Much talk is given to the deficit. And rightly so, we should all be concerned about our level of national debt. But the people who are suddenly crying loudest were suspiciously and hypocritically silent up until this administration came into office.

So, a little lesson for anyone out there who thinks the guy in charge has some lock on deficit creation. Don’t believe the bullshit your favorite pundits feed you.

Anytime a conversation with mama starts that way, hilarity is to follow.

“Sure, shoot.”

“Who invented oral sex?”

“What?”

“Who invented it? How long’s it been around?”

“I know I’ll regret asking, but why?”

“Kenny and I’s just havin’ a conversation. And he says that the feminists invented oral sex on a woman back in the 60s.”

I shudder to think what prompted this conversation.

“I’m pretty sure it’s been around since the beginning of time. “

“You think?”

“Yes. I seem to remember paintings from prehistoric times that pictured people in all sorts of sexual activity. If it can be done, it was done 1000s of years ago.”

“On a woman too?”

“I’m sure…”

“So Adam and Eve were probably going down on each other in the Garden of Eden.”

“You’d have to talk to someone more schooled in the Bible than me for that answer.”

“Ok honey, well I love ya.”

“Bye now.”

And Mama naturally did not disappoint.

She called around 8:30 last night, clearly drunk, high, or pilled up. “I’m lost!” she wailed. Although she had simply driven past her exit (some 20-odd miles past it) on the interstate, it never occurred to her to simply take the next exit and turn around. She’d already called Kenny to report she was lost, and now hoped I might “get on the computer” and help her find her way home.

“You aren’t lost. Just take the next exit and turn around.”

“Im at Green Sulphur Springs exit, way past Hinton. Where do I go from here?”

“Take the next exit. Turn left. Then turn left again.” I sighed.

“There’s the signs to Beckley! Thank God! Oh thank you!”

After the hysterical joy of turning around had subsided, she reported that my uncle and his wife had “left her alone at the funeral home.”

Any reasonable person realizes that my aunt and uncle, normal people, simply left after paying their respects. And anyone who knows Mama knows that she doubtless stayed well past the point where she was making everyone uncomfortable.

“I tole Mary she didn’t have no reason not to like me.” (Mary, the schizophrenic octogenarian my former stepfather has spent the last decade with, hates Mama with every one of her multiple personalities.)

“Why did you even speak to her?” I demanded, having advised mere hours before that she should avoid her at all costs.

“Because I’m polite. I’m polite and I’ve got couth.”

“The polite thing would have been to just ignore her.”

“No, I’ve got manners.”

“Mmm…kay.”

“And now Kenny’s  mad at me. Fer gettin’ lost. I guess he thinks I banged David right there at the funeral home.” (David, the alcoholic ex husband whose father was being remembered.)

“You weren’t lost!”

“I always did like to just drive. They had all these pictures up there at the service of your sister. I just needed to drive.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell him that?” She didn’t answer, but we all know that “being lost” just sounds so much more dramatic than needing to take a drive.

“He acts like they was something goin on with me and David just cause we smoked two bowls in the parkin lot.”

“Jesus Christ. I can’t blame him. You’d be upset if the roles were reversed.”

“Well me and David did have some good times. Yep, sure did, some good times. I bout fell and busted my ass. Broke a fingernail but David caught me in his arms while he’s walkin’ me to my car. You reckon they can put on a fake one? I’m getting my nails and toes did in the morning, cause I caint get in to see the podiatrist til March.”

“Huh?”

“That’s who usually cuts my toenails.”

“Why?” My blood starts boiling at the thought that myself and every other taxpayer are footing the bill for this woman to get her toenails cut by the podiatrist.

“I cain’t bend over like I used to.”

“They was so many people there!” Clearly, the social scene is alive and well at the Rose and Quesenberry Funeral Parlor. She went on to tell me who had gotten fat. Who had dyed their hair. And how one man had asked if she was Mary, and then “looked her from head to toe” when she told him no, she was David’s first wife.

“Ain’t so-and-so a lesbian?”  So and so is a former step-cousin in her mid twenties. She is, in fact, a lesbian, but I doubt very much that she is out of the closet to  her family.

