1 post tagged “daughters”
It doesn't help that my blood pressure is just a few ticks higher than that of a corpse.
It also doesn't help that my Mother called.
"Kelly, you've got to pray for me. This is really bad."
I know my Mother is a tad dramatic, but she can still manage to catch me off guard.
"What's wrong?", I asked, trying to sound concerned.
"I went to get my taxes done, and I owe the IRS $6,000." She's moaning like she's just been told she's got two weeks before she kicks the bucket. This really pisses me off, because I know she's been drawing too much of her dividend income. I tell her someone, somewhere, has given her bad advice, and she proceeds to tell me how "destitute" this is going to leave her. (Not true.) She meekly admits her stockbroker gave her $12,000, and "forgot" to withhold taxes. I'm pretty sure there's other things going on, but I knew where the conversation was going to lead.
The farm.
When she needs attention, and is feeling a little cruel, she throws this out. She's got to sell off one of the farms so she can eat. Before my Dad died, he told me he was giving me 6 acres to build a house on. There are two small farms in our family, one with 166 acres outside of Hico, Texas, and one with 100 acres about 10 miles away. I have fond memories of going there when I was little, and the last time I went down for a quick check, I was saddened by the state of things.
Well, the land isn't mine, but she's known forever I want to keep it in the family. Of course she can do whatever she wants, so I end up telling her to do whatever she needs to do, and not worry about it.
"I'm going to call my lawyer, and have her draw up whatever paperwork is necessary to give you some of the land. I just need you to decide what you want, and where."
While she's telling me this I'm being pulled out the door because I've got to be somewhere at 7:00 p.m. She always calls when I'm going somewhere. It's like she's got this sixth sense that enables her to know when I pull my keys out of my purse.
"I can't talk about this right now, sorry. Just don't worry about the money, you'll be fine." She sighs, and hangs up.
I want for us to have a better relationship. I gave up pleasing her a long time ago, and told her I can't abide her negative attitude all the time. Woman, get a grip, I've prayed.
A few minutes ago I found myself losing my temper with Caroline. She was asking if she could borrow my cowboy hat for school tomorrow, and I gave her her marching orders instead of responding in a kind way.
"Get upstairs and get in the shower right now! You didn't take a shower last night, and I don't want you procrastinating any more." I was a nag.
She turned-tail, and walked upstairs, glaring at me.
I don't know what's wrong with me, but I remembered something.
Next week I'm taking Caroline back to Hico, and we'll take the camera, and scope out where we'll build our weekend getaway. I'll salvage the wood floors from the old house, and re-use them in the family room and kitchen. I'll make sure there's a porch swing, and a good coffee pot, and plenty of art supplies. I'll put in a garden, and keep a beat-up old pick-up in the back that I can use to drive down to the tank at sunset (with a cold beer between my knees, of course.) I'll have games to play, and one television/dvd player so we can watch "The Princess Bride" for the millionth time. When everyone is in bed, I'll sit out on the porch and look up at the most amazing star-filled sky a person could ever see, and I'll drink a glass of wine, and listen to Mel Torme, or Carmen McRae, or the Chairman of the Board. I'll put on my cotton pajamas, wash my face, and sleep deeply in total darkness and silence. The next morning I'll make coffee, and eggs, and English muffins, and I'll teach her how to drink coffee. The first lessons includes lots of milk, and a healthy teaspoon of sugar. By the time she's in college she'll be drinking it with just a splash of milk.
I need to make this happen. I can't let my mother rain on my parade. I'll find the balance I need, and I'll forgive myself for losing my temper. The cowgirl and I will laugh at gray skies, while we listen to Elvis Costello and Jack Johnson.
