Now that everyone is back home and things have settled a bit, I wanted to say THANK YOU to:
the Gals, who sat with, laughed with, prayed for, virtual hugged, packed up, fed, coffeed, well-wished, ballooned, gift certificated, and hand held me.
my family, who traveled days to get here/there and, as exciting a story it might have been to tell later, didn't have a Jerry Springer moment (the potential was there people). And who, even in their own sorrow, fed and comforted us.
the friends who kept our home fires burning, our pets fed, our children safe. Who picked up mattresses and kept an eye on the landscapers. Who hugged our necks and just plain loved on us real hard.
all those far away [on Facebook and beyond] who sat with, laughed with, prayed for, hugged, well-wished, and hand held, albeit virtually. Those were just as important and beloved as those received in person.
YOU ALL ARE THE VERY BEST ONES.
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Here's a pretty little song that has nothing to do with the post.
And...
you're welcome for the ear worm. A song about Alabama by a band from Florida (not just Florida, but J'ville).
Anyway, Mom is truly home now, buried next to my father in the family cemetery.
There were no Jerry Springer moments (sorry to disappoint), I got my hug quota for the year, and the Lenox birds have been passed off to my aunt.
We went out after the viewing to eat, then to my brother's hotel for story telling. And laughing. And maybe a wee bit of drinking.
I got asked if I was my sister's mother. Hilarity ensued I assure you. And the [older] man who asked the question is still trying to take it back.
Speaking of my sister, she left today. I'm praying for tail winds, smooth connections, and great weather all the way back to Juneau.
Today, December 7, 2011 at about 10:05 AM, Mom crossed over.
She'd been trying to get over, (and I'd been encouraging her along, believe me), since Saturday.
Sunday she said "Omar" very clearly, and "Elka", a little less clearly.
I don't know anyone named Omar or Elka, except for Omar on The Wire. (And yes, he is my boyfriend.)
I said if they're here to take you, you just go ahead on Mom.
She didn't listen.
I said a lot of things on Sunday. I got mad at her. Told her she was being a stubborn Florida mule.
Then switched tactics and told her we all loved her and she was free to go. Told her she did a good job and we would be okay. Go be with Dad and Mookie and Whiskey...[inserted all the dead people and pets I could conjur up].
I went through a box of Kleenex. I cried and railed at God and told him I was going to be pissed at Him if she was in pain. (He knows me, it's okay).
I told her that she was pissing Jesus off by keeping him waiting. Someone pointed out that since she wasn't a money changer in the temple, I was probably lying on that last one.
I read Alice in Wonderland to her. We looked at pictures. I timed the breathing stoppages and the moaning intervals. I watched The Last Time I Saw Paris.
I reminisced about things. All the crappy artwork on the mantle. Keeping my Girl Scout pin and the award I won for writing in 8th grade in her jewelry box. Her goofy cookie making habits (the recipe says it makes five dozen, dammit I'm going to get at least that), having a laughing spell in the frozen food aisle at Big and Crusty Bagels in Publix. (Who would give that name to a food item?!)
She stopped talking on Monday. They increased her morphine to a bigger dose, every hour if needed.
When she slept, I could go home. That was our drill for four days.
Steffi was with me (thanks for that), this morning when it happened.
She did it on her own terms. Like she did everything else.
But I think the best thing I read all day was this story on prison hospice.
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Mom is about the same. Her care rate went up about $1000 - but if they cut out a lot of her meds it will be about $500 instead. She often refuses to take them and it really doesn't matter if she takes her Plavix anymore.
A bill from UNC hospital came, says she owes about $1200. I'm not sure they submitted it to Tricare though.
Fiddle dee dee. Will deal with that on Monday.
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Who do these guys sound like?
This video is slightly creepy, but I like the song.
When I watch the video below I wonder what it would be like to look like this girl (oh yeah, she is a girl).
I think of power - the power of youth and sex appeal.
A few days ago, I received an email from Local Harvest. The last paragraph said:
"A few months ago someone sent me a quotation from a Native American prayer which says, "Give thanks for unknown blessings already on their way." So may we express our gratitude around our Thanksgiving tables, for those blessings already manifest, and for the capacity to sustain the hope that what is needed is on its way."
