In the garage, next to the garden tools, is a box of latex gloves. Mom put them there so that when any of us gardens, they can put on the latex gloves and then the garden gloves. Mexican Monkey asked why I had latex gloves in the garage and not in the house.
"They are in the house too, in the cabinet in the bathroom."
"What do you use them for?"
"I don't, they're for Mom."
"What does she use them for?"
Sometimes, Mexican Monkey can be real annoying, as if Mom is into giving anal examinations like Mexican Monkey and of course his latex gloves are at the bedside.
"Look, Mom is afraid she'll pick up a virus, you know that, she thinks the compost we make from the garden waste and the chicken shit is loaded with viruses waiting to infect someone not wearing latex gloves. "
"Is it?" he asked.
"Of course, it's full of all kinds of bacteria and things, it's compost. Just don't put it in your mouth and eat it, wait until it turns into a vegetable."
I don't use the latex gloves to garden. As a child, I ate so much dirt that I have an immunity to just about anything contained in soil. But Mom is different. She grew up in an apartment in city-central where her mother instilled in her an absolute fear of the unseen. There are gloves for washing dishes, gloves for gardening and gloves for band aids. There are gloves for just about anything she touches.
It was a conversation we had a few weeks ago about Mom's boyfriend's place that gave me a clue as to how serious her fight against germs has developed.
"How's the vegetable garden project going at the boyfriend's, " I asked.
"I haven't done anything yet," she answered.
"Now is a good time to get the soil dug up and ready to plant. Spring will be here soon."
"I know, but I haven't had the soil tested yet."
"For what?"
"He has a cesspool and I'm afraid the dirt is filled with e-coli."
"Do you see dead squirrels and opossums all around?"
"No, but don't cesspools have human waste?"
"Last time I had one it did. But the best vegetable gardens were over cesspools and I can't remember anyone that died eating a tomato from one of these gardens."
She put on her latex gloves, then her garden gloves, squatted where the garlic is coming up and pulled some weeds. I guess, the boyfriend's tomato patch will have to wait for the results of the soil sample.
Then, I came down with a cold or flu. I'm sure Mexican Monkey had something to do with this on one of his visits. He has this nasty habit of finding god-awful diseases and then visits to friends. Those, that is, that are still alive from the last visit. I have, fortunately, survived all of his plagues so far.
I've been flat on my back for the last few days, hoping to survive the latest one, when Mom came over. She had on her paper mask, and latex gloves, a common sight you see medics wear in the tropics and Mom.
"Can I get you something at the store?" She asked.
"I'll give you a list, thanks."
A short while later, she came back. Of course, nothing on the list is what I asked for, instead of frozen dinners, I got a gallon and half of orange juice and a huge pot of chicken soup. To make sure the soup had no living virus, Mom salted it to the consistency of brine.
I will survive somehow, just as soon as I can get my achy ass to the store for coffee, danish and tamales.
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