Amendments and dependents

Sorry I've been away. I spent four hours over two days with the tax man, amending, reconsidering dependents, and tinkering, tinkering, tinkering till I was nearly blind. What a nightmare. I missed a reporter's going away party Friday and went straight to my writing group. Yesterday, then, I skipped my normal Saturday visit to Mom and spent all day on the bike, up to Fond du Lac, where Ms. JV picked me up on the way home from her mom. They're everywhere!

Mom called me only three or four times in the last couple days, showing admirable restraint. But her call of Thursday was a classic instance of the Guilt Special.

It's about 3:30, and I'm driving home.

"Hi Jon. Where are you?"

"I'm in the car Mom. Driving home."

"And then what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to work on my taxes. Then I'm going to take them to the tax man."

"Oh."

I ask about her day, did she get to the fitness center, what she did. She said she made it to exercise, but the rest of it she can't remember.

She says again -- having forgotten, or hoping for a better answer -- "So what are you going to do when you get home?"

"I told you, I'm going to do my taxes, then take them to the tax man. He's open till 8."

"Oh."

She's not asking for a visit, but she's testing my schedule, trying to find a weakness, a spare hour I can't account for adequately. If I were to say, "I'm just going to stay home," which is often the truth, I feel like she doesn't think that's a good enough reason not to be there. That may not be how she feels, but her children have all experienced her crushing disappointment at an early departure, or a visit canceled, or a big snow that has kept us away. As dotty as she is, she has a razor-sharp memory of who has visited, who has called, how many times, and who is due.

The most poignant moments are the instances when she'll call me up and invite me to lunch or dinner. "You want to come for lunch? We'll go to the fancy place." She says this as if I'm her best friend, like S or E or M or V, and this is just the perfect, most irresistible offer.  As if I'm going to say, "Why, Mom, such a great idea! Yes, I'd love to! Why, I was just sitting here thinking 'What am I going to do with this day?'"

My visit days are Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday, with slowly expanding leniency, and if it's not one of those days, I politely decline.

To church now. Sigh.

The Eisenbahn Trail