Play & Book Excerpts
Three Legs in the Evening
(Roundfire Books)
© Bette Ann Moskowitz
Excerpt from: PART I/MORNING: SLIGHTLY REBORN
When everyone arrived, Emily pulled the big wing chair covered in red poppy linen into the center of the living room, and told Sally to sit there, because they had a surprise for her. In honor of her birthday, the children and grandchildren had put together a book in her honor. In it were testimonials from each of them, personal anecdotes illustrating some of her best sayings, with commentary, which they were going to read to her now. Sally, who suspected something was up, was delighted and touched, and with a mock-queenly gesture she told them to go ahead, have at it. The book had a big photo of Sally when she was about fifty, on the front cover, under the title, Grandma's Little Book of Big Sayings. She remembered now when CJ coaxed her into looking at family pictures. She must have stolen it then so they could blow it up.
"It's so professional looking!" Sally said.
"That's Robin," Mark said. (His wife was a graphic artist. Robin smiled for a change.)
Emily read the introduction. "Written by me," CJ said, raising her hand in the air. "Looking for the right words for things has been Sally Battel's occupation as well as her preoccupation, all her life. She is devoted to her sayings. The things she wrote in her greeting cards were things she lived by. She believed in them. We think if she didn't write them down, she could not live them."
Sally thought this was true to an extent, though the way it was written made her sound a bit rigid about it. "Am I that rigid?" she said, and everyone said, "No, of course you're not." But it was certainly true. The things you say about the things you do, matter. Words count.
"And every one of us has his or her favorite saying to live by. Presenting our favorites. The top five to stay alive."
Everyone clapped, and Mark whistled through his two fingers.
Fran went first. "My best of mommy's sayings is Put things in perspective. When I had a problem, she tried to make me see the big picture. (Even though I thought my problem WAS the big picture.) Like when Dougie was colicky I thought I'd lose my mind and Mom kept saying keep it in perspective, babies aren't colicky at five, or ten, or fifteen, its only while they are getting used to the world. She's telling me this while he's wailing his head off. I swear I didn't believe her, I wanted to kill her. But she was right. Now Dougie is my most reasonable child."
Sally remembered coming into the Fran’s apartment, hearing Douglas wailing, and following the sound to the bedroom, where Fran, disheveled, desperate, was holding the baby away from her, her arms stretched out, as if she were about to drop him, or throw him. Sally kept talking to her softly as she reached for the baby, peeling her daughter's fingers from the baby's little body, pretending she did not see where the marks remained, pretending not to know what was in her mind. She remembered not trusting her to be alone with the baby, engineering it so she or Artie, or someone else be with her as often as she could, or taking Dougie overnight, for almost a year. And she has never told another soul what she saw, and what she understood it to mean.
Mark's testimonial said, “When I was in little league, I got beaned by a baseball, and I wanted to quit, and mom wouldn't let me. She said, It isn't what happens to you, it's what you make of what happens to you, that counts. She wanted me to use the experience to learn how to take a licking and keep on ticking."
"But that's not what happened," Sally said. "I wanted you to use it to learn to lose gracefully. To lose without losing it. But you used it to work so hard at baseball that you didn't lose."
This was true. And Sally had learned to leave Mark's fury alone. His fury was his strength, and trying to curb it would be like cutting Samson's hair.
"But I still used it," Mark said. "That's the point, isn't it? Except..." then he sang two bars of "I Did It My Way."
Rita said her favorite was Concentrate on the point of pain.
Sally got that from yoga, when you do a pose and take it to the nth point and then you can dissipate the pain just by focusing on it. She had done a lot with that. She could cure her own headache. She made Artie do it when he was very sick. He said it helped him. He said it was as good as morphine, sometimes. "I do it sometimes and it works," Rita said. Sally hugged her and tried not to think about how frightened she sounded.
CJ said her favorite was you earn your face.
"Granny always said if you don't smile, you'll get frown lines. If you're going to get any lines at all, make sure they go up. If they don't, it's your own fault."
Douglas liked the one about Tell me something wonderful.
