It's my mother's 94th birthday today. I'll have a full day of celebrating and comforting. I think I might have told you what I got her for a present--a brand new walker! That should give her a lift. I got her some slip on shoes and a pull over tent dress, too. Ever resourceful.
Aghh. In truth, I am the worst at present giving and making celebrations. It has caused me much relationship trouble. Ili's prior boy was her law partner, a privileged kid from a wealthy, well-connected Charleston family. I'm sure that is why she liked the t.v. show "Southern Charms" so much. I didn't mind. I've never been one to give up my past. But when silly things like Easter would come around, she expected me to lavish her in gifts. I thought that a basket from Williams and Sonoma was nice, but she would lose her mind. I think she expected Faberge eggs. Birthdays? Oh, man. . . I was sick with anxiety for weeks before the day. What do you buy someone? A sweatshirt from Costco? I always know what to buy me, but others. . . not so much.
One Christmas, we agreed not to worry about buying gifts. We would simply wine and dine our way through the season in a sophisticated way. Man, that was a great Christmas season. And on Christmas Eve, we were riding the Vespa around town and stopped into a vintage store. I saw a beautiful mink jacket and asked her to try it on. The fit was perfect. The heavyset gay owner of the store came over and ooed and ahhed over the jacket and Ili, and he explained that it had been owned by a famous drag queen performer. The jacket was unusual, he said, because it had pockets. That was very unusual, he said with great authority, and the drag queen kept sparkling glitter in them so that she could reach in and toss them in the air above the crowd at the end of her performance.
"How much?"
Boom! I bought it for her on Christmas Eve. It was brilliant.
Of course, she never wore it anywhere. Where are you going to wear a mink jacket in the sunny south? She took it with her when she left, though, and I wonder if she has ever worn it anywhere or if it is just some trinket she holds onto.
She probably sold it or gave it to one of her sisters.
I love eating and drinking my way through the holidays, but that ain't happening this year. In the Times today, there were articles on "The Best of _______ in 2025." The best of books, movies, t.v. shows, music, etc. I missed 2025. It was "The Year That Wasn't" for me. I'm going to buy a ticket for the billion dollar lotto tonight and change my life.
There is a woman at the Club Y who I like talking to as much as anyone right now. She is a well-built trainer, a mother of two young children, and a wife. She looks a little scary until you talk to her, then she lights up and the whole room seems brighter. I try not to bother people, especially women, and especially at the gym. All the guys eyeball her, of course, and many try to engage her. And surely, they all think she likes them when she smiles. That's how guys are. You know that. I am a bit different. I never think anyone likes me. Can't imagine why they would, and I expect some terrible rebuke if I bother them at all. But this woman and I have become chatty. It started when--and I know I've already told the story--another woman came up to tell her how amazing she looked, and I gave her guff for not flattering the woman back. I was kidding, of course, but it took her by surprise, and I am a champ at turning the room slightly so that people feel off-balance.
It worked.
So that is how it began, and now we kibbitz when we see one another. Yesterday we were talking about compliments once again. I said I'd told everyone in the gym about the encounter with the woman who gave her an unreturned compliment. Then I told her I couldn't take a compliment, that it made me uncomfortable.
"Yea, that's what I mean," she said. "It doesn't always work out. It seems inauthentic somehow."
"I think compliments and insults are both rooted in some insincerity," I said. "I don't trust either.."
"Oh, my," she said turning to me, her eyes and mine. And then with the best delivery ever, she asked, "Who hurt you?"
Oh my god, I lost it. I loved it.
"Who hurt me?" I laughed. "Oh, that is rich. That is great. Everybody has!!"
She was laughing now, too. "I'm sorry," she said, not insincerely but without weight.
"That's shrink talk," I said, now in a giggle. "You've been to therapy, haven't you?"
A little hitch and then, "Yes."
"No kidding. That is GREAT. I'm putting that in my portfolio. I'll use that one often. 'Who hurt you?' Really. . . I love it."
I certainly like this woman, and I hope I didn't hurt her feelings. She's one of those people who makes me feel better just by being around.
Last night, I called my mother on my way back to her house to see if she would like some raviolis for dinner.
"I don't really like ravioli," she said.
"Oh, O.K. What would you like?"
"Anything you decide will be O.K."
"No. Not if I picked the ravioli."
And of course, the conversation went nowhere. People don't know what they want, they just know what they don't want.
I bought two NY Strip steaks that were on sale. When I cooked them, I found out why. They must have been cut against the grain for they were tough. Some new butcher probably cut them wrong and that is why they were a third off the regular price. They sucked. So after our rather underwhelming dinner, I asked my mother if she would like to sit out for a bit and look at the Christmas lights. She did and we did. It is good to take in the fresh night air and the neighborhood quiet after the sun goes down. It was grand, and then it was cold.
I asked my mother if she would like to watch a Christmas movie. Sure, she said. Fifteen minutes into it, she went to bed. It was a new Christmas movie and I had read a good review, but it was dumb. Never going to be a Christmas Classic. It was a most predictable thing and it sucked. So maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it will charm the hoi-polloi. But I sat and watched it to the obvious happy ending, and to my great embarrassment, my nose and lips swelled up and little bitty teardrops formed in the corners of my eyes. The goddamn happy ending broke my very fragile heart.
I'm a real holiday mess. I don't think I want to watch another one.
Last Christmas I bought my mother some Chanel #5. I asked her about it yesterday. I think she just put some on. Maybe too much of it. It's aroma lingers as she passes.
I need to get the birthday going now. Time for a birthday breakfast. I have to go to my house to get her new walker then go to pick up her cake. And there will be an afternoon dinner at the Olive Garden.
I'm a hell of a guy.
I am just not very good at birthdays.
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