Goin' To The Craft Store For Mom

Mother, God bless her soul, would often call me at work at about 4:55 with a list of supplies that she needed for a multitude of crafts that she was working on. Conversations with mother necessitated screaming replies and questions because, among the many, many problems she had, she was - at times- very hard of hearing. So there I am, in the middle of the Corporate Law Department, screaming things like DID YOU WANT THE 1/4 INCH GOOGLY EYES OR THE 1/2 INCH? HOW MANY 9 INCH FASHION DOLLS? WHAT COLOR HAIR? DID YOU SAY 2 BLONDES AND A BRUNETTE. OH , SO 1 BLONDE AND TWO BRUNETTES. AND A BLACK DOLL? DO YOU MEAN A DOLL WITH BLACK HAIR OR A BLACK DOLL. OK, GOT IT - ONE BLACK DOLL WITH BLACK HAIR.

At quitting time, I drive 19 miles to the nearest Michael's Craft store and comb the aisles, making 19 complete circuits of the store as I collected two 8 inch squares yellow felt, 1 pkg. 1/4 inch googly eyes, 3 five inch Kewpie dolls, 1/2 inch multi colored and multi sized pom-pons, 1/16th inch aqua bugle beads, 1000 ft. ecru crochet cotton, 1 straw hat for a 4 inch doll, 6 inches of blue satin ribbon with yellow roses on it, one sheet of orange poster paper and a tube of indigo stencil paint.

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I never seemed to wear comfortable shoes on the days she called. I could never find a parking space withing 1/4 mile of the door, it always rained, and when I finally made it to the one check out that was ever open, there were 6 people in front of me with their little hand baskets filled to the brim with plastic flowers and other sundry. It took for ever to get through the check out.

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At some point I was so fogged out from the sales clerk ringing up blue roses, one at a time, I would kind of lean back and using the hand basket of the person behind me as a buffer, lower myself to the floor and lay there staring at the ceiling with my basket on my chest waiting and waiting and waiting. I'd ask the person behind me to just kind of push me forward when the line moved.

Finally, I'm on my way, but first, a stop at the Winn Dixie for a 16 oz cup of cream of broccoli soup from the deli, and a stop at the 7-11 for a french vanilla latte and then to the nursing home to visit Mom. I'd walk into her room with my Michael's bags, a blister on my left heel and a small burn on my right thumb from the soup, set everything down and start to lower myself into the visitors chair - which was actually mom's wheel chair.

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About the time my hinnie is hitting deck mom says "I dropped my crochet hook under the bed and I think there is a tea bag and a hot dog bun under there too. Could you get it? Have you ever crawled under a bed in a hospital or a nursing home?????? There is not enough Lysol in the world to bathe in afterwards. Straight lye is the only other option. Or a car wash - with the hot wax

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So I'm down there on the sticky floor with the dust bunnies groping about for her things and as long as I'm there, I also pick up a quarter, a blue button, 2 used Kleenex and a small damp spongy thing that turns out to be a meatball from dinner. I am just positive that seconds before my arrival Mom takes a handful of whatever off her nightstand and tosses it under the bed so I can amuse myself picking around between the Ebola and typhoid germs that grow like grass on the linoleum.

Meanwhile I hear a combination of sighs and crinkly noises as Mom is pulling sundry craft items out of the 14 Michael's bags. I whack my head on the bed rail, get my foot jammed under the wheel chair and end up having to roll on my side to gain enough leverage to pull myself up without dropping the assorted goodies from under the bed.

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Turns out I got the 7 9/10" doll instead of the 8". She needed more of a lemon yellow than a sunny yellow felt, and she meant to say 2 blonde dolls and one brunette rather than the other way around. I wonder for a minute if my medicinal peroxide will resolve that hair issue, but decide the glue that holds the thatch of doll hair on might dissolve and there's no craft in the world that calls for a bald doll.

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After my visit with mom, and a very hot shower I call my free psychologist - my sister Mary -and proceed to unload about my adventure with extra drama and adjectives. Rather than a soothing discussion we are sitting on the floor in our respective homes laughing and snorting until one or the other yells uncle. I feel better and hang up so I can get to bed early, get up and go back to Michael's tomorrow.