Ghost of my Grandmother and Milford Mommies

The Starbucks in downtown Milford has a waterfall out back. This is very nice . . . relaxing, in fact. The inside of the Starbucks of Milford, however, has Milford Mommies. These were not relaxing. Children everywhere . . . in those baby buckets, toddling around, using little mini strollers for their dollies which were bigger than them and hard to steer. At least I'd like to think it was hard to steer, since I was hit with it several times in the ankle. I think dolly strollers, especially the large double dolly kind, are in the "at home" toy catagory. But nobody ever asks me about such things. So Milford Starbucks on a Wednesday at 10:30 a.m. . . . five or six stay at home moms with several children each in tow, two guys on cell phones, three employees and me. Took some cool pics of the waterfall though.

Yesterday, in my father's drug haze, he pointed out that a turquiose dot looked a lot like his mother. I followed his line of vision and sure enough, there was woman in a turquiose outfit that, if she stood still, did in fact look like my grandmother. Except that you couldn't see her lipstick from 50 yards, so it couldn't have been my grandmother.

My grandmother was very fond of two things: makeup (lipstick in particular) and attention. I used to think it was just attention from men. She was very proud of having a boyfriend at the old person habitrail. But I truly now think that she just liked attention from anyone. She was very concerned about my appearance also . . . once confiding with my siblings that she was afraid that I was turning out to be a "slob". It seems in her mind that lipstick was a very crucial element to being attractive to the opposite sex and to getting attention. Perhaps she was right.

Currently, I'm on a kick where I cannot leave the house without mascara on . . . I don't have to wear any other makeup but am suddenly all about the mascara. It reminds me of my grandmother. The looking in the mirror and pursing of her lips critically. The whipping out of the mirror and lipstick for the after eating re-application ritual. No, I don't need to re-apply mascara after eating . . . but it's the same idea. So thinking about my grandmother . . . must be all the hospital-ness. She was a nurse. Even at the end, when she was trying to nurse her boyfriend from her hospital bed. Checking on what he had eaten that day and his vitals.

I think she would be pleased about the mascara . . . and tell me to put on more "Viva Glam IV". Cause a girl might as well be naked (and not in a good way) without her lipstick.

Can we tell that I don't have enough to do at Stately Wayne Manor? Change the ice every three hours and watch my father watch bad television. Magnum P.I. currently.