My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's stomping around the house muttering to herself while gathering up anything and everything with a Notre Dame logo on it. This, sadly, includes both her diploma and class ring. Methinks we have a crisis at hand.
It's no secret that my stupid mo-ther has been simply broken hearted over the realization that she attended and then graduated from a real live university that is exactly like every other real live university, and NOT some "Land of Oz/Aren't We Wonderfully Perfect" university that exists only in the clouds and in the punky little brain of a lonely old spinster.
Notre Dame was the thing that Mo-ther clung to in times of woe and uncertainty, and she felt secure knowing that it was there for her when all else failed and the big bad world kicked her in the proverbial testicles. As a matter of fact, she even uprooted her New Jersey life and moved back here to Hoosierville so that she could be in close proximity to campus and all that it represented to her, and when her beloved father died, she figured that she'd be OK because the Dome was within site of her little hovel of a house.
But alas, it has not been pretty. Reality has smacked my mo-ther straight in the forehead over and over again with respects to the place, and she's not taking it very well. I've never been witness to it, but I'm starting to think that this is what happens when a great love affair falls apart, and the brokenhearted lover is left standing in the wreckage of her life wondering what happened to the person she fell so madly in love with. I suppose that the anger and sadness and sense of betrayal only makes sense if you consider the fact that in this particular love affair, my mo-ther was invested fully in it from the moment she could speak.
So I'm keeping careful eye on her today and making sure that she doesn't do anything stupid (like burn her diploma or melt down that class ring to make a fabulous new dog tag for you-know-who). I'm letting her get it all out of her system, and I'm letting Aunt Chrissy call and commiserate with her over the sad state of affairs, and then I'll sedate her heavily and get on with my day.
(I must say, though, that Mo-ther and Aunt Chrissy sound very much like the old Muppets that sat in the upper balcony of the theatre...kvetching and complaining about the state of the sad and sorry world. If it weren't so damn funny to listen to, I'd jump in and put a halt to it. But since there's nothing on the TeeVee at the moment, I guess I'll tune in and let them spin for a little while.)
Please don't worry about Mo-ther. She'll be OK. This is all just part of growing up and realizing that she was duped for 43 of the 45 years that she's been on the planet. She'll come around eventually, and before I know it, she'll have my leash on me and she'll be parading me around the South Quad, looking for a lovely spot for a little picnic and some quite time watching the squirrels twitter away in the trees.
As for me...I'm going to hit my perch for a little nap. It's extremely gloomy here today and my morning cup 'o joe hasn't done one darn thing to clear the cobwebs.
Happy stitching today! Do something wonderful for yourself and know that I remain....
Your faithful and loving pal,
NOTE FROM DEAR MO-THER: Thank you for such sweet comments about my recent sadness. Although I would love to tell you that it's a simple matter of a sports team losing something, I'm afraid that it's actually much more than that (particularly since I haven't a clue as to what the sports teams are actually up to over there). It's a crisis of faith and hope and pride and confidence in my anchor point. It's the realization that my rosy colored glasses are cracked in half and that somebody somewhere needs to grab hold of the damn place and tell it to smarten up. (And, if at all possible, I'd like the BVM to hop down off of that Dome and start cracking heads.) Let's just say that all of this fuss here at Chez Spinster is summarized thusly....I'm losing my religion. (Cue music.)