Mom & Me Two Archive

    Not, "Wouldn't it be nice if I could..." or "Do you suppose I could," or any statement with a similar whiff of whimsy.
    So, like any mother-respecting 53 year old daughter of an 87 year old retired teacher, I responded, "What grade do you think you'll teach?"
    "Well. I taught fourth before but I could teach any grade. Where ever they need me."
    "Special Ed style, of course," I added.
    "Oh. Of course."
    "Why Martelle?" I asked.
    "Well, it's close to home..."
    This is the only part of the conversation in which I 'got real'. "Well, no, it's not, we're in Arizona and Martelle is in Iowa..."
    She interrupted me with an "Are you sure about that?" stare.
    "But, we can move there. We've got plenty of time. It's only December and we're good at moving."
    "Yes, we are, that's for sure."
    As her arising and bath continued we talked about her previous experience in Martelle. She taught there for only a couple of years. It was, obviously, not her one-room schoolhouse experience. She lived with a "lady", a "young old maid," she said, "awfully nice, awfully independent" (sounds like a description of herself at that age and beyond). I asked if she got board. "No, I paid rent, had a hot plate, ate out..."
    "Was it Martelle where you decided to go into the Navy?" I asked.
    "No, that was, let me see, I believe we were in Mt. Vernon."
    "Who was 'we'?" I asked.
    "My folks." By this she means her parents.
    "Oh, I never thought about it, but I guess they did live in Mt. Vernon with you, didn't they."
    "For awhile. When Mother went to college."
    My maternal grandmother, while and after my mother went to college, decided to attend college later in life and received her certification in drafting.
    "Were you teaching in Mt. Vernon when you decided to go into the Navy?"
    "No, it was in the summer."
    "Which would you prefer, next year, to teach in Martelle or return to the Navy?"
    "Hmmm, I hadn't thought I had a choice but I suppose I do. The Navy."
    "Hands down?"
    "Hands down."
    "Okay, then. Next year we'll plan on you going into the Navy."
    "What'll you do?"
    "Well, someone's got to take care of your home. I'll do that."
    "You could go into the Navy, too, you know. We could serve together."
    I laughed. "Somehow I don't think they'd take me. Not with my history!"
    "Of course they would," my mother indignantly assured me. I think she figures if she's Navy material, so are all her daughters. In reality, one proved to be and retired from the Navy after 20 years.
    "Well, okay, I'll be your personal assistant, your valet, like Patton had. Certainly, by now your, er, rank would allow you a personal valet."
    My mother shot me her comical "Hold your horses, girl," look. "I heard that pause. I'm glad you didn't say 'age'."
    I had to laugh for a couple of reasons. First, she was inviting laughter with the stern, saucy, cautionary shake of her head and straightening of her shoulders. Second, I realized that she wasn't planning next year from or for her late-twenties self, she was planning it from and for her 87-year-old self.
    "So, next year at this time, we'll be in the Navy," I said.
    "Good. Let's plan on it."

    In case you're wondering, I used to take her memory sessions about Iowa as an indication that she might want to move there for the last years of her life. I've questioned her several times about this. At one point early in our partnership we researched the possibility of moving to Cedar Rapids or Mechanicsville where she still has relatives. Since that time, though, she's visited Iowan relatives twice on her own and has no desire to live there, although not because of the relatives. She's enjoyed their quickly renewed camaraderie but not the area. "It's too old," she's said, as though Iowa has not kept up with her sense of life as an adventure.
    I'm still not sure why she's lately been focusing on Martelle. It used to be Mechanicsville or Mt. Vernon or Cedar Rapids. Now, it's Martelle. Maybe this is a part of a natural Ancient One tradition or rite which involves cleaning out one's attic or, at least, taking inventory and moving stuff around, maybe repacking it.

    I'm in a much better mood than previously. Sometimes I prefer my mother's footloose, fancy-free mind to her shod and shackled one.
    So, next year at this time Mom and I will be on the high seas. Considering that, in Tibetan Buddhism, the ocean is a metaphor for mind, I'm sure this will be true.