Just finished doing Mom's taxes. She spent over $43,000 on her "rent" in 2009.
That figure does not include the mortgage, taxes, insurance, upkeep on her house in Florida. Which, by the by, [please Jesus and all the holy people ever], just might actually sell this month. Not saying anything else, don't want to jinx it.
Anyway, thank goodness, that is all tax deductible, she'll get a nice refund this year.
2/13/10
It's Been a Long Time, Been a Long Time...
I know, I know, it's been awhile.
Remember back on New Year's Eve when Wynwood called to ask if Mom was moving and I said no?
Well guess what? She thought she was and went so far as to pack. Her bathroom was completely emptied out, as was the shelf in her closet. There were piles of clothes, towels, and linens all over the floor. Makeup and cosmetics on the coffee table and dresser. Her suitcase packed by the door. Pictures taken off the walls.
When I asked her where she was going she wouldn't answer me. She just looked at me in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of a teenager caught in a lie. (What?! Me drinking?! Absolutely no...I have to throw up now)
The wheels were turning in her head, trying to come up with something, but couldn't, so she said nothing. When I asked specific questions - Are you moving to Wisconsin? Alaska? Oregon? I got an emphatic "No!"
I thought if I got her out of her room she might open up more, so off to Bob Evans we went. Finally, after plying her with sweet tea and bad food, she reluctantly confessed that Tom was coming to get her and they were moving to Florida. Spent the rest of dinner getting told it was none of my business and to butt out.
Now there's no way of knowing whether he really said that or if she was confabulating, (yes, that is a real word. My friend Adrienne, a nurse, used it; it's an excellent word. Like perambulate.), but it was really the last straw; I had her phone number changed. Enough's enough.
The whole thing freaked me out enough that I called her doctor and the psychiatrist, who said her anti-depressant might not be working anymore since she was back to her old habit of sleeping all day and up all night, there was the hygiene thing as well (dirty hair!).
She changed it to Remeron and it seems to be working. When I came over the next week, she was listening to a CD - not watching TV (!), she had washed her hair, had the blinds up, even gone to breakfast! She still hasn't unpacked completely, but some things are moved back. I try to sneak a few things back into the closet when she isn't looking.
I know some of my annoyance with the piles are my issues with clutter (as in I don't like it), I have to keep in mind that it is HER room and let it go. It's hard for me.
I HATE wasting time looking for things. That is really the thing that keeps me organized; I would probably be a total slob if it wasn't for that, because I am really quite lazy.
Remember back on New Year's Eve when Wynwood called to ask if Mom was moving and I said no?
Well guess what? She thought she was and went so far as to pack. Her bathroom was completely emptied out, as was the shelf in her closet. There were piles of clothes, towels, and linens all over the floor. Makeup and cosmetics on the coffee table and dresser. Her suitcase packed by the door. Pictures taken off the walls.
When I asked her where she was going she wouldn't answer me. She just looked at me in a way that was vaguely reminiscent of a teenager caught in a lie. (What?! Me drinking?! Absolutely no...I have to throw up now)
The wheels were turning in her head, trying to come up with something, but couldn't, so she said nothing. When I asked specific questions - Are you moving to Wisconsin? Alaska? Oregon? I got an emphatic "No!"
I thought if I got her out of her room she might open up more, so off to Bob Evans we went. Finally, after plying her with sweet tea and bad food, she reluctantly confessed that Tom was coming to get her and they were moving to Florida. Spent the rest of dinner getting told it was none of my business and to butt out.
Now there's no way of knowing whether he really said that or if she was confabulating, (yes, that is a real word. My friend Adrienne, a nurse, used it; it's an excellent word. Like perambulate.), but it was really the last straw; I had her phone number changed. Enough's enough.
The whole thing freaked me out enough that I called her doctor and the psychiatrist, who said her anti-depressant might not be working anymore since she was back to her old habit of sleeping all day and up all night, there was the hygiene thing as well (dirty hair!).
She changed it to Remeron and it seems to be working. When I came over the next week, she was listening to a CD - not watching TV (!), she had washed her hair, had the blinds up, even gone to breakfast! She still hasn't unpacked completely, but some things are moved back. I try to sneak a few things back into the closet when she isn't looking.
I know some of my annoyance with the piles are my issues with clutter (as in I don't like it), I have to keep in mind that it is HER room and let it go. It's hard for me.
I HATE wasting time looking for things. That is really the thing that keeps me organized; I would probably be a total slob if it wasn't for that, because I am really quite lazy.
1/1/10
Southern Living
Both my parents are from the South, from the early 1700's on my mom's side; my father's side of the family is proving to be a bit more elusive.My father's family were sharecroppers in Georgia.
He's the baby in the picture, the "young'un" as he'd say. He would be the baby of the family until thirteen years later when Billy came along. He was the first one in the family to graduate from high school.
My grandmother was very short, 4'9" and my grandfather was very tall, about 6'7". The Mutt and Jeff of grandparents. Neither one of them talked very much; they weren't squeezers or pinchers, but we got that they LOVED us.
When I found out they didn't own the house my father had lived in since he was about three months old, I was heartbroken, I was hoping it would be my inheritance. It had no indoor plumbing, no A/C. My grandmother lived in that house for over fifty years and didn't have indoor plumbing until sometime in the seventies. We thought using an outhouse and chamber pots was great fun, but then we didn't have to empty them!
Water came from the well and it was the sweetest, coldest water I've ever tasted. There was a bucket with a gourd dipper next to the sink on the screened in porch. That's where you washed your hands/face, brushed your teeth, got a drink of water. Baths were in the pantry in the galvanized tub, and all three of us children used the same water; water was heated on the wood burning stove.
