“No, of course not.  Nothing like that.”

Perhaps she had been watching The View, The Talk, Ellen, Oprah, Dr. Phil, or Dr. Oz.  Mom and I sat through hours, days, weeks, months, it seemed years, of  TV shows in her apartment at the Assisted Living Facility. 

She began watching afternoon talk shows after her favorite soap operas were canceled.  No more evil twins! No more torrid affairs with landscapers!  Now she was stuck with “women’s magazine problems.” It was that, or Let’s Make a Deal.

One day she presented me with a checklist.  She had kept track of the talk show guests’ financial problems, psychological conditions, and even metaphysical angst.   “Honey, do you ever have insomnia? Or anxiety?”

The checklist was adorable. And it showed she was well-organized. One of my relatives was convinced Mom had Alzheimer’s.  I kept the list to show him/her she still had her marbles.

“No, no, nothing like that,” I said. ” My only problem is an allergy to eye liner.”

“What a waste of time eyeliner is!” she said.  “Makeup is stupid.”

Neither one of us “painted,” as they say in 19th-century novels. Aside from occasional lipstick, that is. I had a 1990 sample from Elizabeth Arden.

We tried to figure out what kind of makeup the talk show hosts were wearing.  They looked great, but their guests looked disheveled and trashy. 

“I think all those guests are actors, don’t you?” Mom asked.

I laughed.  “I never thought of that!” 

Not only did she have all her marbles, she was canny.