A Caffeine High

My mom is a paradox. She's the kind of woman who can make mountains out of the tiniest molehills, the kind of woman who seems, often, to lose sight of the simple pleasures in life. Yet sometimes she sees them with a clarity that amazes me.

She reacted at first to the temporary closing of her favorite Starbucks on earth with what appeared to be panic. "Where will we get our coffee?" She was thrown off, confused, annoyed. It was nine thirty in the morning, and as far as she was concerned, the entire day was already ruined. The hand wringing began in earnest as we drove toward Mayberry from the airport.

As I had hoped, the Starbucks travesty was enough of a distraction that she forgot to complain about the temperature in my house. As the wise old nun said in The Sound of Music, "when God closes a door, he opens a window." Something like that. I got an earful about the coffee, but she was blissfully silent about the sub par accommodations.

After a while she rebounded. Why waste the day mourning the loss of one little routine when there are so many more opportunities for complaint and critique. I showered and dressed while she licked her wounds, and came downstairs thinking I looked pretty spiffy for a Saturday morning. Disdain spread like a rash all over her face as her freshly lipsticked mouth turned into a deep scowl. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe. "After lunch, let's go shopping to buy you some clothes." All righty then.

So we shopped, and, like the perfect looking customers I've learned to avoid in my new place of employment, she sucked much of the joy out of the excursion and treated it as if we were in the midst of a life altering series of decisions. To keep her happy, I led her to a fancy designer store where she could buy me an expensive designer raincoat. Designer labels are, for her, the best kind of anxiety medication. She left the mall with a sense of accomplishment; I left with a beautiful new coat.

This morning, the change-averse woman who takes her routines so seriously suggested we try the other Starbucks just across the county line, the one where I still feel a bit like a fish out of water. She was happy as a clam. She had her coffee and her bagel, and she was enjoying one of her favorite simple pleasures: sitting with her daughter on a Sunday morning. She chattered away happily while I half listened and nodded occasionally. As always, she lingered over her coffee, trying to make the moment last. I get it.

To top it all off, I took her into the grocery store so she could purchase some treats for her "granddogs." A new and simple pleasure in and of itself. Her face was content beyond recognition. I didn't think it could get any better, until I introduced her to the self-checkout. For the first time in her eighty years, she scanned her own skus. Her ears were relatively clear this morning, and she thrilled to the sound of the little "bing" as she swiped the items across the mysterious glass panel.

Sometimes, I underestimate my mother. Sometimes, more often than I could ever have imagined, she gets it.