Waiting For Mom

Since my dad no longer has a driver's license (he is 81) and my mom never learned to drive, (she is 76) I am the official taxi when my mom needs to do errands. My mom is an infamous errand-runner. She often gets me in the car by saying she needs to go to a store. Then when she is safely belted into place, and it is established that I am, indeed, in the car and driving us down a street at least a few blocks from home, she announces that there are also three other places she needs to go. Neeeeeeeds to. She is expert-sneaky.  She also often wants me to take her to Safeway, Fred Meyer, etc, etc, etc, after I get home from work; right when I am tired, cranky, and hungry. Now, I am not one to dwell in the grocery store. I get whatever I need to buy, and exit quickly. My mom does not do anything quickly. Does not care about doing anything quickly. Quickly, is not in her vocabulary. Quickly does not exist. Did I mention that I dearly love my mom? I do. Which is why she talks me into these things.

My mom is a bit shaky, and a diabetic.  She loves to shop. Any kind of shopping. Anywhere. Anytime. Any reason. This is, for the most part, her exercise, and it is important that she gets it. She does not want help, or to be hurried, or hovered over. She goes over every shelf with a fine tooth comb. Very fine. Minuscule. She moves very slowly, so it takes her a long time to shop. Usually a few hours at a time. Cars come and go in the parking lot. I am still sitting there. The sun sets, the moon rises, the moon sets. I am still sitting there. People get married and divorced. I am still sitting there. Poor Mom. Poor me.

I always have my camera with me, wherever I go. But, most of the time, parking lots are not picturesque places. Things happen in them that I do not want to photograph. Arguments break out occasionally. Arguing people do not want to be photographed. I do not want to be part of their argument. I just watch. I wait. It's what I do. I am a pro.

People wander back and forth, in parking lots, in the most mundane ways. Alone. In two's or three's. Shoulders hunched. Plodding. Shoulders back. Strutting. Hurrying. Sauntering. So on. This does not inspire me. I would like to see someone gavotte or tango across the parking lot, for a change. Do the funky chicken. Cha Cha.

One late afternoon,  I did take out my camera, and I started taking pictures. I was (you guessed it) waiting in the car for Mom, at Safeway, this time. There was a big window directly in front of me, covered with a translucent shade. Inside of the building, there was another window directly across from that one, also covered with a shade, with the sun shining through it. There was a crazy combination of reflections, shadows, bright light and a see-through view. I was dizzy. I was inspired. Here are the photos:

 

 

Me doing what I do a lot of, waiting for mom.

Another evening, I decided to play with taking self-portraits of myself waiting, while I was waiting. Very droll. I was bored, trying to entertain myself. I can easily see how tired I was, and yes, cranky too, in the following photos. But, I have had valuable alone time, waiting for Mom, as well. I can meditate, reflect, plan, read, write, run over things in my mind out loud. People probably wonder, who is the crazy woman sitting in that little red car talking to herself? Why is she crying? Why is she laughing? Why is she yelling? Better not get too close.

 

I am not sure why I am documenting this. Perhaps, in the future I will look back on this time, spent waiting for my mom, and see greater value in it than I recognize right now. Maybe there is beauty in sitting under streetlights, in a parking lot, in a car, talking to yourself.