Mom's Good But Death Is All Around

I've been out of commission for the better part of three weeks. A sinus infection has taken hold, causing constant headaches and fatigue.

In the interest of resting and keeping the contagion under wraps, I stayed away from Mom's place and missed three of my regularly scheduled visits. All the residents are coughing and sniffing, and it's likely that I picked up my illness from them.

Last Friday was my first visit in a while. I covered for my brother who couldn't make it that day.

Mom was coherent and showed incredible signs of complex thinking. When I got there, she remarked, "I don't know why I don't usually know you when you are here." It was good news that she knew me, and also interesting that she knew on some level that she hadn't know me on previous visits.

My brother had a good day on Sunday and I had a similar time yesterday.

A couple of weeks ago, she complained about a belly ache and I got her some Mylanta from the nurses. A few days later, she told my brother her tinkler hurt. Instantly we thought of a urinary tract infection (UTI) and considered that was affecting her spacey behavior.

I stopped by the nurses station to find out what the results of the test were. Since she had been so good, I was expecting them to confirm the UTI and that she was on antibiotics. Nope. The test was negative and no additional pills.

While we were speaking, I inquired about a couple of residents I hadn't seen in a while. The Slapper had been confined to a recliner because she had fallen and was increasingly unsteady on her feet. It was clear that she was going downhill fast. I learned that she passed away.

Another woman, who had only been there a few months, has also passed away. She was completely sane and I had talked with her at length in the recreation room. She was outgoing and will be missed among that little community.

Mum's The Word

Not sure if this title translates overseas or not since y'all use "Mum" as we use "Mom."

"Mum's the word" is similar to "tick a lock" and "don't spill the beans." In other words, don't say anything in order to keep a secret.

Mother Dear has been very quiet the last few times I've visited. She's having more and more difficulty finding appropriate words and forming sentences. I think it's less bothersome to her if she just doesn't attempt so she stays silent.

I talk to her, narrating the things I see going on around us, and then ask a Yes or No question. Sometimes she shrugs because that involves some reasoned thinking even though it would only be a one word answer.

I had the opportunity to chat with one of the activities directors yesterday. She spoke of the challenges of having everyone get along. Certainly, I have noticed that some residents just don't like each other. The director said she takes notice of who gets along and makes sure they wind up sitting together on the various couches. She told me that Mom and a new gal Kay get along well. In fact, they were sitting together while I was there.

Kay is a bit a nosy. She's got great ears, and if folks are talking about something, she'll be right over to offer her assistance. Not in a bad way, she just wants to help. However, this behavior gets her into trouble with some of the grouchy residents.

Yesterday the staff had her folding a large laundry bag of washcloths to keep her busy. I know this is an activity that most elder residences employ since it is a relatively easy task and provides a sense of accomplishment. I told Kay how well she was doing and that it was clearly a big job that she had undertaken.

She smiled wide, responded with some gibberish, and reached in to get another to fold.

Christmas Thank Yous

I wanted to do something special and personal for the staff at Mom's assisted living center for the holidays.

I had so many ideas. A $15 gift certificate so the ladies could get a manicure/pedicure to pamper themselves; the same for the men to get a haircut.

I spoke with the administrator who said that cookies or doughnuts in the break room would be appreciated and sufficient. I didn't think that was enough. We tip our postal carriers, our paper delivery people, our hair dressers, our doormen — it just seemed right to tip the people whose hands my Mom's life is in. Believe me, they earn every penny.

The admin said there was 40 people total because I wanted to give something to each of them. My brother wasn't down with dropping $600 on the idea, so I starting thinking less expensive. What about a $5 gift certificate to the locally owned coffee shop for a latte and muffin? That would keep the money here and support the community. Along those lines, I also considered a peppermint pig which gets a lot of play in this area with commercials running on television.

After more consultation, I learned that many of the people that work there don't even have cars. Going to a coffee shop, while close, wasn't such a good idea after all.

In the end, I opted for tins of Danish cookies. They were $2 each and had a special holiday design on the top. Some had a reindeer, some a snowman, and others had a poinsettia.

