We might as well be strangers

My mother has been visiting for the past three days, so my apologies to those whose phone calls I failed to return. Her trip was much, much more successful than last year's roller coaster of empty toilet paper rolls and dusty towel shelves. Craig took us on a day excursion to Foxwoods, where no one really lost money. Except for mother, who apparently likes nickel slots. We encouraged her to play Acey Deucey, an exceptionally easy table game that allowed Craig and I to regain the money we'd spent, but my mother is a creature of habit and at that age in which trying even the tiniest new thing evokes too much stress.

Yesterday we drove into the city to see the Broadway production of Hairspray, a delightful romp through integration and body image issues in 1962. I was surprised to see Tevin Campbell, a former R&B star whom Courtney and I adored. I wonder if anyone else in the audience felt as unaccomplished and ho-hum as I did. It's hard to hold onto your self-esteem when there are people in your vicinity who get paid to sing and dance and wear colorful, feathered costumes.

Mom rode the subway for the first time and needed the experience narrated to her and constant reassurance that the next stop was not, in fact, our stop. I was mostly amused (as opposed to annoyed) by her personality, which I'm just now letting go as something that belongs to her and doesn't have much left to do with me. It strikes up a bittersweet nostalgia to realize that she's almost 50 and getting wrinkles like all women do when they're on the road to becoming a little old lady. Her mannerisms reminded me so much of my grandmother (her mother) that I wondered if one day I'll be sitting with my grown daughter, baffled by the remote and offering up a play-by-play of a television show's entire season.

"Why don't you get a horse?" I asked, hoping to inspire a cling to her childhood dreams.

"Why don't you get a job?" she asked, hoping to inspire me to grow up and get health insurance.

It didn't happen quite that way. Still, I'm left pondering one of the most complicated relationships in my life and realizing that I won't know the half of it until I've walked in her safety shoes. And by that time, I will have forgotten everything that comes with being a child.

In other news, I saw a billboard for Strangers With Candy on the corner of Broadway and 8th Avenue. Awesome.