So we got everything moved over into my mom's room last night. Danny came over and moved the heavy stuff out of my room and my dad's office, as the men who are laying down the new flooring came early this morning. My mother had to trapse him into her bedroom where I was sleeping to look at the floor in her closet. I hid under the blanket and felt ridiculous. She couldn't wait until I got up and got dressed - no. She had to do it right at that moment. I felt like an idiot, as I was still attached to my CPAP machine, so the hose was sticking out from under the blanket. Sometimes, I have no idea what she's thinking.
My stuff is all in my mom's room, so I slept in her bed last night. It was very weird. First of all, she takes Tylenol PM to go to sleep because her doctor told her not to take the sleeping pill but it was ok to take Tylenol PM, which I think is really stupid. It takes about 3 hours for the pill to kick in (actually, I don't think it works; I think she just thinks it works). In the meantime, she doesn't stop moving her legs. The bed kept moving and it was getting a little irritating but I didn't say anything. Who am I to talk? I'm a huge restless sleeper. In fact, for some reason, I ended up sideways in the bed last night. In my sleep, I kept wondering why my legs were hanging over the end of the bed; I figured I just scooted down to the end. But no - I had turned sideways and was head to head with my mom who was also sleeping but was confused as to why she kept bumping into me. Finally, I opened my eyes and I realized what I had done and quickly turned around and went back to sleep. It was very weird. I have no idea what I was dreaming about, but it must have been pretty active to find me sideways in the bed.
When I was a little girl, I would sleepwalk into my closet, then cry when I didn't know where I was or how I got there. My dad would come and rescue me after he figured out where I was. Another time, I got into the bathtub and turned the water on because I was going to take a bath. The problem was that I had my pajamas on and was sleepwalking. Thank God I don't do that anymore - surfing in bed is bad enough. When Shanti sleeps with me, I am conscious that she is next to me so I don't toss and turn so much - but she does enough for the both of us. When Rocky slept with me, he was so big that it prevented me from moving around a lot too. But when Kita slept with me, I was real careful not to squish her as I tossed and turned. One time, she let out a squeal because I missed and landed on her as I turned. After that I was very conscious of her tiny little body sleeping right next to me. There's something peaceful about having a "being" sleeping right next to you, whether it be your spouse, a pet or a child. I find it very comforting.
My mother, however, is not the "being" I am talking about. As long as she stays on her side of the bed, I'll try harder to stay on my side, and we'll be fine. It's a king size bed, so it shouldn't be a problem. She also talks in her sleep. I'm writing this now and looking at her sleeping and she just said something but I couldn't hear what she said. Now I know that if I didn't have that CPAP machine crammed up my nose, I would probably be talking as well. We would both be having conversations to each other in our sleep. It's all very bizarre. We happened to take a nap at the same time today and she yelled out in her sleep, saying, "No, no, no, no, no!" I tapped her on her shoulder and said, "Mom, you're dreaming." She woke up for a minute then went back to sleep. She sounded so desperate and it really bothered me. I guess we're all guarded for the most part when we talk and share things with others - but when you're sleeping and you do that, I think it comes out of a real place baring no facade, and it is real, raw emotion.
Well, I'm really tired now and I've been putting it off, but I need to go to bed. She's still squirming around so she must keep waking up, but hopefully she will be fast asleep soon. Oh well; hopefully, I will sleep vertically tonight....
Monday, March 26, 2012
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Beds
Lately, my dad has been barking a lot. My mother will ask him a question and he will bark back, "WHAT?" like it was a real bother to answer her. I don't know what his problem is but I again told him that, "No one wants to deal with your attitude." Before he could get up and hit me, I left the room and stayed in my bedroom until he cooled off. He's always angry about one thing or the other. The other night we got into a heated argument and he yelled back at me and said, "Because I caaaaan't saaaaaaaaayyy noooooooo!!" in a low, demonic sounding voice, which reminded me of the girl who was possessed in that one movie, which I never saw. Apparently, her head turned all the way around, and I was waiting for that to happen with my dad, but it didn't. I laughed about it last night with Danny because it was so over-dramatic. Sometimes my dad reminds me of his mother, my grandmother Esther, who was very dramatic. She was the one who passed out onto the living room floor when she found out I was pregnant with a BLACK, NON-JEWISH man.