Ho, ho, ho, I brought them in and the administrator said she'd be happy to hand them out when everyone came to pick up their checks on the 24th.

On the tags, I wrote:

To: Thank You
From: Evelyn D. and Sons

It all worked out well. They all received something individually as a show of thanks. Not a lot, but something nonetheless.

I know Mom would have thought of something similar if she was able.

Happy Twenty Ten!

Things have been pretty uneventful on the Mommy front. It has been snowing here so I missed going up on New Year's Eve.

Last Tuesday provided a couple of nice events, although one was kinda creepy.

When I arrived, "UConn" the attendant (so nicknamed because she wears a University of Connecticut sweatshirt) told me that Mom was sitting on the loveseat in the corridor by her room. She does seem to like that spot and sure enough that's where I found her.

I could tell she was sleepy. After I sat next to her and tried to engage her in some conversation, I realized she just wasn't into chatting. We sat quietly, and after she fell asleep, so did I. When I awoke, her hand was resting on mine. So sweet.

Houdini, the resident known for his propensity to escape, came down the hallway and stood across from us. When he's in a certain mood, he goes from one door to the next and gets outside, triggering the alarms each time. After he stood there for a while looking at us, he crossed the hall and stood beside me. Being watched makes me feel uncomfortable. I considered that perhaps he wanted my seat, so I told Mom I was going to her room to check on things.

I went down and made sure everything was in order. I watered the plants which are doing surprisingly well. The furniture had been rearranged and it looked like they'd come through and steam cleaned the carpet.

When I got back, Houdini was sitting where I had been. It was dinner time, and an attendant came down to take him to the dining room. I watched as she said that while she was there, she might as well take my Mom down too. Houdini stood up, took Mom's hand to help her up, and away the three of them went down the hall holding hands to supper!

Christmas Party

Yesterday was the family Christmas shindig at the old folks home. My brother and I both went; families were encouraged to attend. A lot of people showed up. On Thanksgiving, the dining room was half full mostly because it was on the holiday itself. Families were doing their own thing and some came to pick up their relatives to take them home. For this party, the dining room was full and there were tables set up in the halls and lobby to accommodate everyone.

We arrived about 11 a.m. and found Mom on her favorite sofa. She didn't seem very excited even though she hasn't seen us together since we dropped her off. Her understanding of the world goes up and down and I'd rate this as a mediocre day for her.

Dinner was served at noon. As with Thanksgiving, they did a very good job with the food. Broiled chicken breast (boneless, skinless), beef stroganoff, scalloped potatoes, stuffing, shrimp cocktail, raspberry jello, roll, and a strawberry shortcake layer cake. We heard several people say that the food they've seen at other places like this pales in comparison. Hearing those sorts of things reassures me that we made the right decision for Mom.

My brother and I compared notes about the experiences we've had with the various other residents. It was interesting to see so many of the children of the residents and how many look just like their parents.

Most of the folks that worked there thought that my brother and I were twins. They never see us together and a couple people thought we were the same person. We do look alike; like brothers, not twins, but whatever. The bad news is that they all thought I was the OLDER brother but I'm 10 YEARS YOUNGER! I'm choosing to think that my brother looks young for his age (he does) rather than I look old for mine (I hope not).

A couple of singers brought a banjo with them and the residents were all herded into the activities room. They sang Christmas carols and most of the residents sang along. Everyone chimed in to sing Rudolph and Frosty.

Halfway through, Santa showed up. A big man in a suit, and I do mean BIG man. He "Ho Ho Ho"-ed, shouted Merry Christmas, and tried to pay individual attention to everyone.

The recreation directors had organized a gift exchange that was like a Secret Santa. All the families received a note with their November invoice to buy a gift for a certain person. That, or donate $10, and they'd buy the gift for you. While Santa was there, they called out the names, the residents would raise their hand, and Santa brought the present over to them.

It was a pretty good day. For everything that was going on, it all went off without a hitch!

