People say that we often romanticize the past. We tend to forget what made us upset and think, “Gee, why did I dislike my situation so much?” But not Ada. No. She keeps her rage and disdain right in the front pocket of her purse where she can pull it out like the pistol of a cop on duty. Ada, the rage-cop, was on patrol.
One of Ada’s many common complaints is, “Your dad and I never do anything. We never do anything fun together.” To which I naturally, inquire, “What do you want to do?” Ada quick-fires a response,”I don’t know, go to a blues club. I’d like to hear some really good blues you know? All this time living in Chicago and we’ve never gone to a blues club.” I suggest the most natural next step – tell her to go to one. “Oh, your dad would never go. Besides. I don’t like driving on the highway. And you know how I get lost.” (She likes to remind me of this often)
After 29 years of hearing the same complaint, I knew my mother was never going to go to a blues club on her own accord. So, I took it upon myself to take her AND my dad to one for the very first time. Below is a chronicle of our evening.
Hours before arrival, Ada calls
Ada: Hey Bridge, whatcha doing?
The Bridge: Just getting ready for you.
Ada: Oh – are you cooking for us?
The Bridge: Yes, that’s what I said. We are cooking for you.
Ada: Oh, very good. It’s not anything weird is it?
The Bridge: (sigh) I just made a casserole of brussel sprouts, spaghetti O’s and Fruity Pebbles. Is that ok?
Ada: Oh my gosh.
The Bridge: I’ll see you when you get here.
(Hang Up)
While I’m sure most of you were drooling with envy – I did not make that dish. Instead, we had cheese and wine to start:
And of course, Ada’s poison:
An Old Lady's Cat Nip (next to QVC and rose perfume)
And followed that up with steak and blue cheese:
Nothing says the blues like red-meat indigestion.
We chatted a bit about family and then we listened to Ada chat about her other family, i.e. her insurance clients. (Side note: there was a time that I worked in the insurance industry. I worked for my sister, with my other sister and my mother. It’s a time I wish not to remember.)
“Well you know Mr. Glacey, right?”
“No, mom, I don’t.”
“Of course you do. He’s the one that never paid his bills on time and always let his policies lapse.”
Right. That one.
I ask my dad if he’s excited to go to the club. He feigns excitement and smiles, “Yes.” He realizes he wasn’t too convincing and starts to talk about the music he listened to when he grew up in Pilsen in the 40s.
“There was this group of guys who used to play blues on the corner just a few blocks from where we lived. Those colored guys were really good.”
It happens often – this culture shock. It still stings. I don’t even have the energy to teach my 73-year-old father new nomenclature. He’s of a different generation where certain words that were acceptable, are no more.
It was time to go.
And just for blogging sake, we took a picture.
Time w/ Frank and Ada, indeed.
We hop in a cab and just to annoy Ada, I take her picture.
Does this cabbie know where he's going?
And because it was Ada’s big night out – she gets a bottle of wine. And she doesn’t complain that there is no white zinfandel. This is a VERY big step for Ada.
"I'm learning to drink real booze!"
Since Kingston Mines has two stages, Ada and I went to see a performer by the name of Joanna Connor on the next stage while Sir Opti and Frank stayed behind to save our seats in the main area. The woman we saw was a rock star musician playing a soulful blues guitar as well as her rockin’ pipes. She had a hybrid sound of blues, jazz and folk. But since Ada likes the pure unadulterated Columbia cocaine of blues music, she wasn’t satisfied. “I think I like Muddy Waters better.” I retorted, “But Muddy Waters isn’t playing tonight mom. Muddy Waters is dead.” She replies without listening, “let’s go see what your dad is doing.”
I often wonder what life is like through Ada's point-of-view.
And after a few hours past Frank’s bedtime (8:30 p.m.), they were ready to go.
While others romanticize the past, I like to think that I unloaded the rage-pistol from Ada and that this evening would allow her some positive associations with a popular past complaint. After all, Frank and Ada had had their first blues club experience. And while the event itself was new to them, the night ended as it always does:
Caption not necessary.
