I asked her who I should give my Christmas list to this year. Who would be out buying? She said, Dad.
Her “read” stack was growing taller and wider. All Oprah approved, she said. She lay in bed with her black fuzzy pillows, her Lanz nightgown buttoned up to her throat – and hardback, important looking books in a stack. She said there were years of literature she’d missed.
Also, Dad was out more. He had more time. And her driver’s license had expired.
I tried to think of easy things he’d know how to buy, that didn’t cost a fortune – like key chains. A few things he could even pick up at the gas station near the studio. Since he’d been laid off, Dad had muscle structure – he was finally lean as a corn snake, the way he said he was as a young man. He worked out on good equipment (approved by Lance Armstrong) at an elite studio known by actors and dancers mainly. Even though he didn’t act or dance, they let him join.
I was planning to get Mom travel Monopoly for Christmas, even though she didn’t travel. It looked like her, and she could play in bed. It seemed so rare in its special limited edition case, the way it was shown in the catalog. It had been at least a year since we played it as a family – when her Scottie really landed on Boardwalk and Park Place before his Hat did.