Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Are you tired of reading about Queen Elizabeth yet? I won't keep you long. Promise.
My mother was born the same year as Queen Elizabeth II and was a huge fan throughout her life. The largest part of our home library was devoted to picture books about the royal family. My name, Anne, comes from Queen Elizabeth's daughter, and my sister Margaret is named after QE's sister. Any time that anything pertaining to the royal family made the news, we were all over it in my household.
When I was a kid, life could be chaotic in my house. I never knew quite what to expect when I arrived home from school in the afternoon.
On one memorable occasion, I came through the door with my school books and found the kitchen table set scrupulously with all the fine china and crystal my mother owned. She had also pulled out the sterling silver flatware and the linen napkins.
Mom herself was dressed in her best dress and high heels. The first thing she did when she saw me was to tell me to take a shower and dress in the clothes set out.
In my room she had laid out my poofiest Sunday dress and my Mary Janes.
When I asked her what was going on, she said that Queen Elizabeth was coming for dinner. Now get in that shower!
The last thing I wanted to do after a long day of school (and probably a night without much sleep) was to indulge my mother's newest delusion. I was old enough to know that she had mental illness and that the Queen of England was, in fact, at home in England.
But there was no arguing with Mom when she was certain of something.
I don't know how I did it, but I dodged the shower and the Sunday dress. Maybe I just shut the door on the whole mess, and that was that.
At any rate, the hours passed, my dad came home from work, my sister was somewhere (perhaps staying with a relative), and the queen didn't come to dinner. This was probably for the best, because my mother didn't cook anything, she just decorated.
After waiting for Her Majesty until nearly 10:00 pm, my mother wouldn't hear of putting away the fancy tableware. There must have been a mistake. The queen would arrive tomorrow.
I don't remember how many nights we prepared for a visit from the queen. Probably not many. By the time my mother got that far along in a manic episode, the chaos would become more widespread. But I have never forgotten the evening my mother spent, done up to the nines, waiting for her heroine to arrive to our little brick ranch house in Appalachia.
Queen Elizabeth outlived my mother by 20 years. I lit a candle on my Shrine for both of them the other night. If there is indeed eternal life waiting to torment us, Mom will get an infinite number of dinners with the queen, and an infinite number of dinners with all the queen's ancestors. Sheesh. I would rather be with the faeries.
6 comments:
That's a hard situation for a kid to navigate. It sounds like you were adept at handling curveballs.
And what a funny thing for your mom to fixate on.
E
A sweet and sad remembrance.
A sad sweet memory.
I just wish the Queen could have come
A sad story but a powerful memory. I understand why the Queen's death would bring it back to you.
A strange, moving story. I also had an Anglophie mother, and my older sisters and I independently came to the conclusion that although I am supposedly named for a maternal great-grandfather, the presence of a dark-haired boy at Buckingham Palace had much to do with the choice of a name for me.
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