The Troubles

Last night, Doug and I viewed the longest movie in all of creation.

I love staying home to watch movies. Going to the theater occasionally to see one we just can’t wait to partake of on DVD is fun, but usuallly, we can wait. And so, for the joy set before us—in this case, being propped up in our queen-sized bed in our jammies—we choose home.

The main draw is that we can stop the flick a couple of times for bathroom breaks and to refill the cheese and cracker plate without missing any of the show. Yesterday was my birthday, and there’s nothing better to celebrate an increasingly ominous occasion than snuggle time with a good flick.

So we put in Michael Collins, because for me an ever-refreshed memory regarding the events of the creation of the Free Irish Republic, which began in earnest in 1916, is always a good thing. And then there’s Liam Neeson, whose accent I could listen to from now until kingdom come. And Aidan Quinn’s blue eyes. Need I say more?

I didn’t say more until we’d been watching the film for upwards of 4.73 hours with no end in sight. Then I turned to Doug and said, “How long is this movie? Why can’t the bloody Irish just take down the British flag, raise the Republican flag, and call it a night?”

He picked up the DVD case and said, “It’s two hours, fifteen minutes long. Haven’t we been sitting here for half of what remained of our natural lives?”

So we did the math. One potty break, one beverage break, plus one additional bathroom and cashew break. All told, fifteen minutes worth of time with the remote on hold. What on eath was happening to us? The Irish Republic took less time to be formed, even if you counted the months the instigating rebels like Michael Collins spent behind bars.

And then it hit us. The phone calls. When we’re watching a movie, we tend to let calls go to voicemail, but we listen to our messages almost immediately as they come it, because of The Moms.

If you don’t know what it’s like having Moms Like Ours, well. In one way, I hope you are spared, but in another, I’d be happy to share the wealth. That’s how much I love you people!

My mother-in-law has taken up singing. Into the phone. She’s begun singing the name “Dooougg—-lasssssss,” like a mom calling her grimy kid in at dusk. I can picture her ensconced in her recliner at the facility where she lives, industriously busying herself with her new hobby. If she could sing into her phone without it ending up as a message on our phone, I’d be cool with that. But…no.

Hearing her sing her only son’s name over and over defined the joy we experienced with Call Number Three. Another thing: She said, “It’s Mama….” as if she were identifying herself to a small child who’d forgotten his own mother’s voice. I have known her for 32 years or so, and I’ve never heard anyone call her Mama. Nor has she EVER called herself Mama. Usually she calls herself “Mother.”

Out of pure fascination, I replayed this message ad infinitum while gazing upon Liam’s stilled image on the screen across the room. I feared for the future of an Ireland which, it seemed, may be frozen forever under the icy thumb of the British Empire.

Calls Number One and Two, by the way, were hang-ups, occurring within 30 seconds of each other. That’s how we know that Doug’s mom is beginning a new calling rampage. Doug really hesitates to answer the phone, because of his mother’s hearing problems. Her hearing aids lose battery power at approximately the same rate she loses brain power, only she never recognizes the symptoms. Which leads us to Call Number Four.

“Hello!” Doug shouted into the phone. “HELLO! CAN YOU HEAR ME?? IT’S ME, DOUGLAS, YOUR SON!”

In the background, I said, “Hang up, Doug. She can’t hear you….” He hung up, and five seconds later? Call Number Five.

“Hello!” Doug shouted into the phone. “HELLO! CAN YOU HEAR ME?? IT’S ME, DOUGLAS, YOUR SON!”

“Hang up and call the nurse,” I said in the background. “Tell the nurse to go check your mother’s hearing aid and take care of whatever your mother needs.”

I know she needs something, because she always needs something. Something like her lost TV Guide or a fresh Depends. She doesn’t like to bother the nurses, though. She likes to call us.

Doug hung up and called the nurse, which technically counted as Call Number Six. Several minutes of movie viewing happened next, during which some feisty Irishmen were offed and the cause of independence was only marginally advanced, if that. I started sweating, worried that Liam didn’t have enough good years left to get the job done.

