Hard on Facts,
Soft on People.
Hard on Facts,
Soft on People…
I am going to have
to say THAT
at least
14 million times
in the next
24 hours.
The Fact is,
My Mother is
STUCK.
She is the sweetest,
most excited THING
about all her new
acquisitions.
I walk into her house
and there is NOT room
for me.
Literally.
She is almost 82,
mind you,
and has been
running around
on hyper-speed
since I got to her house
last night
showing me
all the special,
“one of a kind”,
thrift shop finds
since my last
trip down.
Floor to ceiling
pictures hung on the wall,
new wall cabinets
everywhere
filled with
thrift shop trinkets;
every chair
overflowing with
new/old afghans,
blankets,
tables,
mirrors,
and more.
“Grant, you just don’t find
chairs made with this detail,
this much support,
It took my breath away
when I found it at
The Goodwill
down on 21st Street”.
IT WAS A FUCKING
JC PENNEY
EARLY-GODDAMN-AMERICAN
TACKY ASS CHAIR!!!
6 Bose Radios Systems
at last count.
TICKING Clocks
everywhere,
so loud,
that we can’t hear
each other talk.
Giggling,
she took me out
to a new room
she added on
to the back of the house
with a new/old
thrift shop sofa,
2 chairs,
and a lamp.
“Isn’t this nice and peaceful, Grant?
The rest of the house
is so cluttered,
but isn’t it so nice
and calm back here,
I just love
being back here.”
TICK TOCK
TICK TOCK
TICK TOCK
At what point
does a dutiful Son
say to his Addicted Mother
that she NEEDS
to draw a line,
and re-focus
her efforts?
I started this morning.
“Mother,
what’s up with Time?
This has something
to do with time.
Time is ticking away.
There is not a room
in the house,
or a surface
in any room,
that is available
for current use.
Everything is either
on it’s way in,
or it’s way out,
and I don’t think
you, nor John,
knows which is which?
And the tragic thing is,
MOTHER,
that you want to go out today
and look for more
great finds
to add to your home.”
TICK TOCK
TICK TOCK
MORE CLOCKS
I should have
brought her
a FUCK FEAR
pin.
She is old.
Her Husband is very ill.
It is scary
thinking
that time
is running out,
I’m sure.
This is where
the Soft on People
part comes in.
I’ve got another day here
and it is my hope,
that somehow
I can say,
or do something,
that will shine light
on
HOW FUCKED UP THIS IS,
while at the same time
let her know
how much I love
and care for her.
I’ve personally
had to learn
how to point my compulsions
in a different direction.
Like,
I love Jesus
but I sure as hell
would rather
sell him,
than keep every single
image I have of him.
ja ajaj
Like,
I love wheels,
but I know when
I have more wheels
than I can ride
within,
say,
a week’s period of time.
I get reminded
of when it’s TIME
to let go
and enjoy
what I have.
Several things
pop into my mind:
First,
poor Mary Grace,
she’ll be me
one day.
Secondly,
Duct tape.
I may have to bind
my Mother’s hands.
Thirdly,
Theft.
I may have
to remove
her credit cards.
For now,
I have to leave
this peaceful coffee shop
that I’m writing
this ditty.
We are going to
the Music Store
to pick up
her new batons
that she ordered
for US.
She’s decided
that she is going to march
around the neighborhood
twirling her baton,
complete with high throws,
and leg kicks,
in order to keep her arms,
and legs toned
and looking young.
TICK
TOCK
TICK…