Special to The Sun
If there’s anything more nerve-wracking than waiting for my son to drive in on the heels of still-turbulent weather, it’s waiting for the phone call at the end of his visit telling me he has negotiated the Fort Worth traffic and is back in Austin. Yes, I’m one of those mothers who prays her son home and back. I suppose we’re all like that no matter how old our children get.
And then comes the aftermath. The morning after he’s gone I wake long before dawn and drink coffee. By the time Su-the-dog leaves her crate I’ve stripped my son’s bed, laundered his towels, thrown out the leftovers and answered a ton of emails.
Su is pouting. She misses him too. It’s the day to apply her heartworm and flea meds, so that’s what I do. The back patio thermometer registers 80 degrees. I let her out before the sun gets too hot. Su thinks she’s a Remington Park race contender. She comes in to lie panting at my feet. Maybe 80 degrees is too hot for a more or less bald dapple Dachshund.
Su visits her water bowl, then jumps up beside me on the sofa. She’s fine. I turn the TV station to Fox News and Su’s either faking sleep or else she’s not. She doesn’t much care for the news. Neither do I, but I do need to know what’s going on. It’s noon. Megan Kelly tells me my own government could be privy to my phone calls and emails if it wanted to be ... that the time may come when my microwave records the conversations my dog and I share in the kitchen. I turn the station to CNN for a different perspective.
My son showed me how to access more than 300 stations that had lain dormant in my Sony for almost two years — many without commercials, but I’ll save those till this evening. He was going to help me choose an iPhone and show me how to work it, but there was so much else we preferred to do. Maybe next time. The phone rings. It’s a clothing store inviting me to drop by and pick up a 50-percent-off bargain. Might as well. I’m out of coffee and my gas tank is begging for fuel. I’ll take care of that, too.
An email is waiting when I return. My son has sent me a photo. He’s with his two laughing nephews fresh from the pool, rivulets of water coursing down their happy, sunburned faces. All is as it should be. “It’s just you and me again, Su ... way past time we learned to share.”
MARJORIE ANDERSON is an Edmond resident.