The Friendly Pedant by Mrs. Odie

The pressure to write something pithy and brilliant after such a long absence is keeping me paralyzed. Instead, I’ll publish something short and maybe not my best work, but it will be a start. I told myself from the beginning that the only way I’m ever going to be successful as a writer is to write. 

My semester ended a week ago, and it was disappointing. I feel like I failed in nearly every way I could fail. I take that back. I didn’t lose my keys. I’m relieved that our district changed the calendar so our first semester finishes before winter recess. I have 17 days total to put between my first and second semesters as a buffer. We all need a fresh start.

Hopefully tomorrow I’ll get my mother situated in a skilled nursing facility. Through some manipulation, some misunderstanding, and some tarrying, my mom hasn’t been getting the care she’s supposed to be getting and my sister and I are trying to amend the mistakes we and others made. It’s high drama, suitable to a Holly Hunter or a Laura Linney independent film. Painfully tragic and almost impossible to enjoy, yet ultimately life affirming. I’m still waiting on the life affirming. 

May the Medi-Cal Gods be with us tomorrow, Amen.

I was looking forward to my vacation too dearly. Too sweetly. My mom fell and broke her ankle and needed surgery.

Now, my mom and I, we’re like Shirley McClaine and Meryl Streep in “Postcards from the Edge” only without money, showtunes or humor. I only wish my mom had a Silent Stan by her side and our biggest issue was her fading stardom. She has another hero, my sister Beezy, but poor B has her own limitations.

I’d take my mom into my house, but, well, see above “Postcards from the Edge” reference. The real issue is that my house is tiny and hard to access, and Mom was a cantankerous cripple even before the accident, but I imagine we’ll have to really step up and do our fair share too. Waiting until your late thirties/early forties to have children means having to change diapers on your kids AND your mom.