Let The Beatings Commence

This probably isn't something I should joke about because it is a serious problem. However, I just couldn't resist.

The Baby Mama had peed her pants in the recreation room and she was soaked. An aide was trying to persuade her to go into the bathroom so she could change her undergarment. She's a fiesty old woman, though, and resists everything. I've seen her hit the aides in the chest — like Elaine on Seinfeld when she says her trademark "Get out!" — only Baby Mama says "No" and "Get away." She was making quite a scene.

Another aide came to help and each took an arm. They guided her to the bathroom with her complaining the whole way.

Mom: [Under her breath.] She's gonna get a beating.

I'm sure that isn't the case, but as soon as someone says something like that, even if they have dementia, it makes you wonder.

Christmas Lights Trip

Gosh, I can't believe it's been so long since I posted. I've been busy with work stuff and a couple of creative endeavors to make some money.

When I arrived at Mom's place this afternoon, I found out that she was just leaving to go on a trip to see a large Christmas display in the area. A local company, Quick Response Restoration, has been growing its festivities each year.

It's a good outing for the elderly and Mom was one of about 10 that was going. She left almost as soon as I got there and I thought she was going to cry. I told her and the rest to have a good time, and Mom turned and said, "But I want to stay with you!"

I felt bad. She won't remember the trip. Then again, she wouldn't have remembered me being there either, so it's better she get out from being cooped up.

If I had only known, I'd have saved myself an hour's drive.

Thanksgiving Day Visit

Today went very well. I arrived about 11 a.m. and Mom was in the recreation room watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. They started seating at 11:30. I actually sat at the head of Mom's table to her left, she sitting in her regular seat. Two of her regular dinner mates had been picked up by their families and gone with them for dinner.

Mom wasn't feeling too well and complained of a stomach ache. That's Mom's Alzheimer's code for, "I gotta take a wicked shit!"

I took her to her room before we went to the dining room but that was uneventful. She was holding her stomach when they served the meal. I have to say that they did an impressive job. Turkey (white and dark meat), stuffing, mashed potatoes, mashed squash, cranberry jelly, and a roll. The plate was full with plenty of gravy. We were offered apple or pumpkin pie. I chose apple and it seemed home made.

Mother Dear started slowly. A couple times she zoned out and then came back from wherever she was and had to refocus on me and who I was. I gently suggested she just have some mashed potatoes and maybe that would calm her stomach. She started slow but ended up eating the entire plate. Mom wanted ice cream so I had them bring a scoop of vanilla with some chocolate syrup drizzled over it. One of the ladies said that Mom finishes her food every meal and always eats more than they do. No wonder she has belly aches!

My grandmother always put on a huge spread for Thanksgiving and dinner time was promptly at 2. Supper, which was essentially a second grazing of dinner, was at half time of the Dallas Cowboys football game we all watched on television.

Everyone had their favorite dish as the years went by so poor Grandma had to work like crazy to bring it all together for the 10 of us.

Turkey (Grandfather always got the tail), stuffing, mashed potatoes (Uncle), boiled onions (Grandfather), turnip (Grandmother), baked oysters (Mother), cranberry jelly (Father), cranberry relish (Aunt), banana bread (Me), garlic bread (Cousin), raspberry jello w/ whipped cream on top (Brother), apple pie, mincemeat pie, and pumpkin pie.

That was the menu every year when I was growing up. Green beans seem to be a staple now but we never had them even though everyone liked them. Grandma worked so hard and did it well into her 70's!

After Mom and I finished, I led her back to her room. There was a dog show on the television (the Scottish Terrier won Best In Show) that I watched and she laid on the bed, closed her eyes, and relaxed. I stripped off her old nail polish and put new on.

I sneaked out when she'd fallen asleep.

It was a good day! :)

Happy Thanksgiving!

I've been battling an upper respiratory infection that's been going around. Starts with a sore throat, moves to the sinuses, and ends up in your chest. I've had the seasonal flu shot, and been using Purell whenever I've come in contact with a door handle, money, shopping cart, etc. but I still caught something. Lucky it wasn't the swine flu. I guess that's something extra for which to give thanks.

