The Psychic Coaster

Each morning, after Bill and I come back from our walk, I go into the living room to greet mom and give her a weather update.  Weather is very important to her.  I’m not sure why since she never goes outside, but it is nonetheless.  Once the weather report is out of the way, I ask her if she’d like a cup of coffee.  And each morning, she apparently receives a silent message from the psychic coaster on her end table as to whether or not she should imbibe.  It goes something like this…

Me (puffing and sweating): “Morning!  How are you today?”

Mom: “The same.  What’s it like outside?”

Me (depending on the season): “Warm.” or “Toasty.” or “Hot.” or “Unfreaking, unbelievable, it’s already 98, hot!”

Mom: “Did it rain?”

Me (352 days a year): “Nope.”

Mom: “Do you think it will rain?”

Me (picking up her empty yogurt container and OJ glass): “Nope.  Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Mom (staring intently for several moments at the coaster upon which her OJ glass had been resting before nodding in response to instructions that have apparently been passed psychically to her from the coaster): “Okay.” or “No, not today.”

Me (handing her a cup of coffee or not): “Would you and the coaster like anything else before I go back to the office?”

Mom (staring down at the psychic coaster, waiting for a  beat or two for a final message): “No, I’m fine for now, thanks.”

I don’t think I should be too concerned at this point because the coaster seems relatively benevolent and only focused on breakfast beverages.  If it starts transmitting more extravagant messages, like suggesting surf and turf dinners or wild trips to Vegas, I may have to consider replacing it with a more benign doily.

coaster1

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