That wood burning stove could turn out the most amazing food in my grandmother's capable hands. Ham, biscuits, peach cobbler, fresh coconut cake, (where in the world did she get fresh coconuts in rural Georgia?!), squirrel and rabbit stews, all manner of deliciousness came from that stove. She was also a consummate canner, as most women had to be back then. The pantry was full of beautiful jewel like jars of vegetables and fruits; her pickled peaches were my favorite. Once when I was very young, my mother, grandmother and I picked blackberries for pies. My grandmother made my doll her very own real pie in the pie tin from a set of play dishes.
They grew cotton and had a truck garden. My grandmother had her kitchen garden and chickens. I can remember being about three years old and watching her kill a chicken for supper. She had her chopping stump with the axe stuck in the top of it, so it was handy. They had two or three cows, mules, (my dad said he'd spent more time than he cared to remember looking at the rear end of a mule as he plowed fields), and a pig who met its demise every fall ("so fat he'd be blind").
Plenty of feral cats in the barn and one brown hound dog named, appropriately enough, Brownie. I remember him when I was three and he was still alive sixteen years later. Ate nothing but table scraps his whole life and never set foot in the house. Animals are to be outside was my grandmother's philosophy.
You did not lallygag at my grandmother's house, even little hands could do something; snap beans, shell peas, cut out biscuits, weed, pick tomatoes, feed animals. But there was still plenty of time to play with the toy grocery store, run around with Brownie, or stand in the barn wishing the feral cats weren't so I could play with the kittens.
It was a beautiful place, this sharecroppers house sitting on the red Georgia clay, with no indoor plumbing, a bed in the living room (my parents slept there), and a bed under the stairs (where I slept - until my dad told me a story about a snake coming up through a hole in the floor right under that bed).
I miss it and my grandparents.
New Lips
My mother is a carnivore from waaaaay back. Nothing makes her happier than a slab o' meat and some mashed taters. So when I came into some coupons for Longhorn Steakhouse, we just had to go.Longhorn's gimmick is a bucket of un-shelled roasted peanuts at your table.
Well Mom thought that was just Christmas done come early. It was like she was part squirrel the way she kept eating them.
Which was before and after she'd devoured a six ounce steak, what looked to be about one and half cups of mashed potatoes, a roll, and two glasses of sweet tea.
Then she said she needed to go somewhere to get some new lips. Naturally I suggested a plastic surgeon. Wrong answer. Can you guess?
That's right boys and girls - she wanted some new lipstick.
I don't know what happened to the dozens of Clinque lipsticks my sister and I moved last year, but by golly all she had was the three in her purse.
She says "those girls take them". Yep, they bypass all the jewelry you have laying around and steal your used-old-lady-colors lipstick (and your snacks). Those darn girls. I will slap that stolen lipstick right off their faces.
Off we go to Kohl's. I make her get in a wheelchair because I don't see how she can walk being so full of meat and peanuts. We have fun too, almost like old times. I laugh, she laughs. Which is kinda dangerous, because laughing sometimes leads to farting which leads to more laughing which leads to more farting...you get the picture. Another good reason for the wheelchair - the muffle factor.
The next week we go back to Longhorn, but for dinner this time. Again with the stuffing of the face with the peanuts. A bigger steak, plus five shrimp, plus a salad, plus a roll, plus the cup and a half of mashed potatoes. Holy hell where is she putting all that?! I ate about a third of the salad and one shrimp, the rest was all her.
I had stacked the buckets together to make room for all the food and the server thought we were done with them. As she walked off with them Mom says, "That little bitch!"
Oh my god, unsweet tea almost came out of my nose. Poor girl, she didn't know she was dealing with Chipmunk Mom. Who, by the way, had squirreled (ha ha) away a pile in her lap. So, after eating ALL that food, she still had some peanuts left for dessert.
I gave her a bag of peanuts in the shell for Christmas, but I don't think she remembered why. Her eyes sure did light up though.
Maybe she is part squirrel.
New Year's Eve 2009
So last night I'm on the phone with DebraLee, reminiscing about our dear friend John (oddly enough we were on the phone New Years Eve eight years ago, laughing and crying about our friend Sherman who had died that day.), when a call from Wynwood comes through. I let it go to voice mail and finish the call with DebraLee.
A., one of the staff at Wynwood, had called to say that Mom was telling everyone she was moving out tomorrow and he was calling to confirm. Huh?! Don't they have people saying stuff like that every day? He laughed and said yes, she usually forgets what she's said, but she hadn't this time, so he thought he'd check.
My immediate thought is the EBF Tom has said something. She doesn't answer her phone when I call. Maybe he's already come and picked her up (just how do you indicate sarcasm when writing?).
A., one of the staff at Wynwood, had called to say that Mom was telling everyone she was moving out tomorrow and he was calling to confirm. Huh?! Don't they have people saying stuff like that every day? He laughed and said yes, she usually forgets what she's said, but she hadn't this time, so he thought he'd check.
My immediate thought is the EBF Tom has said something. She doesn't answer her phone when I call. Maybe he's already come and picked her up (just how do you indicate sarcasm when writing?).
12/31/09
Sigh...Here's Hoping 2010 is Better
January 1, 2009 started off with a broken toe.Heading towards the stove/kettle/coffee, I stepped over Oscar, and somehow interacted with the knee wall in my kitchen in a way that caused my toe to come out a loser. (I wasn't drunk or hungover either!)
In February, I hurt my right knee working out to Billy Blanks; that took about six months to feel better.
In March, I got an ear infection in my right ear and couldn't hear on that side for about a month.
In October, I caught a cold that lasted for about a month.
On December 25, I came down with swollen glands and a temp of 102.
And yesterday, December 30, my friend John died. He was one of the few people who could call me Kimmy and get away with it. We'd known each other since May 1992, and I spent many an hour at his house with his beautiful wife Laura and their two children, Vincent and Jennifer. They always welcomed me for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. John and I worked on several projects together and yes, we butted heads occasionally, but our friendship was stronger afterward.