Last night I thought I would please my dad and made him one of his favorite dishes, Cabbage Borsht (soup). I found the recipe online and he really liked it. His aunt and his mother used to make this when he was a boy. Apparently it turned out good because he really liked it. My mom seemed to enjoy it too, however I could only eat one bowl. It was really different, but definitely not for my taste buds. My mom froze the leftovers so they can have it again. There are only a few Jewish foods that I do like, and this is not one of them.
Leah, Parris and Ashanti are coming down here next week to live with us until they get on their feet. Parris has been laid off now for a few months and it's hard to keep up with all the bills on unemployment comp. I'm happy - I will have them and of course, my Shanti down here, and I will enjoy that. I told Danny that we probably will be making lots of trips to his house to relieve some of the tension that will undoubtedly be around here. Hopefully, my dad will behave himself and the tension will be minimal, but that's highly unlikely. Thank God there is a swimming pool we can all retreat to, and the water should be getting warmer enough to swim any day now.
Today, my mom and I have to empty my dad's office and my bedroom because they are getting new flooring in both rooms on Monday. Danny is coming over later to move the heavy stuff. My mom is already scooting around getting things done and keeps checking on me to "get going." Remember, Saturdays are work days - not relaxation days. This has to be done, however, and I won't have time to do it tomorrow, so I have to do it today. I will be moving all my "stuff" into my mom's room to clear it out for my kids to stay in. So we'll be schlepping stuff to and fro all day.
I'll be sharing my mom's king size bed, while my kids are here. This should be fun. It's a good thing we have been getting along really well lately. But as I said before, I am a very restless sleeper, so I hope I don't end up curled next to her - that would be just weird. Hopefully, I'll stay on my side of the bed and sleep at the edge. If I fall, it's not that far down. She has little stuffed animals on her bed, so I will put them between us for a barrier. And when Shanti wants to sleep with me, I will gladly have her, so it's an even better barrier. I miss sleeping with her. I hate sleeping alone, with the exception of sleeping with my mom. When all three of my kids were born, they all slept with me until a few years in age. One took longer to wean than the others, and slept with me for a long time. That child also nursed for the longest and in fact, would stand up saying to me, in public as well, "Ninny, mommy, ninny!" I, of course, obliged, though not in public. I only did that when my oldest was born because that was the hip thing to do in the 70's. I'm sure I freaked people out, but I didn't care, being the rebel that I was.
Anyway, this should be an interesting next several months. I look forward to having my kids and granddaughter here with me. And I think Shanti will be good for my dad to soften him a little. She's a very loving child and could melt the hardest heart just by looking at you. She will want him to go outside and sit with her by the pool, which will be good for him to get outside for a change. I think all in all, it will be fine. That is, if I can stay on my side of the bed...
Last night I thought I would please my dad and made him one of his favorite dishes, Cabbage Borsht (soup). I found the recipe online and he really liked it. His aunt and his mother used to make this when he was a boy. Apparently it turned out good because he really liked it. My mom seemed to enjoy it too, however I could only eat one bowl. It was really different, but definitely not for my taste buds. My mom froze the leftovers so they can have it again. There are only a few Jewish foods that I do like, and this is not one of them.
Leah, Parris and Ashanti are coming down here next week to live with us until they get on their feet. Parris has been laid off now for a few months and it's hard to keep up with all the bills on unemployment comp. I'm happy - I will have them and of course, my Shanti down here, and I will enjoy that. I told Danny that we probably will be making lots of trips to his house to relieve some of the tension that will undoubtedly be around here. Hopefully, my dad will behave himself and the tension will be minimal, but that's highly unlikely. Thank God there is a swimming pool we can all retreat to, and the water should be getting warmer enough to swim any day now.
