Yesterday's weather forecast was hostile with strong gusts of sarcasm.
I was seriously zipped up, protecting myself from the hypothermia generated by a very frosty Mother.
I have had to establish some serious boundaries which may seem easy for some but trust me, it is not so easy here. It takes a tremendous amount of mindfulness not to sucked deep into the vortex of pain and misery.
As luck would have it, I had a dinner date with a very ancient friend who I have not seen for at least 45 years. Yes, we are that old! He used to live around the corner from my grandmother and we used to play together. It was really amazing recalling memories that involved none of my other friends. He remembered just how often I stayed at "Mrs. Abraham's", my grandmother. Apparently, a whole lot more than even I recalled. He remembered details of people that astounded me. It was a great evening, not just because of the great company but also for just getting me out of the house of pain.
Things had deteriorated throughout the day, as is becoming the norm. A Himalayan pile of Jewish guilt being dumped on me as I continued to primp. Only one thing left to do. Music time!
My Mother is used to a variety of sounds coming out of my room. In retrospect, she never complained as my turntable went from Led Zeppelin to Joni Mitchell to The Monkees to Carole King to Black Sabbath and back to James Taylor and so forth.
For my part, I had to suffer live broadcasts from Covent Garden Opera House on Saturday evenings which blared from every radio in the flat - bedroom, bathroom, living room, kitchen.
The lighter operettas I enjoyed but once Wagner hit the airwaves, my ears were subjected to the tortured screeching sopranos and deep baritones.
OK, back to last night. Mother sat vigil over a very confused Peter and I went about the business of getting tarted up. When someone hasn't seen you in decades, you are a) grateful its a dark night and b) lots of spackling paste is needed! A Kardashian glam squad would have been challenged. I didn't want to look 10 but then I didn't want my life to show all over my face either. Sequestered in my coffin-sized room, I pondered whicht soundtrack would fit the mood?
I went for a random hit. Boom! Sly and the Family Stone reminded me to "Thank you (Fallettin Me Be Mice Elf Again)".
Perfect! Just what I needed to hear. I had been muttering a prescribed mantra, "thank you for reminding me that I am a piece of shit" but this is just what I needed to hear.
The evening before, we had watched a wonderful television program about Mozart, my favorite classical composer.
As fate would have it, the track that followed Sly was Mozart. A "messy soprano" (thank you, Victor Borge) gave it her all in the aria, "Der Holle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen" from Die Zauberflote" - "The Magic Flute".
If there were to be complaints about my choice in music, it certainly would not be voiced during a Vienna Philharmonic performance and trust me, my Mother knows her orchestras, conductors, sopranos, tenors, altos, bassos.
I could only imagine how confusing it must have been as Mozart was followed by Neil Young's "Heart of Gold". One of the great soundtracks of my angst ridden teenage years. What a great classic and why did I have to wait until I was in my late 50s to understand the depth of his lyrics?
The irony of my musical selection was that I was listening to the soundtrack from "Eat, Pray, Love"!!!