s been here a while. Whew!” Lynn laughed. “You won’t stay any longer than you can help”

They’d all been warned away from the log cabin in progress but eventually the parents’ vigilance wore thin. Mothers were putting the youngest ones down to nap on pallets. Suddenly, a rumble, clatter and shrieking came from the cabin. A couple of kids had slipped in and climbed on the log walls, collapsing them. Fortunately, nothing more serious than scrapes and bruises resulted.

Uncle Albert was clearly furious at the destruction of the cabin he’d worked so hard on. “You little devils. Y’all was told to stay out’a there! If you was mine I’d tan yore sorry hides.” The culprits were sternly lectured and some spanked by their fathers. The embarrassed men left the digging to the others and spent the rest of the day restacking logs. They brought them to an even higher level to make up for their boys’ bad behavior. Uncle Albert’s mood improved as the walls grew higher, though he continued to glare at the reckless boys.

As the day dragged on the sun went down and mosquitoes started to bite. Somebody built a bonfire. Mothers put insect repellent on the children and began to rock their sleepy babies.

”I sure wish they would knock off so we could get these kids home to bed.” Aunt Kat said.

”I know.” said Aunt Bonnie. “ They’re gonna have to finish tomorrow anyway.”

The kids raced in and out of the shadows of the fire, drunk on the joy of cousin-play. Finally the men gave up their digging, making the decision to continue Sunday morning. Sleeping babies were loaded in to vehicles for the trip home. Lynn, Lou, and Billy climbed into the back of the truck. Aunt Kat wrapped a them snuggly in an old quilt.

”Mother, it’s too hot!” Billy protested.

”It won’t be when we get going.” Aunt Kat said.

Sure enough, as soon as they started it was cool. The night was glorious. They looked up at the brilliant stars in the dark sky while bouncing along the wooded road. They were asleep before they’d gone a mile.



To be continued:

Lynn and Lou Part 15 Gathering Eggs: A Chicken Farm Tale

”Hurry and get dressed! We’re going to Uncle Albert’s today. The men are going to pitch in and dig him a well. Lynn, you and Lou go let the chickens out of the henhouse and feed them. Take this bucket and gather the eggs on your way back in. Billy put out water for the dogs and the chickens. Do NOT get wet. Come straight back in.”

The kids took off. Lynn opened the henhouse door and the chickens swarmed out. A fat hen jumped on top of Lou’s head. It was terrifying. She screamed and ran all over the chicken yard. The hen got tired of the wild ride and jumped off. Lynn laughed till tears ran down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you they do that sometimes. We raised all our chickens from babies, so they still think they’re tiny chicks.”

Yeah, sure, I’ll bet you forgot.” Lou replied. She wasn’t much upset. It probably did look funny.

“If you’re still scared, I’ll feed the chickens. They flock all around trying to get to the feed. One of them might jump on you. They won’t hurt you.” Lynn said.

”That’s okay. I was just surprised. I’ll feed them.” She scattered chicken feed all inside the chicken yard. They quickly lost interest in her. “This is actually kind of fun.”

Lynn took the egg basket over to the row of nesting boxes. They were about head high. Rather than take the time to climb the ladder, Lynn stood on tiptoe, pulling one egg from each nest. When she reached in the last nest, she screamed and took off at a run, slinging eggs along the way. “Snake! Snake! Mother! There’s a snake in the nest!” she screamed. “I hate snakes!”

Aunt Kat came at a run. She grabbed a hoe next to the chicken yard gate. She climbed a couple of steps up the ladder and raked the snake out on the ground where she chopped his head off with the hoe. The dogs were going crazy with joy. One grabbed the head, another the body. Feeling cheated, the others took off after the two lucky ones, trying to snatch their prize. Aunt Kat laughed and put her hands on her hips, “Well, I bet I won’t have to remind anybody not to reach in the nest without looking, will I? She gathered up the few unbroken eggs. “Girls, take the hoe and scratch some dirt over these broken eggs. We don’t want the dogs to start sucking eggs. Hurry, Daddy’s almost ready to go.”