Today, my mom and I have to empty my dad's office and my bedroom because they are getting new flooring in both rooms on Monday. Danny is coming over later to move the heavy stuff. My mom is already scooting around getting things done and keeps checking on me to "get going." Remember, Saturdays are work days - not relaxation days. This has to be done, however, and I won't have time to do it tomorrow, so I have to do it today. I will be moving all my "stuff" into my mom's room to clear it out for my kids to stay in. So we'll be schlepping stuff to and fro all day.
I'll be sharing my mom's king size bed, while my kids are here. This should be fun. It's a good thing we have been getting along really well lately. But as I said before, I am a very restless sleeper, so I hope I don't end up curled next to her - that would be just weird. Hopefully, I'll stay on my side of the bed and sleep at the edge. If I fall, it's not that far down. She has little stuffed animals on her bed, so I will put them between us for a barrier. And when Shanti wants to sleep with me, I will gladly have her, so it's an even better barrier. I miss sleeping with her. I hate sleeping alone, with the exception of sleeping with my mom. When all three of my kids were born, they all slept with me until a few years in age. One took longer to wean than the others, and slept with me for a long time. That child also nursed for the longest and in fact, would stand up saying to me, in public as well, "Ninny, mommy, ninny!" I, of course, obliged, though not in public. I only did that when my oldest was born because that was the hip thing to do in the 70's. I'm sure I freaked people out, but I didn't care, being the rebel that I was.
Anyway, this should be an interesting next several months. I look forward to having my kids and granddaughter here with me. And I think Shanti will be good for my dad to soften him a little. She's a very loving child and could melt the hardest heart just by looking at you. She will want him to go outside and sit with her by the pool, which will be good for him to get outside for a change. I think all in all, it will be fine. That is, if I can stay on my side of the bed...
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Dog Sitting
I've just now recovered from my "weekend with the dogs." It was actually fun talking to non-human beings and swimming in my brother's pool. However, his house is so big, that it exhausted me to go from one end to the other, just to let the dogs out.
Now these dogs all have their own little personalities. "Keeper" (my favorite) is a giant Mastiff and so gentle and slow. She kind of just meanders around and plunks down with a big grunt like she's exhausted. She snores quite loud, drools and looks at you with pitiful, beautiful eyes. I just couldn't help it - I had to give her more cookies.
"Finnegan" is a beautiful male Collie that actually looks like Lassie. He's got so much fur that a little dog could get lost in it. Finnegan was also extremely gentle and meandered around, plopping down whenever meandering became too much. He would go out at night and would not come back, which was frustrating to me. I would let him out and he would go running and barking his head off and sometimes did not come back until the next morning. That's really not a problem, because Danny lives on several acres of land and his neighbors are far enough away. Finnegan's nose was long and funny, like a beak, and so I had a hard time kissing him -- so I just pet him on the head.
"Emma" is Danny's daughter's dog and is a Shitzu. She's a very cool dog, kind of funny looking with her teeth sticking out like she has buck teeth, but I think that's the way they all look. She is a small, compact dog, but is actually the oldest and the leader of the pack. If she starts barking, then one by one, they all follow suit. Finnegan and Keeper bark from their lying position, unless it is a real danger, like someone ringing the doorbell, then they all bark like maniacs until the danger is over. The two Chihuaha's never get when the danger is over, however. They continue to bark and bark and bark long after everyone else is quiet. They must just like to hear themselves bark, much like some people I know...
"Drover" and "Lady" are the two Chiuhaha's that bark and run hand in hand, like lovers. Drover warmed up to me quickly, but Lady took a few days before she would carefully let me pet her. By the time I left, she was my friend and I felt like I actually accomplished something.