Ironically, he had just been given the good news of being cancer free after battling Hodkin's Lymphoma for the past year. An errant blood clot traveled to his big, passionate heart and stopped it.
Good riddance 2009.
12/3/09
Being Introverted
Growing up, I thought something was wrong with me - why don't I enjoy going to parties or concerts? Everyone else seems to. I must be antisocial or stuck-up (that was a big label in high school.). Why was being at the beach, alone or with one really really good friend, or being alone in my room listening to music and drawing, my idea of a perfect day?
Guess what? There's nothing wrong with me. I am an introvert.
Since the world is geared towards the extroverted, those of us who are not can often feel like outsiders, alien, even defective in some way.
Generally extroverts do not - cannot - understand why on earth you would want to stay home - alone (oh the horror!) when you could be OUT THERE - with PEOPLE - ALL THE TIME! WHO WOULDN'T WANT THAT?! IT'S FUN! YOU'RE MISSING OUT ON IT! COME ON! LET'S GO MEET NEW PEOPLE AND EXPERIENCE NEW THINGS RIGHT NOW! THERE'S A PARTY/CONCERT/GET-TOGETHER SOMEWHERE RIGHT NOW AND WE NEED TO GO GET IN THE MIDDLE OF IT! (yes, sometimes it is like all caps for us "innies" when you talk; not like a bad thing, I'm just sayin')
One of the issues of saying you're an introvert is that people expect you to act like the Unibomber or live in a hermitage. They're surprised you show up in public places, let alone speak to other people. I've had people tell me I was not introverted because I opened my mouth in a social situation.
My Myers-Briggs type is INFJ. Apparently, this particular type can be mistaken for an extrovert; in fact, when among a [small] group of people I trust, I can be the life of the party. I love my friends and family. I enjoy hearing what's going on in their lives, being with them.
Then I need to go home and be alone for a long, long time. Maybe even days. Do not call me, I will not answer the phone.
That is what defines an introvert/extrovert. Do you need to be alone [introvert] to recharge or do you need to be with people [extrovert]?
Here are some questions from the book The Introvert Advantage: How to Thrive in an Extrovert World by Marti Olsen Laney (off the blog The Adventurous Writer via the blog Penelope Truck, Brazen Careerist): http://theadventurouswriter.com/blog/quipstipsachievinggoals/mind-soul/a-test-for-introverted-personality-traits/
I answered yes to 27 out of the 29 questions. (Oh my gosh #'s 2, 6, 7, 8, 9, 17, 22 - 27!)
I've ruined [at least] one friendship because of #22. (totally my fault, should have left the day before)
Here's a hilarious article on introverts.
Holidays are especially anxiety causing for extroverts worried about their introverted friends:
"Oh no, will you be alone?!"
[nope, the cats are there]
"But you just can't spend the holidays by yourself!"
[oh really? watch me]
"Come over to our house, our entire extended family of 300 will be there, they'd ALL love to see you!"
[can't think of anything more horrifying]
"We'll stop by for a few hours, how's that? We'll bring the kids."
[oh dear god please don't]
One of my favorite Thanksgiving's in recent years was getting some fabulous turkey tetrazzini at Whole Foods and watching a Doris Day marathon on TCM.
Did I mention I was alone? Complete bliss!
If you're not an introvert - you just wouldn't understand.
Guess what? There's nothing wrong with me. I am an introvert.
Since the world is geared towards the extroverted, those of us who are not can often feel like outsiders, alien, even defective in some way.
Generally extroverts do not - cannot - understand why on earth you would want to stay home - alone (oh the horror!) when you could be OUT THERE - with PEOPLE - ALL THE TIME! WHO WOULDN'T WANT THAT?! IT'S FUN! YOU'RE MISSING OUT ON IT! COME ON! LET'S GO MEET NEW PEOPLE AND EXPERIENCE NEW THINGS RIGHT NOW! THERE'S A PARTY/CONCERT/GET-TOGETHER SOMEWHERE RIGHT NOW AND WE NEED TO GO GET IN THE MIDDLE OF IT! (yes, sometimes it is like all caps for us "innies" when you talk; not like a bad thing, I'm just sayin')
One of the issues of saying you're an introvert is that people expect you to act like the Unibomber or live in a hermitage. They're surprised you show up in public places, let alone speak to other people. I've had people tell me I was not introverted because I opened my mouth in a social situation.
My Myers-Briggs type is INFJ. Apparently, this particular type can be mistaken for an extrovert; in fact, when among a [small] group of people I trust, I can be the life of the party. I love my friends and family. I enjoy hearing what's going on in their lives, being with them.
Then I need to go home and be alone for a long, long time. Maybe even days. Do not call me, I will not answer the phone.
That is what defines an introvert/extrovert. Do you need to be alone [introvert] to recharge or do you need to be with people [extrovert]?
Here are some questions from the book The Introvert Advantage: How to Thrive in an Extrovert World by Marti Olsen Laney (off the blog The Adventurous Writer via the blog Penelope Truck, Brazen Careerist): http://theadventurouswriter.com/blog/quipstipsachievinggoals/mind-soul/a-test-for-introverted-personality-traits/
I answered yes to 27 out of the 29 questions. (Oh my gosh #'s 2, 6, 7, 8, 9, 17, 22 - 27!)
I've ruined [at least] one friendship because of #22. (totally my fault, should have left the day before)
Here's a hilarious article on introverts.
Holidays are especially anxiety causing for extroverts worried about their introverted friends:
"Oh no, will you be alone?!"
[nope, the cats are there]
"But you just can't spend the holidays by yourself!"
[oh really? watch me]
"Come over to our house, our entire extended family of 300 will be there, they'd ALL love to see you!"
[can't think of anything more horrifying]
"We'll stop by for a few hours, how's that? We'll bring the kids."
[oh dear god please don't]
One of my favorite Thanksgiving's in recent years was getting some fabulous turkey tetrazzini at Whole Foods and watching a Doris Day marathon on TCM.
