“Mother, you know that’s not true. And if you’re so dead set against it, I won’t go.”
“Sure, and if you don’t go you’ll never let me live it down. I was just hoping you would be a little closer to home, that’s all, not too far away.”
Linda said, “So that’s what is really worrying you.”
“Why shouldn’t it? I’m a normal mother.”
“But you don’t have to worry. I’ll be fine.”
“Do you think I am going to let you go up to some big city full of gangs and white slavers and not worry?”
“Oh, Mother, there aren’t any white slavers in San Francisco.”
“You don’t know. I look at television and I see things. Barbara Walters just had a piece about some Russian girls that got mixed up with white slavers. It still goes on, don’t kid yourself.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “And here I thought you would be on some safe college campus for four years.”
“Mother.”
“I hope you carry a gun in your purse, that’s all I can say. People are getting knocked in the head right and left. I hope you know I won’t sleep for the next four years!”
An hour later Linda called Macky.
“Daddy, you’re going to have to talk to Mother—she’s having a fit about me getting knocked in the head or getting kidnapped by white slavers.”
Macky said, “I figured as much. Has she said anything about earthquakes yet?”
“No, not yet, but I’m sure as soon as she has time to think, it will be next.”
As expected, later that night Norma sat in the kitchen with Macky. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with those people at the telephone company. Expecting a young girl to go all the way to San Francisco all by herself.”
“She’s going to be with a whole bunch of people her age that will be in training with her.”
Norma’s eyes blinked wide open. “San Francisco! Oh my God, what about earthquakes!”
Macky got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. It was going to be a long night.
“I’m going to have a series of small strokes over this, I just know it.”
“Norma, I wish you would just stop worrying over every damn thing. You are going to drive yourself crazy.”
“I can’t help it, I’m a worrier. My mother was a worrier and so am I. I was nervous as a child. I was nervous as a teenager. I’ve always been nervous. You knew I was nervous when you married me. I told you I was nervous.”
“Yes, but I thought you would get over it after the first twenty years.”
“You have never been nervous a minute in your life, so you don’t know what it’s like, so don’t sit there and tell me to just get over it. You act as if it’s something I want to do. I guess you think I wake up every morning and say, Oh boy, I just can’t wait to be a nervous wreck all day and worry myself to death about everybody and just about jump out of my skin every time the phone rings, it’s such fun. Honestly, Macky, I wish you would try and understand. You and Aunt Elner are just alike; neither one of you has a nerve in your body. I wish I could be like that but I can’t. I guess it’s just part of nature. Some animals are nervous and some aren’t. I don’t know why, but I am sure the Good Lord had his reasons. You can’t change people’s nature. You can’t say to a bird, Be more like a cow.”
“All right, Norma, you’ve made your point.”
“Or a lion to be like a monkey.”
“O.K., Norma, all I was suggesting is that you might have more fun if you could relax more.”
“Don’t you think I know that? You think you’re telling me something I don’t know? I wish I could just let the house go to pot, let you and Aunt Elner and Linda do what you want. What if Linda wants to go off to a big city and live around killers and rapists, so what? You want to jump on and off roller coasters at your age, so what? Aunt Elner wants to leave her house wide open all night so anybody can come traipsing in and out and murder her in her bed, so what?”
“I know, but, Norma, you’re like Chicken Little, running around always thinking the sky’s falling. Do you think that your worrying can prevent anything from happening? Whatever happens is supposed to happen and whatever doesn’t, isn’t.”
Norma looked at him like she could kill him. “Well, thank you, Macky, that’s a big help. I’ll remember to tell you that the next time you are worried about something.”
After Linda had left for San Francisco, Aunt Elner called Norma and said, “Norma, do you know what’s the matter with you? You’re an empty nester.”
“What?”
“I read it in the Reader’s Digest and I think you’ve got empty-nest syndrome. I think that’s why you are so depressed and moping around. It says the symptoms are a feeling that your life is over, a feeling of uselessness. I see the signs as clear as day.”
“What signs?”
“You can’t fool me. Every time you come over here I know you’re just itching to clean my house. What you need is a hobby. Listen, the Reader’s Digest says, and I quote, are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“ ‘The antidote to empty-nest syndrome is the following or a combination thereof. . . . Get up out of the house and make new friends, get new hobbies, donate your time to some civic cause, go on a second honeymoon with your husband.’ ”
“A second honeymoon? We never had the first one. Now I’m due two. Go on, what else?”
“Go out to eat at least once a week or take a dance class.”
Norma had to admit that what Aunt Elner said was true. She had been feeling useless and she had been itching to clean Aunt Elner’s house from top to bottom. But she did not want to take a dance class, or eat out once a week. There was no place to go now that the cafeteria had closed except Howard Johnson, and just how many fried clams can one eat? And she knew Macky would never shut down the hardware store to go on a second honeymoon. She supposed her only recourse was to search for a cause, but finding a cause in Elmwood Springs would not be easy. Everybody seemed to have what they wanted.
Tin-Can Tourists, 1974
Aunt Elner had been out in the yard dealing with a dog that was chasing her cat and had missed most of Neighbor Dorothy’s show but she ran in and turned it on to try to catch the tail end of it anyway. This was Neighbor Dorothy’s last week on the air and she did not want to miss one second of it.
“We received another postcard from our tin-can tourists, Ada and Bess Goodnight. Bess says their travels are over; they have settled down and plan to stay there forever. Their new home is the Ollie Trout Trailer Camp, located on Biscayne Boulevard at 107th Street, one and a half miles north of the Miami city limits. The postcard has a lovely picture and describes Ollie’s as one of the finest automobile trailer tourist parks in the country, offering three hundred and fifty individual lots with a coconut palm on each corner. It sounds like heaven to me. The card is signed, ‘Whoopee, come and see us. Ada and Bess Goodnight.’
“It seems like they just left yesterday and they have been gone for over nine years now. Well, I’ve caught you up on all the news, so I thought I’d take this time to talk about something that’s been on my mind for a while. Last night Doc and I were sitting in the backyard watching the sun go down and the stars come out . . . and what a pretty sight . . . to see the first little star come twinkling on . . . the night was so warm and lovely and we sat there until they had all come out and I had a thought. I wondered how we would feel if we never had stars or the moon, just a dark sky and then, one night, they suddenly all appeared in the sky. We would all be in awe, I’m sure, and say, What a wondrous sight, but sometimes I get so busy I forget to look at the moon and the stars and appreciate how lucky we are to have them. We never appreciate the moon until he goes behind a dark cloud, do we? God gave us so many beautiful things to look at, and now that both my children are grown and gone, Doc and I spend a lot more time counting our blessings and we have had more than our share. I know that we were so lucky to have had Mother Smith with us for so many years. Both our children are happy and healthy and I have been blessed, too, with so many wonderful neighbors, my real neighbors and all my radio neighbors, who have been with me throughout the years. I often wonder what I did to deserve such a wonderful life. It’s going to be hard not to come to the microphone every morning for our visit but you and I know that, unfortunately, time marches on and waits for no man, as they say, or even woman. I am sure that the new folks coming along will have a lot of exciting things to offer. It’s been a long run . . . thirty-eight years of broadcasting is more than I could have ever hoped for.