“I believe so…”

“I thought so. She kept lookin’ at me and lickin’ her lips.”

“Mmmm…kay.” Yes, the charms of a nearly sixty year old woman unable to bend to cut her own toenails are too much for a young lesbian to pass up.

“Well I better get off here before I get lost again. I’ll call and let ya know I made it home ok.”

Fast forward to last night. Arrangements have been made and announced in the local paper. “A big ole write up on him.” was mama’s assessment of the standard-issue obit that had been filed. “I don’t know whether I should go to the wake or the funeral…I just caint handle both.” Now let me interject here that Mama has not gone to any funeral since my sister’s unless it provides a stage for her or the potential for high drama. When a dear friend’s father passed recently, she “couldn’t handle it” when I asked her to stop by the wake. But a funeral where an ex husband, his jealous current wife, and gobs of old in-laws who always did hate her guts–well, you know she’s gonna be there with her good lipstick on.

“Then I would go to the wake. I think when there is both, the funeral is more for family anyway.”

“Yeah but it’s at seven o clock.”

“…as most wakes are.”

“That’s kinda late fur me to be out in the dark and cold.”

“You’ll be fine.”

Then the phone calls began today.

“I reckon Ima go to the wake tonight. It’s the same funeral home where they had yer sister at.”

“Given that they picked and paid for her funeral, I might have guessed that.” It’s a small town, so it was better than a 50 percent chance that’s where it would be.

“I just don’t know if I can handle it.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I have to go and pay my respects I guess. Yer uncles gonna meet me up there in the parkin lot and go with me.”

“Why?”

“I just wonder if Mary’s gonna try somethin.” Mary is the octogenarian schizophrenic that my former stepfather traded up to a decade or so ago.

“May I advise that you don’t sit around making small talk with all of them? If you feel the need to go pay your respects, do it and get out of there.”

“I’ll have to go through the line.”

“The less said the better though, no one expects or wants you to hang around like you’re still part of the family.”

“Well I just hope this little Subaru’ll get me there. We got near eight inches a snow.”

“They are highly regarded in bad weather, it will be fine.”

“Ya know, I found a life insurance policy from Gerber I had on yer sister. You reckon it’s still worth something?”

“I don’t know. Call them and find out.”

“If it is, I can finally change that headstone out to something I like.”

“Why? There’s nothing wrong with her headstone.”

“I didn’t pick it!”

And for that the grieving families near my sister’s final resting place are thankful. “What a waste of money! And you can’t just go uproot a headstone her grandparents paid for.”

“I can now! He’s gone, and she’s so senile she don’t know she’s in the world.”

“Her headstone is perfectly lovely, and it would be a complete waste to buy another one.”

“I guess yer right…”

“Should I wear pants or a dress?”

“Whatever you’re more comfortable in.”

“The dress is black and gold, but it’s sleeveless. Might be too cold.”

“Sounds like a cocktail dress. I don’t think that sounds good for a funeral.”

“I ain’t goin’ to the funeral. I caint take it. Just the wake tonight.”

“Whatever. It still isn’t a party.”

“I guess I could wear black pants and a purple sweater. With that black and white coat I got at Kohl’s.”

“That would be fine.”

“And I aint bustin my ass in a pair of heels. I’ll wear tennashooz to the car and then put on these baby doll shoes once I git up there.”

“Wear whatever you’re comfortable in. Nobody is likely to notice.”

“Oh David’ll notice. ” (That’s the ex-husband.)

“Mom, he will probably be so drunk he won’t even know you’re there.”

“Probably will be. Hey, while you’re doin’ yer shoppin, let me know if you find any women’s handkerchiefs. Ima hafta borry one from yer aunt tonight. I’ve called ever place I can think of and aint nobody up here sells women’s handkerchiefs.”

“I will keep my eyes peeled.”

“Now should I wear moonlight path or essence of night?”

“Mother, it’s a damn wake, not a first date. Nobody cares what perfume you wear!”

“Oh! Did you know half of downtown burned to the ground at the first of the year?”