Did I mention I was alone? Complete bliss!
If you're not an introvert - you just wouldn't understand.
11/27/09
Thanksgiving Thoughts
Last Thanksgiving was spent in Hillcrest Convalescent Hospital; Mom had been admitted the day before. It was the fourth day after her fall and back fracture. Seems so long ago and like yesterday at the same time.
That fall saved my sanity, maybe hers too. Without it, more than likely, she'd still be not taking her meds, still be unhappy, we'd still be at each others throats.
So I guess, a day late, I'm grateful for a fracture and for a diagnosis of dementia. How weird is that?
That fall saved my sanity, maybe hers too. Without it, more than likely, she'd still be not taking her meds, still be unhappy, we'd still be at each others throats.
So I guess, a day late, I'm grateful for a fracture and for a diagnosis of dementia. How weird is that?
More Cat Crap
Saturday, November 27, 2009Look at her. Isn't she cute?
But Lillie Langtry here has put me off female cats forever.
Don't get me wrong, she is very sweet tempered and the best behaved of the bunch. She doesn't scratch on the furniture or carpets, doesn't climb on top of the mini blinds, or get on the table. And if she does happen to slip up, one "No!" and she's down.
Totally opposite from the boys, who do not think you're seriously talking to them unless you're advancing rapidly in their direction with a squirt bottle. Your butt must completely and fully disengage from the chair - if it doesn't, they sprawl out across the table in full grooming mode.
So what's so bad about her?
Well, she has a meow like a banshee for one.
She never shuts up for two.
There you are reading, jazz on the stereo, the boys sleeping on the couch instead of the table for once; everything calm and mellow.
Suddenly, up on the back of the chair and right in your ear "MEEEEOWWWW!!" Oh sorry - did I scare you? Wait, why are you holding your chest? Hey, how come you've collapsed on the floor? Maybe you didn't hear me - let me climb right up your chest and YOWL right in your face. "MEEEE--OWWWW!"
Apparently, that's feline for "Feed me NOW!" Or "Brush me NOW!" Or perhaps "WTF?! All the squirrels have gone off the deck! Find me one NOW!"
She has a large vocabulary and enjoys employing it. One of her nicknames is Gator Girl, because, obviously, she can sound just like a baby alligator.
There's also the whinging "mmmmmmnnnnnnn" [my least favorite] meow, the "wah-wah-wah" welcome-home-come-and-get-your-headbutt meow. The sharp "meowmeow!" meaning - hey-there's-a-squirrel-on-the-deck - good job loser human! The "arm arm arm" barking meow yay-you're-getting-up-finally (and feeding me), and the "aoooow aoooow aoooow" in the middle night howling at the moon meow.
There's growling too, a nighttime activity accompanied by galloping down the hallway with a toy mouse in her mouth and a weird, eerie, muffled meow (hard to talk when your mouth is full) which can in no way be replicated with letters of the English alphabet. It has freaked me out more than once.
She is the most catlike of the three (not a bad thing per se), the most cautious, and the most picky. Nothing more fun than following a little cat around the entire house at 5:30 AM with a bowl of food - because the little coquette can't decide where she'd like to dine today.
She doesn't come when called and will not perform any tricks - there is no treat worth the indignity.
Hummpf she says, let those stupid boys do tricks for food, I'm off to my voice lessons.
Just Wait 'Til I Get to Be Your Age!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
That's what Mom said to me yesterday as I was leaving. It made me laugh pretty hard, but she didn't get it. Ah me.
She was pretty lucid yesterday (not really the right term, but for lack of a better one...) and her hair was clean! Miracle of miracles!
We went to the cafeteria; she had ham, greens, mashed potatoes, and fresh pineapple chunks. The lemon meringue pie went home with her for later. I had a piece of sweet potato pie and some unsweet tea.
One of the servers who works in the cafeteria has an annoying voice: high, loud, nasaly, plus she runs her words together. She's probably the sweetest person in the world, but yesterday she was getting on my last nerve. I couldn't understand what vegetable Mom wanted, all I could hear was green. There were greens, green peas, and green beans. You see the dilemma. It was crowded, I was feeling pressure to get a move on, and that woman kept saying "Caniheppew, caniheppew, caniheppew".
Later when I came back to the table with the tip after paying, Mom asked me when she was going to get something. I thought she meant more food, then I figured out she was talking about money. She wanted to know if I paid for lunch with my money; she only had $2 (she was right). I gave her $20 and told her not to spend it all on poker.
She said she didn't poke.
Maybe she will when she gets to be my age.
That's what Mom said to me yesterday as I was leaving. It made me laugh pretty hard, but she didn't get it. Ah me.
She was pretty lucid yesterday (not really the right term, but for lack of a better one...) and her hair was clean! Miracle of miracles!
We went to the cafeteria; she had ham, greens, mashed potatoes, and fresh pineapple chunks. The lemon meringue pie went home with her for later. I had a piece of sweet potato pie and some unsweet tea.
One of the servers who works in the cafeteria has an annoying voice: high, loud, nasaly, plus she runs her words together. She's probably the sweetest person in the world, but yesterday she was getting on my last nerve. I couldn't understand what vegetable Mom wanted, all I could hear was green. There were greens, green peas, and green beans. You see the dilemma. It was crowded, I was feeling pressure to get a move on, and that woman kept saying "Caniheppew, caniheppew, caniheppew".
Later when I came back to the table with the tip after paying, Mom asked me when she was going to get something. I thought she meant more food, then I figured out she was talking about money. She wanted to know if I paid for lunch with my money; she only had $2 (she was right). I gave her $20 and told her not to spend it all on poker.
She said she didn't poke.
Maybe she will when she gets to be my age.
11/19/09
The Present
Thursday, November 19, 2009
As I waited for a friend at lunch today, I was reflecting on my friend Warren's blog entry of November 13 called "Moments" about being in the present.