I missed my visit with Mom on Tuesday. Not only did I feel like crap, but I didn't want to bring it into her facility and risk anyone getting sick.

I'm going up to be with her today. They are serving Thanksgiving dinner from 11:30 to 12:30 and I told them I'd be there for that. I was feeling much better yesterday and even better today. I'm still not 100% but I don't think I'm contagious anymore.

The gathering is either going to be great or a disaster. Mom has been crying a lot when we aren't there. She wants to go home and gets really agitated when the staff won't let her.

Today I'm thankful that we found a great place for her where she's safe and well-cared for, even if she doesn't fully realize she is where she is for her own good.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

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

Socks

Part 4 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, an irritating woman that used to work with me was known as Douchelina.

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

Socks is forever shoeless. I'm sure she has shoes but apparently prefers not to wear them. She enjoys the courtyard where my Mom likes to sit in the swings but she always sits in a stationary chair in the shade. I spend a lot of time on the swing with Mother Dear so I see Socks all the time. We smile, nod, and say 'hello' to each other. Her white sweat socks have tan bottoms from the dirt and bits of leaves picked up from the cement patio.

I'd estimate that Socks is about three years behind my mother in terms of her ability to remember. She struck up a long conversation with me and she remembered everything about her past and about the current status of her son and her grandchildren. She told me she'd been there for six months after moving from South Carolina, her son's job, and how her grandchildren were in college while working and getting scholarships to pay for it. She talked about her taxes and how selling her house impacted her deductions, and that she missed having the property but not the upkeep.

Yet, she asked me at least five times in the span of 20 minutes if I was my mother's only son. Each time I answered a different way to see if I could get the information to stick with her. But it didn't. Her immediate short-term memory is shot and that really is the beginning.

I felt sorry for her, my Mom, and all the residents when she told me, "This is a really lonely place."

Also see:
Part 1: The Klepto
Part 2: The Slapper
Part 3: The Baby Mama
Part 5: The Jackrabbit
Part 6: Gidget
Part 7: Twinkle Toes
Part 8: Pittsburgh and Tex
Part 9: The Bird Flicker

The Baby Mama

Part 3 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, the female neighbor that is a thick girl with masculine traits is know as Butchie Girl.

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

The Baby Mama roams the halls clutching a baby doll at all times. She is very attached to it. When I mentioned it to one of the nurses, she said that if I want to cause a major ruckus, try to take it away from her!

The affection for dolls and/or stuffed animals is a common thing in assisted care facilities. I'm not sure if the elderly need something to occupy their time, have a need to take care of something, need to express love, or just miss their children. The Klepto walks around with a very big teddy bear most of the day. My neighbor told me that her mother used to walk around cradling a stuffed gingerbread man like it was a baby.

For the most part, The Baby Mama is pretty incoherent. She talks "Baa baa baa baa..." with a few words you can understand but they don't seem related to anything going on at the time where they would make any sense.

The Baby Mama walked by Mother Dear and I one day.

Me: Oh look. She's got a baby!

Mom: That's not a real baby, you know. She's crazy.

And there you have it. Mom can identify a doll vs baby and who's who in the place!

Also see:
Part 1: The Klepto
Part 2: The Slapper
Part 4: Socks
Part 5: The Jackrabbit
Part 6: Gidget
Part 7: Twinkle Toes
Part 8: Pittsburgh and Tex
Part 9: The Bird Flicker

The Slapper

Part 2 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, the neighbor that came home with a dog that wasn't his, and didn't follow up on missing posters for the pooch, is now known as The Dognapper.

There are a number of characters at my mother's assisted care facility. Today I will tell you about The Slapper. Reader Greg of Wits' End will appreciate the English slang!

The Slapper appears to be one of Mother Dear's best friends at the place. They are usually sharing a swing in the courtyard when I arrive to visit. Until my brother told me the following story, my alternate name for The Slapper was The Toothless Wonder. She's missing most of her teeth, yet has just enough to prevent a full plate of dentures on the top or bottom.

