Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Mother Day

If Mother gets a sniff of me being on holidays, and I never tell her precise details, she will ask for a day's attention. Her bestie made excuses to not take Mother to Fountain Gate shopping centre. I could not. Mother thinks that it is because she walks so slowly. I remember Mother walking very slowly when she was young. Ostensibly she wanted to buy a spencer, as with her weight loss, she is feeling the cold and she only has one and she needed another for when it was 'in the wash'. She ended up buying a bright $10 tee to wear as an undergarment.

She asked if I could come at 12. Then she rang again and said her roses needed pruning, so that would be 11. She rang again and said, forget my roses, can you do ABI Brother's hydrangea and roses. ABI Brother has big drainage issues this year, resulting in a good bit of his paving and garden being dug up and destroyed, not that the garden was much in the first place. It is not his interest but he has stumped up a good bit for repaving and landscaping.

I went to ABI Brother's place first. Mother disliked the work that had been done, but I thought it wasn't bad. Mind you, I did not have a close look.

Anyway, I live in a smart apartment with a white slim line telephone and a jacuzzi in St Kilda Road (no room for a pony). Why would I know anything about pruning? Well, I do.

I pruned ABI Brother's roses and the hydy. The hydy looks spectacular in summer. It has the perfect position, plenty of light and no hot sun but warmth from a brick wall. He has two conventional roses and a 'wild' rose. I am happy pruning a conventional rose, but not the wild style one. He also has a stunning and quite laden with flowers at this time of the year, yellow rose that has tulip shaped blooms. I would have liked a bit more time, but I did a fair job of them and just left all the cuttings for ABI Brother to pick up. I decided his daphne needed pruning too. The off cuts are scenting the Highrise very nicely.

I arrived at Mother's at 12.30 and she had cream of chicken soup for me. Sorry, she said, it should be made with milk but I am allergic to cow's milk and I made it with water. Then she said, I don't think I will have any. Well, she could have made it with milk then. She changed her mind again and had some.

I thought that her roses really need pruning and not sure when I will be here again. I better do it, so while she got ready to go out, I got stuck in. They weren't bad to do, as I had pruned them the last two years.

We took the old road to La Ville de Tracksuit Pant, aka Fountain Gate. For once Mother guided me to a sensible location, parked near where she wanted to be. Medicare, HBA, Big W, Garden Centre, Newsagent, Target, Reject and the cafe White with One where she was remembered by staff as being a previous Friday night customer with the late Step Father, her bestie and the bestie's husband. While I carted her load of shopping back to the car, the owner came out and sat and chatted with her.

Son, can you drive back along the bypass road as I need to get eucalyptus spray at the Chemist Warehouse.

I finished off the rose pruning, got the cuttings all into a green waste bin, emptied her talcumn powder clogged vacuum cleaner and took down some hanging baskets for replanting with seedlings she had bought.

I left home at 10 and got back at 6.15, a long day, but not a particularly hard one. I drift off as Mother bangs on about her medical problems and doctors, but tune in rest of the time as she reminisces and wonders about how things might have been and also offers a particularly alien viewpoint to mine on matters in the media.

The day out cheered Mother no end. Much as I moan about her, she can be quite good company, and we all have to remember how uncomplainingly our mother's wiped our arses looked after us when we were babes.

Once home I was greeted by a furious R as someone had forgotten to post Bone Doctor's birthday card. I am not sure that remembering to post things is really my responsibility, but never mind. R caught the postman as he was emptying the mail box. Of course Australia Post will deliver the card to Bone Doctor tomorrow on the Bellarine. AusPost never fail to deliver.

Andrew Highriser versus eight roses, AH 10/10, Roses, 3/10, three punctures of the hand skin. That is a win in my book.

6 comments:

  1. I think we all have people in our life that we moan about...but we still love them.

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  2. Anonymous9:00 am

    I am sure it's the thought that counts but is this aggressive-passive chain of thought helpful for you?

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  3. Indeed Dina.

    Anon, (and why is always the Anons) I am so pleased you got a good handle on my life and character with this post and of course it was helpful to me. I write, and viola, I feel better now.

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  4. "La Ville de Tracksuit Pant" ha ha. I think you have to be an Australian to understand laid-back Australian humoour :)

    I have lunch every week with mum and dad, and prepare myself for stories repeated at least 10 times. But no worries. It could have been much worse.

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  5. You are such a good son Andrew! I only wish my son were so nearby; what I could have him doing.:)

    I've just discovered blocking and am blocking anons. It feels wrong, but honestly I prefer to talk with people who introduce themselves.

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  6. Hels, it becomes harder when one departs and the other is somewhat dependant on their offspring. I am fortunate to have three siblings and we share the load.

    Linda, I would block anons too, except V, a personal friend who comments, uses anon.

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Whenever I wish I was young again, I am sobered by memories of algebra.