Mama Was a Rolling Stone

Moms—you gotta love ‘em.
I guess that preamble requires some explanation. After all, one would think that such a statement is not needed in light of the fact that all mothers are sacred, untouchable and off limits when it comes to derision or fault—one would think. My mother is in a category all her own. Here is today’s story, which only arises due to the fact that I stopped at her house on my way from Riverside to our Yuma school early Monday morning.
I will couch this story in a historical frame so as to give you some perspective. My mom is 78 going on 19 years of age. The Temptations’ classic ballad, “Papa was a Rolling Stone,” could just as easily been named, “Mama was a Rolling Stone,” and been a reference to my mother. For those too young to remember such a classic musical masterpiece, the reference is not to the Rolling Stones of Mick Jagger fame. If you do not know The Rolling Stones or Mick Jagger, then just limp along with me.
My mom has lived with me four or five times over the last twenty years—each time she has tired of the confinement and ran away—yes, run away, as in suddenly she is no longer on the premises and we don’t know where mom is! An addition, I have a sneaking suspicion that my mom went to Jewish Mom Training School, since she is never satisfied with the attention or efforts of her children on her behalf. That includes me.
Well, on this occasion I decided I should stop by to visit her at her residence in beautiful Desert Hot Springs, where she is temporarily housed in a senior living complex, complete with a beautiful view of the San Jacinto Mountains, and a mineral water Jacuzzi and pool a scarce 20 feet from her front door. Most people would be satisfied with such accommodations. My mom was satisfied for a couple days and ever since then she has begun to plot her escape.
I stopped over knowing well that the maternal radar that identifies when and which of her children is within 100 miles of her house had gone off and I would eventually hear about it if I did not stop and eat something she cooked up especially for me. I dutifully arrived and waited (I had an appointment in Yuma, remember?) as she prepared a breakfast from scratch. She talked as she cooked up her homemade beans, eggs, tortillas and fresh salsa. Her topic of choice—her need of a mobile phone with unlimited calling, texting, and electronic information transfer capabilities. She was withering away without contact with her children and grandchildren and friends and neighbors and…you get the picture. The truth is that I had suggested as much three months ago when I relocated her to her present facilities. She spoke of some magical phone that was available with such capabilities at a reasonable price with no contract. I had actually gone in search of this mythical phone only to discover it did not work in Desert Hot Springs.
She convinced me she was steadily declining in mental and physical health due to her lack of telecommunications. I finally conceded the point and asked her where I could go this time and secure such a device. She said, K-Mart!” As the model son that I am, I immediately went on a hunt for the nearest K-Mart in Desert Hot Springs; I tracked and captured a phone, identified a phone service, paid for the merchandise and returned to her house with the prize.
I set it up. I called T-Mobile and pre-paid. I made arrangements to have the flat fee for unlimited usage in the contiguous states deducted from my account. I put the phone together: battery and SIM card. I called T-Mobile to ensure all was well. I plugged the phone in to begin charging the battery. I gave her a crash course in usage of the phone. I called her a number of times before I left and had her answer the phone. She seemed delighted. I showed her how to dial and she heard my phone ring in response to her call. I talked with her from outside her residence to prove the phone worked. I believed I had covered all contingencies. I was far behind on my schedule for the day but I assured her that I would call her on the way to Yuma and that I would give the number to her children to call her. She seemed delighted to be connected to the world. “Seemed” is the operative word.
I called her once and she answered. She sounded happy as a lark that I had called her unprompted, since I “never” do that. I assured her she could call me any time. I did not hear from her for some time. I decided I would call. I did. No answer. I called again. No answer—went to voicemail. I called five more times; all with the same result. My brother, Art also called with no response. I was thinking perhaps she had gone out and forgotten the phone. Understandable.
When I arrived in Yuma and tried again to call with the same sequence: ring, voice mail, disconnect, I decided to find some help. I called my cousin Nena who lives in the same facility. I asked her to walk over to my mom’s apartment and check out if she was having some trouble with the phone. I was imagining her sitting on the rocking chair (she doesn’t really have one) having forgotten how to use the phone and just staring at the phone and not knowing what button to push to answer. If only….
I didn’t hear from my cousin for some time so I decided to call her back. In short this is what she told me. My mom, bless her soul, had taken the cell phone and had put it back into its original box and put it way in the back of her closet. When asked why she did this to her new phone, purchased by her loving and responsible son, she simply replied that she did not like the phone and thus she had put it away. When asked why she did not like the phone she informed my cousin that it was because it was too small and did not do what she wanted it to do when she wanted it to do it! When asked if she wanted a refresher course on proper usage of the device, she clearly stated that she would never, ever use the phone again since it was clearly not what she wanted, nor was it her idea to get a phone in the first place, much less one that did not do what she wanted, when she wanted!
My cousin gave up trying to convince her. The phone is in its original box, in the back of the closet in my mom’s apartment in Desert Hot Springs. I am sure it provides an occasional break from the monotony of her days. The musical tune she selected must remind her of its existence—but not much more. This is not how I imagined it would end. After all—it was a gift given with the best of intentions. Now I was paying a closet music box!
I was tempted to become incensed, but after some reflection I was reminded that I have occasionally pulled the same stunt—with God! I can think of a number of times when God has gifted me and I have simply set it aside and closeted it away. He is patient with me. I suppose I should be patient with my mom. I will trust God with my mom and all her idiosyncrasies. I can’t even imagine how God manages to deal with mine. Gotta go, I think my cell phone is ringing.