Yes, I’m still here and, more importantly, so is our 94-year-old Francine. I know she’ll probably gnash her teeth (all of which are original, by the way) over that comment (“Kelly, they’ll think I’m decrepit”) however, I think it’s worth pointing out.
Happy Mother’s Day To Our 94-Year-Old
This photo was taken a few Saturdays ago when my brother treated our mother, his adult son and me to lunch at a pub near Mom’s apartment. I’d ask Francine if it’s ok to post this pic but she’s hosting a bridge foursome at her place right now and I’m hesitant to bother her. However as my brother shared the photo all over social media I think it’s ok if I do.
Anyway, it was lovely reading the responses friends posted on my brother’s Facebook page. These were among the highlights:
“You’re a lucky man.”
“That’s so awesome.”
“She’s the coolest.”
“Your mom looks fantastic.”
And my particular favorite:
“I hope I can approach a stack of wings like that at age 75 let alone 95; no sharing either.”
Pssst. I’ll let you in on a little secret that Bro didn’t share. Mom doesn’t drink alcohol. Nope, she’s not let it pass her lips for years now, on the strict advice of her Doc. When the three of us broke out our phones to get photographic proof of the enormous platter of wings she was about to attack (“I’ve NEVER had wings before. Have I?”) she picked up the Grandson’s cider and brandished it high. Our gal is a poser!
Bless her little tucked in napkin.
As many of you know, I’m hurling together a memoir about how she and I managed to survive working together for ten years in her successful Vancouver Asian antiques and collectibles shop. This libation brandishing calls to mind the chapter on that time we were on a buying trip in Bangkok and she knocked a full, pitcher-sized beer into the lap of …
Ok as a special Mother’s Day gift to you, Francine, I’ll share that here in a mini version …
After hours of wading through several dusty warehouses, Mom and I staggered into the mercifully air-conditioned lobby of our hotel, The Dusit Thani, and headed straight to the restaurant. It was 1987 and I was training for the Vancouver marathon in May, mere months away. I’d gotten up early to get in a twelve-mile run before it became too hot and at this point all I could think about was glugging down a gigantic glass of water. I was vaguely aware of Francine leading the way to her favorite table, her enormous leather bag banging about as a fifth appendage from her right shoulder, when all of a sudden a man’s voice bellowed out.
“Ooohhhhhhhhh”
My mother stopped dead in her tracks, a look of abject horror spreading across her face. I followed her gaze and was shocked to see a disturbingly wet stain slowing spreading throughout the lap of a dignified, well-dressed Thai gentleman in his mid-60’s. While I was relieved to learn the problem didn’t originate with him, it was alarming to witness his pitcher of beer spinning slowly on its side, dispensing the last of its contents onto his shirt. Obviously, while Mom had safely negotiated the tight space between tables, her bag had not.
Naturally, as with me, she tends to adopt a British accent in times of stress.
“Oh, my good man, I do apologize. Good heavens, let me wipe that up …” To his utter dismay, she whipped a napkin off a nearby empty table and brandished it threateningly in the direction of his sodden lap.
“No thank you, I’ll do it.” He neatly grabbed it out of her hand.
“Well, at least let me get you a new beer, Sir.”
“No, thank you. I still have a bit left.”
Against all odds, the behemoth weapon had managed to miss taking out his glass.
“Well, then let me pay for your lunch.”
“Thank you no. It’s looked after.”
Others were starting to take notice of the kerfuffle occurring in our section and a waitress hurried over clutching several freshly laundered linen napkins. Clearly they were to provide appropriate camouflage cover as he slipped up to his hotel room to change. But Mom refused to give up. Her voice took on a plaintive wheedling tone.
“Please, do let me pay for your dry cleaning, that’s the very least I can do.”
The waitress waved my frustrated mother off with a beautifully executed pronouncement.
“Please do not worry, nothing is needed. This gentleman is the owner of the hotel. We will look after him.”
***
This post has been inspired by the Finish the Sentence Friday prompt of “Oh Mother.” You can read the other posts over at the prompt thinker-upper Lisa from The Meaning of Me or Kristi of Finding Ninee.
Enough about Happy Mother’s Day To Our 94-year-old. I’m curious about you. Have you ever taken out the owner of a hotel? Or done something equally as delightful? If you’d care to share, I’d love to hear.
22 Responses
Oh my goodness, that is too funny. I can just picture your Mum with her faux British accent attempting to mop him up ! Happy Mother’s Day to you and your wonderful Mum !
Thank you so very much, dear friend. And yes, can’t you see her leaning over him? He SO did not want this crazy woman anywhere near him. To this day, Mom still wishes she could have done something, anything, to help make amends. Typical her to spill beer on the one guy who owns the hotel … A very Happy Mother’s Day to you!
Your mom. And YOU! You tell the funniest and most awesome stories, Kelly. I could just imagine you trailing behind and then realizing it was your mom’s purse that wet that man’s pants. Happy Mother’s Day to you and your mom both.
