Mom's Little Addiction

For those of you that don’t live in close proximity, or spend a lot of time with my mom, you may not know that she has many little addictions. Not the drinking or smoking kind, but tiny oddities that make up one very eccentric personality. She’ll readily admit to the sugar tooth or to the fact that she loves to buy and give gifts, but the one that cloaks itself as normalcy is eating out, and eating out in odd places. Dad was definitely her culprit in this and now I get the honor of witnessing her misguided pleasure.

I received a phone call from her Wednesday morning inviting me to join her for lunch at, none other than, the Providence Hospital Cafeteria. What would you say? Hospital food ranks right up there with School Lunches, and Taco Bell, none of which seems to faze my mom. I am so numb to this strangness that I don’t even blink and simply ask her, “What time?” Now, in all fairness to my mom these invites are usually prompted by coupons, another addiction. Our luncheon was funded by the hours she gives volunteering during the monthly Providence Guild Bake Sales.

Knowing that I am not going to eat much, I grab my yellow pad and decide (because of my afore mentioned sickness) that I will make this a working lunch...Mom chooses her cheese sandwich, french-fries and gooey, blonde brownie dessert. I load up a salad plate, drench the iceberg lettuce in vinegar and add a token rice-crispy treat to my tray. My yellow pad tucked safely under my arm. With a quick whip of the wrist the coupon is confiscated and as we take our seats among the nurses, doctors, patients and families. I am hard pressed at this point to decide which one of us, Mom or me, is saner.

We had a great time. Our dialogue centered on Mom sharing her list of errands, volunteer commitments and practical gift card expenditures and I talking about my agenda for the day, parenting concerns and future projects that hope to pay off. For some it may seem intense to sit and gab about action plans, others may approve, for me I am thankful that my mother and I can converse about politics, acts of serve and meeting goals. Sitting with together in the basement of the hospital feels like two lonely people of the same race joyfully meeting in a foreign country....and regardless of the environment and the fare, we speak the same language and in and of its self, it is familiar and comforting.