After a Fashion

Miss Caswell and Addison DeWitt – home again, home again, jiggity-jig

HAPPY TRAILS It was the middle of September and I'd finally been able to go home; it'd been about six weeks since I'd gone to Seattle for my brother Bill's wedding … and stayed for my stepfather's funeral. We all pitched in, my brothers Bill and Scott, my sister Margaret and myself, to help my mother through the almost intolerably difficult chore of helping her close up her 35 years of life with her husband in Seattle and move to Austin. The trailer truck was eventually loaded, which, after a circuitous route, would meet my mother in Austin with her belongings. Bill and Scott said their anguished goodbyes to the mother that had only been a stone's throw away from them for decades, I flew home, and Margaret and Mother loaded up the Mercedes with Addison DeWitt and Miss Caswell (our Chihuahuas) and began the long drive from Seattle to Austin. I'd made it back just in time to attend the Ballet Austin Fete, which I'd been committed to for months, and desperately didn't want to miss. That night as I perused outfits and accessories for the ball, the phone rang; it was Margaret calling from Utah, telling me she was feeling ill and couldn't continue the trip, and asking if I would fly into Flagstaff, Ariz., in the morning and meet them so she could get on a plane and fly home, and I could drive the rest of the way with Mother and the dogs. Of course I'd do it – it would be an adventure. So after too much champagne, fabulous food, magnificent performances, and glorious gowns, I got up at 4am and flew to Flagstaff and met them at the airport, where we did our changeover. Arizona was so very Arizona. It was lovely but made me feel like I needed to be wearing a big skirt and squash-blossom necklace. We made it safely through Roswell, N.M., without being abducted and probed by aliens and spent the night in Carlsbad – completely ignoring the bats, since I can see bats out my window any day in Austin. The trip was breezy and fun, and I felt like I should have been wearing Capri pants with a scarf tied over my head, like Thelma and Louise hurtling down Highway 285 at a brisk 99 miles an hour. It was still early morning, and we'd just crossed into West Texas, 17 miles from Pecos, and rejoiced that we were nearly home. Then those pesky red and blue flashing lights appeared out of nowhere, and within moments, I found myself looking at my very first speeding ticket. Since I was going 99 (my mother told me to stay below 100) in a 70 mph zone, my ticket was the jaw-dropping maximum: $260 and up. I wanted to cry – not because it was my first ticket, but because I was thinking about how much junk jewelry I could buy for $260. I've been too distraught to look at the ticket ever since. But, really, I was relieved to just get the ticket and go, because moments after the trooper stopped us, a tow truck appeared. I was mortified imagining our Mercedes being towed away and me and my mother and Addison and Miss Caswell being carted off to the pokey in handcuffs – adult-sized cuffs for me and my mother, and teeny-weeny little Chihuahua-sized ones for them. Mother and I would be able to fend for ourselves, but I hoped they'd have a separate cell for canine perps under 4 pounds. and not just toss them in with all the other big criminal dogs. I knew Miss Caswell would try to act vicious and poor Addison would just tremble in his Bermuda shorts. After it was established that I was not transporting contraband and that my 76-year-old mother wasn't on the FBI's 10 Most Wanted List, we were allowed to continue, and took off – albeit at a slower rate of speed. I set the cruise control; mom relaxed and read a magazine. In the back seat, Addison pulled a snap-brim hat over his eyes to take a nap, and Miss Caswell played solitaire while listening to hip-hop on her iPod. Eventually, we made it into Austin – weary, worn, and all of us having to pee. When we got out of the car, Addison and Miss Caswell just let it gush in the parking lot, though my mother and I waited until we got upstairs. Home, sweet home. This is the first Christmas holidays I've spent with my mother in several years. I adore having her here, and I cherish all the time I get to spend with her now. I wish I could help make up the unutterable sadness she feels for her first holidays without her husband. I can't. But I try in many ways to make sure she knows how deeply she's loved and appreciated. But I'm lucky – I can make it easy by putting into the paper: I love you, Mom, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.