Now these dogs are wonderful, loving, loyal and beautiful except for one bad habit: waking me up at 4 am to go potty. I didn't know I could yell at them to "shut up and go back to sleep," until my brother came home and told me. So, like the dutiful dogsitter that I was, I walked to the other end of the house every morning around 4 am and let the dogs outside to do their thing. I sat at the dining room table, nodding off until I heard the little pitter patter of their feet coming back to the door. So, one by one (and I counted them each time), they came back except for Emma and Finnegan, who at 4:00 in the morning, were barking their heads off. It's dark at that hour and I kept thinking the neighbors are going to kill me, but they never did come over to complain. If they didn't come back when I called, I closed the door, pretending they didn't live there and went back to sleep.
Now going to sleep in my brother's bed is quite a feat indeed. It is almost as high as I am tall and either you have to high jump with one of those sticks to get onto it or you have to use the doggy stairs at the end of the bed. I chose the latter as I was never good at high jump. Climbing the stairs, I used my cane to balance, and I felt like a tightrope walker. When I got to the top, I threw my cane on the bed and awkwardly bounced onto it, rolling over to the pillow end. It was all very dramatic and I'm surprised that I didn't break my neck. Getting out of the bed was relatively easy: I just slid down it like a slide until I landed on my feet. I don't understand why people have such high beds. There's probably some useful thing about it, but I prefer ones that I can sit on the edge while my feet are able to touch the floor. Subconsciously, all night I was very aware of the edge of the bed. I imagined falling off of the side and breaking a bodily part, as the floor is all tile. Then I would have to crawl or slide to my phone which was plugged in the kitchen, on the other side of the house. Thank God I never fell. Imagining it was bad enough.
I had an enjoyable time with these interesting creatures and got to know them fairly well. I miss having a dog and one of these days I'm going to look into getting another one. Until then, I'll just have to visit Danny more often and play with his. As long as I don't have to wake up at 4 in the morning, I'm cool.
Now these dogs all have their own little personalities. "Keeper" (my favorite) is a giant Mastiff and so gentle and slow. She kind of just meanders around and plunks down with a big grunt like she's exhausted. She snores quite loud, drools and looks at you with pitiful, beautiful eyes. I just couldn't help it - I had to give her more cookies.
"Finnegan" is a beautiful male Collie that actually looks like Lassie. He's got so much fur that a little dog could get lost in it. Finnegan was also extremely gentle and meandered around, plopping down whenever meandering became too much. He would go out at night and would not come back, which was frustrating to me. I would let him out and he would go running and barking his head off and sometimes did not come back until the next morning. That's really not a problem, because Danny lives on several acres of land and his neighbors are far enough away. Finnegan's nose was long and funny, like a beak, and so I had a hard time kissing him -- so I just pet him on the head.
"Emma" is Danny's daughter's dog and is a Shitzu. She's a very cool dog, kind of funny looking with her teeth sticking out like she has buck teeth, but I think that's the way they all look. She is a small, compact dog, but is actually the oldest and the leader of the pack. If she starts barking, then one by one, they all follow suit. Finnegan and Keeper bark from their lying position, unless it is a real danger, like someone ringing the doorbell, then they all bark like maniacs until the danger is over. The two Chihuaha's never get when the danger is over, however. They continue to bark and bark and bark long after everyone else is quiet. They must just like to hear themselves bark, much like some people I know...
"Drover" and "Lady" are the two Chiuhaha's that bark and run hand in hand, like lovers. Drover warmed up to me quickly, but Lady took a few days before she would carefully let me pet her. By the time I left, she was my friend and I felt like I actually accomplished something.
