A Few Good Ideas

So it's good to be home. Plot and Duck both had dreams last night that make no sense by themselves, and when you put them together make even less sense. Being in Stiletto City these days seems to tear a few synapses loose and then they must fire at random during the night while they're trying to remember where they belong.

Sleeping down there Plot is half-awake all night, tossing and turning and listening for strange noises. He gets home feeling washed-out-exhausted, and then the dreams take over.

Leaving his mom in L.A. means guilt mixed with relief. A part of him keeps thinking if he were just smarter, cleverer, a better son, he could figure out something that would help her memory, her hip, that would put some meat back on her bones, that could help her see a little better, that could give her some fun. The whole family is glomming onto the hearing aid idea because she needs it so desperately, but of course that's because her hearing is the one thing we know how to fix.

And of course the relief -- there is a tiny warning bell clanging in Plotnik's subconscious the minute he walks into Mummy P.'s house, and it doesn't stop ringing until he's back at the airport. What was that noise? Is she OK? Did she understand what I just said? Can she hear Ducknik's voice at all? She just asked me for the tenth time about Thanksgiving. Don't respond in frustration, just answer the question like it's the first time you've heard it, because it was the first time to her and she wants to know the answer.

Damned annoyance, followed by anger at himself for it. This is the way things are now for Mummy P. and, if he and Ducknik are lucky, the same way things will be for them down the line.

Which is of course the heart of the issue. Plottie sees himself someday as his mom is now, and his kids being where Plot and Duck are now. He knows what he is thinking so he knows what they will be thinking.

But, OK. Move forward. Mummy P. cannot ever remember Gloria's name. Gloria is from Colombia and is sweet and patient, but Plottie would feel a lot better if his mom stopped calling her Lilian.

So he told her: "Mom. When you think about your lady's name, sing Glory Glory Hallelujah." Then you'll remember "Gloria."

"OK, good idea," she says.

Gloria walks over. "Mom, what's her name?" Plotnik whispers.

"Uh...Glory!" says Mummy P. "Gloria!"

"Yes, my darling?" says Gloria.

Now if Plottie could only come up with a few more good ideas.