I just checked my voice mail and found a message left last night for somebody named Russ. Russ, wherever you are, I listened with raised eyebrow as your mother gave you a list of things she would like you to know.
Here is the best I could make out: It was almost 9:25 and she was soon going to bed. Frank hopes you are bringing down weed killer for the day lily bed. Do you have her standard size down pillow? She usually sets it out for you when you come down, and all she can find is her queen size. [She feels it is probably in your stuff, Russ.] Sharon has some notes for you on the snack bar counter in the corner. Make sure that you READ those notes when you get down there. [Have you made a habit of ignoring these notes, Russ?] Your mother is putting the silverware for Rhode Island, a bedspread, and some other things in an open bin with your name on it by the front wall to the right of the doorway. You still have dinner from that restaurant in the fridge. She is going to be unplugging the fridge, so she is putting your food somewhere. [I couldn't quite make out that part – just hunt for it] She did mention that the microwave won't be available, but she didn't say why. Apparently you can heat it up at Edna's.
My voice mail reached the time limit cut her off mid sentence, so I am sure I missed more. You may want to give her call. I am wondering by the tone of her voice if maybe she would prefer you to call more often. This is an essential aspect of the proper care and feeding of a mother. If you don't stay in touch they shrivel up with worry and neglect. Call her at least once a week, my friend. That is the least you can do. Don't forget to make sure she has your correct phone number. I am not your secretary.