Now these dogs are wonderful, loving, loyal and beautiful except for one bad habit: waking me up at 4 am to go potty. I didn't know I could yell at them to "shut up and go back to sleep," until my brother came home and told me. So, like the dutiful dogsitter that I was, I walked to the other end of the house every morning around 4 am and let the dogs outside to do their thing. I sat at the dining room table, nodding off until I heard the little pitter patter of their feet coming back to the door. So, one by one (and I counted them each time), they came back except for Emma and Finnegan, who at 4:00 in the morning, were barking their heads off. It's dark at that hour and I kept thinking the neighbors are going to kill me, but they never did come over to complain. If they didn't come back when I called, I closed the door, pretending they didn't live there and went back to sleep.
Now going to sleep in my brother's bed is quite a feat indeed. It is almost as high as I am tall and either you have to high jump with one of those sticks to get onto it or you have to use the doggy stairs at the end of the bed. I chose the latter as I was never good at high jump. Climbing the stairs, I used my cane to balance, and I felt like a tightrope walker. When I got to the top, I threw my cane on the bed and awkwardly bounced onto it, rolling over to the pillow end. It was all very dramatic and I'm surprised that I didn't break my neck. Getting out of the bed was relatively easy: I just slid down it like a slide until I landed on my feet. I don't understand why people have such high beds. There's probably some useful thing about it, but I prefer ones that I can sit on the edge while my feet are able to touch the floor. Subconsciously, all night I was very aware of the edge of the bed. I imagined falling off of the side and breaking a bodily part, as the floor is all tile. Then I would have to crawl or slide to my phone which was plugged in the kitchen, on the other side of the house. Thank God I never fell. Imagining it was bad enough.
I had an enjoyable time with these interesting creatures and got to know them fairly well. I miss having a dog and one of these days I'm going to look into getting another one. Until then, I'll just have to visit Danny more often and play with his. As long as I don't have to wake up at 4 in the morning, I'm cool.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Trucks
It was a good day today: I was able to get my dad out of the house and he even enjoyed himself eventually. He's been wanting to go to the national cemetary in Sarasota, where veterans and their wives have the benefit of a free burial lot and tombstone. He's been wanting to do this for months but kept cancelling and I finally just said that we're going. When we started out, he was in a really bad mood and barked at my mom and I said, "Man, you're in a bad mood." He said, "Yeah, I am" slamming the door closed. I said, "Well, nobody wants to hear that mess..." and he interupted me and said, "Sharrooonnn....." as his voice escalated into a dramatic thunder of anger and I put my hand up and said, "Whatever..." and stopped because I'm still scared of this guy. If looks could kill, his would definitely had wiped me out right then and there in the car. He wanted to go check out this cemetary, and yet he didn't. He admitted later on in the drive that he was superstitious, and I said, "Well, I'm not, so we're going." I'm not sure what he meant by being superstitious - maybe if he went to visit a cemetary, he would die the next day - I really don't know. But he's been wanting to do this so I just insisted it would be today.
It was a nice cemetary, as far as cemetaries go. The tombstones are all the same and lined up in straight order. We spoke to the people in the office and they gave my parents literature and it was all very simple. They didn't even have to do anything beforehand. All that happens, is that the funeral home gets a copy of my dad's discharge papers and they contact the cemetary and they take it from there. I think it's a great benefit for veterans and they have these cemetaries all over the country. My parents had already "bought" plots to be in a Jewish cemetary, and I told them to just sell the plots and go here. They decided they would donate them to someone who needed them who were not in a position to purchase them. I thought that was a better idea yet. The whole ordeal is very surrealistic, although I know it needs to be taken care of. You talk to and about them as if they have already died and that's just plain weird. My grandmother had planned a "picnic" at a park and invited my parents there and they had no idea it was a cemetary park until they got there. My grandmother thought it would be "nice" to have a picnic in the cemetary and show my parents where she decided to be buried. For this and many other reasons, I want to be cremated.