Sally hugged her sad sack grandson, thinking that of all of them, it hadn't worked on him. He used to try so hard. He would say, in desperation, "I didn't throw up this morning, grandma, " and then look at her anxiously, to see if she would accept it as something wonderful. Of course she always did, clapping and laughing, because it was funny, how hard he tried, and how wonderfully sweet he was.
His brother, Matt, who was away at school and couldn't come in for the party, said his favorite of Grandma's sayings was Don't be a victim of your own life.
Sally looked up, surprised. "Did I say that?" she said, and everyone laughed. "Why would I have said that to Matt? What in his young life could he have been in danger of being a victim of?"
"Me," Fran said.
"Oh, god, Franny, no," Sally said, but then everyone laughed again, and Fran said lighten up, she was kidding.
Everyone was in a circle around Sally. They held paper plates of all the goodies she had made, salad and lasagna and slices of quiche in their laps, wine glasses nearby, raised and lowered and raised and sipped again as she was toasted after each little reading. It was a nice party and Sally was having a very nice time, pleased at the surprise, pleased that her food was being eaten and she was being appreciated.
"My very favorite of mom's sayings is, "You can't go east all your life and end up in the west," Emily said. "It has a poetic vibe."
And Joe walked in. He waved at Sally from the front door. He was wearing jeans and an electric blue cashmere sweater, and he slipped in and stood beside Brad. "Don't let me interrupt," he said. So Emily said, again: "You can't go east all your life and end up in the west."
Of course, she is thinking of herself, and of this crazy, ridiculous new love object, Fred. But out of the blue, Sally thought of Artie, her Artie, who was east. And wondered how she could find herself here, unexpectedly, at her age, way out west. In an untemperate, more than nice, even wild west, in electric blue cashmere and boots.
Rita patted her hand. "Are you alright?" she said. "You're all red and flushed."
******
When everyone arrived, Emily pulled the big wing chair covered in red poppy linen into the center of the living room, and told Sally to sit there, because they had a surprise for her. In honor of her birthday, the children and grandchildren had put together a book in her honor. In it were testimonials from each of them, personal anecdotes illustrating some of her best sayings, with commentary, which they were going to read to her now. Sally, who suspected something was up, was delighted and touched, and with a mock-queenly gesture she told them to go ahead, have at it. The book had a big photo of Sally when she was about fifty, on the front cover, under the title, Grandma's Little Book of Big Sayings. She remembered now when CJ coaxed her into looking at family pictures. She must have stolen it then so they could blow it up.
"It's so professional looking!" Sally said.
"That's Robin," Mark said. (His wife was a graphic artist. Robin smiled for a change.)
Emily read the introduction. "Written by me," CJ said, raising her hand in the air. "Looking for the right words for things has been Sally Battel's occupation as well as her preoccupation, all her life. She is devoted to her sayings. The things she wrote in her greeting cards were things she lived by. She believed in them. We think if she didn't write them down, she could not live them."
Sally thought this was true to an extent, though the way it was written made her sound a bit rigid about it. "Am I that rigid?" she said, and everyone said, "No, of course you're not." But it was certainly true. The things you say about the things you do, matter. Words count.
"And every one of us has his or her favorite saying to live by. Presenting our favorites. The top five to stay alive."
Everyone clapped, and Mark whistled through his two fingers.
Fran went first. "My best of mommy's sayings is Put things in perspective. When I had a problem, she tried to make me see the big picture. (Even though I thought my problem WAS the big picture.) Like when Dougie was colicky I thought I'd lose my mind and Mom kept saying keep it in perspective, babies aren't colicky at five, or ten, or fifteen, its only while they are getting used to the world. She's telling me this while he's wailing his head off. I swear I didn't believe her, I wanted to kill her. But she was right. Now Dougie is my most reasonable child."
Sally remembered coming into the Fran’s apartment, hearing Douglas wailing, and following the sound to the bedroom, where Fran, disheveled, desperate, was holding the baby away from her, her arms stretched out, as if she were about to drop him, or throw him. Sally kept talking to her softly as she reached for the baby, peeling her daughter's fingers from the baby's little body, pretending she did not see where the marks remained, pretending not to know what was in her mind. She remembered not trusting her to be alone with the baby, engineering it so she or Artie, or someone else be with her as often as she could, or taking Dougie overnight, for almost a year. And she has never told another soul what she saw, and what she understood it to mean.