I am rarely in the present, this second, this second, this second. Usually I'm in the future - what am I going to do tomorrow, what's for dinner, etc.
But my mother is now forever in the present; she doesn't remember the past and can no longer formulate the future.
As I waited for a friend at lunch today, I was reflecting on my friend Warren's blog entry of November 13 called "Moments" about being in the present.
I am rarely in the present, this second, this second, this second. Usually I'm in the future - what am I going to do tomorrow, what's for dinner, etc.
But my mother is now forever in the present; she doesn't remember the past and can no longer formulate the future.
Denial - Not a River in Egypt
My Aunt Winkie, cousin Angie, and Angie's husband came to visit Mom November 1 & 2.
Winkie is 15 years younger than Mom, only 5 years older than me. I confess, we are close in years only.
She called me on Nov. 4 to say they'd been to visit and I asked her how she thought Mom was doing, compared to last year when she was here. She said her memory seemed a little worse, Mom did introduce her as her daughter, but other than that she seemed fine.
Holy crap.
When I asked Mom on Nov. 7 if anyone had been to visit, she said no. Of course, when prompted - did Winkie come visit? she remembered. They went to the mall and Captain D's (my mother loves her some shrimp); Mom said they must have done that without me, I didn't do that stuff.
She thinks Aunt Florida's (Angie's mom) has been dead for years, but she just celebrated her 95th or 96th birthday.
Yea, she's just fine.
Winkie is 15 years younger than Mom, only 5 years older than me. I confess, we are close in years only.
She called me on Nov. 4 to say they'd been to visit and I asked her how she thought Mom was doing, compared to last year when she was here. She said her memory seemed a little worse, Mom did introduce her as her daughter, but other than that she seemed fine.
Holy crap.
When I asked Mom on Nov. 7 if anyone had been to visit, she said no. Of course, when prompted - did Winkie come visit? she remembered. They went to the mall and Captain D's (my mother loves her some shrimp); Mom said they must have done that without me, I didn't do that stuff.
She thinks Aunt Florida's (Angie's mom) has been dead for years, but she just celebrated her 95th or 96th birthday.
Yea, she's just fine.
Moving on
Friday, November 13, 2009
I've called several times this morning because it's nail salon day at Walmart, but the phone's busy each time.
At first I think she's on a call, but when it's still busy after a hour and a half, I suspect something is wrong with the phone.
There's no answer when I knock; the TV's on. I check outside to see if she's having a smoke, not there.
When I enter the room she's awake, lying on her bed. She looks at me like she doesn't know me. I ask several simple questions like, was she taking a nap or had she not been up yet (she had all her clothes on). Then I just ask if she was taking a nap (no choices). Had someone called her that morning? She just looks at me - totally blank.
Not angry, just a lights-are-on-but-no-one's-home kind of a look. It's kinda weird and a little scary.
I explain that I'd gotten a busy signal for a long time; there's no dial tone on her phone. Her little Christmas tree has been plugged in and the router for the phone is unplugged (she has phone service via the cable company). Ah ha! After a few unplug/replug of the router and phone cord, she's back in business.
She seems to be coming around now and is a bit more coherent - does she want to go get her nails done - yes. Knows where her purse is, knows what coat she wants to take.
The young man who does her nails today is very sweet, joking around with her, getting a different chair so her back is supported. He gets a big tip.
I wonder if her disability is apparent to other people. I try not to be a "hoverer", but I am protective of her.
Then we go to the hair salon in Walmart because frankly, I can't stand her hair being dirty one more second. It takes a long time; there's only one person working and she's doing two color jobs at the same time.
Mom always tells the stylist she doesn't want to look like me. I think she means she doesn't want her hair as short as mine, cut over her ears. That's what I'm choosing to think she means anyway.
We eat at lunch at Andy's, a burger place in the same shopping center, because it's nearby. It's 2 PM and she probably hasn't eaten today, she has to be starving. It's a 50's style diner, old car pictures everywhere; she recognizes the T-Bird.
My dad used to have a black '55 Thunderbird - he loved that car. Then along came me and the car had to go.
Somehow we get on the topic of dogs/Mookie and she says she wishes she could see him again. I say he's found his forever home and we can't visit him anymore and wait...
I know, she says.
And then we move on.
I've called several times this morning because it's nail salon day at Walmart, but the phone's busy each time.
At first I think she's on a call, but when it's still busy after a hour and a half, I suspect something is wrong with the phone.
There's no answer when I knock; the TV's on. I check outside to see if she's having a smoke, not there.
When I enter the room she's awake, lying on her bed. She looks at me like she doesn't know me. I ask several simple questions like, was she taking a nap or had she not been up yet (she had all her clothes on). Then I just ask if she was taking a nap (no choices). Had someone called her that morning? She just looks at me - totally blank.
Not angry, just a lights-are-on-but-no-one's-home kind of a look. It's kinda weird and a little scary.
I explain that I'd gotten a busy signal for a long time; there's no dial tone on her phone. Her little Christmas tree has been plugged in and the router for the phone is unplugged (she has phone service via the cable company). Ah ha! After a few unplug/replug of the router and phone cord, she's back in business.
She seems to be coming around now and is a bit more coherent - does she want to go get her nails done - yes. Knows where her purse is, knows what coat she wants to take.
The young man who does her nails today is very sweet, joking around with her, getting a different chair so her back is supported. He gets a big tip.
I wonder if her disability is apparent to other people. I try not to be a "hoverer", but I am protective of her.
Then we go to the hair salon in Walmart because frankly, I can't stand her hair being dirty one more second. It takes a long time; there's only one person working and she's doing two color jobs at the same time.
Mom always tells the stylist she doesn't want to look like me. I think she means she doesn't want her hair as short as mine, cut over her ears. That's what I'm choosing to think she means anyway.
