. . .

(Humor. Holiday. Mother. Noting that I didn’t adequately rinse the measuring cup before putting it in the dishwasher. In a soft voice, this is what she said:)

“Look. Look at this?

How can you put this in a dishwasher?

I have to re-do your work.

I did all the right things.

Got all the right sacrements.

Did the best I could do with what I had to work with.

And it was an uphill battle – not because of him – but because of the time and place.

Then he went to college.

Went into businesses.

Had three marriages!

It’s not my fault.

I did the best I could.

And here it is. The new year.

And I find I haven’t yet succeeded in ‘straightening him out’.

And I find that a disappointment in my life.

And what do I get in my old age… my last years on earth?

To be cajoled by a naughty, aged, little boy….

huh?

I tried, God. I really tried. I gave it my all. It’s a shame.

God bless, lord, it’s your job from here on out.

I can’t do it. It’s one of those impossible earthly tasks.

I know you understand … my dilemma.

(He doesn’t listen to me anyway so it doesn’t matter what I say….)

I offer it up. For days in purgatory. Lord help me do this.

Should I intercede with St’ Jude the Impossible?

Now I do not expect to see one crumb on the counter when I come back from my luncheon.

I a martyr. A martyr. But I’ve decided to let go. To leave you to god’s charge…”

(Catholicism teaches guilt with amazing … facility. Now, you know. My mother is the worst tease in the world. And people wonder where I get it from. lol. So, in retaliation, I will find a rather large crumb from the date-nut bread, and place it, perfectly in the middle of the counter.)