Margie, Wondering

Margie is all a-flutter because her sons are arriving tomorrow: one a medical researcher from north Washington State, the other a physician from NYC. She thinks they and her daughter have a whole week of festivities planned, though she isn’t sure how long they will be here. “I just leave it all to them. I’m like a child. They plan, they make arrangements, I just show up dressed and ready to go.” 

After bubbling along, imagining things they MIGHT be planning to do, she said quite soberly, “You know, each time we get together, I wonder if it’s the last time.” 

Yes, I said. Of course you wonder that.

She mused, “I can’t say it to them because if I do, I’ll just get, ‘Oh, Maaaaa!’ with a whine. They don’t want me to remind them.” I said I doubt they forget.

When she checked her mail, she leaned her left arm against the wall for support. Not something I’ve seen her do before.

Doll and I met for a couple of hours this afternoon. I think we can be friends, but I doubt we’ll do a play reading. She was hoping for musical comedy, which I know nothing about, and she’s not really interested in Home. We are like-minded in many other ways, though. We both lived in New Orleans for some years and are appalled by racism and capitalism. We’re both fans of Jon Batiste, both interested in people “on the spectrum.” She identifies as being intuitive and on the spectrum herself. Since 2020 she has been doing many zooms with Gabor Maté, whose work also interests me. We parted after what felt like a short time, though two hours had zipped by.