After our excursion to the cemetary, we stopped and had dinner at a restaurant. The three of us walked slowly into the restaurant: my parents, each with their walkers, and me with my cane. What a sight we must be. The food was good and we wasted time because we weren't due to my brother's until 6:00. After dinner, my father tried to locate the restroom and almost ended up in the kitchen. I was behind him yelling, "Go to the next hall and turn left, dad. No, the next hall!" He has double vision and can hardly see so I offered to lead the way, but no, of course he could do it himself. I don't know how he managed to leave the restroom and find my mom, but he did. I'm sure he probably knocked into people along the way, but he just keeps barreling through like a bull. He has tunnel vision and won't stop until he gets to his destination. He does the same thing in the house, so you have to get out of the way quickly if he's coming by, or he might just run you over.
We went to Danny's house because I am watching his dogs while he's gone this weekend and he needed to show me the ropes on how to take care of his 5 dogs. He has a giant Mastiff, a beautiful Collie, 2 yippee Chiuhaua's, which I don't know how to spell, and a Shitzu, which could also be wrong. He showed me where to find everything and my parents went home in their car, and I took his truck back to their house and will return tomorrow after he leaves. The truck reminded me of when my oldest son was just a little boy, probably about 2 or 3 and he couldn't say his "TR's" but he said "F" instead. He loved trucks and one day as we were driving somewhere, I was sitting in the front with my dad and Jason was in the back with my mom and he saw a really big truck and kept yelling, "Look mama, a _uck, a _uck!" My dad, thinking the child was doing this on purpose, yelled at me and told me to shut him up. I just looked at him like he was crazy and said, "Well, how am I supposed to do that??" Poor Jas - it took him a year or two until he could pronounce the "TR" sound...
His truck is a gigantic truck, and it is very difficult to get into. First I have to throw my purse and cane in the passenger seat, then I have to hold onto the grabber thing, pull one foot up, then the other one, all the while balancing on this little step thing next to the door. One false move, and I would quickly be in a heap on the ground. It must look quite clumsy and probably comical as I swing myself into the seat, thanking God that I actually made it. Getting out is just as tricky, as I slide very slowly down to the ground until I am in a standing position. He told me that I can use the truck as much as I want. However, after I make it to his house, it will be parked there until he comes home, unless there is a dire emergency and I have to leave. I can only hope that doesn't happen.
It was a nice cemetary, as far as cemetaries go. The tombstones are all the same and lined up in straight order. We spoke to the people in the office and they gave my parents literature and it was all very simple. They didn't even have to do anything beforehand. All that happens, is that the funeral home gets a copy of my dad's discharge papers and they contact the cemetary and they take it from there. I think it's a great benefit for veterans and they have these cemetaries all over the country. My parents had already "bought" plots to be in a Jewish cemetary, and I told them to just sell the plots and go here. They decided they would donate them to someone who needed them who were not in a position to purchase them. I thought that was a better idea yet. The whole ordeal is very surrealistic, although I know it needs to be taken care of. You talk to and about them as if they have already died and that's just plain weird. My grandmother had planned a "picnic" at a park and invited my parents there and they had no idea it was a cemetary park until they got there. My grandmother thought it would be "nice" to have a picnic in the cemetary and show my parents where she decided to be buried. For this and many other reasons, I want to be cremated.
After our excursion to the cemetary, we stopped and had dinner at a restaurant. The three of us walked slowly into the restaurant: my parents, each with their walkers, and me with my cane. What a sight we must be. The food was good and we wasted time because we weren't due to my brother's until 6:00. After dinner, my father tried to locate the restroom and almost ended up in the kitchen. I was behind him yelling, "Go to the next hall and turn left, dad. No, the next hall!" He has double vision and can hardly see so I offered to lead the way, but no, of course he could do it himself. I don't know how he managed to leave the restroom and find my mom, but he did. I'm sure he probably knocked into people along the way, but he just keeps barreling through like a bull. He has tunnel vision and won't stop until he gets to his destination. He does the same thing in the house, so you have to get out of the way quickly if he's coming by, or he might just run you over.
