Miracles, Mean Bulls, Mexican Food & Random Musings

"Where'd you get the cowbells?" my mom asked as she exited my side door for a cigarette, and the rope of bells I've tied to the door knob jangled.
"They're goat bells from Greece," I said.
"They remind me of the bells my grandfather put on the bull," she said. "We kids weren't allowed in that pasture, but I saw that bull run my uncles up the windmill more than once," she said.
There's an image for you.

So....Miracle Ear was kind of a miracle. The broken hearing aid will be repaired at no cost. The technician was sweet and seemingly knowledgeable and spoke directly to my mom without assuming I would be the go-between. We go back for a follow-up next week. But why oh why is the place on the 3rd floor and a hefty walk from the elevator? Hearing loss is not solely the province of the elderly, but c'mon. I got a suntan crossing the parking lot, and that was only half-way there.

A snippet from last night's dinner conversation:
"To think that all we had was 300 & some dollars per month and the house payment was 150.00, and there were taxes besides." This was my mom describing our destitution after my dad died and we were getting by on Social Security Survivor benefits. I saw M's eyes open a bit wider. My mom went on to describe how my brothers' summer jobs paid for their high school tuition. I was in college then and scraping by in a similar fashion. I'm liking the 3-generation vibe a lot. My mom brings things up that I haven't ever thought to tell my daughters.

The three of us have been wondering about my other daughter C who has not made contact in a while. She and her husband are professional sailors and do not always have access to phones or social media. Through Facebook, we've pinned down their travel dates. The two of them are vacationing in Costa Rica. My mom keeps asking if we've heard from them. I made an executive decision not to share with her that Costa Rica was under a tsunami watch this morning. Tonight she asked about them again. M and I were cooking---I, hovering over a pan of fajita veggies, M over the quesadillas. "Probably, Mom," I said, "They've unplugged." I went on to explain that in my daughters' generation, people are so connected that sometimes they have to disconnect. She was sitting at the bar with her martini, and she gestured thumbs up. "I'm in favor of that," she said.

A snippet from tonight's dinner: "Mexican food confuses me," she says, staring at the bowl of steaming veggies, the plate of avocado slices, the rice, the quesadillas, and the salsa. M was constructing her dinner one way, and I was arranging mine another. I gave my mom a couple of options, and she ran with it. "Very good," she said, a few bites in. I breathed a sigh of relief. The whole things looked a little too similar to last night's Asian stir-fry. Whew. Saved by fajita seasoning.

Tomorrow is the first visit to my mom's new primary care physician. The office is just across the water from my patio. As the heron flies, the trip would take just a few seconds. By land it's a bit farther. We're going to try and walk there. There are benches where we can sit along the way. At least we won't have to climb a windmill to save ourselves from a charging bull.