It's been nearly a year since I've gone to our cabin in Ohio.
Mom will be 99 on April 19th. She's still pretty sharp, despite near blindness and increasing deafness. She gets around fairly well. I urge her to use her cane, because she wobbles, but she insists that she doesn't need it. She bathes and dresses herself, rolls her long hair up in a bun, sets it off with a bright bow, makes her bed, gets her breakfast, feeds her cat, scoops out the kitty litter, and does 3 loads of our laundry each week in addition to her own.
We are blessed.
Nevertheless, for over a year now, it's become increasingly clear that I can no longer leave her alone for hours at a time. Recently, I asked an old neighbor of Mom's from Gibsonia, PA, to spend Friday through Tuesday with Mom while we are in Ohio. Barbara works as an aide in a nursing home. We'll pay her bus fare and the going rate for live-in eldercare.
When I told Mom that we were going away for a long weekend and that Barbara was coming to look after her, she was not pleased. “Look,” she proclaimed, “I lived alone for years, starting in 1962 when your father died, until eight years ago when I (at your insistence) moved down here! I am perfectly capable of staying by myself.”
Yeah, right, I think. Every day you ask me how to unlock the sliding door so that you can let your cat out. You nearly set fire to the house last summer while gabbing on the phone with none other than Barbara. You think someone stole your drapes and replaced them with better ones. You somehow threw away your engagement and wedding rings. Two days ago you wanted to know the name of the other woman who lives here and is married to Phil. At least once a week, you tell me that the washing machine is broken or that the dryer isn't working.
“Well,” I said, “Barbara needs a little vacation. She wants to spend it with you.”
Mom brightened. “Oh, I’m so glad she’ll be getting a rest.”
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Catch Me If You Can
Was Prokofiev really responsible for a composition entitled "Five Pieces for a Runaway Piano?"
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Ring Toss
Two weeks ago Mom decided to go through her jewelry. "I want a jeweler to clean and check my rings."
"I can take them to a jeweler for you," I offered.
"No, not you," said she. "I'll ask Margo. She'll know a jeweler that I can trust."
Margo is our daughter.
"I can't find that good cameo ring," she added, matter-of-factly.
The next day (Thursday) I found her sitting on her bed combing worriedly through a pile of necklaces. "I can't find my wedding and engagement rings," she said. "I know I put them back in that little box, but they're not there." She hasn't worn her rings for years. It's hard for her to push them past her enlarged knuckle, and once they're on, they feel too loose. I looked around near the dresser where the "little box" is kept and found the "good cameo" under her bedside table.
Thursday evening, Friday, and Saturday we searched for the missing rings. The engagement ring was a large emerald set off by diamonds; the wedding band had a row of diamonds. We went through drawers, we moved furniture, we lifted cushions, we took the bed apart, we went through pockets. Have you any idea how many wadded-up Kleenexes old ladies carry around in their pockets? I pulled apart stacks of wadded-up Kleenex and even dissected clumps of kitty litter. We delayed putting a weeks' worth of trash out so that I could go through that.
The Sunday after the rings first went missing Mom told our daughter that she had lost them on Saturday. She added that she had wrapped them in white paper and secured them with a rubber band before returning them to their box.
She hasn't accused me of stealing them. Yet.
She is sure that they will turn up because "they have to be in here somewhere." I hope she is right.
"I can take them to a jeweler for you," I offered.
"No, not you," said she. "I'll ask Margo. She'll know a jeweler that I can trust."
Margo is our daughter.
"I can't find that good cameo ring," she added, matter-of-factly.
The next day (Thursday) I found her sitting on her bed combing worriedly through a pile of necklaces. "I can't find my wedding and engagement rings," she said. "I know I put them back in that little box, but they're not there." She hasn't worn her rings for years. It's hard for her to push them past her enlarged knuckle, and once they're on, they feel too loose. I looked around near the dresser where the "little box" is kept and found the "good cameo" under her bedside table.
Thursday evening, Friday, and Saturday we searched for the missing rings. The engagement ring was a large emerald set off by diamonds; the wedding band had a row of diamonds. We went through drawers, we moved furniture, we lifted cushions, we took the bed apart, we went through pockets. Have you any idea how many wadded-up Kleenexes old ladies carry around in their pockets? I pulled apart stacks of wadded-up Kleenex and even dissected clumps of kitty litter. We delayed putting a weeks' worth of trash out so that I could go through that.
The Sunday after the rings first went missing Mom told our daughter that she had lost them on Saturday. She added that she had wrapped them in white paper and secured them with a rubber band before returning them to their box.
She hasn't accused me of stealing them. Yet.
She is sure that they will turn up because "they have to be in here somewhere." I hope she is right.
Kitchen Lizard
He said, "Have you seen the kitchen lizard?"
What he REALLY said was, "Have you seen the kitchen scissors?"
What he REALLY said was, "Have you seen the kitchen scissors?"
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