Thank you, Kristi. Next post is going to be very different as I recently did a podcast in which I was very brave and read a serious piece. Had to stop as I was crying. SO much easier for me to “be funny.” Wishing you the Happiest of Mother’s Days.
Some lives were made for memoirs, Kelly. You and your mom, in particular. Here’s to a wingette dunked in bleu cheese dressing.
I didn’t take out a hotel owner, but I did accidentally trick a former Bachelorette into thinking she knew me. It was a succinct and memorable romance.
Now THERE’S a story, Eli. Magical. Are you quite sure it was accidental?
She is amazing. We can only aspire to being 94 and enjoying life to the fullest!??
So very true, Marie. So very true. Wishing you the Happiest of Mother’s Days. Exciting times to come, indeed!
You most definately have Mom’s genes in regard to these instances. Happy MOther’s Day! This is the first time for me to think about how the family uses a British accent when the going gets tough. So true! Bet you made that ‘fellow with the wet crotch’s’ day!
Thanks, Wend. And yes, I did get a healthy dose of her genes in that regard. I can see a similar situation in my future. As to “wet crotch man” well, I suspect it was something he’d not forgotten too soon. You should have seen the look on his face. Oh my. We liked to think that he had a suite in his hotel that he could quickly repair to for a swift change of clothes. And yes, I think we all got that British accent trait! The Happiest of Mother’s Days to you!
Oh.. how I love that story. The hotel owner! Well he sounded like a kind man!
I’m a poser too – because I don’t drink nor do I eat a plate of wings, but I’d totally pose like that. Ravishing!
The plate of wings was a highly unusual choice for my mom as well, Tamara. She managed to scarf down the lot, which was incredible. We’re still talking about it. And yes, she couldn’t have hit on a nicer fellow! The stars were with her that day.
Yet another brilliant moment with the devine Ms. Frankie!! I can hear the accent and can only imagine her trying to right this wee mishap.
Love the photo of last weeks culinary adventure – you go Ms. Frankie!!!
Thank you for sharing this most charismatic, lovely lady with us. She is beloved most dearly by her wonderful family but those to of us that have read about her or are even luckier to have met her in person.
Happy Mothers Day Ms. Frankie, and to you as well Kelly. May the day treat you as specially as you are both to many ??
Oh, this just warms my heart, thank you, Janice. We enjoyed a lovely family Mother’s Day lunch today and Mom was tickled pink to have her two great-grandchildren there as well. I am happy to report that there was no spillage of beer today. Wishing you the Happiest of Mother’s Days, Janice.
When you get that memoir into print, I want a copy! I love your stories – always – and especially the ones with your Mom. I am totally envious of that plate of wings (and the cider) because they look amazing!
But most of all I love your mom’s zest for life. She wears it well and, clearly, it has served her well.
And this – Naturally, as with me, she tends to adopt a British accent in times of stress. – is so fabulous I laughed out loud. That is too funny!
Thank you so very much, Lisa. Mom reported that the wings were wonderful and she kept asking why she’d never tried them before. I think they will replace her usual fare of mac and cheese. More and more I am coming to believe that they broke the mould when they created her.
Love the story, Kelly. And the photo of your mom with the wings posing with the cider she doesn’t drink. She is a hoot for sure! Can’t wait the read your memoir. I can’t say I’ve had a similar experience, but then I usually carry small hand bags so that may be the key to prevention. LOL!
My poor father always lamented the size of her bag. I must share the time we were standing outside our hotel room in Hong Kong and after she rummaged fruitlessly in the suitcase that was her purse of the day for the missing card key, my exasperated father tugged at her bag and tipped it upside down. It was a marvel to see everything she carried in that gem. Card key was found finally as were several other items Mom had long forgotten about …
BAHAHAHAHA!! I could picture every detail you described of this scene, Kelly! OMG hilarious. And he was the OWNER OF THE HOTEL?? Perfect. Or I should say “Just Typikel!!”
“Bless her little tucked in napkin.” <— this is what makes you a brilliant writer of all things.
Your mom is amazing. How'd she do on those wings anyway? God, I love her.
I cannot WAIT to read this book. 🙂
Yes, that’s it exactly, Christine. “Just TypiKel.” I mean of course, he had to be the owner of the hotel and as such, there was nothing, absolutely nothing, poor Mom could do to make the situation any better. He had an answer for every proposition. As for the platter of wings, she ate every single one. Every single one. Gone. The three of us were astonished. We’re used to her enormous breakfasts of fruit, yogurt, maple syrup and a dash of milk (my son calls them “Frank the tank breakfasts”) but her lunches out are usually divided into two, half to be consumed on the spot and half to be taken home. Not that day.
My favorite line: Naturally, as with me, she tends to adopt a British accent in times of stress.
She’s a peach! How did she like the wings?
I’ve never taken out a hotel owner with my bag and a pitcher of beer. I’ll add that to my bucket list.
She is a peach! As for those wings? They were hoovered down like nobody’s business. My brother, nephew and I were positively gobsmacked. And yes, do add the taking out of a hotel owner and a pitcher of beer with your bag to your bucket list. It’s life altering.