“They ratted ‘em out!” Mom yelled from the living room.
I looked over at Bill, who was busy designing user interface screens for our current project. “Ratted them out?” I whispered.
He shrugged and replied, “You better go check or she’ll come looking for you and by the time she gets here she’ll forget what she wanted to say.”
“Okay,” I sighed as I stood and started making my way toward the other end of the house.
“Who ratted out who?” I asked as I came into the living room.
“All three of them,” she exclaimed. “I just heard it on the radio.”
“Mom, you don’t have a radio in here,” I commented drily. “Do you mean you saw it on the TV?”
“No, I heard it. It must have been on the radio in the other house.”
“You don’t have another… Oh, never mine. So, who ratted out who?”
“I told you, the three of them. They all got ratted out.”
“What three. Are you talking about Trump and Hillary?”
“Yes, and the other one.”
“No, not him. I don’t know who that is. The other one trying to get elected.”
“Elected to President or some other office?”
“No, not an office. To President.”
Well, Mom, there’s only Hillary, the Donald, and Gary Johnson,” I explained.
“Not a Johnson. It was Hillary and Trump and the other one. That’s who got ratted on.”
“And what was the ratting about?”
“I don’t remember, but it was pretty good,” she said with a grin. “I just know I’m voting for the other guy.”
“What other guy?”
“The one they aren’t ratting on.”
“No, I told you, I don’t know who that is.”
“Don’t worry, neither does anyone else,” I replied. “But I still don’t know who you’re talking about. All that’s left is Trump and Clinton. There isn’t anyone else.”
“Are you sure,” she asked, squinting her eyes and looking at me suspiciously.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I concluded, turning to leave.
“Well that’s a pretty crappy choice.”
“Yup, pretty much,” I said, as I started back down the hall. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“I think you’re wrong and I’m voting for the other guy!” she called after me.
“Okay, Mom, you do that. An imaginary guy couldn’t be much worse.”
I must admit, this 2016 election has been very, very interesting, extremely entertaining, and quite enlightening here on the old Sun City home front. Even with Mom’s slowly progressing dementia, she still usually makes more sense than most of the politicians and the pundits put together. Take the Indiana primary that happened yesterday on May 3rd.
Bill and I were in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner when Mom called out from the living room. “He’s doing it again. I can’t believe he’s doing it again!”
I rolled my eyes, passed a handful silverware to Bill to put in the dishwasher, and walked into the living room.
“Who’s doing what?” I asked with a sigh.
“That Trump guy. He’s winning more elections. I can’t believe he keeps winning stuff.”
“And why can’t you believe it?”
“Because he’s such a phony and a big mouth and a liar and I can’t believe people are so stupid that they’re voting for him.”
“I guess there are a lot of angry people out there,” I commented.
“Well I would think so. I’d be pretty angry too at all of these idiots voting for Trump!”
“No, Mom, I mean people are angry at the government so they’re voting for Trump.”
“Well you aren’t, are you?”
“Angry at the government or voting for Trump?”
“Either. Both. Are you?” she asked again, squinting up at me suspiciously.
“Yes, I’m angry and no, I didn’t vote for Trump in our primary.”
“Well good,” she replied with a smile, which quickly turned to a frown. “Are your brothers voting for Trump?”
“Oh, I seriously doubt that they’d ever vote for Trump. They’d write-in Michael Moore before they’d vote for a republican. Besides, Michigan already had its primary.”
“Oh, good,” she said, visibly relaxing. “Who won?”
“Trump and Sanders,” I informed her with a disbelieving shake of my head.
“Sanders?” she asked. “Which one is he?”
“He’s the old socialist running against Hillary.”
“Well what the heck is the matter with everybody in Michigan?” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe I used to live there. I’d be turning over in my grave if I was dead!”
“Well now you can just turn over in your bed,” I chuckled as I walked away to join Bill back in the kitchen.
“I guess so. In fact, that’s a good idea. I’m going to take a nap and try to forget about all of this stupid politicky stuff,” she exclaimed as she pushed up from the loveseat and plopped down on the wheelchair seat.
“Okay, see you later. I’m sure you’ll forget all about it by the time you wake up,” I called after her.
“What?” she yelled, a few seconds later from the hall. “Forget about what? Did I forget something?”
“No, Mom,” I laughed, shouting back. “Nothing important.”
“Bill’s coming!” Mom hollered from the living room. I pushed the start button on the washing machine and went back into the house. “Coming from where?” I yelled as I closed the door to the garage.
“I don’t know from where,” she responded with a shrug. “From wherever he was, I guess.”
“I thought he was back in the office,” I commented as I walked into the living room.
“No, I don’t think so,” she replied. “He hasn’t been in office for a while. Maybe five or six years at least.”
“Mom, he’s in the office all the time.”
“Well maybe it’s because he gets invited there. Probably to help run the country since Obama doesn’t know what the heck he’s doing.”
“Obama? Mom, who are you talking about?”
“Bill. Bill Clinton. You know, Hillary’s husband? He’s coming to town today.”
“Oh, okay, that makes more sense. I thought you were talking about my Bill.”
“Well why would he go talk to Obama. He isn’t running for president, is he?”
“No, he isn’t. But he’d probably do a better job than most of the people who are running,” I said with a laugh.
“Probably. At least you wouldn’t be embarrassed to be in the same city with him.”
“No, I guess I wouldn’t. Why do you say that?”
“Because Bill’s here today and Hillary isn’t showing up until tomorrow. I think they really can’t stand each other.”
“I guess the honeymoon’s over on that marriage,” I chuckled.
“Knowing what he’s like, it was probably over before the honeymoon was over,” she responded with a sage nod.
The Iron Lady
“Did you hear about Hillary Clinton?” Mom said as Bill and I came into the house from getting our car serviced followed by a banana run.
“No, what about her?” I called from the kitchen as we put the grocery bags on the counter.
“She died,” Mom shouted back at us.
Bill just rolled his eyes and shook his head. I stuck my head out the kitchen door. “When did you hear that?”
“While you were getting your car fixed,” she said. “It was on the news. I had no idea she was 87.”
“It was an oil change, not a repair. Who was 87? Hillary Clinton?” I asked, coming into the room. “She’s not 87.”
“That’s what they said. She was 87 and died of dementia.”
The light bulb suddenly went off inside my head. “That wasn’t Hillary Clinton, Mom, it was Margret Thatcher that died.”
“Well I don’t think so. They said she was the Iron Maiden or something and I thought that’s what they called Hillary.”
“No, it’s the Iron Lady and that’s what they called Margret Thatcher.”
“Oh, okay then, that makes more sense. I didn’t think Hillary Clinton was my age.”
“She’s not. She’s closer to my age than yours,” I said as I returned to the kitchen.
“Oh, and the British Prime Minister died too,” she called out. “First the Iron Woman and then the Prime Minister.”
“It’s a sad day for the Brits,” I said.
“And for the English too,” she replied.