But according to my brother, and confirmation by the staff, she's the resident tart. My brother arrived for a visit and was talking to the staff in the lobby while watching Mom and The Slapper on their swing. A man goes out into the courtyard and sits on an adjacent swing. In about a minute, The Slapper got up and went over and joined the man on his swing. And within seconds, they were attached at the mouth and going for broke. Apparently, so into it, that it looked like they were performing tonsillectomies on each other with their tongues. Their ability to hold their breath, or breathe whilst making out, was also a feat to behold as their lips were locked for a minute or more!

I mentioned the story to the nurse and she said that she has three regular men that are the object of her affection. It is hard to control because she, at least, is pretty affected by dementia and can't be taught that this behavior is best saved for behind their closed doors.

Also see:
Part 1: The Klepto
Part 3: The Baby Mama
Part 4: Socks
Part 5: The Jackrabbit
Part 6: Gidget
Part 7: Twinkle Toes
Part 8: Pittsburgh and Tex
Part 9: The Bird Flicker

The Klepto

Part 1 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, the woman that used to leave our apartment complex at 4 a.m. was The Donut Lady because I imagined that's where she'd have to be going to make the donuts before the morning rush.

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

In a place like this, the disappearance of items is a routine occurrence. It's just the nature of the beast. Most of the people don't know where their room is, let alone what is or isn't theirs. So when I say The Klepto, it isn't in a judgmental way because these folks don't know any better. They wander in and out of rooms and might pick up something that strikes them and take it with them.

Some, however, exhibit this trait worse than others. And so it is with The Klepto. When something is missing, the staff goes to her room first since it is a fair bet that the item has made its way back to her place.

After Mother Dear's first couple of weeks, the nurses told us Mom wasn't eating. Regular blog reader Greg, of Wits' End, said his Mom liked treats so I brought up a bunch of cookies, candies, etc. Part of the stash were those jelly orange slices coated in sugar.

A couple of weeks ago, my brother was visiting with Mom in her room. She was sitting in the chair, he on the end of the bed. In walked The Klepto. She proceeded past my brother, looked him in the eye, went to the end table, opened up the drawer, picked out two orange jellies, looked back at my brother, popped them in her mouth, turned around, and left.

Now, if I didn't know her as The Klepto, I probably would have nicknamed her Kentucky Derby since she parades around the place with huge hats cascading with silk flowers!

Also see:
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: Pittsburgh and Tex
Part 9: The Bird Flicker

The Waste Basket — Literally

I don't think I wrote about finding my Mom's waste basket full of tinkle a couple of weeks ago.

I went out and alerted the staff. What I thought was going to be a big deal barely made a blip on their radar. They were in the room in two seconds cleaning things up but things like this are a common occurrence. People pee in their chairs, and by "their" I mean the staff's desk chairs, pee in the plants, pee in their pants, etc. I guess the fact that Mom actually hit a waste basket was a good thing!

My brother went up today and called me to report that she'd done one better. I had told him to make sure she goes to the bathroom before she goes in and gets seated for dinner. He guided her into the bathroom, and after hearing her grunting and groaning, he peaks in and she's doing her business in the waste basket in the bathroom. Not just #1, but a healthy #2 as well. All while she's looking right at the toilet.

They've been putting Depends on her. I thought she might be going in her pants because she couldn't get to the toilet in time or knew enough to ask. But from this episode, it would appear that she has forgotten what a toilet is for.

Poor Mother Dear.

The Peanut Gallery

Today's visit to see Mom was pretty uneventful. I had brought up some nail polish and remover to do her finger and toe nails. She likes to have them painted red.

I discovered her on one of the swings in the courtyard which is her usual haunt. A crazy woman was on the swing with her and three others sitting nearby, making up the peanut gallery.

Crazy Woman: How long have you had that mustache?

Me: Oh, it's been years now.

Crazy Woman: Your nose is really big.

That'll be enough from the peanut gallery, thank you very much!