GeePawHill
When I was a child, I met this woman named Mrs. Smith. That's not a pseudonym. And my Mom would drag me, not usually my brother, just me, outside of our small town, for maybe an hour's drive, to visit Mrs. Smith.
She was near-invalid, but not quite. An older woman, *enormous*, and she walked, the very few times I saw her walk, with two canes.
But that didn't happen much. We'd get there, and she'd be in a big easy chair on the porch.
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@deepmud I'm very glad you used the psych term. There are generally two flavors: #ShortDarkTriad and #ShortDarkQuad. Our US president has demonstrated he is a Triad, and pushing many Quad buttons.
Deep Mud
@_9CL7T9k8cjnD_ I was thinking largely about the antisocial/psychopathic and narcissistic types. But our current president, and I hate calling him that, appears to be both. Maybe leans towards the narcissist but hard to say.
These folks govern by whim and their whims are strongly for revenge. My father, for example, could whip himself into a fury over any slight that he perceived. Often, he made these up.
Both narcissists and psychopaths are common in my family and I was lucky to escape.
Deep Mud
@_9CL7T9k8cjnD_ well, now, that does give one pause.
My family, full of dark triad types, and awful and abusive, wasn't quite *that* bad. I counsel you to stay away from these folks. They truly sound dangerous.
Deep Mud
@_9CL7T9k8cjnD_ it certainly means different things to different people. Also, it sounds good and people say it without meaning it.
It's nice to hear but I tend to take it with a grain of salt unless I know better.
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@deepmud As an aside, bits of color, his parents got drunk and shot each other. Their response to each other in the ambulance was, "I love you." His dad, drunk, got angry because my cousin didn't put his dirt bike away. Made him stand and poured gasoline on him. Sat smoking a cigar, and told him to say "I love you." And threatened to light him if he didn't.
Deep Mud
@GeePawHill great story!
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@deepmud @GeePawHill I recently had a text chat with a cousin who had spent 10 years in prison. I haven't spoken to him or my family in decades. His final response to me was, "Love You." Given my relationship with my family and this thread, it got me to question the definition of LOVE. #LOVE like #FREEDOM is a loaded word.
GeePawHill
Some years later I put the pieces together.
Mrs. Smith was the mother of Bill Smith.
Bill Smith was engaged to marry my mother, before the war.
He died during the Anzio campaign.
My mother was visiting the mother of her boyfriend, her fiancee, who died before they were ever married.
GeePawHill
She, of course, had married, I was born 15 years after the war, she'd married and in fact divorced, and she brought her son to meet the woman who might have been his grandmother.
GeePawHill
This fucking life is so hard.
We do what we can.
And however awful everything is, however sad, however miserable, still, even so, we have the capacity to love.
And even on my worst days -- I'm in a long string of worst days just now -- I still can sometimes remember.
Love is possible.
GeePawHill
Mrs. Smith was one of the more obscene speakers of English I have ever known.
I mean, talking to my Mom, talking to the world, this woman rivaled even my father, who was himself quite gifted at the use of profanity.
And my Mom would sit with her for a while, they'd be gossiping about stuff I didn't understand, other than the dirty parts I wasn't supposed to understand.
GeePawHill
And my Mom would greet her, bend over to fake-hug, and we'd be all smiling and laughing and such like. And she'd go inside this woman's house, and emerge a few minutes later with lemonade for me.
And, I think, a beer for her, and a beer and a shot for Mrs. Smith.
GeePawHill
I found this all rather mysterious.
My mom didn't waltz in to other people's houses like that.
And she didn't ever explain who, exactly, Mrs. Smith was.
But, you know, I was a kid, and I had my lemonade, and Mrs. Smith was always cheerful and complimentary to me.
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