Mom & Me Journals Histories: 1999 - 2001

    I like the FIC (Female Inner Curmudgeon) and M(ale)IC commentary. I believe, too, that some of my mother's restlessness comes from her entire life, which mine mimics. Moving every couple of years. Even on Guam we lived in three houses in three different neighborhoods. After retirement she and Dad lived in several places in Arizona and Texas. The longest she's lived anywhere in her whole life is in Mesa in the mobile home. For that reason I think the act of going back and forth every six months is important to her life and we will continue this as long as possible. Our days, though, of picking up and visiting Casper, Wyoming, on a whim are over. Nor will she be buying any more property. Nor will she be selling any unless it becomes absolutely necessary.

    A funny regional food event happened to my mother and me last fall. There's a little "home cooking" restaurant less than a mile from where we live in Mesa that my mother has been curious about because it's called the Iowa Cafe and she spent about half her childhood and young adulthood in Iowa (the other half in South Dakota). I didn't expect the Iowa Cafe to be a repeat of my childhood, but it was and Mom realized she didn't like it. Too many flour gravies. The vegetables were buttered and cooked beyond recognition. The bread wasn't bad but over-yeasted, exactly the way Mom used to make it. Mayonnaise was, again, Miracle Whip. A similar thing happened to my Dad in 1969 when he decided we were going to spend a month that summer in North Carolina with his relatives eating real southern cooking. He couldn't eat it. Neither could we. Too much grease. Too much salt. Not enough of anything else. Absolutely everything was fried or baked or stewed beyond recognition, including vegetables. Everything ended up some shade of off-yellow, probably from being dredged in corn meal before it was fried or broiled. I do have to admit, though. Those people sure could bake. Amazing stuff.
    Anyway, you probably shouldn't have gotten me started on food. I love to think about and discuss food. Lately, the most interesting food circumstance that's cropped up in my life has been regulating my mother's (and, consequently, my, as it turns out) blood sugar through diet. The regulation is based not strictly on nutrition but on how quickly a particular type of food breaks down into glucose in one's body. Manipulating one's blood glucose also manipulates one's energy level. It's very cool. Nutritional guidelines vary from case to case. My mother should not lose weight (even though, if she were about 20 years younger, she would be counseled to lose weight) so fats and meats comprise the backbone of her diet. They operate on a timed-release basis. Fibrous vegetables are good, too, for regulating energy. Complex carbohydrates as well. Simple carbohydrates though, and anything in the -ose family break down way too fast and should only be used to bring blood glucose up in an emergency. Luckily, my mother does not like artificially sweetened things so she's just cutting way down on sugar. And chocolate. The last battleground is fruit. That's a hard category. For everyone else including me fruit is healthy.
    I've learned something new in dealing with Mom. It's taken me long enough to figure it out. All spring and summer I had to remind Mom why we weren't in Prescott. She got so sick of the heat in Mesa. Couldn't wait to get up here. We've been up here since, let's see, the second week in September, I think. Since about the third week in September she's been saying, "Well, I'm getting just about ready to get back to Mesa." Finally, this season, it hit me. It doesn't matter where she is. The grass is always greener, or, in our case, the rocks are more interesting. So I pretty much ignore that part of her conversation now, especially since it's still generously sprinkled with appreciative comments about the house, the carpet, our view, how much The Girls like it up here, the weather which has been better than perfect for her; old age, LTF. Old age. When our Chandler friends spent the night on Thursday, coming down from Flagstaff, Mom was grateful we have this small, snug, well situated house in this beautiful area.
    "What do you want to do for your birthday, this year, Gail? Do you want to go down to Mesa?"
    "No, Mom. It's you who likes to go to the Valley on her birthday [which is, by the way, August 2nd, the worst time of the year to visit the Valley]. Besides, I'm going to be tutoring and..."
    "Well, yes, but a change of scenery would be nice..."
    It's a no-win situation. Or maybe a grotesque win-win situation.