‘My Kid-of-the-Month Week out West’
Last week, I was so distracted by my date with that big ole blowhard Henri that I neglected to tell you all about my week with my decidedly non-blowhard Mom.
I had actually visited Mom in May, not long after she had moved into her new digs. A couple of my younger bros followed in June. Our visits were so successful that we decided to take turns visiting Mom for a week every month. We dubbed this plan our Kid-of-the-Month Club. I called dibs for August.
When I mentioned my impending visit to The Child, she said, “Hey! I’d like to go too!” — even after I explained that I would be not just visiting Gramma, but staying with Gramma. Which meant that, unlike our last trip when we rented an Air BnB, this time Her Childness and I would be sharing Mom’s pullout couch at night. And sharing her one (very nice, but still) bathroom.
The Dear Child was not fazed. Not one bit. I must admit that I, on the other hand, was a tad nervous. I haven’t shared a bed with anyone but The Dude for, like, 40 years. Would I snore? Drool? Hog the covers? I have some disturbing memories of sharing a bed with my late lamented Aunt Marilyn — whom everyone adored (See “Hey, Aunt Marilyn, Everybody’s Up!” for cute aunty anecdotes) but who ground her teeth in her sleep. I was, oh, seven, and didn’t understand about this sort of nocturnal habit, so was rather terrified.
Undaunted by the prospect of being so up close and personal with her mother, The Child made her plans. She would rent a car and time her flight to meet mine.
And yes, we had a most marvelous time. Not only did we share bed and bath with nary a hiccup, she planned outings. (Which, I must admit, I might not have done, being perfectly satisfied with Scrabble — played clutching a glass of wine.) We went to the Portland Rose Garden.
We went antiquing and farmers-marketing in a charming little town called Camas. (Where we also whiled away a pleasant hour or so sipping cocktails at a sidewalk table outside a wine bar.)
We also spent some incredible Family Time with Favorite Younger Sister Laura and her husband, Favorite Bro-in-Law Dave. Who happens to be the Best Grillmaster on the Planet. Honest. The man owns, like, six grills. And none of them are gas.
This is where we enjoyed the funeral hot dogs I mentioned last week. And also big fat amazing steaks, which I did not. (Though the memory of eating them is making me mighty meat-hungry even as I type.)
We even made a pilgrimage to Seaside, where Mom lived for many years. It was a cloudy, misty day, but we made the rounds: to Dooger’s for a seafood lunch, to The Turnaround for a stroll down Memory Lane (er, The Prom) and a visit to one of Mom’s fast friends, Bernie. Who lives in quite possibly the cutest cottage I have ever seen.
Bernie’s been inundated with Sock Monkeys made by her daughter (good news) and bunnies made by nature (not as good as it might sound). The bunny infestation seems to have begun with a pet let loose. This bunny teamed up with a local, and did what bunnies are wont to do — and now bunnies are, well, everywhere. Eating shoots, digging out roots, and causing widespread bunny mayhem.
When The Child commented on how goldarned cute they were, Bernie shook her head and looked dour. “They’re not so cute when they’re digging up the roots of your rosemary bush,” she noted.
Our last night was spent catching up with Cousin Richie and deviled-egg toting Wife Vicky, who shared the afore-mentioned steaks at Laura and Dave’s.
A decidedly good time was had by all — all week. Oh, in case you’re wondering, I asked. Did I horrify The Child with any noisy nocturnal habits? She wouldn’t know. She always travels with ear plugs.
Amagansett, New York. August 2021