600 Crises or Growing Up Italian

"Let’s try it again, Ma, what do we need to do to get organized?..."

Phil Collins and my mother had one thing in common : they created "Land of Confusion". I chalked this up to the "absent-minded professor" syndrome. As Wally put it, she had no Point "A" to Point "B". She went from Point "A" to Point "F", to Point "D", then to "Z", "M", "K", and "B". Her mind track reminded me of the "Family Circle" cartoon which portrayed Little Billy leaving his house to go to school. He walked out the door, pet the dog, picked up a stick and played a rhythm on the garbage can lid, chased after the dog, stopped to pick a flower, brought in the mail from the mailbox, and did about five other things before hitting the road for school. The difference between Francesca and Billy, however, was that each of her stops was a crisis...and Billy got there.

A typical Maine morning in our rustic summer cottage started out with clearing the breakfast table of dishes she had neglected to wash the night before. Then she’d set the table for eight, when only four people were coming down to eat. This was aggravating for the human dishwasher, because the extra plates and silverware would be spilled upon or dirtied, without anyone even using them.

After breakfast the TV went on, to check the weather (looking out the window was never good enough), and if it was a good day, she planned to go to the beach---not to go swimming, but to take pictures of others swimming. In order to do that, Francesca had to convince others that it was in their best interests to go to the beach.

She began. "It’s going to be a lovely day, Jane, you don’t want to go to Camden today...Carol, you can do the wash some other time."

Jane and I gathered our kids and put on bathing suits. Then the phone rang. It was Lou, in a whirl of consternation about the usual crisis (see pp.7, 50, 58, 59, 63). He couldn’t get his car started, and he wanted to come up to Maine today. Fi tried to give him advice, but after sustaining several loud outbursts from the other end of the line, she handed the phone to Len, who suggested putting enough water in it to get it to Bocci’s Texaco. Bocci could patch it up, for large unknown sums of money, and once Lou got the car to Maine, he could get it fixed. (Sound familiar?) End of phone conversation.

Francesca was now really "gone" for the day, because Lou was coming, and she had to get ready. No task would ever be completed by her, since she would be trying to do many things at once. She started by stripping Lou’s bed and bringing his bedding to the laundry shed. Then she got the hose out from under the Lone Maple cottage, dragged it over to "the washing machine that wouldn’t go"(unless the hose was held over it), and waited for the wash to be done. Francesca transferred it to "the dryer that wouldn’t quit" (unless you opened the door yourself), and babysat the sheets so that they wouldn’t burn up. She had delayed the beach trip, leaving four kids in the lurch, holding pails and shovels.

Ma proceeded to make herself lunch, leaving the mayonnaise out, the bread open, and a sliced tomato uncovered, in order to put the bedclothes back in the dryer for another round. She only ate half her sandwich, because she had to rescue the sheets again, from the dryer.

Meanwhile, Jane and I had taken the kids to the beach. Dad came in for lunch.

"I can’t make you a sandwich," she said on her way upstairs, "because I have to make Lou’s bed" (see pp. 52, 54, 55 for similar behavior).

Dad said, "That’s all right. You left enough stuff on the table for me to get one myself...and you dropped some things out there on the lawn, a pillowcase or something."

Francesca did not come down for the pillowcase, but she did come down with her camcorder. "I promised the kids I’d take some pictures of them at the beach."

She climbed into the station wagon, put it in reverse, and tire treads made their mark not only on the dropped pillowcase, but also on a yellow float that she had taken out of the shed earlier, for the beach. POP! "What was that??" she asked, over her shoulder.

Dad looked out the door. "Looks like you backed over that float you just paid $20 for."

"Well, I’ve got to get to the beach." She drove off, and two miles later parked at the beachfront, and yelled for me and Jane.

"What??" we said.

"I’ll be right back. I just want to go to the grocery store to get a few things for supper."

Jane and I nodded wittingly. "Okay, Ma, see you later (in about three hours). May we borrow your still camera for some snapshots?"

"Oh!" she sucked in her breath. "I left it on the front steps of the house!" Dismissing that thought, however, she went on her merry way to the grocery store.

After a while, typical of Maine weather, it started to rain. Jane and I went back to the house, but too late to save the camera. We trashed the yellow float, picked up the pillowcase, and wondered what was keeping Francesca.

She blew in. She couldn’t get the baked beans that Lou liked, since they were all out, and she couldn’t get the fish he liked, because it was too late. We showed her the camera.

"Oh no..." she moaned. "Why didn’t somebody take it in ---Len, you were here!"

"I was here, but I didn’t know your camera was out there! You’re always losing things and never putting stuff back where it belongs!..."(see pp. 60,66,73,75,76,77).

"Oh!" she sucked in her breath.

"What, Ma, what??!"

"I must have left my purse at the store, because I can’t find it!"

Francesca went out the door to go back to the store. We rushed out to make sure there were no obstacles in her path. Vrrrooooomm! She left.

While she was out, Lou called and said that he’d changed his mind, he wasn’t coming.

Fi returned, and upon hearing this, collapsed in a chair.

"Ma. What’s wrong?"

"I’m tired," she said.