Cracked (Day 178, Year 3)

Today, I had to clean glass out of a toilet. Friends, this is an experience I will not forget. I am not even sure I got all the glass out of the toilet. I am hopeful; but in a tentative way.

I've asked the children to use a different toilet. 

You might be wondering how this all came to pass. The story begins with my mother and her strange habit of keeping her car windows cracked. Before I dive deeper into the story, I just want to note that I do not blame my mother for the glass in the toilet. I did briefly; but Chloe pointed out this was mean. Later, Chloe then told me I was dressed like a hobo. I pointed out that this was mean and she narrowed her eyes at me. 

But, let's get back to the cracked window. My mother says my father told her to do this in the summer months.  I mention I am certain my father said no such thing and gently remind her of parental arguments I overheard in which my father said something like: "why are the car windows cracked?," which was always the precursor to my Dad "going to get a haircut" or "going to the deli for some cold cuts."  To this my mother says it must have been her father. When I ask why he said such a thing, there is a lot of backpedaling and vague tutting. 

Anyway, her windows (and trunk) are perpetually "cracked." The cracked windows cause a lot of anxiety for my mother and the neighborhood. Everyone is very concerned about the windows and the trunk. I receive texts (which I ignore) about her trunk. When it begins to rain, if my mother has not been tracking the weather obsessively, I also get frenzied texts. These texts do not panic me nor do they spur me to action. I've learned to be an observer of my mother's quirky behavior. She has always been this way. I, of course, feel nothing other than pure wonder over it all.

Why are the windows always cracked? Why? 

For my mother, the cracked windows bring up intense feelings of panic. I have suggested that since both my father and her father are dead, perhaps their (imaginary) advice is obsolete? This, of course, it met with my mom's very classic: "That's an idea."

Which means, "I am not listening to you and everything you say is irrational and you will never change my mind." When I was 14, I asked for money to go to Italy and she said, "that's an idea." I did not go to Italy until my honeymoon. 

Anyway, it was late afternoon and therefore time for our daily Haddon Township hail storm. My mother felt she needed to race out the door, in a frenzy, to close the cracked windows. In her haste, her slammed her apartment door, so hard, that the walls of the house shook. 

I thought we added "daily earthquake" to our new summer weather. 

Then, a watercolor, which Mike and I purchased in Trastevere (this amazing neighborhood in Rome) while honeymooning almost 20 years ago (we paid for our own honeymoon with shoe money earned from dancing with our family members at our wedding), crashed down from the wall.

The watercolor survived. The frame, well, it was in the toilet. I mean is in the toilet. Maybe. Like, I said I am hopeful, but not positive. 

Either way, it is all cracked.  And don't worry, the rains have stopped, so my mom was able to go crack her car windows again.