Yesterday before my doctors appointment I made the armatures for four paper tea cups, with painted watercolor paper and clear tape. Today I will cover them with wallpaper paste and paper which will hide the pretty paint on them. Or maybe I will use acrylic medium and tissue paper instead of heavy paste and the brown packing paper that I saved from an Ikea shipment. Yards of it. I may write on them- the cups – when they are done.
The doctor, seated at his computer and and entering my medical trivia with two fingers on his keyboard, asked me if my mother was still alive.
“How old?” he asked.
He tapped in the answer.
“Yes, but crazy.” I replied.
I did not not correct his assumption that I was trying to be funny. Unless you have grown grown up with a psychotic parent, you cannot understand the ramifications. I do not try to explain. It is difficult to parse the grammar of insanity with the tools of reason. So I did not try.
He continued to assemble his data.
Later, I thought, I can go home and make my paper tea cups.