Call Number Seven came in, from the nurse in my mother-in-law’s room. “Everything’s fine now,” she said. “Adele is cold, so I turned up the furnace. That’s all she needed.” Then Doug heard the nurse say to Adele, “Why don’t you hold the phone up to your other ear and see if you can hear your son?”

Adele must have held the phone up to her better side, because she heard Doug reasonably well. She had nothing much to say. Just checking in on a Saturday night.

“This is Douglas, your son,” Doug said. “Can you hear me now?”

“I hear you fine,” she said, sounding awfully satisfied. “Now that I know how this thing works, I’m going to hang up and call you back…”

Poor, poor Ireland.

Posted by Katy on 12/30/07 at 12:49 PM

Fallible Comments...

I love that movie, watched it twice!
Posted by Suzan Robertson on 12/31/07 at 07:59 AM
Hope I wasn't one of the phone calls that disturbed you... I waited and waited to feel better so I could call. I just hope you had a wonderful birthday! Love you!
Posted by Bridget on 12/31/07 at 05:46 PM
Belated Happy Birthday wishes, and Happy New Year!

Imagine what life would be like without answering machines?

Then again, we might not have DVD's or remote controls..((shudder)))

MM
Posted by Michael Main on 01/01/08 at 08:13 AM
well....happy (belated) birthday, anyway, katy!
Posted by lisa on 01/03/08 at 09:26 AM
Usually, when I try to respond to one of your blogs, my PC doesn't let me. But I'll try again, dear sister-in-law, because I laughed and laughed reading about Mom's phone calls to you. She does the same to me too, and when I come home I'll find an answering machine full of sighs, grumbles "what did you say? I can't understand what you're saying" (as she talks back to my automated greeting), and then says she can't leave a message, and hangs up.
I think I should've stayed home on your birthday! Or you should've gone out for that movie!
Lynn
Posted by Lynn on 01/04/08 at 02:03 PM
Singing into the phone. Oh my.

One of our Moms leaves nastygrams on the phone. At least we've learned to laugh about it.

