Reach Out, Reach Out and Slap Someone

A long fun-filled day of amusements was followed by one filled with miniature golf and minor league baseball, and one more full day at the lakeside beach. I was finally getting the restful, peaceful rejuvenation that is the biggest blessing of vacation. I was finally, as Steven Covey suggests, sharpening the saw.

The drive home on Friday was overshadowed with the usual melancholy. Not only is vacation over, but the kids return to their father. The double whammy. They are going through their routine angst. Excited to see their father, nervous and sad about leaving me. It is the biggest thing I regret about my divorce. I made this their life.

My weekend is filled with laundry and lawn work. I am always amazed at what magic Mother Nature has wrought when I have not been there to see the grass grow. And the hedges. Good grief. I bought a saw and finally Paul Bunyan-ed the thick tree-like limbs. Could have used a Big Blue Ox to haul them away. But I didn't. Let's just look forward to some nice, cheap firewood. Got a great workout for my arms. By the time fall arrives I should look like Rambo.

Monday arrives and I am busy catching up on what all of the working world has saved up for me in my absence. Meet with my boss, catch up with a brand spanking new employee, read a thousand or so emails, most of which are not worth the effort to move my eyes back and forth.

And then my sister calls. She'd gotten a call from Mom.

It had started peacefully enough. They all do. My sister was getting ready for work so she did more listening. And make no mistake, Mom's jaws are always flapping at a considerably higher velocity than most other people's. The call ended without incident.

But then there was a call back. Mom called back to comment that my sister seemed to be distant and unengaged on their call, and had been for several calls. The call was not, understand, to inquire if something is wrong. No, it was to complain. As if to say, "I don't like the way you are acting, and I am not trying to understand why your are acting that way, I am simply insisting that you act differently."

And my sister, how dare she, offered the explanation my mother was not seeking.

"Mom, I am quiet for a reason. I am trying to avoid a conversation about politics and am afraid that anything I say will start a conversation I do not want to have. It seems like that is all you can talk about."

"WELL, WHAT IS WRONG WITH TALKING ABOUT POLITICS? IT'S IMPORTANT!"

"It is important Mom, but I have things that are more important to me that I focus on. And I do not want to be forced to discuss politics the way you do. Politics is one of those taboo topics, Mom."

"WHY IS IT TABOO?"

"Well, Mom, it is a subject people have strong opinions about. Have passion about. Like religion and abortion and legalized marijuana and gay marriage..."

"SO WHAT? PEOPLE NEED TO UNDERSTAND WHAT IS GOING ON AND DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! THIS COUNTRY IS GOING TO THE DOGS AND..."

"Mom, you and I probably voted the same way but I don't agree with all of your opinions and you are always forcing them on people..."

"YOU NEED TO GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE SAND! DO YOU REALIZE...."

"Mom, this is exactly what I was trying to avoid. And here we are anyway, discussing politics."

And from there, we were on an express train to Hell. Wearing gasoline suits.