According to my Irish calendar, Lipiec equals July. Not sure what language that is. Yeah – I owe 300 words (Tuesday, Wednesday, and Today). I’m lazy. Ready to relax.

Okay 100. Come on brain…
See spot run. (what is she chasing?)

Jane, resting on the porch steps, looked out at her mature springer spaniel who was racing around like a puppy in the tall green grass,  chasing something in circles and yipping happily. Oh to have such energy! Must be a bunny, Jane thought. Spot, the name given to the dog by her obnoxious – isn’t obnoxious too strong of a word? – her pushy? Pushy. Her pushy daughter Emily.
“What mom? You haven’t named her yet? It’s been almost a week. You should name her.” Jane had wanted to find the perfect name – the name of some romantic and brave heroine out of one of her books. Something like Victoria Lynn or Lady Bosworth of Chattingham.
“She’s got those dirt spots on her nose,” her daughter said, holding the nose in question still to examine it. “Huh Spot? Yeah, you like that don’t you?” The dog wagged her tail enthusiastically. Probably hoping for a treat.
Emily patted the dog on the head dismissively and smirked at her, “See Spot run, eh mom? Maybe Dick’ll come back and play with you now.” She meant her father Richard, who’s advertising career took him away. No, Jane thought, you old fool. The truth will set you free. Richard had run off with a younger woman and leaving his wife of 15 years with an angst-filled teenager and a mound of debt. Emily had been upset then but Jane had taken Richard back when the young wife, Bonnie, had dumped him for a richer man. Emily wasted no time in telling her mother ‘told you so’ when things didn’t workout.  Now Emily took delight in teasing her mother about it. Obnoxious. Definitely obnoxious.
Victoria Lynn of Westerly, aka Spot, barked excitedly in Jane’s direction, bringing her attention back to the present. The bark meant ‘come here! play with me!’ Jane sighed and heaved herself up off the steps. Her hips didn’t work so well these days, and neither did the joints in her hands and feet. The summer’s humidity made them swell and turn red. She hobbled out across the field, the tall grass tugging at her ankles. The dog had dug up something. 
“You got a bunny hole?” Jane asked the animal.  Spot panted happily and dug some more. The sound of her claws scratching against something other than dirt made Jane lean down and examine the ground. Spot had uncovered a box of some sort. Jane, her joint pain momentarily forgotten, got on her knees and helped clear the dirt away.

“Mother? What are you doing? The pastor called and said you didn’t go to church on Sunday and you didn’t come into work today,” Emily said by way of greeting, walking in and leaving the front door open.
“Oh – didn’t he get my message? I quit,” Jane said, eyeing her daughter over the edge of her tea cup.
“Quit? What – no. You can’t quit – you’d lose the house, and your car. You’d have to go into an old-folks home.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”
“No, well. No, I mean, not like that. I was just trying to get you to plan for your future.”
“For your future you mean. You don’t want to watch out for your old mom now that you’re a successful business woman.” And now you don’t have to,  Jane thought and admired the fine china in her hand. The money she’d found in the box that Vicki-Lynn of Spotsville had dug up solved all of her problems.
“Oh Mom.”
“Don’t oh mom me, girl.”
“Fine. Yes – you happy? I don’t have time to watch over you, especially now that you’re not working. The church was perfect. Pastor Rob’s secretary thought you were a great help.”
“Elbert is a sweaty handed pedophile who steals cigarette butts from the ashtray and money out of the donation box. Pastor Rob is too nice to that low-life.”
“Mother!”
Jane laughed.
“It’s true – all of it. Don’t worry Emily. You can have the house when I die, but I’ve got a lot of living to do before then. Don’t you worry about me, honey.” Jane smiled at her offspring, who looked back at her out of Richard’s worried eyes. But my nose and mouth. Woodsworth genes there.
“You just head back to town. I’ve got a date to get ready for.”
“A date? Mother, what is going on with you?”
“Life, my dear.”  The money she’d found, buried there in the 1930’s she imagined, just begged to be spent. And by God, she was going to spend it! Pastor Rob had suggested Las Vegas, but she had always wanted to see the Boardwalk at Atlantic City…See Spot run indeed.

Advertisements