Twisted Mom & the Trip To Kentucky ~ (Part I)

It seems I will never be ready to write Mom’s piece in the Kentucky trip.

It’s taking too long & f*cking up my blog! 

It’s complicated & convoluted.  She saddens & disgusts me in equal parts.  I always thought she was very intelligent, but this trip changed my mind.  She understands numbers, not people.  She prizes collectibles & is utterly frustrated that people are not things. 

I feel sorry for her. 

Then she does something that exposes her horns.

Spending time in close contact with family makes it clear that writing about them in secret is as evil as many of the things Mom’s done.  I am especially torn over pieces of vicious mockery which include my sister & her children, albeit occasionally they’re funnier’n hell.  But would she think so?  Obviously, I love & adore my sister.  So I’ve password-protected several entries.

However, I am my mother’s daughter & a Gemini both, torn between two personalities: (1) soft & sweet as cotton candy & (2) the hidden razor blade within.  (If you want the password, just let me know.)

* * * * *

I didn’t tell Mom I was coming, no phone calls, no e-mails beforehand.  Any small, stupid comment would have changed my mind & left me in NJ watching reality TV, the kind of insanity that feels like home.  I’d have missed out on the good stuff, just like I missed out on most of my brother’s life when I left home & never looked back, something I didn’t realize until I sat in a pew at his funeral.

Additionally, she would have wanted us to stay at her home and I’d been forewarned that I wouldn’t be able to handle the smell.  (When we visited on our second day it was actually worse for my daughter.  The poor little unscathed soul kept asking for a gas mask between gasps of putrid air & gagging noises.)

If I hadn’t visited then I’d have missed some of the most bizarre oddities of my lifetime, like the fact that Mom has her own full-size tanning bed circa 1982.  She seemed surprised that I was awestruck.   I couldn’t have been more confused if I’d found a time machine in her home. 

Evidently she believes it’s common to stumble upon such items sitting along side mounted fish and a nearly 30 year old photo montage.  (There was even a yellow plastic carousel to hold spray bottles & moisturizers!)

I’m in the dark as to whether the dog wears a little plastic eyepiece when he tans.

The only thing more bizarre was when she opened the door to her ex-husband’s room & I immediately noticed my senior pictures on the wall, right where he might see them just as he awakens or falls asleep (YUCK). 

However, he likely doesn’t even realize what’s there, since he hasn’t noticed the white petrified dog turd I immediately zoned in on as it sat near the entrance to the room, greeting us both “Hello” and “Good-bye.”

* * * * *

Let’s start at the beginning:

Upon arrival at my sister’s home I stepped out of the car, heard a sucking sound & almost lost my shoe in the mud. 

My step-father (hereafter known as “Jackass”) was way too involved in the set-up of my sister’s modular home.  He didn’t bother to level the concrete properly when the foundation was laid.  No grass seed was sewn, there are no green shoots coming up in either the front or back yards.  Each time they lay another load of gravel in the driveway it disappears. 

I did not see Jackass during the trip because at nearly 70, trying to dry out from years of alcoholic stupor, he’s back driving a truck full of livestock.  Although divorced, they continue to run a business together & live in the same home. 

He is a moron in every possible sense of the word.  He was a preacher for a short while.  His creative interpretation of the Bible is masterful.

Since my brother is no longer available to place his massive hands around Jackass’s throat, chase him around the truck garage or squat his 400 pound body upon Jackass’s head and fart into his perpetually open mouth, Jackass is no longer afraid to show the true depths of his monumental idiocy & his hatred for our mother. 

In turn, this makes her desperate for his love & approval.  She is only willing to show kindness to those willing to kick her in the head or sh*t on her face. 

Hopefully Jackass will drive his truck off a bridge in a spectacular blaze of glory & a massive shower of cow dung.  If lucky it will fill his snout & in the after-life he will finally have good reason for speaking like a mush mouth.

* * * * *

When we arrived at my sister’s, Mom was there waiting.  We were greeted at the door by two Boxers lunging for our throats.  They’re loud & sound quite vicious, which entertains Mom to no end & makes her giggle, her eyes sparkle.  I’d forewarned my daughter that it would take time for the dogs to get used to us, but even I was nervous when the big one put my hand in his mouth.  He’s barely a year old & gives me an inkling of what it was to play with a T-Rex.

It was late and the kids were in bed already.  Although clearly happy to see us, Mom had little to say.  It would be easier, more understandable, if one of us didn’t speak English.  A valid reason for our inability to communicate would bring it all into a sensible realm.  She is as wary of me as I am of her.

I’d brought lots of clothes and books from home, so I immediately distributed it all to make myself appear useful, creating the pretense of a purpose for this surprising trip that no one ever expected would actually happen.  Sort of like Halloween, with me dressed as the UPS man.

No one mentioned the 26-foot pachyderm in the room, no one said, “Gee, it’s interesting that you’re here in Kentucky after . . . . what is it?  23 years?”  Everyone pretended it was completely normal to see my daughter and I in my sister’s living room. 

We talked about our drive, the weather, and then my mother went home for the night.  It could only go downhill from there.

(To Be Continued)