This morning I woke up and went to check on Mrs. B. She seems sometimes to think I am the hired help, and really, I'm not anything to write home about. I sometimes stagger when I first wake up. Today was no exception. Good help is hard to find.
Number one. Make coffee. Mrs. B wants a cup of coffee to start the day, but she becomes annoyed when I sit down and also drink coffee. I need coffee first thing in the morning to function. This is disturbing to some of us. Someone criticized me once about the fact that this is addiction. So what? Have I ever robbed a bank to finance my coffee addiction?
What is the big problem? In Mrs. B's mind, I'm supposed to prepare breakfast for Mrs. B. This is her priority. Well, OK. I made a bowl of cottage cheese with pears and gave it to her. She ate the pears and left the cottage cheese. I took the dishes to the kitchen. Then I tried to drink my coffee. "When is breakfast?" she asked. She wouldn't let it go. She wanted a tomato sandwich. So, Mrs. B got a tomato sandwich.
As we drank coffee, Mrs. B began to chat. "What city is this?" she asked. Oh dear. We're playing twenty cities. "Is this Jacksonville?" "No it isn't Jacksonville." She hasn't lived in Jacksonville in my lifetime. She lived there when my brother was a baby and my father was in the Merchant Marines. "Are we in Houston?" "No, not Houston." She's not connecting the dots today. "Are we in Miami?" she asked, confused about her whereabouts. How had she gotten here? she wondered. "Does this look like Miami?" I asked, wondering if she thought so.
"What day is today?" I asked her. I try to keep her up to date on the day of the week since it's a small step toward orientation and civilization. "Sunday." I suppose she remembered the conversation from yesterday. It was nice that she remembered what the day was.
I puzzled over Mrs. B's confusion today. It was eerie to see. She seemed further off course than usual. What happened? What was next?
I began to daydream about Miami. When we lived in Miami, starting when I was 11, Aunt Ruth, (aunt by marriage, she liked to point out), would invite me over for the weekend. My friend would be there, she would tell me. My friend? I had no friends in Ft. Lauderdale. Oh, the elderly maid. If the maid would be there, why did she need me to be there? I was only there to serve Aunt Ruth and my cousin Bonnie. Bonnie was my age. I don't remember that the maid ever spoke to me. Well, what would we have talked about? Dust bunnies? I think the maid was intentionally trying to be quiet and not intrude on anyone. On this occasion, Aunt Ruth was having company over. I wasn't introduced and never found out who they were or their names. But I would be sent to sleep outside in the driveway. Aunt Ruth seemed to be showing off having a house filled with servants. I think I may have been sent to sleep out in the yard so that it would appear to her guests that I had gone home at night, and not that I was actually also a guest of my aunt. Warning: Bad guests sleep in the yard.
I don't remember either of my sisters being servants for Aunt Ruth. I was not allowed to eat "with the family" when I was invited to visit. I was to serve dinner and eat my gruel later in the kitchen alone. How did this become my job and never my sisters' jobs? I was never paid for my servitude. It was more like enslavement. Looking back, I suppose putting me in this position may have had something to do with Aunt Ruth being demented. I was considered to be an adult by Aunt Ruth, even when I was still in elementary school, and a no good adult at that. I still lived with my mother, being the parasite that I was taken to be. I was the oldest daughter, and tall for my age, so I guess the demented among us could double my age and cancel my status as a member of the family. Aunt Ruth would complain about my shoddy housekeeping to my mother when I was 11. Now it was payback time. I think she may have convinced herself she was teaching me a lesson, never stopping to think that learning to keep house needs to be taught.
What was going on with mother today? Usually it can be traced back to her diet. Too many carbs and watch out. She'll go right off the rails. Last night I had come back from grocery shopping with chocolate ice cream. I thought it would be OK because it was sugar free. Mrs. Billingsley had really gobbled the ice cream, which is unusual for her, since she isn't a big eater. That probably explains today. I told her that I didn't feel she tolerated ice cream well. There was a shocked hush in the room. We had a conversation once about how she isn't the boss now. I wasn't trying to be mean, just to explain the role change and why it had occurred. Well, mother is always going to be the boss.
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