Well, this has been an odd day, to be sure, spent almost entirely with my mother and managing to fulfill at least some of her wishes. We visited lots of people, although she claims she had about thirteen people she wanted to have over for a luncheon, but couldn't figure out how to invite certain different subsets together - they wouldn't get along, they wouldn't have commonalities. So instead we had lunch with one person (and had invited a second but she couldn't come), went by to visit another person (we'd also spoken to that person's daughter but she wasn't available), and then stopped by yet one last person's house. Strategic road work helped us jettison plans to take one last person home from work. (The one I really wanted to see I called, but she's not well enough for visitors.) So all in all, we dealt with six or seven of the thirteen. I have NO IDEA who the other ones are.
Though I enjoyed seeing these people, they are all sweet ladies that I do adore and was happy to see, I think my mother's assertion that "they want to see you so much!" is false in the extreme. And after today, I feel it would be more accurate to say she just wanted to show me off.
But here's the weird part. I grew up having it drilled into my head that no one wants to hear you talk about yourself. I've internalized this idea to a large extent and while I often run off at the mouth about myself, I always end up feeling guilty and ashamed about it. Yet today my mother actively encouraged me to tell these women about myself. I kept hearing: "Tell her about how big the crew was..." "Tell her about what he said to you about hand modeling..." "Tell her what you thought he said! Oh, this is so funny." It was at odds with this idea that as a well-bred younger person, my job was to ask questions and listen with enthusiasm.
But the conclusion it brings me to is that she is proud of me, and proud of all the things I'm doing, not just the ones I assume she approves of, but also how I struggle to work as an actor and keep working and continue plugging away at the profession. I can hardly believe it, but there's not really any other way I can explain her behavior.
The down side (always a down side, right?) is that she then spent this evening pulling old clothes out of the closet in hopes I would take them home and add them back into my wardrobe. And these are items I don't ever want to see again, much less wear again. Sigh. She always and forever insists on trying to make me dress like a 60+ year old. When I humor her enough to try something on that I know I will abhor, she tries to convince me I really look great in it. I do not. I promise.
But I try to be grateful while firm that some items I simply won't wear, despite the fact wearing them would age me 30+ years instantly. And I try not to be appalled that items I thought I managed to get rid of 15 or more years ago (and will never fit my mother), she's been hanging onto. And just because I explain I don't ever want to wear them again will not inspire her to donate them or throw them away. Siiiggghhh.
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