We went to Danny's house because I am watching his dogs while he's gone this weekend and he needed to show me the ropes on how to take care of his 5 dogs. He has a giant Mastiff, a beautiful Collie, 2 yippee Chiuhaua's, which I don't know how to spell, and a Shitzu, which could also be wrong. He showed me where to find everything and my parents went home in their car, and I took his truck back to their house and will return tomorrow after he leaves. The truck reminded me of when my oldest son was just a little boy, probably about 2 or 3 and he couldn't say his "TR's" but he said "F" instead. He loved trucks and one day as we were driving somewhere, I was sitting in the front with my dad and Jason was in the back with my mom and he saw a really big truck and kept yelling, "Look mama, a _uck, a _uck!" My dad, thinking the child was doing this on purpose, yelled at me and told me to shut him up. I just looked at him like he was crazy and said, "Well, how am I supposed to do that??" Poor Jas - it took him a year or two until he could pronounce the "TR" sound...
His truck is a gigantic truck, and it is very difficult to get into. First I have to throw my purse and cane in the passenger seat, then I have to hold onto the grabber thing, pull one foot up, then the other one, all the while balancing on this little step thing next to the door. One false move, and I would quickly be in a heap on the ground. It must look quite clumsy and probably comical as I swing myself into the seat, thanking God that I actually made it. Getting out is just as tricky, as I slide very slowly down to the ground until I am in a standing position. He told me that I can use the truck as much as I want. However, after I make it to his house, it will be parked there until he comes home, unless there is a dire emergency and I have to leave. I can only hope that doesn't happen.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Mistakes
Sometimes a simple conversation like the one I had the other day, jars me back into the past and reminds me of all the mistakes I've made, as well as the ones I didn't realize I made. Some mistakes are done and over with and affect no one but me. And then there are those that are never over with, but lie in the hearts and minds of others. I wish that I could somehow erase all those hurts I have caused others, as well as the hurts that were caused to me, but of course, I can't. Maybe that's why most people as they age become wiser - ever learning over mistakes that have been made. It's a constant growing process that is many times painful along the way, yet we keep plodding on. There is no other option but to keep learning, growing and changing. It becomes worthwhile if we do actually change. It's pointless if we don't. I suspect that if and when I reach a ripe old age, I will finally stop making mistakes and live the rest of my days without hurting or being hurt. But then, who knows.... I may just not live that long...
I'm back in Florida and have to say that I had a good time in Madison with my friends and family. I got a lot of paperwork and appointments taken care of so I feel good about that. And of course I got to see my children and grandchildren and that makes me very happy indeed. Several weeks ago, I entered into this contest to win a home and a car and lots of money on HGTV, and I was so hoping to win it. It's in Utah, but it's so big that my children, grandchildren and parents could all come and live with me and we would live happily ever after. I thought, so what if it is a 1 in 20 million chance to win? I could be that 1! Well, of course it was nice day dreaming, but the only thing I've ever won was through a grocery store a long time ago, and it was a water board. I had no idea how to use it, so I sold it. When the representative called me from the store and told me that I had won the water board, I said, "Yeah, right. Who is this really? Who put you up to this?" He said, "Uh, maam, this is Bob and I'm the store manager for Copps and you really did win this water board." Then I probably turned 10 shades of red because I remembered putting my name in the box at the store. When I went to pick the thing up at the store the next day, it wouldn't fit in the car - it had to hang out the window. So I drove home with this contraption hanging out of my car window and schlepping it into the house. "Now what do I do with this?" I thought. I really had no idea how to use it, but since "Bob" told me it was worth $500, I put an ad in the paper and sold it for a little less. That was my one and only win that I can remember.
