Sunday Brunch with Ma
by Ryn Gargulinski

No weekend would be complete without Sunday brunch with Ma.  Since I live 600 miles away, I do not get the luxury of seeing her in person, unlike
my boyfriend who visits with his mother over Vegas Diner and stares at
the rotating cream pies in the fridge.  But I do get my Sunday morning
phone call.  It begins, thankfully, after a full cup of coffee and
sometimes mentioning that coffee.  "Have you had your coffee yet?" she
will ask me, and thoughts of how important that is to her will flash into
my head.  I remember many a family vacation staying in hotels with no
coffee readily available, her lying on the bed -- fully dressed and
clutching her temples -- sending my father to the nearest gas station.
With talk of Java out of the way, the conversation really begins.  "Did
you get my e-mail?" she says. "It said...."  "Did you see the new sun
porch they have for cats?" I say.  "Murphy and Mojo would love it."   "I
put up my Christmas village," she says.  "Greg...Dad had to gut the
living room to fit it this year."  Once the banalities have passed, we
frequently move on to real topics, as long as they are not taboo.
She will tell me about her work week -- parent conferences, a kid whose
mother calls demanding to know why she is giving him an "F" although she has yet to meet this kid in person, early-morning staff meetings and a co-worker who smells like garlic.  I will be glad I am not a teacher in Michigan.  I
will tell her about my work week.  "It sucked."  She will be glad she is
not an assistant editor in New York.

Sometimes our conversations go deeper, however.  I enjoy hearing about
how, by my age, she had two kids, a house, and was sure of who she was.
How she and her roommate used to recycle a tea bag three times in college
(not feeling guilty [but supposed to], I take another sip of fresh
coffee).  How she chose my dad, chose my name (I almost ended up
Ulysses), and chose her career.  When I am feeling really bold I share my
thoughts, feelings and my deepest fears ("Will I ever grow up?").
Conversations with Ma are definitely unique.  Unlike Grandma -- who
inevitably remindsme that we used to play Flintstones and I would make
her be Dino; or Dad -- who actually cares if the Detroit Lions win; or my
brother -- who reminds me that he is, in fact, now bigger than me and I
should watch what I say, my convos with Ma are ours alone...and a
pleasant way to start the week.  After the coffee, of course.

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