First Sunday In May

Beautiful, sunny and everything's popping green (at last). I should be outside today.

Can't. Too much pain. Will have to take it easy today, maybe finish the Paul Krugman book. But there's a cooling breeze coming off the lake--damn, wish we had a patio.

Bolero is playing in the black and white background of Secret Agent/AKA Danger Man. A petrified middle-aged businessman type is about to get offed by the doughy, steely-eyed blond guy holding the pistol. Always loved the theme of this show--not the Johnny Rivers vocal, which is swingin' finger-poppin' fun alright, but the spritely, organ- and trumpet-driven incidental music or whatever it's called that always opens the episode. You see the "Series Devised and Edited by Ralph Smart" and other credits over the action as it plays. Remember?

Max was so pissed off last night she pissed me off. Can't get that out-of-left-field phone call out of my mind. I guess Mom is right that it's likely a control issue. Max has been the family free spirit for such a long time, it's hard to watch her slowly becoming a cranky old lady with ever diminishing capacities. She hates the new apartment--totally understandable where the kitchen and bath are concerned--and she's lost her pretty view of the boats on the lake. But mostly she hates her increasing vulnerability, the way she's become so dependent on the rest of us for almost all the things she used to be able to do herself.

I understand that, I do. I watch Maxine's decline and am swept with sadness at the change in her, and worry what's coming for my mother, my Aunt Mary, my Uncle Bob and Aunt Vera. And Michael.

And me.

When we were living in California, some--Jesus!--25 years ago, Max and I would often get in the car and just go. Sometimes shopping, sometimes sight-seeing, sometimes just for the ride up the Pacific Coast Highway and the breathtaking views of sparkling water and distant mountains. We'd roll the windows down, turn the radio up and laugh like maniacs at jokes nobody but us would get. We'd find the best restaurants and sweet shops, if we were lucky a combination of the two, and bring home mouthwateringly fresh peach pies, strawberry pies, lemon lush pies and (this absolutely floored me; still does) the most delicious french vanilla ice cream--a local drug store brand, as good or better than Haagen Daz, Baskin Robbins or Breyer's. Don't smirk. If you'd been there you'd know what I mean.

I miss El Pollo Loco, Marie Callendar's, Jongewaard, and Jim's Hamburgers--far and away the best greasy spoon burgers I've ever had. Mostly though I miss going to all those places with Max. She was then the age I am now, and I was a little girl with big, grown-up hips thinking lipstick, summer dresses and high heels made me her equal. We were such great friends. We're still friends. But everything's so different now.

Everything is so dfferent now.