are a subject of derision for my mother. My hair is seldom (never) right, my clothes usually not “something” enough. She asked me once before we headed out the door if I had brushed my hair (I’m talking in the last few years, while I was in my 40s-50s), and I replied no, I have not brushed it since 1979. This is true — that I said that! Although, I do not brush (never have) my hair much anyway. Not since I left home. As I mentioned before, we always, as children, looked neat and prim.

and forget my cures

i.e.: mani and pedi, or lack thereof — and jewelry? Pooh! When my son wants to point out my mom-hood, he calls me Migdalia (my mother’s name). If he only knew how off he is!

So, I dare not call her in the middle of this COVID-19 pandemic, as I developed a slight cold and sore throat (…), and who knows what that will produce in her mind! Have shivers all over my body just thinking about it. She will know by my nasal voice, even if I mute the phone to cough or sneeze — doing both. Earlier this year, in winter, we spoke, and I coughed: bad combination.

i hemmed and hedged about

how I was caring for myself, so she asked. How’s your hemoglobin? I think I stuttered. I am laughing now, do every time I think of it. She made her point, but in case I didn’t get it, she expounded on the soundness and virtues of seeking medical attention and having bloodwork done. This one pounding was particularly excruciating because she has worked at a hospital for years (in an office) and probably knows too much.