Mark's testimonial said, “When I was in little league, I got beaned by a baseball, and I wanted to quit, and mom wouldn't let me. She said, It isn't what happens to you, it's what you make of what happens to you, that counts. She wanted me to use the experience to learn how to take a licking and keep on ticking."
"But that's not what happened," Sally said. "I wanted you to use it to learn to lose gracefully. To lose without losing it. But you used it to work so hard at baseball that you didn't lose."
This was true. And Sally had learned to leave Mark's fury alone. His fury was his strength, and trying to curb it would be like cutting Samson's hair.
"But I still used it," Mark said. "That's the point, isn't it? Except..." then he sang two bars of "I Did It My Way."
Rita said her favorite was Concentrate on the point of pain.
Sally got that from yoga, when you do a pose and take it to the nth point and then you can dissipate the pain just by focusing on it. She had done a lot with that. She could cure her own headache. She made Artie do it when he was very sick. He said it helped him. He said it was as good as morphine, sometimes. "I do it sometimes and it works," Rita said. Sally hugged her and tried not to think about how frightened she sounded.
CJ said her favorite was you earn your face.
"Granny always said if you don't smile, you'll get frown lines. If you're going to get any lines at all, make sure they go up. If they don't, it's your own fault."
Douglas liked the one about Tell me something wonderful.
Sally hugged her sad sack grandson, thinking that of all of them, it hadn't worked on him. He used to try so hard. He would say, in desperation, "I didn't throw up this morning, grandma, " and then look at her anxiously, to see if she would accept it as something wonderful. Of course she always did, clapping and laughing, because it was funny, how hard he tried, and how wonderfully sweet he was.
His brother, Matt, who was away at school and couldn't come in for the party, said his favorite of Grandma's sayings was Don't be a victim of your own life.
Sally looked up, surprised. "Did I say that?" she said, and everyone laughed. "Why would I have said that to Matt? What in his young life could he have been in danger of being a victim of?"
"Me," Fran said.
"Oh, god, Franny, no," Sally said, but then everyone laughed again, and Fran said lighten up, she was kidding.
Everyone was in a circle around Sally. They held paper plates of all the goodies she had made, salad and lasagna and slices of quiche in their laps, wine glasses nearby, raised and lowered and raised and sipped again as she was toasted after each little reading. It was a nice party and Sally was having a very nice time, pleased at the surprise, pleased that her food was being eaten and she was being appreciated.
"My very favorite of mom's sayings is, "You can't go east all your life and end up in the west," Emily said. "It has a poetic vibe."
And Joe walked in. He waved at Sally from the front door. He was wearing jeans and an electric blue cashmere sweater, and he slipped in and stood beside Brad. "Don't let me interrupt," he said. So Emily said, again: "You can't go east all your life and end up in the west."
Of course, she is thinking of herself, and of this crazy, ridiculous new love object, Fred. But out of the blue, Sally thought of Artie, her Artie, who was east. And wondered how she could find herself here, unexpectedly, at her age, way out west. In an untemperate, more than nice, even wild west, in electric blue cashmere and boots.
Rita patted her hand. "Are you alright?" she said. "You're all red and flushed."
******
|
Bette Ann Moskowitz has been writing all her life. As an accomplished author of six published books, three fiction and three non-fiction, as well as several others in various stages of completion, she says Three Legs in the Evening was a long time coming and a labor of love.
Former songwriter, and writing professor, Bette's essays have appeared in The New York Times, Review of Contemporary Fiction, American Book Review, The Ethel, among others. (Readers can find links to some of her essays on her website, including the popular “New York Times Modern Love” column). She has received a New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowship for Creative Non-Fiction and was a finalist in the same category. Her popular blog, “Vinegar Mother: A Tart Take On The World,” has been appearing every week for four years: through loss, through the pandemic, she keeps writing, as the world spins on. |
Bette Ann Moskowitz
|
|
