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ROGUES: TALES FROM THE VALLEY Squeezing psyches in the aisles at Shop'n Kart In which dear old mom manages to embarrass her middle-age daughter Comment By Lyda Woods DailyTidings.com By Lyda Woods Posted Dec. 1, 2014 at 4:57 PM Updated Dec 4, 2014 at 6:23 PM By Lyda Woods Posted Dec. 1, 2014 at 4:57 PM Updated Dec 4, 2014 at 6:23 PM » RELATED CONTENT • Part 15: Into the belly of the Black Sheep • Rogues story series: Dawn channels her inner porcupine • Laying out the dots, looking for connections • Talking turkey: What's in a nickname? • ROGUES: Tales from the Valley: Sherry and Dawn prepare for a psychodrama weekend... • Escape from the mummy like a Marx brothers' comedy • High spirits abound at the Halloween parade • Another empty house blown up, and something smells funny • Search for Sherry leads through Talent • Babycakes comes along on a trip to the hypnotist • Sisters talk about something other than their late, maybe not-so-great dad... • Barely bearing a brother's poetry • Yoga class ends with a bang, not a whimper • Sibling rivalry spices lunch, but affection sweetens it » Social News Part 11 of the fictionalized adventures of two sisters, Sherry and Dawn, one Medford-bred, the other Ashland-loving, and their adventures across the Rogue Valley. Find prior chapters at www.dailytidings.com. Yesterday, Sherry and I visited my mother who invited us to her psychodrama workshop on developing sexual intimacy for the elderly. The workshop is in Mt. Shasta and luckily Sherry and I don’t have to participate. Sherry is still recuperating from her weeks-long stint as a hostage of two shady characters, one a known meth dealer named Jed Nutlinger. My mother Delilah, Sherry and I were shopping at Ashland’s Shop‘n Kart at 8 a.m., on our way out of town. Delilah pushed one cart while Sherry and I shared another. We were in the vegetable section looking at organic Portobello mushrooms. “Why can’t you shave your armpits for Christ’s sake?” Delilah shoveled mushrooms into a bag. “What difference does it make to you, Mom?” I asked as I rolled towards the celery. “Do you have someone in your life, now, Dawn? Someone special?” Delilah crooned melodramatically. “Please stop asking me that. I’m so tired of that question.” I grabbed two bunches of celery and jerked my cart toward the bananas. “Are you a lesbian, Dawn? Talk to me.” Delilah asked sharply and other shoppers in produce turned to look at me and then her, perplexed. “Gee, isn’t this intimate, just you, me and 20 strangers,” I responded from across the produce aisles. “For your information, I’m celibate with a splash of bestiality. I prefer intimacy with dogs, cats and the occasional chickadee. Tell that to your stupid vagina puppet.” I slammed my cart around and took off towards the wine racks. I was fuming and shaking while I searched for some Paschal Chardonnay. True Betterman, tall and tan in gray yoga clothes, wheeled by, gave me a tight-lipped smile, and shook his head. Why did it matter so much what my intimate life consisted of? I’d had enough sex in my 20s and 30s to last the rest of my life. I just was not interested in getting on the romantic rollercoaster and crashing yet again. And as I got older, I realized more and more that for me, it’s the person, not the plumbing. I’d been attracted to both men and women. But the most attractive thing to me right now was solving the mystery of who was bombing these zombie houses and why. For 10 minutes, I shopped quietly down the dairy aisle, only to be accosted again as Delilah appeared in front of the grass fed beef. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She tried to hug me but I backed away. “When I want to talk with you about my relationships, I’ll choose the time and place, okay?” “Of course. I just hate to think of you alone, without love.” She started squeezing a rib roast. “I have love in my life. Lots of love, lots of friends, human and four-legged. Love and sex are not the same thing. You know that.” I left her pinching chicken breasts and rolled off towards the checkout stations. Sherry re-appeared beside me at checkout and dumped some items into the cart. She sighed, rolling her eyes in sympathy. Yet she was the model daughter in my mother’s eyes, no blurred lines, no questioning. She’d married Ray right out of college and settled into a conventional life, albeit one without children. “Sherry I’m going to go home. I can’t stand another minute with mom, sorry.” I gave her the cart, took out my wine and celery, and checked out ahead of her. “I understand.” Sherry nodded. I slipped out of the store, found my car and drove home. Next week: Nicknames for Ashland provide conversational fodder at a Thanksgiving gathering.   By Lyda Woods DailyTidings.com By Lyda Woods Posted Dec. 1, 2014 at 4:57 PM Updated Dec 4, 2014 at 6:23 PM » Comment or view comments Reader Reaction » STAY INFORMED Email NewsLetter Sign Up Today Sign up for our newsletter and have the top headlines from your community delivered right to your inbox. Southern Oregon Directory Featured Businesses Loading... 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