Thank. Everything. Considered. Holy. Across. The. World.
Sweet Lord in heaven, never again. Never.
There are animals in the world that have wingspans larger than my mother's RV. AnimalS. Plural. Not that rare an occasion. Good God.
Anyway, my mother lives in an RV, and it's small. She has two cats, and smokes at least a pack a day per cat, more if she has something to celebrate. (I use that term loosely.)
While we were there, a mere three and 5/6ths days, my mother consumed (Not all at once, mind)
*Approx 4 bottles Pinot Grigio
*Approx 10 packs cigarettes (One carton, or 200 individual cigarettes, to those counting)
*One Hydrocodone, 5mg.
*Approx 4 16oz. Beers
*Approx 18 Ibuprofen
*Two prescribed blood-pressure reducing pills
*Approx 9 acid reflux pills
*24% of my sanity
*67% T's patience
(These are of course, not including what she drank and/or consumed while T and I were attempting sleep or, oh, showering.)
I hate to fly and I was counting the damn hours until we went back to the airport.
I had forgotten why I did all the driving. My mother is willing to put the car into third gear (If you're lucky)--No higher. She will happily go 35 mph, transmission screaming, down the left lane of a 70 mph highway.
I had forgotten how my mother loves to be catered to. I did all the cooking and shopping while we were there. (This is fine, but she demanded it. No "Oh, would you help me?" just a "You're cooking if you want to eat.")
My mother talks to the cats all day long. This is fine until it's 4am, you have finally drifted off to sleep on your prison-issue pallet of a mattress and are startled awake by high-pitched singsong talking, ten minute intervals of coughing and a cloud of cigarette smoke.
(I smoke. T smokes. But not like this. We don't smoke in the house, I don't give T cigarette 'Dutch Ovens' while he is asleep. Oh, and we don't live in a closet together.)
Sigh.
Anyway, more of that in a moment.
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This is Sprocket. Sprocket is a Taurus, enjoys being a terrible watch dog, chasing but not catching mice, and howling at odd hours. He dislikes being left alone for long periods of time and a man named Joe. His feelings on long walks on the beach and/or candle-lit dinners has not yet been determined.
Sprocket is also a wolf.
Sprocket is my mom's neighbor's pet. He is quite friendly, as well as huge.
Oh, and did I mention he is a WOLF?? (Does this strike a chord of mild panic and animal rights activism in anyone else, or am I weird?)
Anyway, I can now scratch "Get jumped up on and licked in the face by a wolf" off my list of things to do before I die. Also, wolves are huge. (Did I mention that already? I was raised with mastiffs--Huge in their own right--And I was impressed.)
This neighbor also has a lynx/tabby cat cross aptly named Bigfoot, who I did not have the pleasure of meeting.
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While we were there, T asked my mother for my hand in marriage. As she is the last living parent I have, and this is probably (God willing) the only time T would see her in person until an actual marriage occurred, it seemed like a good idea. (I'm speculating here. Attempts to get T to guest blog have been thus far thwarted--So I am forced to assume.)
We are not engaged. Please keep this in mind.
My mother, who cannot keep anything to herself for more than 13 seconds (The longest she has gone without speaking while conscious--I know this because we have timed her. Seriously.) took it upon herself to call everyone we both know and inform them that I am engaged, probably getting married this summer, and all sorts of juicy details ranging from the type of flowers I will have to what shoes I will wear.
I didn't know this until the phone calls started today. (People are thrilled, apparently, at my betrothal. I hope they are equally as thrilled when it actually happens.)
When I called my mother to tell her to lay off, she was totally wasted. When I explained my position to her, that I didn't realize that she needed to be sworn to secrecy about everything--Even common sense things like this--she was faced with a dilemma.
She could demur, apologise, and move on.....
Or she could get angry, start name calling and casting blame stones.
She chose that second one.
So now, on top of being engaged, getting married this summer and wearing flats while carrying daisies and/or peonies, I am a whore and a liar whom T is having to settle for.
(And for all parties interested, she did give her blessing. After asking T, "What are you going to do if I say no?" and him responding, "Marry her anyway.")
(See why we aren't going back anytime soon?)
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In an attempt to lighten the mood, more photos.
First off, the view from our holding area at the local one-gate airport.
Second, through the end, proof that anti-anxiety medication works--I was calm enough to take photos as we flew, rather than tear holes in T's hand and the arm rest of the seat.
