Mother/Daughter

Alyce was here for Christmas. At that time she accused me of having too many clocks and too many calendars.

Too many for what?

I don't buy calendars for myself. I don't have to. They just come to me--two in the writing room (one of those my favorite, the Caroline/Peter calendar), one in the kitchen, one in my bedroom, one in my bathroom, one in the laundry room. Honest, I didn't buy any of them.

The clocks. Well, let's see. This computer has a clock, but I don't think she counted it. Clock in the family room, clock on the microwave and clock on the stove. Clock in the dining room, clock in the entry, clock radio in my bedroom, wall clock in my bedroom, night light clock in my bathroom, clock of sorts in the guest room. Six watches. But she doesn't know about them.

So. She may be right, but I can't help it. I own these clocks already. Should I throw one away? Or five? I don't see why I should.

Does she know how many pens and pencils I have?

Today I heard Carrie Fisher say she embarrasses her daughter, and her mother, Debbie Reynolds, embarrassed her, and Debbie Reynolds' mother embarrassed her. You get the idea. My children--I'm talking about my daughters here--haven't told me yet that I embarrass them, well, not exactly. So I wonder if I do.

I can't think it's embarrassing that I have too many clocks. I mean, who else knows?

They do accuse me of things, like the too many clocks and the too many calendars and the too many storage containers small and large--which I have written of elsewhere--and the too cold house. And they do poke occasional fun at me or remind me of things I said and did that are laughable.

I guess this is simply part of the adulthood of my daughters, to be able to say such things to their mother.

I do not remember this kind of exchange with my mother. I know she disapproved of certain things I did--or thought, or wrote. She told me so. "You don't really think that." And I remember thinking that she wanted me to be just like her, to think the way she did, I mean, and I knew that was never going to be. But I never spoke of that to her. Perhaps my criticisms of her, what few there were, remained unspoken. I could not bear to hurt her feelings. She was just too dear.

Not that these comments of my daughters hurt my feelings. You get it. Right?