GRAND Magazine - Summer 2020 - 32

memories and moments
doesn't seem to mind that I got here first. He
shows his good will and affection by splaying himself across my stomach. He's 12 and
appears to be as deaf as a post, unless of
course, you are opening a can of Dr. Petlove's
Salmon/Egg/Chicken/Cheese/Blend, Organic,
Hi-protein, Low-fat, Sodium-free Senior
Dinner, in which case Mr. Oblivious is all
ears and comes sliding into home plate for a
full bowl. No cheapy three cans at $1.99 for
this noble beast. And tonight, for a refreshing change, he falls asleep quietly without making those usual disgusting gargle/
thrack/spit noises that always remind me of
my sainted Nana. She used to keep all of us
awake with her regularly scheduled bedtime
rituals, and I hated how every morning, her dentures would flash
me a twisted underwater grin through the heavy glass tumbler
where they spent the night.
Just as I am beginning to drift off, I'm startled by a series
of loud clicks, long buzzes followed by a steady, chilling clatter. I thought I was alone in here. What's happening? Suddenly,
the room is bathed in a sickly bluish light, but it's only the next
door neighbor's motion detector halogen flood lamps illuminating the entire street now that the local raccoon family has
waddled by. I jump up too quickly and send Sugar flying, at the
same time knocking over the card table on which the neighborhood troops and I spent the entire afternoon building their
LEGO International Airport, complete with four Boeing 747s,
three coffee shops, two restrooms and a baggage carousel, all
to accommodate dozens of small, square-shouldered plastic
people. The control tower explodes against the computer, the
jets skid off the tarmac and crash into the Ficus plant and tens
of decapitated victims are strewn everywhere. It's a war zone!
32 GRAND

Summer 2020

The baby has gone back to sleep. Big brother, not
even remotely concerned with the prospect of impending doom, rolls his eyes and heads back to bed, dragging his lethal weapon along behind him. Enter my
daughter the waitress, carrying a mug of steaming tea
in each hand and a small bag of her famous hazelnut/
concrete biscotti clenched between her soon-to-bebraced overbite. (Did I raise this girl right or what?")
After one sip and a solid crunch that I pray to the Tooth
Fairy isn't the sound of my new $1500 porcelain crown
cracking, I decide to test my recently acquired deepbreathing skills. Suddenly, a wave of Sufi calm washes
over me.
Fascinated, my firstborn and I gaze at the bright
sparks dancing around this very foreign body, neither
The oldest male in the house rushes in wielding his lethal Star
one of us ever having seen anything like it before.
Wars light saber, fully prepared to vanquish the intruder. Hot on Sugar strolls in wide-eyed, leaping up to drape himself around
his heels with a wailing offspring on one hip comes his mother. my neck. Ever the optimist, he seems confident that I'm not
likely to throw him off again any time soon. A heated discussion ensues. Are we seeing a UFO or the Space Station falling to
"Good grief! Maybe it's Planet X
Probably not. At this point, our enthusiasm for late-night
hurtling toward San Francisco and earth?
cosmic events is beginning to wane, so Mommy the Younger
shuffles off to bed. When I finally fall asleep, I dream that I am
I'm the only one watching!
streaking across a galaxy far, far away in my skivvies.
"Oh, Mom, I'm so sorry! I forgot to turn off the fax!" With
Click here to continue reading
that, I gather up my crumpled-bedding and move into the living
room where I settle myself onto the plush couch which sits in
front of a huge picture window. Gazing out into the clear midnight sky, I catch sight of an incredibly bright object swinging
and swaying in the distance.
After graduating from UC Berkeley and enjoying
"What's that?" I exclaim. "Good grief! Maybe it's Planet X
a rewarding and colorful career as wife, mother,
hurtling toward San Francisco and I'm the only one watching!
granny, pianist~teacher, composer, Special
Ed Advisor and writer, retirement affords me
Quick! Somebody call the police! Somebody call the White
the luxury of free time for three of my favorite
House!"
pursuits: Reading, Writing and Rachmaninoff.

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GRAND Magazine - Summer 2020

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