Well said.
Thanks ya'll for the known and the unknown blessings.
was going to be the BIG ONE. You know - the one where Mom dies.
CB called around 7:30 AM and said Mom had "taken a turn".
In near superhuman fashion - twenty minutes - I was dressed, make-uped, had fed the cats, scooped litter boxes and at CB.
A., (one of Mom's favorite aides, mine too), said her heart rate had gone down, she was having trouble breathing. They had called hospice and given her two morphine doses (5:30 and 7:30). She was sleeping.
I settled in, read some Frankenstein on my kick-ass phone, texted some folks (please bring coffee!) and threw away some stuff. (just getting a head start on what I'll have to do anyway - don't begrudge me small pleasures)
D. came with coffee. To kill some time, we looked through Dad's war and peace medals and other military paraphernalia, where she noticed an awesome walrus head tie tack - which now lives on my jacket.
Mom continued to sleep...well, like the dead.
Then sometime in the afternoon she woke up, was agitated. Had another dose of the big M., had her mouth wiped out with nitroglycerin swabs (encourages saliva).
We called my brother; she perked up so much after that she drank some sweet tea, ate a graham cracker, and a few tiny bites of peach yogurt. She talked, in her way.
Laughed when D. imitated Donald Duck, then called her a "shit hound".
Yes, exactly that.
She drifted back to sleep after a few hours. I met Anon CP at Whole Foods for brisket and salad.
Went home, changed clothes (it was hotter than Hades in her room), fed cats, and washed my face twice -something had irritated the crap out of it. It was bright red and felt like it was on fire. Could have been the coconut lotion I put on Mom's hands.
When I returned, Mom was sitting in the living room! talking about puppies and who knows what else.
We went back to her room and alternated between watching Up and Splendor in the Grass - quite the combo, I know. She was more talkative during Splendor. We discussed whether that was Sandy Dennis or Tuesday Weld (Sandy), how handsome Warren was, what a cad he was, how pretty Natalie was, etc. I left around 9-9:30, sat in my driveway talking to my sister. Remembered I needed darn cat food and had to go to Kroger.
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Today, after the Gals Second Annual Mutiny Anniversary Lunch, I went over. Was just in time for sing-a-long - my favorite! (I'll let you decide if I'm being sarcastic or not.)
CB has adopted a puppy, their very own live-in therapy dog - which is a great idea. Her name is Avery and she is adorable (all the more so because she's not piddling on my carpet).
I didn't stay long, I had a raging headache.
Surely brought on by the roller coaster ride of "My mother's dying - oh wait. Never mind."
That's the word the doctor used yesterday when describing Mom's health.
She is not eating much, but still up and around.
Yesterday evening I went over during supper.
"Hello darlin'", said She Who Scrapes Her Robe With Her Butter Knife While Humming, (see The Supper Club).
Myrtle came to the table late, having been to the eye doctor. Her daughter sat for a few minutes; she's pretty stressed out by it all. Still in the I Can't Believe This Is Happening stage.
Really it's more like the I Can't Believe This Is Happening.
Been there, done that sister.
Mom was in a great mood, having a laughing spell every five minutes. Talkative and fairly understandable. She ate most of her carrot raisin salad and a couple of bites of chocolate ice cream. Lips clinched shut at pork chop and baked potato (even with cheese and bacon!).
Tonight was a different story. She sat slumped in a wheelchair, mostly incoherent, ate all of three bites of pie. We lingered in the middle of the dining room for a half hour afterward.
Just sitting, holding hands.
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I missed the end of a promotional period for a dental credit card the end of October and they added the $600 worth of deferred interest to my bill.
OMG does not even begin to cover it. The kicked-in-the-solar-plexus-I-can't-breathe-and-I'm-going-to-throw-up feeling as the realization of the missed deadline sunk in.
I called them tonight sitting in front of CB and played the [very real] "mother was in hospital and now in hospice" card. They told me that if I paid the previous balance in full by midnight tonight - they would waive the finance charges.
I cried with gratitude.
Well that's what Mom said the other night.
The hospice social worker had called to say that Mom had a headache while she was there and they gave her some morphine...(maybe that's why I was purdy!), and it just seemed like I should stop by.
Her verbal skills are deteriorating fast. Really fast. "Hey" is still clear as a bell though. We sat in the dining room and she folded a Kleenex over and over. That was pretty much it for about an hour.
CB called last night to say that Mom was sitting on the floor in her room. (they have to tell you everything)
No injuries, everything was fine; they bundled her back into bed.
Walked, talked, and saw "Puss N' Boots" with a couple of the Gals (there is a small select group of us who like animation).
There was a chicken in the theatre...a chicken purse that is! It's Anon CP's. Dear me, that is a good fun time.
Cluck!
Settling in for the movie - hence the blurriness.
CP could be a bit broody (ahahaha) because she is getting real chickens (not purse ones) that will live in one of these adorable houses from Omlet (UK of course). They have cute beehives and houses for bunnies and hamsters too. Beekeeping kinda fascinates and scares me at the same time. Hmmm.
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I read somewhere that if you want to be productive - don't take off your shoes when you get home.
That is the first thing I do. The second thing is feed the cats. (Because there is no peace otherwise) Third thing is put on my pajamas.
Today when I got home, I did not take my shoes off. The pantry got cleaned out and organized. (Maybe there's something to that)
I discovered there were at least twenty glass jars that were holding stuff I don't want around now - dangerous carby things like pasta and croutons.
All this must go.
Except the cat.
Eleven jars! need a good home. Made in France. Every single one of them. (they don't come home unless they're from Italy or France)
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I just finished watching Sons of Anarchy Season Three, which was mostly set in Belfast, Northern Ireland. There was a lot of talk about Orangemen, Provos, The Army, the UVF, and a song about the "big fellah" (Michael Collins) I wondered if most people got all that.
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And finally, some music. This is my favorite version of Amazing Grace as sungby Tim Eriksen.The part at the end - sounds just like Mongolian throat singing.
What makes a song or music appealing to a person? Who knows.
For me it's often imagery. Chris Bathgate is kinda my new favorite singer/songwriter. He seems Southern to me, but he is a Midwesterner from Michigan. His songs have a dark edge to them, but they are beautiful too. NPR said they are "dusky and deliberate". I like that.
Sometimes I like a song because it makes me laugh. Wish I could find the one I'm thinking of - the singer talks about his girlfriend leaving him like a kidney stone. Ouch!
Here's some [hopefully] not depressing stuff.
A sweet song about happenstance or serendipity:
Or this perky (and potential ear worm) song (any song where my kitchen might say - hang around baby,baby, I'll be baking a cake for you - is fun in my book):
This one by Mutemath is reminiscent of Earth, Wind and Fire with its funky beat and brass:
I am making my own damn brisket right now instead of forking over a s&*%load of money to Whole Foods and my house smells oh my god so good.
Packet of onion soup mix, a bottle of ginger beer, cup of ketchup - pour over brisket, bake for 2 hours at 375, uncover and bake for another hour. I'll let you know.
*************************************************************************** I don't know what got me thinking about Mom's purse this week. The back when I was a kid purse.
Wasn't Mom's purse the best?
So dark and mysterious - full of anything you could need: Kleenex, band-aids, Fruit Stripe gum, a collapsible plastic cup/medicine holder (Mom's was a sort of marbilized mint green color), and cigarettes - besides being useful for smoking and looking cool, when combined with spit would "pull the poison" out of a bee sting. Better livin' through tobacco!
There also lurked, in the depths of the purse, a vile evil thing. A thing that masqueraded as something good. A thing known as...Aspergum.
Aspergum was close to the size and shape of Chiclets. In a clandestine guerrilla style purse search (hand in feeling around, while eyes were peeled for mother approach) - I would think I had gotten lucky. Until I bit into one of those disgusting things.
Mom used gross us out by chewing up aspirin tablets. I think my brother used to do that too. Egads.
She thought it served us right (me right) for stealing gum. Child abuse I say.
**************************************************
So Flyleaf Books. Wednesday evening I went with someone, who shall not be mentioned on account of the newly instated "no tagging" rule, to hear John Jeremiah Sullivan read from his collection of essays: Pulphead.
I don't normally do this sort of thing, but I had recently made the comment that I was not interested in anything. Which sounds either terribly boring or terribly stuck-up, and really isn't true.
Guess what? It turned out to be oddly fascinating, involving John Fahey and deciphering old, old, old blues songs.
ANYWAY, in walks this rather portly gentleman - and his jacket logo says "Think BIG".
No, I mean it.
Was he being ironic?
Still makes me chuckle.
********************************************
Music's obvious choice tonight is John Fahey, from his "Of Rivers and Religion" LP: Steamboat Gwine Round Da Bend. My dad loved him some guitar playing, he owned this album.
Technically in the South the last meal of the day is called supper. It used to consist of leftovers from dinner - the big midday meal that gave you energy to plow the rest of the back forty. (wonder if Queenie the mule got a big dinner too?) Eating the leftovers at supper meant you started from scratch for breakfast the next day.
Anyway, last night I went over to CB for supper.
"Hey", Mom said when she saw me. Then she said it again. And again. And some more.
Apparently Iggy has been replaced.
Let's meet the rest of our table companions shall we?
To Mom's left is "Myrtle". Myrtle might have been quite the astute business woman in her day - nothing gets past her.
After she ate every single scrap of food on her plate and did the same to her dessert she said, "Let me ask you something. That sweet potato was good, but how much did I pay for it? Would it hurt them to give us some dessert? I would pay more for that. I don't mind paying for it."
She picked up a sliver of green bean that had fallen on the tablecloth, held it out on the tip of her finger to a passerby and asked, "Do you know what this is? Is this all they give us? Who's running this place?! Would it kill them to give us some dessert!?"
Continuing around the table to Myrtle's left is The Hummer. But let's give her a better name. Say, Dorothy.
Her Native American name would be She Who Scrapes Her Robe With Her Butter Knife While Humming. Dorothy is genial and loves to clean up. She takes the used coffee creamer containers and rinses them out in her water glass. She also collects the empty Sweet N' Low packets. If it looks like it needs it, she will scrape the tablecloth with the butter knife. When she speaks she has a lovely Southern accent.
To Dorothy's left is "Jean". Jean likes my mother and blows her kisses. She likes to hold my hand sometimes. She's pretty low key and doesn't say much.
Finally, there's "Barbara", the den mother of this table. She's always decked out in her finery, rings on her fingers, plastic bead necklace, a brooch penned jauntily on her holiday sweatshirt. She has coffee with dessert, with cream and two packets of "sugar" - the empties of which Dorothy promptly collects.
Dorothy was humming, Mom was saying "hey", and Myrtle was asking about the price of dessert when a man at another table shouted "Shut-up!" Barbara looked over at me and said, "Can you believe this bunch?"
Mom was cold and one hand shook, making me think it was a tremor, not cold. She had taken a bite of her sweet potato and maybe two of her chicken. I tried to get her to eat another bite of the potato, but her lips clamped shut. I could hear her saying "I don't like that."
The staff was withholding dessert until she ate more. WTF. If that's all she wants to eat, fine. Give the woman her stupid Ensure and pound cake. Grrrr.
After supper we went into the living room. The woman who is always saying help me, oh God somebody help me was in rare form last night. Mom had a coughing attack and the woman told her to shut up. Mom said "Oh you shut up."
Heh.
You tell her Mom.
All the commotion seemed to be getting on Mom's nerves (or maybe that was my nerves), so we walked over to the Activity Room. Our pal Myrtle was there, examining scraps of material.
"Do you think I can take these? Should I pay for them? These are for the bathroom (a dog and cat print). This one seems cheap (an angel print) and tacky."
Then the "help me" woman (shall we call her Rhonda?) was wheeled in.
We spotted Mom's walker in the corner, identified with a luggage tag of a Boston Terrier. (Mookie!)
"Fix it up."
I took that to mean open it up so she could use it. She went back into the living room with Jean, and I headed home to feed supper to those darn cats.
Here's an update on Mom's condition. She is walking much better, really didn't need the walker. There was a wheelchair and oxygen in her room.
But there's the tremor and some drooling. I called hospice to see if either of those was due to new medications or old medications stopping.
Her mental decline is worse. Trauma (hospital visits, being sick) will do that.
Sigh.
Soooooo...
Mom came home from UNC hospital Wednesday night; hospital bed was in place at CB.
She is very weak, but being in bed for five days will knock the wind out of anyone's sails I'm thinking. Then there's the pneumonia and her heart only pumping at 15% of its capacity. Last night she could barely walk two or three steps without having to rest.
(Let me interject that I want to drink a lot of wine. Right now. And eat much cake. But I'm not.)
This morning I signed her care over to hospice. We want for her never to go back to the hospital, for her to be comfortable with no invasive radical treatment efforts.
Don't break out the sack cloth and ashes though - she's not there yet. Plus this woman comes from a long line of death bed vigil bouncer backers.
They ordered oxygen, that will make her more comfortable. (I had asthma as a child and there is barely anything worse than struggling to breathe.)
Hospice pays for most of her meds, any equipment (oxygen, wheelchairs, hospital beds, etc.), and supplies (Depends), she needs. They bathe her and wash her hair. Her CNA makes body lotion for all her patients. (That just about killed me with kindness.) They will come as often as they need - the sicker she is, the more often they come. We're starting off with three days a week.
Last night I sat next to her as she ate her pie. Watched the woman across the table scrape her robe with her butter knife as she hummed constantly.
I don't think anything has hit me yet. I'm a fall-apart-later kinda gal. I think.
"Hope In The Air"
There is a man that I know,
seventeen years, he never spoke.
Guessed he had nothing to say,
he opened his mouth on Judgement Day.
I listened with all of my might,
but was scared by the look in his eyes.
Like he'd already lost the fight,
and there was no hope ever in sight.
No hope in the air,
no hope in the water,
not even for me,
your last serving daughter.
Why fear death, be scared of living,
our hearts are small and ever thinning.
There is no hope ever of winning,
oh, why fear death, be scared of living.
I have seen men provoked,
and I have seen lives revoked,
and I looked at my life and choked.
From there no more ever I spoke.
I can't give up that quick.
My life is a candle and a wick.
You can put it out but you can't break it down,
in the end we are waiting to be lit.
There's hope in the air,
there's hope in the water,
but sadly not me,
your last serving daughter.
A friend is a friend forever,
and a good one will never leave, never.
But you've have never been south of what blows off your mouth,
you will never understand, ever.
You speak minds handed down to you,
by the lies handed down by your truth,
and your angels will dance at your will,
will mask your scrambling youth.
I forgave you your short comings,
and ignored your childish behaviour.
Laid a kiss on your head,
and before I left said, "stay away from fleeting failure".
There's hope in the air,
there's hope in the water,
but sadly not me,
your last serving daughter.
Pick up your rope Lord, sling it to me,
if we are to battle I must not be weak.
And give us your strength world, and your food and your water,
oh, I am your saviour, your last serving daughter.
There's hope in the air,
there's hope in the water,
but sadly not me,
your last serving daughter.
There's hope in the air,
there's hope in the water,
But no hope for me,
your last serving daughter.
Whoa, what the heck HAVE I been doing?
Losing weight for one. (-10 and counting...) Yay! "meat" diet.
Who knew a box of Popsicles a night (aka supper) coulda been throwing a wrench in the old losing weight game plan?! Heh.
Meanwhile, people torture me on their Facebook pages:
My niece made this crepe filled with vanilla pumpkin creme and drizzled with caramel. FOR BREAKFAST!
It's a good thing she lives in Alaska. :)
Allison did this:
Sugar cookies with orange sugar syrup glaze
She makes sure to mention that about 1/2 of the cookies have tiny pieces of dark chocolate in them.
These two need to have a bake off. And a cookbook.
As CP says: pumpkin creme and orange sugar cookies can go to hell. (actually she said that about fruit - same diff.)
Ate at Gourmet Kingdom again last Sunday. Lotus root is my new favorite vegetable (thanks D. for the recommendation). I can't describe the taste, except maybe incredible.
What else? Lots of brain stretching at work.
Imagine being a dispatcher with: ten instructors, five or more classes a day in various parts of the world (two simultaneously in India every day), coordinating across multiple GMT zones, conference bridges, and virtual machines. Oh and the printing...40 books shipped here, 2 books shipped there, 60 books printed in India and shipped here and there...
Every day we (I) get three/four/five new rosters of 15 people each, which cannot be copied and pasted easily into the template we use to send out emails telling them what machine they're on, their access code, conference bridge, etc. First name needs to be in a separate cell from last name, then the email.
I have "the claw" by the end of the day from doing Ctrl c, Ctrl v 225 times.
AND we haven't even ramped up yet!
Here's another video from Ok Go, the folks that brought you the treadmill video a few weeks back.
Most of their videos are fun, but this is my favorite:
Also like Collections of Colonies of Bees: (just music)
Been watching Pee Wee Herman's Playhouse. What a great show. I love Jambi.
Holiness comes wrapped in the ordinary. There are burning bushes all around you. Every tree is full of angels. Hidden beauty is waiting in every crumb. Macrina Wiederkehr, O.S.B. I found that quote on a moon, worn as if it had been a shell. Googled Macrina's name and found her blog.
This quote was on Macrina's blog: If you aren't happy with what you have, how could you be happier with more. Grandma Ros
I don't know who Grandma Ros is, but she pretty smart.
If you look to the left at My Blog List, in addition to the tried and true, there are a couple of newbies.
Wonder in Aliceland - I found this just last night at Anon CP's blog, Land of Cotton, by clicking "Random Blog" on the top header. She is a twenty-something English girl who is recovering from a brain tumor. She is a lovely writer and a talented painter as well.
Gourmet Kitchen - This is my dear friend Roy, who I've known for close to thirty years. Roy, in addition to being a wonderful chef, is also an amazing painter and photographer. Our sons have the same name and same birthday (month/day) - how cool is that?!
There's a lot of great writers out there. And isn't it astonishing how people just crack open their lives for us anonymous readers? And how sometimes we become friends?
Fair Verona - Dan Mangan Turn the bars into cars And wait for the lights to change And take shape of people we used to know 'Til they grow less fond of knowing
And we can ride in the night And discard all the facts on our backs Remembering the thoughts we thought Since we got over our parents
And if we go where we go And don't tell anyone where we're from We can cut and paste the stars to our hearts And understand their language
And we won't spit with our mouths Or draw lines in the dirt with our heels And every single day we'll just wait And hope to see the next one
If we go down too easy my dear We'll still be the heart of envy of all our friends and peers
So I get home to my home The thoughts are in my head And my bed is full of things I left When I left her here
And the light through the blinds And through the windowpane in the lane Where the fire is getting cold For they have burned all of their belongings
And up the stairs there's a pair Who like to be made sure That they were everything they are For they are sadly mistaken
Now I forget how we met Those days have all passed Now the cast is filing to the stage In a rage and taking their places
If we go down too easy my dear We'll still be the heart of envy of all our peers and friends my dear To them we'll be has-beens To them be throwaways To them be lost trains Just posers posing
We'll leave with our eyes And wave our goodbyes And if that's what it takes We'll both drink the Kool-Aid again
'Til we've forgotten where our hearts have been 'Til we've forgotten where our hearts have been 'Til we forget just where our hearts have been
Do you know what the 27 Club is?
It's musicians who have died at the age of 27. Kurt Cobian, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin...there's more, but those are the ones that roll off the top of my head.
Amy Winehouse has joined that club and it pisses me off. I am really mad at her.
Sometimes we have an interest in people we don't know and what happens to them affect us for reasons not explainable to us. Amy was one of those people for me.
As you know, I am an avid reader of The Daily Mail Online, a totally trashy UK tabloid. I'm not proud of it, but I love that site and visit it daily (it IS the Daily Mail after all). There were often articles on Amy and from my seat in the Durham on the other side of the pond, I encouraged her to get rid of that POS husband, get cleaned up and start making music again. It seemed like she was making a go of it for awhile. She had a new boyfriend, put on weight, and was looking healthy.