We eat at lunch at Andy's, a burger place in the same shopping center, because it's nearby. It's 2 PM and she probably hasn't eaten today, she has to be starving. It's a 50's style diner, old car pictures everywhere; she recognizes the T-Bird.
My dad used to have a black '55 Thunderbird - he loved that car. Then along came me and the car had to go.
Somehow we get on the topic of dogs/Mookie and she says she wishes she could see him again. I say he's found his forever home and we can't visit him anymore and wait...
I know, she says.
And then we move on.
11/17/09
Clever Title Blockage
Every time I think about Mom's house in FL, I'm plunged into despair. It's been on the market for 1.5 years with not even a smidgen of interest.
Do we replace the roof or not? No guarantee it will sell or even rent if we do and she's out $6000.
Lower the price, people tell me, but again that's still no guarantee it will sell, plus it's real hard to come back up in price. She needs that money. ARRGGGHHH! I'm like a hamster on a wheel. I'm sick of talking about it, sick of thinking about it.
We're going to have to crack open her last CD very very soon; property taxes are due, she lost her Homestead Exemption, so her taxes are $1500 more than they used to be.
Sigh...
Do we replace the roof or not? No guarantee it will sell or even rent if we do and she's out $6000.
Lower the price, people tell me, but again that's still no guarantee it will sell, plus it's real hard to come back up in price. She needs that money. ARRGGGHHH! I'm like a hamster on a wheel. I'm sick of talking about it, sick of thinking about it.
We're going to have to crack open her last CD very very soon; property taxes are due, she lost her Homestead Exemption, so her taxes are $1500 more than they used to be.
Sigh...
How to Sleep with Cats
I once said, comparing Mookie (dog) to my cats, that they were well-behaved-bottom-of-the-bed sleepers. And they are...in the summer. Winter sleeping arrangements are a bit different.Picture this:
Queen size bed. Laying on my right side, right arm tucked under pillow, left arm stretched out in front of me. Snuggled alongside said left arm is the biggest cat, Oscar, furry cat butt in my face. He gets extra bonus points for his tail either being in my mouth or right up under my nose. From time to time, because I'm not petting him in my sleep, he will endeavor to take a piece of flesh from my left thumb, purring all the while.
Meanwhile behind me, Finn is kneading the pillow as if it were an Olympic sport and he's looking for a gold medal. Occasionally my scalp will get in his way, but no worries, he's not deterred by blood. If scalping fails to illicit a reaction, he'll climb over the top of the pillow and pat my [hopefully] closed eye. Usually his claws are contained when he does this. If that fails, he will stick his wet little nose on my mouth. Having gotten the desired response, which is apparently me bellowing swear words and swatting at him, he moves down and lays his solid brick like body behind my knees.
His co-conspirator, Lillie, is in front of my knees, now I am effectively pinned beneath the blankets so that I have to pull my legs straight up (no small feat) and outside of the covers if I want to turn over.
And that is how you sleep (or not) with cats.
Watch some funny cat related animation here : Simon's Cat
10/29/09
Over the Rainbow Bridge
I'd been thinking about Mookie a lot the past few days, so last night I wrote to Kay (the vet) to check in on him.
She replied that he had developed rapid onset dementia like symptoms and started having seizures, which seemed to indicate a brain tumor. Because she was not able to fully control the seizures and because of his advanced age (almost 12, just about the average life expectancy for a Boston), she had made the hard decision to put him down.
Not exactly sure when this happened, because she wanted to spare us the grief and pain and didn't tell us.
R.I.P. Mookie 1/1998 - 10/2009
10/26/09
Oriental Tailor
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Big day today. After lunch we're taking 5 pair of trousers to the tailor to be hemmed. Bye bye too long pants!
Driving down Fordham Blvd., we point out particularly spectacular trees to each other. (Yep, DL, the color's here now!)
Mom says " They just hold it and then yippee!" That was laugh out loud charming. Ain't it the truth?!
She gets a grilled chicken salad, which I need to cut up for her, her small motor skills are slipping. At one point she tells a piece of chicken to "get its ass out of there!" (and onto her fork). She cracks me up.
Then we're off to Oriental Tailor (yes, that is the actual name of the tailor).
'H boy. I was hoping she could do one pair and they'd figure it out from there, but no, she has to try on every pair.
She hands me back pants that she was wearing when she came in, or tries to put pants on wearing her shoes or keeps the pants on that were just pinned while trying to put on the new pair.
She didn't understand what the woman was saying (in her defense, several times neither did I ), when she told Mom to face the mirror, she'd spin all the way around. Took about 45 minutes.
She called me a little bitch (least I was little!) and an asshole - laughing all the time. I told her she was on name calling restriction. She doesn't remember five minutes later that she said anything.
The staff at Wynwood seem to like her and she them. They hug her and call her sexy and tell her she looks cute. One woman said she likes to assist other people (that's my old mom!), so much so that sometimes they have to stop her because she'll interrupt her own sleep to go help them.
Big day today. After lunch we're taking 5 pair of trousers to the tailor to be hemmed. Bye bye too long pants!
Driving down Fordham Blvd., we point out particularly spectacular trees to each other. (Yep, DL, the color's here now!)
Mom says " They just hold it and then yippee!" That was laugh out loud charming. Ain't it the truth?!
She gets a grilled chicken salad, which I need to cut up for her, her small motor skills are slipping. At one point she tells a piece of chicken to "get its ass out of there!" (and onto her fork). She cracks me up.
Then we're off to Oriental Tailor (yes, that is the actual name of the tailor).
'H boy. I was hoping she could do one pair and they'd figure it out from there, but no, she has to try on every pair.
She hands me back pants that she was wearing when she came in, or tries to put pants on wearing her shoes or keeps the pants on that were just pinned while trying to put on the new pair.