All those phone calls will make you crazy. Then you'll be singing into the phone....
Posted by Anne on 01/08/08 at 03:53 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	The Troubles Last night, Doug and I viewed the longest movie in all of creation. I love staying home to watch movies. Going to the theater occasionally to see one we just can’t wait to partake of on DVD is fun, but usuallly, we can wait. And so, for the joy set before us—in this case, being propped up in our queen-sized bed in our jammies—we choose home. The main draw is that we can stop the flick a couple of times for bathroom breaks and to refill the cheese and cracker plate without missing any of the show. Yesterday was my birthday, and there’s nothing better to celebrate an increasingly ominous occasion than snuggle time with a good flick. So we put in Michael Collins, because for me an ever-refreshed memory regarding the events of the creation of the Free Irish Republic, which began in earnest in 1916, is always a good thing. And then there’s Liam Neeson, whose accent I could listen to from now until kingdom come. And Aidan Quinn’s blue eyes. Need I say more? I didn’t say more until we’d been watching the film for upwards of 4.73 hours with no end in sight. Then I turned to Doug and said, “How long is this movie? Why can’t the bloody Irish just take down the British flag, raise the Republican flag, and call it a night?” He picked up the DVD case and said, “It’s two hours, fifteen minutes long. Haven’t we been sitting here for half of what remained of our natural lives?” So we did the math. One potty break, one beverage break, plus one additional bathroom and cashew break. All told, fifteen minutes worth of time with the remote on hold. What on eath was happening to us? The Irish Republic took less time to be formed, even if you counted the months the instigating rebels like Michael Collins spent behind bars. And then it hit us. The phone calls. When we’re watching a movie, we tend to let calls go to voicemail, but we listen to our messages almost immediately as they come it, because of The Moms. If you don’t know what it’s like having Moms Like Ours, well. In one way, I hope you are spared, but in another, I’d be happy to share the wealth. That’s how much I love you people! My mother-in-law has taken up singing. Into the phone. She’s begun singing the name “Dooougg—-lasssssss,” like a mom calling her grimy kid in at dusk. I can picture her ensconced in her recliner at the facility where she lives, industriously busying herself with her new hobby. If she could sing into her phone without it ending up as a message on our phone, I’d be cool with that. But…no. Hearing her sing her only son’s name over and over defined the joy we experienced with Call Number Three. Another thing: She said, “It’s Mama….” as if she were identifying herself to a small child who’d forgotten his own mother’s voice. I have known her for 32 years or so, and I’ve never heard anyone call her Mama. Nor has she EVER called herself Mama. Usually she calls herself “Mother.” Out of pure fascination, I replayed this message ad infinitum while gazing upon Liam’s stilled image on the screen across the room. I feared for the future of an Ireland which, it seemed, may be frozen forever under the icy thumb of the British Empire. Calls Number One and Two, by the way, were hang-ups, occurring within 30 seconds of each other. That’s how we know that Doug’s mom is beginning a new calling rampage. Doug really hesitates to answer the phone, because of his mother’s hearing problems. Her hearing aids lose battery power at approximately the same rate she loses brain power, only she never recognizes the symptoms. Which leads us to Call Number Four. “Hello!” Doug shouted into the phone. “HELLO! CAN YOU HEAR ME?? IT’S ME, DOUGLAS, YOUR SON!” In the background, I said, “Hang up, Doug. She can’t hear you….” He hung up, and five seconds later? Call Number Five. “Hello!” Doug shouted into the phone. “HELLO! CAN YOU HEAR ME?? IT’S ME, DOUGLAS, YOUR SON!” “Hang up and call the nurse,” I said in the background. “Tell the nurse to go check your mother’s hearing aid and take care of whatever your mother needs.” I know she needs something, because she always needs something. Something like her lost TV Guide or a fresh Depends. She doesn’t like to bother the nurses, though. She likes to call us. Doug hung up and called the nurse, which technically counted as Call Number Six. Several minutes of movie viewing happened next, during which some feisty Irishmen were offed and the cause of independence was only marginally advanced, if that. I started sweating, worried that Liam didn’t have enough good years left to get the job done. Call Number Seven came in, from the nurse in my mother-in-law’s room. “Everything’s fine now,” she said. “Adele is cold, so I turned up the furnace. That’s all she needed.” Then Doug heard the nurse say to Adele, “Why don’t you hold the phone up to your other ear and see if you can hear your son?” Adele must have held the phone up to her better side, because she heard Doug reasonably well. She had nothing much to say. Just checking in on a Saturday night. “This is Douglas, your son,” Doug said. “Can you hear me now?” “I hear you fine,” she said, sounding awfully satisfied. “Now that I know how this thing works, I’m going to hang up and call you back…” Poor, poor Ireland. Posted by Katy on 12/30/07 at 12:49 PM Fallible Comments... I love that movie, watched it twice! Posted by Suzan Robertson on 12/31/07 at 07:59 AM Hope I wasn't one of the phone calls that disturbed you... I waited and waited to feel better so I could call. I just hope you had a wonderful birthday! Love you! Posted by Bridget on 12/31/07 at 05:46 PM Belated Happy Birthday wishes, and Happy New Year! Imagine what life would be like without answering machines? Then again, we might not have DVD's or remote controls..((shudder))) MM Posted by Michael Main on 01/01/08 at 08:13 AM well....happy (belated) birthday, anyway, katy! Posted by lisa on 01/03/08 at 09:26 AM Usually, when I try to respond to one of your blogs, my PC doesn't let me. But I'll try again, dear sister-in-law, because I laughed and laughed reading about Mom's phone calls to you. She does the same to me too, and when I come home I'll find an answering machine full of sighs, grumbles "what did you say? I can't understand what you're saying" (as she talks back to my automated greeting), and then says she can't leave a message, and hangs up. I think I should've stayed home on your birthday! Or you should've gone out for that movie! Lynn Posted by Lynn on 01/04/08 at 02:03 PM Singing into the phone. Oh my. One of our Moms leaves nastygrams on the phone. At least we've learned to laugh about it. All those phone calls will make you crazy. Then you'll be singing into the phone.... Posted by Anne on 01/08/08 at 03:53 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Some Words I'd Rather Not Hear From The Lord Previous entry: Some Stuff I'll Never Want For Christmas << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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The Troubles

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri