Want An Application?

I've noticed a woman on my last couple of visits. Not sure if she's been there all along and our paths haven't crossed up to this point or if she's new.

She's pretty far along in dementia. Like my mother, though, she can communicate. She can talk, form complete sentences, etc. It's just that what she says isn't rooted in reality. At least today's reality.

Yesterday, while I was talking to the nurse about a potential cold sore outbreak on my mother's top lip, this woman interrupted our conversation.

Woman: I can't find it.

Me: What are you looking for?

Woman: My car. Someone's taken my car and I can't leave.

Nurse: [Sweeping her arm.] Well this office is too small so your car isn't in here.

Me: What kind of car?

Woman: It's a Ford.

Me: [Pretending to jot down the information.] Okay, I'm making a note of it right now.

The nurse can see that I'm not really writing anything.

Woman: It's blue.

Me: Okay, it's a blue Ford. Got it. As soon as it turns up, I'll come and get you immediately!

Woman: [Bewildered that someone is actually acknowledging her concerns.] Thank you. They've been taking lots of people's cars. I didn't think they'd take mine, though.

Me: That's definitely something we need to keep track of. I'll keep an eye out and maybe we can catch them.

The woman nods and wanders off. I turn back to the nurse to continue our conversation about lip balm.

Nurse: You need an application.

Me: What do you mean?

Nurse: To work here. You're really good with the residents.

Interesting observation. I guess I've let the frustration go and just go with whatever these people tell me. I've considered this as a potential new career, but I'd like to work in the office doing marketing rather than work the floor where I'm constantly responsible for their health and well being.

Empty Windows

Autumn is in full stride, with the leaves on our maple trees both front and back dropping, each leaf floating delicately to the grass below.

I hurt my back two years ago holding up a gas-powered blower in an effort to corral the leaves. I'd blow them into a pile, put on the vacuum attachment, and grind them up as they were sucked into the bag. All that weight, however, put my lower back muscles into such tight spasms that I couldn't move. They are still sensitive to any extended strain.

Last year, I borrowed a lawn mower from my brother and ground up the leaves. I raked the smaller pieces into piles that I placed into large brown kraft bags and put them by the roadside for pickup. That was quite inefficient.

This year I'm borrowing my neighbor's lawn mower that has a bag attachment. It doesn't hold a whole lot but it is more efficient and less taxing on my body that the other solutions. Now there are 21 filled bags along the edge of the front lawn but the tree in back has about 10-20% more to drop. I wish they were all down today since it is relatively warm at 55˚F and just right for yard work.

As I mowed and bagged, I caught myself scanning the windows along the back of the house for my mother. She always sat in the rocking chair and watched, or looked out the kitchen windows to monitor my progress. It didn't hit me when I looked and she wasn't in the chair. I shifted to the kitchen figuring she must be there. And then it sunk in that she wasn't here anymore, and as corny as it sounds, will never watch me rake up the leaves again.

Snug As A Bug In A Rug

The other afternoon, the floor attendants went through my mom's assisted care facility to check all the rooms to make sure everything and everyone was in order.

They found my mom in bed, with the covers pulled up under her chin, sleeping away.

Attendant: [Mother dear], what are you doing in here?

Mom wakes up with a grin from ear to ear.

Mom: Snoozing.

Yeah, in someone else's room in someone else's bed!

I Wanna Be Britney When I Grow Up!

Have you recently asked any children what they want to be when they grow up?

"I wanna be Paris. I wanna be Britney!"

They all want to be a pop star of some sort. Do they want to sing? Um, no. Do they want to act? Um, not really. So what is it that they want? Fame! There's plenty of opportunity to sing, dance, and act if you want to get up in front of people and hear applause.

A singing group came to mom's assisted living center on Thursday. God bless 'em. A local guy gives singing lessons and he brought his students in to perform. I thought he might be the local high school music teacher but several of the students were women in their 30's so he must do it from his home. It was a win-win-win. He gets to give his students an approving and appreciative audience; the students get the experience of working in front of people and getting positive round of applause even if they are terrible and/or forget the words; and the elders get a free little concert to break up their day.

Honestly, I really don't know why anyone would want to be famous. To desire that must require a huge ego. I mean, who really thinks that they're so interesting that the world is clamoring to know everything about them. I think it's related to this recent notion that no one should be a winner or a loser. They don't keep score in games and everyone gets a trophy, even if you were the worst player on the team. This is good to develop positive self esteem, but the pendulum seems to have swung the other way. Even losers think they're great. And did you ever encounter these people in the workplace?

Newsflash: no one actually cares. It's about marketing, and the mega entertainment industry feeds us who we should be obsessed about. And when that person runs their course? On to the next — a version of 'what have you done for me lately'.

The only talent Paris has is for getting her nose in front of a camera. But she's the spawn of a gazillionaire so she's got that going for her. And when Britney isn't hitting the pipe, she's actually got a lot of talent.

Awareness And UTI

My brother mentioned that Mother Dear asked for me by name when I was away. I hadn't seen her in almost a week. I wonder if she noticed I hadn't been around or if it was just something that crossed her mind like when she says she needs to find her parents.

I guess she was good last Friday but not so good on Sunday when my brother visited. When I saw her on Wednesday, she still wasn't good and the activities director said she hadn't been very interactive all day. She suggested that I ask the medical staff if she had a Urinary Tract Infection (UTI) which are common in assisted living centers.

Sure enough, the nurse reported that they had tested her on Monday, it came back positive, and that she was on antibiotics. I'm sure the UTI had her down on Sunday for my brother's visit and the meds for my visit on Wednesday.

I've Returned From Washington, DC

I'm back and couldn't have had a more fantastic time in Washington, DC. I've posted tons of photos and several recaps on my other blog if you're interested in some travelogue type blogging.

It's Vacation Time

I had my first appointment with the new counselor last night. It went well and I left thinking that I can turn things around in my life.

I leave today for vacation. I've been feeling quite a bit of anxiety but I'm going to go anyway. When the situation here at home was different and I couldn't go, I did nothing but dream of the time I could travel whenever I wished. Now that I can, I seem to be in a bit of self sabotage.

It should all go without a hitch and I've travelled enough that I can handle anything that comes up.

This And That

Mom was good this week.

Now that she is among folks with similar problems, I can compare how she is relative to others.

• First is that she is still able to read. She hardly gets any practice but she was reading aloud the text on the television the other day.

• Second, she can still talk. What she says doesn't always make sense because she mis-remembers, but she can communicate and carry on conversations. Others talk in gibberish or stay mostly silent.

I'm planning a vacation soon and I hope I can do more than just sleep and stress out in my hotel room. If I do, I do, but I have to try. I set up a counseling session this week and I'm considering regular massages, too. However, I'm afraid that massages will loosen up kidney stones and cause me long term agony for short term relaxation.

I think I was fighting a throat infection that was dragging me down. I discovered that one of the ducts in the back of my throat near the tonsils was plugged with 'gunk'. I looked it up online and it seems to be a fairly common occurrence with the only long term solution being a tonsillectomy. That, at my age, would be horrible so I've decided I'll keep an eye on it and remove anything as it forms and garble with salt water. The web article says that these globs incubate the bacteria in your mouth so I think that my body fighting this is what contributed to dragging me down. I felt tired but not really sick. Things have been much better lately but I'm still not 100%. Had my seasonal flu shot, too, so I can avoid any trouble this winter.

Please Stand By

Longtime reader Lacey reminded me on my other blog that I've been absent for a while so I wanted to give you all an update.

Mom is doing well, and there have been many stories I could have written. I've been depressed and just haven't felt like it. I'm back to sleeping a lot — I thought it might be a cold but it's gone on too long without any other symptoms. I thought things would get better for me once Mom was taken care of but that hasn't been the case.

• Now I'm worried about getting a job having not been in a full-time corporate environment in 10 years. So much unfounded self doubt.

• I've planned a trip to Washington in a couple of weeks and I'm already worried about that since my last couple of vacations haven't been very successful. I was supposed to meet friends who aren't able to come so I'll essentially be there alone. I'm going to try and meet up with some blogger friends. Of course, that has me nervous, too.

• Being in this house alone is starting to take its toll. Too many idle hours to drive myself crazy.

At the behest of some dear friends, I'm starting to research counselors in the area and will try to get back into yoga.

Onward and upward. I hope!

The Look Of A Private Room

Here's a look at my Mom's private room. Nice but basic. We've chosen not to decorate the walls, etc. because she spends so little time in there and it would just be more clutter. The rooms of some residents are packed full of stuff. I assume it's because they sold their previous living space and tried to take as much with them as they could. In our case, I live in Mom's house so all of her things are still here.

I try to have fresh flowers on the dresser and I've put a couple of plants on the window sill.

The Bird Flicker

Part 9 In A Series

All my life I've come up with nicknames for people — mostly for those who I don't know their real names. For instance, there was the object of my affection during the early 90's that I would always see at a certain bar. I referred to him as Piston's Boy — even though he was all man. The sad end of that story is that he never gave me the time of day despite a couple of attempts on my part to chat him up.

There are a number of characters at my mother's assisted care facility. Today I will tell you about my mother. After all, it wouldn’t be entirely fair to the residents mentioned up until now if I didn’t give my mother a nickname as well.

First, she will always be know as Mother Dear to me. However, I decided to step back and observe her and come up with a name by pretending that I was someone else’s guest.

In her later years, mother has become increasingly sensitive to noise. “What’s that racket?” she often says in a beligerent tone when people speak with raised voices, the staff is clanging pots and pans preparing dinner, or the parakeets are squawking in their cage.

One reason I selected her particular room was because there was a bird cage outside in the corridor. She has always loved pets, particularly cats, but we had dogs, birds, turtles, guinea pigs, and fish over the years. The birds have turned into an irritant rather than a pleasure.

As we sat in the lobby next to a different set of parakeets that have been together for eight years, Mom grew increasingly annoyed. Timmy, the larger green bird, was picking on Mimi, a yellow bird that is quite a bit smaller than her cage mate. There was quite a commotion when the weaker one decided she’d had enough of the bullying and began to fight back.

Mom placed her pointer finger on her thumb, gave it some pressure to load it with spring, and moved her hand toward the cage.

Me: What are you doing?

Mom: I’m going to flick that damn bird on the tail.

I convinced her that the birds were simply having a bad day and that flicking the bird, even on the tail, was not such a good idea.

And that’s when it hit me. Mom’s alter ego became The Bird Flicker.

Also see:
Part 1: The Klepto
Part 2: The Slapper
Part 3: The Baby Mama
Part 4: Socks
Part 5: The Jackrabbit
Part 6: Gidget
Part 7: Twinkle Toes
Part 8: Pittsburg and Tex

Pittsburgh and Tex

Part 8 In A Series

All my life I've come up with nicknames for people — mostly for those who I don't know their real names. For instance, there was the single mother living below me with her daughter and sister. The sister liked to entertain men but she isn't going to be the subject described here. The mother was Roseanne Barr-ish: short, heavy set, and loud mouth, with a rotten disposition to match. If you were casting for a female wrestler in a gritty made-for-tv movie, you'd need look no further. Taking a cue from a male professional wrestler during the 1960's, my downstairs neighbor was known as Mamma Bull Ramos.

There are a number of characters at my mother's assisted care facility. Today I will tell you about Pittsburgh and Tex. They aren't really main characters in this little story of mine, rather background extras that complete the scene.

Pittsburgh was one of the first residents I thought was going to be a friend to my Mom. He liked the swings in the courtyard, too, and would be sitting with Mom during her first weeks there. Then I didn't see him at all for a long time. He would sit by himself at dinner time and I wasn't seeing him there, either. I thought that he may have been moved to another place, was sick, or even died.

I spotted him the last time I was there, in a different place in the dining room but still alone. He looks at me like he recognizes me from my many visits but he doesn't speak and keeps to himself. Because he wears clothing for the NFL football's Steelers, I refer to him as Pittsburgh.

Tex is similar in demeanor. He keeps to himself. Tall, slender, salt and pepper mustache, and a baseball cap. There are two things that set him apart: he is The Slapper's main squeeze and he wears cowboys boots. Hence Tex.

Also see:
Part 1: The Klepto
Part 2: The Slapper
Part 3: The Baby Mama
Part 4: Socks
Part 5: The Jackrabbit
Part 6: Gidget
Part 7: Twinkle Toes
Part 9: The Bird Flicker

Twinkle Toes

Part 7 In A Series

All my life I've come up with nicknames for people — mostly for those who I don't know their real names. For instance, there's the elderly woman that lived with her extended Vietnamese family. It was her, one of her children and their spouse, and boy and girl grandchildren. Every afternoon she'd do a lap around her apartment building, shuffling along the sidewalk, I assumed for exercise and to get out for some fresh air. Her face was very wrinkled and reminded me of one of those old-fashioned craft dolls with a dried apple for their head. She became know as Grandma Vietnam.

There are a number of characters at my mother's assisted care facility. Today I will tell you about Twinkle Toes.

Now Twinkle Toes is a bit of a misnomer. It's her eyes that twinkle, not her toes, but for some reason Twinkle Toes seems to fit and 'toes' always follows 'twinkle' in my mind. She has a bad curvature of the spine and walks hunched over. In that way she reminds me of my Grandmother, my mother's mother, who had it so bad that she eventually faced down towards the ground.

Yesterday I had a very interesting interaction with her on my Tuesday visit to see Mother Dear. I've seen Twinkle Toes around and her painful-looking posture makes it easy to remember her. The more and more time I spend there, there seems to be fewer people and less space. It's in my experience because now all the faces are familiar and the building's layout is as well.

Mom was in the recreation room when I arrived. She was watching them play Wii bowling on the big screen television. The facilitator was carrying on and trying to make it interesting for the whole room instead of just for the three that were able to play. (He had to keep telling The Slapper to keep her hands to herself since she was all over one of the men.) I, too, joined in with cheers for the strikes and spares, oohs and aahs for the near misses, and groans for splits.

When it was time for dinner, I got Mom up and headed to the dining room. We stopped at the restroom to see if she needed to go, but she didn't, so we continued on to get her seated. As we were walking in, I'm about 2 steps ahead of Mom so she can follow my lead. Twinkle Toes was giving her attendant a hard time. I've seen her do that before, abruptly pulling her arm away when one of the nurses tried to take her hand and guide her.

Twinkle Toes was pointing at me and smiling, her eyes twinkling. She doesn't speak but we could tell she was indicating something to the attendant about me.

Attendant: [To Twinkle Toes.] Yes, he's bringing his mother in to dinner.

Twinkle Toes holds up her hand to me as we approach, and I take hers in mine.

Attendant: Do you know her?

Me: [To attendant.] No. [To Twinkle Toes] But I sure do see her around all the time. We pass each other in the hall and I see her in the recreation room. In fact, she sits right across the table from my Mom at dinner!

Twinkle Toes's smile grew wider and her eyes squinted. It made me think of Santa Claus and how he's usually depicted. I let her hand go.

Me: Okay, everybody, let's go. We have to sit down because it's dinner time!

Twinkle Toes turned and headed right for her seat. What had been a struggle of persuasion a few minutes earlier became easy.

I sat Mom in her seat, pushed her chair in, and said my usual "Hello Ladies" to the group already there. Those that used to be leery of my presence now smile back and those that can speak always say "Hello" in return and sometimes I even get a 'How are you?"

I'm trying to be more mindful of speaking to and acknowledging everyone to whom I come in contact. I'd say that 90% of them get no visitors at all and that any recognition may be the highlight of their day. What is easy for me could mean the world to them.

Twinkle Toes has never acknowledged me prior to this so it will be interesting to see if it was something that happened just in the moment or if she'll continue to like me.

Santa Claus photo can be purchased here.

Also see:
Part 1: The Klepto
Part 2: The Slapper
Part 3: The Baby Mama
Part 4: Socks
Part 5: The Jackrabbit
Part 6: Gidget
Part 8: Pittsburgh and Tex
Part 9: The Bird Flicker

Gidget

Part 6 In A Series

All my life I've come up with nicknames for people — mostly for those who I don't know their real names. For instance, there's the man that visited my apartment for some afternoon delight. He wasn't a step inside the door when his delight came prematurely in his pants. Later I would ignore him when I spotted him at fundraising events and referred to him as Quick Draw McGraw.

There are a number of characters at my mother's assisted care facility. Today I will tell you about Gidget.

I know that this nickname is politically incorrect. You see, Gidget is a midget. Get it? Gidget the midget. I know, I know. I may have crossed the line here but, honestly, it's what I've named her in my mind and would never say something like that out loud. Except here, where my 10 readers can see. I could have used "little person" rather than midget but that wouldn't have rhymed, now would it?

Gidget is a pleasant sort and seems to like to hear herself talk. She was daydreaming after they wrapped up playing Bingo, looking out the window and commenting to all within earshot that it was a beautiful day.

A woman in a wheelchair seated next to her paid Gidget a compliment on her shoes. Holy crap, that was all it took. I listened to 15 minutes about those goddamned shoes. I found them in my closet. I didn't know where they came from. My daughter asked if I found them. I have two pair — these brown ones and a pair of black ones. I have to have them specially made because I wear a 2 and 1/2 D. On and on, and over and over.

I bet that woman in the wheelchair wished she had kept her mouth shut!

Also see:
Part 1: The Klepto
Part 2: The Slapper
Part 3: The Baby Mama
Part 4: Socks
Part 5: The Jackrabbit
Part 7: Twinkle Toes
Part 8: Pittsburgh and Tex
Part 9: The Bird Flicker

The Jackrabbit

Part 5 In A Series

All my life I've come up with nicknames for people — mostly for those who I don't know their real names. For instance, there's a local attorney that runs television commercials with a striking resemblance to a certain rodent so he's known as The Woodchuck.

There are a number of characters at my mother's assisted care facility. Today I will tell you about The Jackrabbit.

The recreation room is where most of the residents spend their days. It's the only part of the building that is air conditioned so it's the place to go to keep cool. There's a large screen television there tuned to the TV Land channel and they watch Bonanza and Gunsmoke all day. There are plenty of tables where the activities directors play bingo or conduct other activities.

The Jackrabbit has his place in the recreation room. He sits, day in and day out, in the same chair at the back of the room. He never speaks which made it difficult to ascertain his status — sane or not. I'm still not sure and I'll have to follow up with the staff. If I know he understands me, I'll make sure to speak to him. Otherwise, I won't take offense if he ignores me, too.

A man went into the bathroom located in the back of the rec room next to The Jackrabbit. The man left the door open and we all listened to him tinkling. The man no sooner got out of the bathroom than The Jackrabbit leapt from his chair and ran into the bathroom. I thought he had to go as well but I saw him pull a length of toilet paper from the dispenser and wipe off the seat where the previous man had "sprayed." Yeah, these bathrooms that are accessible to everyone have the men going all over the place. It must be frustrating to work there knowing that as soon as you clean it up, the next person in is going to foul it all up again.

About a half hour after the bathroom display, a woman went to open the folding doors where all the games and activity items are kept. The Jackrabbit sprung into action, carefully pushing the doors closed and using his hands to indicate that she wasn't to go into the cabinets. She understood and went about her business.

It's clear that The Jackrabbit knows what's going on and keeps an eye on the others, making sure his corner of the recreation room runs in an orderly, clean, and safe fashion.

Now, The Baby Mama sat next to him and kept trying to engage him. She had a teddy bear instead of her doll and she "babbledy babbled" at him to explain what the bear was thinking or doing. She was giving it a drink from an empty plastic cup and I thought I could make out that she was warning it that it was going to have to tinkle if it kept drinking so much water. I could tell The Jackrabbit was watching her with his peripheral vision but he just sat and ignored her. He sits, staring straight forward without a word, until he needs to tend to something urgent. When The Baby Mama reached for his arm to get his attention, he gently pushed her hand away but never made eye contact with her. I wonder how long this dance between the two has gone on? Just that day, or is it constant and been going on for years?

Also see:
Part 1: The Klepto
Part 2: The Slapper
Part 3: The Baby Mama
Part 4: Socks
Part 6: Gidget
Part 7: Twinkle Toes
Part 8: Pittsburgh and Tex
Part 9: The Bird Flicker