The kids were in awe of what she’d done.”Your mother is the bravest woman I’ve ever seen!” said Lou: “I’m so glad I didn’t gather eggs.”

When they got back in, Mr. Al was loading the old truck with shovels and rope. Aunt Kat and the girls brought out a big basket with picnic lunch. “Get in the back and sit down. Don’t you climb up on the rails. If I have to stop and straighten you out, it won’t be good!”

”Yes Sir” they all answered. No one could have convinced her to move. She’d never seen anyone ride in the back of a truck.

Aunt Kat came around to the back of the truck and handed Lynn a brown paper bag of hot sausage biscuits with jam. “You each have two apiece, but don’t waste them. You might want one for a snack later” she said. She got in the cab of the truck. She put Connie in the car seat and clung to the little baby as the truck bumped off down the gravel road. Dust fogged up behind the truck.

Lou dug in. The biscuit sandwiches were so good, she gobbled both. What a wonderful way to start the morning.

Lynn and Lou Part 9 Fear: Lou’s Story of Being Lost

Sheriff Mason left, promising to be back the next morning. It sounded like a threat. “Sit right here.” Lynn’s daddy said. I need to ask you some questions. Lynn go on and do the dishes. This is gonna take a while.” Lynn’s Mother sat nearby, rocking the baby “Now, Lou, you couldn’t possibly have ridden here from Houston today. Do you really believe that or are you hiding something? Look me in the eye. You’re in a lot of trouble and we can’t help you if you aren’t honest” He stared at her fiercely without blinking.

Lou felt sick. How could she be in Louisiana when she was in her normal life in Houston this morning. All she did was take a little ride with Grandma and now this crazy mess. Grandma was gone. She was alone with strangers. The sheriff was probably going to take her to jail in the morning. She wanted to go home! Now! She wanted her mom and her cozy bed. She tried to talk but all she do was cry. The more she thought, the more confused she got. She began to cry harder. It seemed like her life was over. She continued to cry, getting more and more overwhelmed. She’d never felt more lost! No one had ever been more lost. It seemed like the flood gates opened pouring out all her fear and loss. Her sobs got louder and more ragged. Snot poured out of her nose. There were just no words.
Lynn’s mother handed the baby to her husband and said, “That’s enough for tonight. She’s just a little girl, and confused. That’s enough for tonight. Lynn, let’s get Lou ready for bed. She can bunk in with you. Al, you can rock the baby to sleep.”

”But I’ve got to get those goats in the pen! It’s getting late and I’ve got stuff to do.” he protested.

”I’ll be back when I’m through. Take care of the baby. I don’t care about the goats. Come on girls.” She put an arm around Lynn. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

Lynn and Lou Part 8 Kidnapping and Stormy Nights

Little Connie went to sleep in her high chair, her head drooping on to her high chair tray. Mother wiped her up the best she could. Connie didn’t stir till Mother tried to take the chicken bone she was clutching in her greasy fit. She almost woke as she struggled to hang on to it. Mother gave up and carried Connie to her crib to dress for bed. In a few minutes, she was back. Lynn had lain the baby on a blanket on the floor. For once, she wasn’t crying. Mother sat down and picked up her fork.

“I’m ready for dessert.” Lynn’s daddy said.”You eat. Lynn can get it.”

Mother looked upset. “I didn’t get time to make one. It was a tough day with the babies.”

“Well, you had Lynn here to help. Couldn’t one of y’all have made a cake? My mama or sisters made a cake everyday.” He was interrupted by the dogs barking. “Let me see who that is.” He scooted his chair back and walked outside. Billy followed him, banging the door.

Startled, the baby wailed. “Doggone it. I thought I might get to eat. Lynn, leave my plate covered with a napkin when you clear the table.” Mother picked up the baby to give her a bottle and sat in the rocker. She looked exhausted.