It’s true that several buildings in the downtown area where I grew up were destroyed by a fire. Not half of downtown, but she’s prone to hyperbole. “Yes, I heard.”

“I had all kinda things at that consignment store. Im probly out 4 or 5 hundred dollars.”

I laughed aloud. Everyone knows the woman has every stitch of clothing she has ever owned piled ceiling high in her double wide. I’ve suggested many times that she ought to take them to a consignor, but I would bet my last nickle that she didn’t have even one item among the inventory of the burned store. (I can further guarantee that in the coming months, Mama will have some dire financial need that would otherwise have been covered by her profits from the consigned items.)

“An awful shame.” I said, not even trying to hold back the mockery in my voice.

“It is. Well I better go get in the shower so my skin is good and dry by the time I got to leave.”  Don’t we all wish we had the luxury of allowing ourselves to dry for four hours before we had to leave the house?

“Ok.”

“I’ll call ya back later tonight and let ya know how it was.”

“Can’t wait.”

They determined it was due to anxiety and depression. (No doubt brought on by her high pressure life. The poor thing just needs a break! Won’t anybody help her??) They gave her some new mood stablizers, a little something for anxiety, and, since surgery seems to risky, something stronger for the pain in her back. (Pain stemming, apparently, from when she broke her tailbone 30 years ago.) Mmmmkay, Christmas ought to be interesting. Though, of course, it’s time to lay odds as to which malady she will come up with on Christmas morning so as not to have to attend any family functions. 3 to 1 she’ll go with the old “migraine” standby, but diahrea has good odds too.

Anyhoo…they taught Mama some new carols at the Appalachian Mental Resort and Spa that I thought you all might enjoy:

1. Schizophrenia — Do You Hear What I Hear? *

2. Multiple Personality Disorder — We Three Kings Disoriented Are … *

3. Dementia — I Think I’ll be Home for Christmas *

4. Narcissistic — Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me *

5. Manic — Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Buses and Trucks and… Trees and….. *

6. Paranoid — Santa Claus is Coming to Town to Get Me *

7. Borderline Personality Disorder — Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire *

8. Personality Disorder — You Better Watch Out, I’m Gonna Cry, I’m Gonna Pout, Maybe I’ll Tell You Why *

9. Attention Deficit Disorder — Silent night, Holy oooh look at the Froggy – can I have a chocolate, why is France so far away? *

10. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder — Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells

Which one will you be singing?

Well, she was in the hospital. Taken there, naturally, by an ambulance. This is the third time that an ambulance has carried her to the hospital for a few overnight stays since Labor Day. I figured, just for shits and giggles, I could start a tally. From this past Labor Day til next, just how many trips will the ole gal take to the hospital? Just how many tax dollars will be spent ferrying her across town every time her head hurts or last night’s dinner makes her tummy rumble. Three so far, and I doubt we can make it through the year without that number moving into double digits.

“I told him I’d take it to the deputy sheriffs office and he could get it there!”

“Jesus Christ. Why in hell would you waste the police departments time for that  nonsense?”

“It ain’t wasting their time, he’s gotta go there to get it.”

“That’s ridiculous. Just take it to him or call him to come and get it.”

“I reckon I could. I ain’t even gotten my stuff outta my car yet. ” (this three days after she came home.) “Just been too tard.”

Fast forward to today. One can safely bet that the stuff is still in the car and Mama is still in possession of the key.

“Kenny took my car out there to get inspected.”

“I thought you were done with him.”

“Oh I am.”

“Then why did you have him do that?”

“He offered.”

“Thats beside the point. If you’re really “done” you shouldn’t have had him do that.”

“He wanted to. He knew I’d be stranded out here once it expired.”

“Stranded?? Why didn’t you just do it yourself?”

“I’m wearin my fleece pajamas!”

“What in hell does that have to do with anything?”

“You ever had any? they are so comfortable!”

“No. I haven’t.”

“Well what do you sleep in?”

“Buck ass naked. Now why couldn’t you take your own car to be inspected?”

“Well he offered.”

“Ok, I gotta get back to work. Bu-bye.”