She didn't understand what the woman was saying (in her defense, several times neither did I ), when she told Mom to face the mirror, she'd spin all the way around. Took about 45 minutes.
She called me a little bitch (least I was little!) and an asshole - laughing all the time. I told her she was on name calling restriction. She doesn't remember five minutes later that she said anything.
The staff at Wynwood seem to like her and she them. They hug her and call her sexy and tell her she looks cute. One woman said she likes to assist other people (that's my old mom!), so much so that sometimes they have to stop her because she'll interrupt her own sleep to go help them.
Now Where Did I Put That?
Friday, October 23, 2009
Still sick with the crud. Stayed home Wednesday since I had a fever and chills Tuesday night and should have stayed home Thursday as well, because the scratchy throat came back Thursday afternoon. Went to work part of the morning on Friday, then left when the chimney cleaner came.
Went to Kohl's later to get some pants for Mom, took them over for her to try on. She had moved two pair of pants - again! They were folded up under a pair of shoes on the floor.
This part of the disease is so weird. What is happening in her brain that moving stuff makes sense?
She tells me I just want everything to be perfect - this is coming from a woman who sliced each pecan for cookies into the same sized sliver. Not chopped - no, each one individually cut. (she also wanted to match or beat the number of dozen each recipe claimed to make).
I don't want things perfect, I just want her to be able to find her pants and searching for things is beyond her now.
The shampoo and body wash were in her bathroom closet, not the shower. No wonder her hair is dirty most of the time. I fear we may need to start paying for more help in the personal cleanliness area.
Another thing that's new, is her forgetting how to work her remote control. She had it on FitTV, which was weird, and the sound was off. She said someone (that sneaky "someone"!) had changed it and she couldn't get it to work. I found her favourite USA channel and turned the volume back on.
Still sick with the crud. Stayed home Wednesday since I had a fever and chills Tuesday night and should have stayed home Thursday as well, because the scratchy throat came back Thursday afternoon. Went to work part of the morning on Friday, then left when the chimney cleaner came.
Went to Kohl's later to get some pants for Mom, took them over for her to try on. She had moved two pair of pants - again! They were folded up under a pair of shoes on the floor.
This part of the disease is so weird. What is happening in her brain that moving stuff makes sense?
She tells me I just want everything to be perfect - this is coming from a woman who sliced each pecan for cookies into the same sized sliver. Not chopped - no, each one individually cut. (she also wanted to match or beat the number of dozen each recipe claimed to make).
I don't want things perfect, I just want her to be able to find her pants and searching for things is beyond her now.
The shampoo and body wash were in her bathroom closet, not the shower. No wonder her hair is dirty most of the time. I fear we may need to start paying for more help in the personal cleanliness area.
Another thing that's new, is her forgetting how to work her remote control. She had it on FitTV, which was weird, and the sound was off. She said someone (that sneaky "someone"!) had changed it and she couldn't get it to work. I found her favourite USA channel and turned the volume back on.
10/23/09
The Dog Who Thinks He's A Goat
October 10, 2009
My dear friend DebraLee is visiting from California and coming to lunch with us today. Going to experience southern food at its finest (not) at the cafeteria. (sorry we didn't get to the fried green tomato BLT at A Southern Season - next time!)
Debra is love with sweet tea though and the K&W does that just fine, she said the crab cakes were good too.
Mom has a key now and has to lock her door because someone's been coming in and eating her stuff. I'm pretty sure SHE'S been eating her food and not remembering. She moves stuff around all the time. Reminds me of Mookie when he had a new bone. He would almost frantically move it around from place to place and if he saw you watching where he put it, he'd have to move it again.
After lunch we took a ride out Dairyland Road, past Maple View Farms (ice cream, ummmmm!), to see if there was some fall color out there (there wasn't).
Since we were out that way, we stop at Woodcrest Farm where I get my chicken, eggs, the BEST hot dogs ever (more like polish sausages in size), and grass fed beef. (The chicken and eggs are Nancy's from Fern Hill Farm) Chris and Alan are very nice people.
Sandy and I took a canning class out there several summers ago with Chris, made bread and butter pickles and some tomato sauce. They raise border collies, so there are always three or four very sweet dogs around. Some of their former puppies come back every year for doggie "summer camp". They also have a bunch of foster children.
They have a few watermelon left and Mom wants one. Alan won't let us pay for them, said the quality couldn't be relied on since they were end of season. But he takes one in the house, cuts it for Mom and puts it in a plastic bag for her.
Meanwhile, Debra goes down to the barn to look at the animals and Mom follows her. When she gets down there, she gives Debra a fist bump. Cracks me up. Where the heck did she learn that?
Their Great Pyrenees dog is laying with the goats. They're used as [flock] guardian dogs. The dogs bond with whatever they're raised with and will bark very loudly and vigorously if disturbed. Nancy has two GP's who think they're chickens. Obviously he doesn't think Debra or Mom were a threat since there's not a peep out of him. I haven't seen him since February, he was about 4 months old then and already twice the size of the border collie pup who was a month older.
When we drop Mom off she gave Debra a hug and says she'd "like to have her again".
She even blows me kisses.
My dear friend DebraLee is visiting from California and coming to lunch with us today. Going to experience southern food at its finest (not) at the cafeteria. (sorry we didn't get to the fried green tomato BLT at A Southern Season - next time!)
Debra is love with sweet tea though and the K&W does that just fine, she said the crab cakes were good too.
Mom has a key now and has to lock her door because someone's been coming in and eating her stuff. I'm pretty sure SHE'S been eating her food and not remembering. She moves stuff around all the time. Reminds me of Mookie when he had a new bone. He would almost frantically move it around from place to place and if he saw you watching where he put it, he'd have to move it again.
After lunch we took a ride out Dairyland Road, past Maple View Farms (ice cream, ummmmm!), to see if there was some fall color out there (there wasn't).
