a Wiccan than I am a Christian. Having a religious ceremony would seem … well, hypocritical. Will you have a sandwich with us when you come back down? I promise to be in a nicer frame of mind.”
“ ’S okay, Mum, no biggie.” My daughter looked at me with a motherly kind of affection and gave me a one-armed hug. “It’s probably natural for you to be a little on edge, with the wedding coming up and all.”
With a glance toward the door, she added in a conspiratorial whisper, “And I can see how Aunt Glory would get right up your nose—no wonder Ben doesn’t go home more often. She’s already suggested that I change my hair, dress better, and think about getting a
real
job, maybe receptionist at a law office. Somewhere I’d meet someone
nice
.
“But anyway,” Laurel continued cheerfully, “I made myself a peanut butter sandwich and snagged a cider to take with me. I don’t have to be at work till five so I can stay up there till around three-thirty. Sweet!”
Another brisk hug and she was off, bounding down the steps, Molly and Ursa trotting after her. I watched them go, then turned to lean on the rail and stare for a bit at the distant mountains, listening to a persistent towhee calling from the shrubs below and allowing my thoughts to drift like a feather on the wind.
I was in a much better mood when I pulled open the screen door to return to the house.
New game. Now forGloria. Apologize again and try, politely but firmly, to make sure she doesn’t bring in her florist friend from Florida
.
The silly alliterative phrase made me grin and I began to think of ways to improve on it.
Fancy florist friend from Florida … fancy florist friend from freakin’ Florida … fancy f—
All f-words fled—well, almost all—at the sight of Gloria, in skintight turquoise and fuchsia, lying on the living room floor doing something slightly obscene with a fat iridescent purple ball. James was making little darts at her face with his tongue and she was fending him off with one hand while raising and lowering the other arm. It was quite a picture. Freakin’ funny, as a matter of fact.
“Lizzy!” Gloria gasped, removing first one and then the other leotard-clad leg from atop the ball and waving them about in the air. “I just don’t know if this is going to work.”
I called James off and put him outside but Gloria had stopped her … whatever it was and had assumed a cross-legged position on the mat beneath her. I began to apologize for my ungraciousness at her kind—though unnecessary—offer to help with the wedding but she waved my words away.
“Not a problem, Lizzy. I remember how touchy Mother was when she was going through menopause. You know, exercise can do wonders for your mood, as well as help with weight control …”
She cast a significant glance at my hips and continued. “I was going to suggest you might like to try Pilates but I think Pilates works better in a less … cluttered atmosphere. At home I go to this beautiful studio—very simple, very Japanese—a scroll on the wall, an ikebana arrangement on a low table, and one wall, completely glass, looking out on a meditation garden—all rocksand moss and just a tiny trickle of a waterfall into a koi pond—”
“It sounds lovely, Glory,” I interupted, wondering if gritting my teeth every few minutes was going to damage them. “And you certainly have stayed in good shape. But, I tell you what, why don’t we take a walk together? That would be exercise.”
Of course a walk involved a change of outfits for Gloria and then I had to suggest that her choice of a sports bra and very short shorts was not a good idea for walking a mountain trail.
“Oh, but we need to go down to the paved road and walk there,” she insisted. “It’ll be a much better cardio workout—we can really move along. Do you have some hand weights?”
Not me. But Gloria did and we strode along in fine fashion: she, holding the little gray dumbbells
“ ’S okay, Mum, no biggie.” My daughter looked at me with a motherly kind of affection and gave me a one-armed hug. “It’s probably natural for you to be a little on edge, with the wedding coming up and all.”
With a glance toward the door, she added in a conspiratorial whisper, “And I can see how Aunt Glory would get right up your nose—no wonder Ben doesn’t go home more often. She’s already suggested that I change my hair, dress better, and think about getting a
real
job, maybe receptionist at a law office. Somewhere I’d meet someone
nice
.
“But anyway,” Laurel continued cheerfully, “I made myself a peanut butter sandwich and snagged a cider to take with me. I don’t have to be at work till five so I can stay up there till around three-thirty. Sweet!”
Another brisk hug and she was off, bounding down the steps, Molly and Ursa trotting after her. I watched them go, then turned to lean on the rail and stare for a bit at the distant mountains, listening to a persistent towhee calling from the shrubs below and allowing my thoughts to drift like a feather on the wind.
I was in a much better mood when I pulled open the screen door to return to the house.
New game. Now forGloria. Apologize again and try, politely but firmly, to make sure she doesn’t bring in her florist friend from Florida
.
The silly alliterative phrase made me grin and I began to think of ways to improve on it.
Fancy florist friend from Florida … fancy florist friend from freakin’ Florida … fancy f—
All f-words fled—well, almost all—at the sight of Gloria, in skintight turquoise and fuchsia, lying on the living room floor doing something slightly obscene with a fat iridescent purple ball. James was making little darts at her face with his tongue and she was fending him off with one hand while raising and lowering the other arm. It was quite a picture. Freakin’ funny, as a matter of fact.
“Lizzy!” Gloria gasped, removing first one and then the other leotard-clad leg from atop the ball and waving them about in the air. “I just don’t know if this is going to work.”
I called James off and put him outside but Gloria had stopped her … whatever it was and had assumed a cross-legged position on the mat beneath her. I began to apologize for my ungraciousness at her kind—though unnecessary—offer to help with the wedding but she waved my words away.
“Not a problem, Lizzy. I remember how touchy Mother was when she was going through menopause. You know, exercise can do wonders for your mood, as well as help with weight control …”
She cast a significant glance at my hips and continued. “I was going to suggest you might like to try Pilates but I think Pilates works better in a less … cluttered atmosphere. At home I go to this beautiful studio—very simple, very Japanese—a scroll on the wall, an ikebana arrangement on a low table, and one wall, completely glass, looking out on a meditation garden—all rocksand moss and just a tiny trickle of a waterfall into a koi pond—”
“It sounds lovely, Glory,” I interupted, wondering if gritting my teeth every few minutes was going to damage them. “And you certainly have stayed in good shape. But, I tell you what, why don’t we take a walk together? That would be exercise.”
Of course a walk involved a change of outfits for Gloria and then I had to suggest that her choice of a sports bra and very short shorts was not a good idea for walking a mountain trail.
“Oh, but we need to go down to the paved road and walk there,” she insisted. “It’ll be a much better cardio workout—we can really move along. Do you have some hand weights?”
Not me. But Gloria did and we strode along in fine fashion: she, holding the little gray dumbbells
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