Today I travel to Northern Idaho for a weekend of Old Lady.  My mother is so excited that she made *2* jello salads.  (Brief aside: What twisted soul damaging part of the Great Depression gave birth to the idea of VEGETABLES and MAYONNAISE in a candy like sauce?  It makes my spleen twitch to see celery floating around, suspended as it were, in a milky green sea of sugar and hooves.  Jello is made from hooves, or so I was told once, and given the company it keeps, I believe it.  Throw it all into a FISH SHAPED MOLD and —- SWEET JIGGLY JESUS ON A TOENAIL – HOW DID WE GET HERE?) 

Anyway, Cienna is also driving over with her dogs, Rio and Wyatt, to spend the weekend. That's good because we have *2* jello salads.  I'll spike one of them with Vodka and we'll spend the weekend playing cards and repeating ourselves,
"I SAID, 'No, that is NOT THE PHONE!'"

The Trix is a fun lady, though.  She's got a wonderful sense of humor and, despite her Judy fixation, a very keen mind, outside of cuisine and driving.  The winters are long on her since she lost her night time license for running into some asshole in a Porsche.   Long story ending with the Elderly Trix standing before a judge and telling him off for keeping her waiting.  Though he found this tirade amusing (she gets away with the most amazing stuff), as did the rest of the court, the judge took her night time driving privileges. He dropped the charge from reckless driving to inattentive and gave her a lecture on the seriousness of the charge and how next time she would lose her license altogether.  The Trix then reminded him that next time if he tells her to be there at 9:00 he'd better not make her aged bones sit on his goddamn hard benches until 10:30.  More laughter. 

"Well, Mrs. Stewart, I hope that you've learned something sitting here today, listening to some of the consequences of disobeying our traffic laws, as well as your own." says the judge, attempting to wrap things up in a benevolent way.

"Your honor, I didn't hear shit. I am as deaf as a post.  I do promise to be more careful with my driving in the future though, and I'm sorry for the accident."

At least she didn't call him Judy.  And truthfully, my mom has been an inattentive driver since the 1930's.  She drives so slowly I'd almost say charge the other driver with inattentive driving, too.  He should have seen her hunched grey-headed form cruising at 15 miles per hour in a perfect arc toward his fancy sports car. 

Anyway, I'm looking forward to the weekend, and then Cienna (and Rio and Wyatt) is driving back with me for the week.  (I'll drive because she drives like my mother.  Like she's hunting sports cars.)  Then I can drive HER crazy in MY natural habitat.   We'll shop and I will appall her with my taste,

"Oh, please god, no, Mother…that isn't a shirt it's a TABLECLOTH for toddlers!"

I'll offer to cook a family meal and she'll assure me that I'm insane,

"A Family Meal is not eaten out of a BAG, Mother…nor is it delivered in a box."

And I'll reach for the jello and whatever is in my vegetable drawer just to shut her up.