She was practiced at the art of deception

I can see it on the horizon- the day I become my mother. It’s on its way.

The event that first hinted at this new direction was innocent enough. We were in college, living on Midvale. I did not have a lot of money for luxury items such as food that did not come in a Rice-A-Roni box, 10 for $10 (I love you Ralphs Club!). In an earlier life I had been terrified and disgusted when my mom used cream cheese from a block that had mold on one end. She insisted that she wasn’t touching the mold, and that the rest of the cheese was fine. Living in Westwood I learned that she was right- I did not die if I ate bread from a loaf that had grey fungus on the slices near the back of the bag. Milk was still good if it smelled okay. You wanted to eat yogurt that you feared had gone bad. I said the famous words that were later repeated many times in the history of Livewire—“It’s the sell-by date, not the eat-by date!” Out of frugality and necessity I had adopted my mother’s standard for throwing out food. I learned to be more careful two years later when I ate the three-day-old leftovers of the Moroccan Chicken we made in the crock pot, which is another story for another day.

I was in a doctor’s office earlier this week and saw the New York Magazine from late March in the reception area. The cover story delves into the rivalry between New York and London, in everything from food and art to finance. I didn’t have time to read much more than the opening paragraph before my appointment. When I came back to the waiting room I picked up the magazine and took it with me! I stole a magazine from a doctor’s office! I’m sure people do this all the time (they do, don’t they?), but I am flooded with the memory of being completely mortified when my mother walked out with a Smithsonian from Dr. Kuhn’s office after an orthodontic appointment. I mean, what would the next person read? Did anyone see her grab the magazine? Couldn’t she just take her chances and hope to finish the article while waiting during next month’s appointment? I couldn’t take my chances, I needed to know now about London. I needed to know if it beat out my choices/activities of where to live/what to do next year (currently on the top of the list: buying a house in a Mexican fishing village or working as an au pair for a former Soviet official; I am also accepting offers to be a professional tango dancer Buenos Aires). You can see that I need some direction.

So I brought the magazine to my office and flipped through it at lunch. Before even reading the London article I found a piece on Joan Didion’s new play, which is based on her book, The Year of Magical Thinking. I loved this book. I needed this book. I am reading other books to give myself space just so I can read this book again. And now I need to go to New York and see Vanessa Redgrave, as directed by David Hare, portraying Joan Didion. And I’ll have to get some cupcakes while I am there. I am pleased and amused when I go after something I want and instead get something I need, like more Joan Didion. Also, I am not yet my mother because she is far too practical to consider *just consider* booking a trip to New York to see one play when you already know the ending.

This post has too many words, so I’ll leave you with this:




Spring!


Ed. Note: This picture was taken last year around this time, but I promise the tree across the street really does look like this! I just don’t have a picture to prove it.