Lynn showed Lou how to scrape the plates into a bucket of scraps. She ran a pan of dishwater and put the dishes on to soak while she cleared and wiped the table. There was nothing left except a couple of pieces of cornbread and a little gravy which went in the scrap bucket. The dos would get these later.

Before they could start the dishes, Lynn’s daddy came back in with a man wearing a badge. He called the girls. “Girls, this is Sheriff Mason. He wants to talk to you.” Daddy looked worried. “This is my daughter Lynn and the friend she met today, Lou.”

“Young ladies.” Sheriff Mason said seriously. “The mailman stopped by my office when he finished his route telling me a strange story. He said a girl showed up here claiming her Grandma had been kidnapped today and maybe killed. Lou, Do you know anything about that?”

Lou started to cry. “No. I don’t say anything about her being kidnapped or killed. I just said she disappeared during the storm. I don’t know what happened. I just want to find her. I want to go home.”

“Sure, you do.” Sheriff Mason said. “Tell me what happened so we can get you home. How did you get way out here. Start at the beginning.”

Lou sniffed and wiped her nose on the handkerchief Daddy handed her. “Grandma and I were out riding when a big storm started. We got under a tree when lightning flashed and jolted us. It was terrible. When I looked for Grandma, she was gone. She just disappeared!” Then Lynn fell out of a tree onto me. That’s all. “

“You didn’t see or hear anything else?”

“No. The lightning flashed and Grandma disappeared.” Lou insisted.

“You know that’s a strange story. You aren’t playing with me are you? I need to ask you a few questions. What’s your name and age?”

“Everybody calls me Lou but my name is Eloise Daly and I’m nine years old.” she answered.

“What’s your address?” Sheriff Mason asked.

“3412 Crawford Road, Houston, Texas. My mother’s phone number is 724-678-5367. She’ll come get me if you call her.” offered Lou.

“If you live in Houston, Texas, you couldn’t have ridden here on a bike.” the sheriff said.

“I wasn’t on a bike. I was on a scooter. Grandma rode a bike but we didn’t get far from home before she got tired and wanted to take a break. I doubt we rode more than ten minutes.” Lou explained.

“Wait a minute. You’re telling me you rode here from Houston in ten minutes? You and an old lady? That makes no sense. Houston is more than two hundred miles away. We are in Bossier Parish , Louisiana.What really happened? Did you run away from home? Did your folks dump you off. Is this a big joke, because if it is, you’re in big trouble starting a story about your Grandma getting kidnapped and maybe killed. This ain’t funny! It ain’t funny at all! I got a mind to haul you in till your grandma turns up.” The sheriff was mad.

Lynn’s daddy spoke up.”Look Sheriff Mason. I just got in. I don’t know any more than you do. Can we let this rest for now? Maybe you can call her mother and find out what’s going on. She’ll be okay here. We’ll look after her till you do some checking”

The sheriff thought about it. “Well, if you want to put up with her, go ahead. I ain’t got nowhere to put her tonight no how.”

To be continued:

Navigating Life with Seniors: Lessons Learned

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imageI wonder if I do a lot of “old person” stuff? It’s probably one of those things your kid would have to tell you. Let me explain. After we went to the grocery store, I took Mother to Gateway to pick up her car. She took her small bag of groceries with her and went in to pay and get her keys while I waited in the lot off to the side, To be sure everything worked out okay. I knew I should have gone in with her. A few minutes later, she pulled behind me, blocking me and two other drivers. As the other drivers honked, Mother left her car in the drive and came over to talk to me.

“They just had to fix the front brakes. The back ones were fine! It only cost one hundred twenty-one dollars.” She was beaming.

“That’s great, but you need to move your car. People are honking!”

“Well they’re just gonna have to wait. I have to get my groceries.” She replied, huffily.

“Mother, you already put your bag in the car.”

“Oh, I forgot. Anyway, I had to tell you everything was okay.”

Annoyed at my nerve, she got in her car, pulled out and cut it too short, running over the curb as she pulled out.

About fifteen minutes after I got home, I got a call, “Could you see if I left my phone in your car. I can’t find it, anywhere.”

She had.