Since we were out that way, we stop at Woodcrest Farm where I get my chicken, eggs, the BEST hot dogs ever (more like polish sausages in size), and grass fed beef. (The chicken and eggs are Nancy's from Fern Hill Farm) Chris and Alan are very nice people.
Sandy and I took a canning class out there several summers ago with Chris, made bread and butter pickles and some tomato sauce. They raise border collies, so there are always three or four very sweet dogs around. Some of their former puppies come back every year for doggie "summer camp". They also have a bunch of foster children.
They have a few watermelon left and Mom wants one. Alan won't let us pay for them, said the quality couldn't be relied on since they were end of season. But he takes one in the house, cuts it for Mom and puts it in a plastic bag for her.
Meanwhile, Debra goes down to the barn to look at the animals and Mom follows her. When she gets down there, she gives Debra a fist bump. Cracks me up. Where the heck did she learn that?
Their Great Pyrenees dog is laying with the goats. They're used as [flock] guardian dogs. The dogs bond with whatever they're raised with and will bark very loudly and vigorously if disturbed. Nancy has two GP's who think they're chickens. Obviously he doesn't think Debra or Mom were a threat since there's not a peep out of him. I haven't seen him since February, he was about 4 months old then and already twice the size of the border collie pup who was a month older.
When we drop Mom off she gave Debra a hug and says she'd "like to have her again".
She even blows me kisses.
Waiter - There's A Spoon in My Salad
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Happy Birthday to me (yesterday) - here's a scratchy throat. I probably shouldn't even be taking her out today, but it's her one time a week to get out of there.
Her hair is dirty again. It also needs coloring, it looks like a faded peppermint stick - red and white striped. Oh god.
We have to search for her purse, because it's not in the usual place (it's partially under her bed). The room's not that big, so it doesn't take that long, but this moving around thing appears to be getting worse.
After her usual comments on my car's cleanliness (mostly not clean), we get in and I notice her pants are dirty. She says it's the only pair she has. HUH? That will need to get sorted when we get back.
I ask if we can go to Rick's Diner instead of the cafeteria because I'm feeling like breakfast, she says she was thinking about that. She loves their chicken salad (it's really good).
She gets a mound of chicken salad on a green salad, ranch on the side. The dressing is in a small bowl. She holds it over the salad, unclear how to get the dressing on the salad. This is new.
I suggest using her spoon to drizzle dressing over the salad. She does that, but then starts eating the salad with the spoon. She gets a little huffy when I suggest using a fork to eat the salad, makes a comment about me thinking she's stupid. She doesn't know what to do with the spoon now.
How does one make it seem like it's her idea and try NOT to make her feel like she's stupid? It's like being a parent again, and I wasn't very good at that the first go round.
We get back to her place and start the pant search. I find several pair folded up under some other clothes in the closet. White pair - no, no - can't wear those now!
Isn't it weird how the brain works? She still remembers no white after Labor Day, but not how to eat a salad.
We find the pant hangers, with two nice pair of slacks - they're too long she says. (she has a tendency to like her pants to come to the ankle, which is a bit too short in my book). I tell her that with a slight heel they'll be just fine. I find 4 pair of pants (not counting shorts and the white pair). There are some others, but they're too small (sizes 4/6/8) now. There's another pair she tried to hem - one leg is cut 6" shorter than the other. Wow. The former award winning seamstress.
It's all so unbelievably sad. I say this a lot don't I?
I move the pants to the front of the closet next to her coats, since there's less of them, maybe she'll be able to find them. Chances are, she'll move them back and not be able to find them again. I found her key in a drawer (last week she HAD to lock her door) and almost two full cartons of cigarettes.
Maybe she is forgetting to smoke!
Happy Birthday to me (yesterday) - here's a scratchy throat. I probably shouldn't even be taking her out today, but it's her one time a week to get out of there.
Her hair is dirty again. It also needs coloring, it looks like a faded peppermint stick - red and white striped. Oh god.
We have to search for her purse, because it's not in the usual place (it's partially under her bed). The room's not that big, so it doesn't take that long, but this moving around thing appears to be getting worse.
After her usual comments on my car's cleanliness (mostly not clean), we get in and I notice her pants are dirty. She says it's the only pair she has. HUH? That will need to get sorted when we get back.
I ask if we can go to Rick's Diner instead of the cafeteria because I'm feeling like breakfast, she says she was thinking about that. She loves their chicken salad (it's really good).
She gets a mound of chicken salad on a green salad, ranch on the side. The dressing is in a small bowl. She holds it over the salad, unclear how to get the dressing on the salad. This is new.
I suggest using her spoon to drizzle dressing over the salad. She does that, but then starts eating the salad with the spoon. She gets a little huffy when I suggest using a fork to eat the salad, makes a comment about me thinking she's stupid. She doesn't know what to do with the spoon now.
How does one make it seem like it's her idea and try NOT to make her feel like she's stupid? It's like being a parent again, and I wasn't very good at that the first go round.
We get back to her place and start the pant search. I find several pair folded up under some other clothes in the closet. White pair - no, no - can't wear those now!
Isn't it weird how the brain works? She still remembers no white after Labor Day, but not how to eat a salad.
We find the pant hangers, with two nice pair of slacks - they're too long she says. (she has a tendency to like her pants to come to the ankle, which is a bit too short in my book). I tell her that with a slight heel they'll be just fine. I find 4 pair of pants (not counting shorts and the white pair). There are some others, but they're too small (sizes 4/6/8) now. There's another pair she tried to hem - one leg is cut 6" shorter than the other. Wow. The former award winning seamstress.
It's all so unbelievably sad. I say this a lot don't I?
I move the pants to the front of the closet next to her coats, since there's less of them, maybe she'll be able to find them. Chances are, she'll move them back and not be able to find them again. I found her key in a drawer (last week she HAD to lock her door) and almost two full cartons of cigarettes.
Maybe she is forgetting to smoke!
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