My Mother's Macy's Card

The summer I graduated from the University of Michigan, I moved to Manhattan with my college roommate and "just for emergencies"
my mother's Macy's charge card.

A few weeks later, my mother called, "Where's my Macy's charge," she demanded.
"In my purse," I replied.
"I don't think so," she shouted across the telephone line from the midwest.

Someone had charged $4,500 worth of men's clothing to her charge. "Call this man at Macy's immediately," she said, and hung up on me.

The man -- I'll call him Mr. Scary -- loomed over me in the tiny office. He'd spoken at length with my mother and the two of them agreed that I was witless, irresponsible, and lacking in the maturity that goes along with a charge card to the "World's Largest Store."

He shook his head sadly. He'd expected more from a University of Michigan graduate!

"Don't you ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever apply for a Macy's charge," he said. "Never. Never. Never."

And so I did not.

Then last week, a woman in my exercise class passed out 25% off Macy's Friends and Family cards to a few of us.

I quickly ran over to Macy's and scooped up a summer palette of shirts for my husband.

"If you open a Macy's charge today, you'll get an extra 20% off," my salesperson said.
I quickly calculated -- that's 25% + 20% off already reduced prices!

What's the statute of limitations in cases like this? I'm married with a career; I even have a grown son with his own charge cards.

"Okay," I said.
How far back did Macy's keep records?

"You're approved," he said.

My mother -- who always loved a bargain -- died in February.
I'd been waiting for a sign from her.

Did this mean she's forgiven me?

For Mama

(In Honor of what would have been my mother's 90th birthday,
July 3, 2011.)

At the intersection of fear and love,
at the edge of sadness and the moment of new life,
as guilt dissolves into wholeness,
and this year spins away from what came before,
pain subsides --
leaving behind only her chocolate-covered coconut patties,
her gym shoes, a silky pink robe.

For Marlene, Who is Allergic to Pepper.

Oh, please, please, don’t sit by me, Marlene,
Although of your company I’m keen.
I had a wee disaster,
And it happened so much faster than
I could stop it, alas I’m no Paula Deen.

Marlene, Marlene, please don’t fret,
If by your side I refuse to set.
You’ll understand in a second,
why I do not beckon,
for us to sit tete a tete.

Marlene, trust me, my pet.
You’re safe no where near me, I bet.
I’m more lethal, Marlene.
Than arsenic or gasoline.
And for that I deeply regret.

I was tossing a salad for deux,
When suddenly, mon Dieu!
My peppermill burst wide –
Shooting out what’s inside
onto me, which stuck like glue.

Oh, please don’t sit next to me, Marlene.
My Dear Friend, you won’t be amused.
In my nostrils and hair,
In the very air,
With this substance I’m thoroughly suffused.

Oh, Marlene, flop next to Roz or Linnie B.
Jed or Bill, I’m beggin’, down on one knee,
Or else you’ll be itchin’
And that’s not what I’m wishin’,
That’s the truth, don’t you agree?