My Mother's Life in Ounces

Everything in my mother, Dorothy's, life was measured: emotions, status, her food, the dog's food, my food, her pills. For her, breakfast was Melba toast, black coffee and a pill for high cholesterol. The pill was blue which probably soothed her since it matched her blue velvet furniture in her blue-themed, tony condo. 

She ate ten carrots for lunch. Never nine or eleven. 

The dinner hour commenced with a martini to calm her down after a busy day of beauty appointments (nails don't maintain themselves, people), cutting camellias and counting the kibble for her compliant poodle. 

Everyone in Dorothy's life, come to think of it, was compliant. Mary the maid, Andy the poodle and Charles the son. For if someone was not compliant, they would be kept at arm's length before being excommunicated over time. She would not tolerate mess. And they were the lucky ones.