For some reason it reminds me of "Queen for a Day," which was a television show back in the 50's and 60's. I remember watching it as a little girl and being enthralled by it. For those of you who are not familiar, this is how the show went: There were several ladies who came on the show and each told the announcer their sad story of woe. Each story was worse than the other and there was this arrow-thing, an applause meter, that moved from low to high when the studio audience clapped. So the more dramatic the story, the more the audience clapped and the arrow would move, sometimes all the way to the other side of the board. Well, after all the ladies told their stories, and after the arrow did it's thing, the announcer would have the ladies stand on the stage and announce the winner. The announcer named the winner and brought out a royal crown, a dozen roses and royal robe for the "Queen for a Day" to wear, as "Pomp and Circumstances" played. She of course was crying the whole time and thanking everyone. She won whatever the need was for her family, like a refrigerator or stove or just cash. Anyway, like I said, I've never won anything worthwhile.
Going back to the beginning about mistakes - I made a mistake. It's not, "pointless if we don't change." It's tragic if we don't.
I'm back in Florida and have to say that I had a good time in Madison with my friends and family. I got a lot of paperwork and appointments taken care of so I feel good about that. And of course I got to see my children and grandchildren and that makes me very happy indeed. Several weeks ago, I entered into this contest to win a home and a car and lots of money on HGTV, and I was so hoping to win it. It's in Utah, but it's so big that my children, grandchildren and parents could all come and live with me and we would live happily ever after. I thought, so what if it is a 1 in 20 million chance to win? I could be that 1! Well, of course it was nice day dreaming, but the only thing I've ever won was through a grocery store a long time ago, and it was a water board. I had no idea how to use it, so I sold it. When the representative called me from the store and told me that I had won the water board, I said, "Yeah, right. Who is this really? Who put you up to this?" He said, "Uh, maam, this is Bob and I'm the store manager for Copps and you really did win this water board." Then I probably turned 10 shades of red because I remembered putting my name in the box at the store. When I went to pick the thing up at the store the next day, it wouldn't fit in the car - it had to hang out the window. So I drove home with this contraption hanging out of my car window and schlepping it into the house. "Now what do I do with this?" I thought. I really had no idea how to use it, but since "Bob" told me it was worth $500, I put an ad in the paper and sold it for a little less. That was my one and only win that I can remember.
For some reason it reminds me of "Queen for a Day," which was a television show back in the 50's and 60's. I remember watching it as a little girl and being enthralled by it. For those of you who are not familiar, this is how the show went: There were several ladies who came on the show and each told the announcer their sad story of woe. Each story was worse than the other and there was this arrow-thing, an applause meter, that moved from low to high when the studio audience clapped. So the more dramatic the story, the more the audience clapped and the arrow would move, sometimes all the way to the other side of the board. Well, after all the ladies told their stories, and after the arrow did it's thing, the announcer would have the ladies stand on the stage and announce the winner. The announcer named the winner and brought out a royal crown, a dozen roses and royal robe for the "Queen for a Day" to wear, as "Pomp and Circumstances" played. She of course was crying the whole time and thanking everyone. She won whatever the need was for her family, like a refrigerator or stove or just cash. Anyway, like I said, I've never won anything worthwhile.
Going back to the beginning about mistakes - I made a mistake. It's not, "pointless if we don't change." It's tragic if we don't.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Tossing and Turning
For the most part, my dad says he likes my cooking, which I am grateful for because he can be a very picky eater. Quietly, I think this hurts my mom, which I feel equally as bad for. And because my mom has always been a very passive-aggressive person, things come out of her mouth that prove what is in her heart in an indirect sort of way. But the other night was different - and odd, for sure, when I couldn't figure out the recipe on something and she stood in the kitchen and said in a sing-songy way, "She can't figure out what she's dooooinggg, na na na na na na...." I pretended like I ignored it because I'm sure it was the dementia talking. It felt weird coming from my mother, not another kid in third grade. And so every time my dad compliments me on dinner, I cringe and feel embarrassed for my mom. What a position to be in. Frankly, I don't know how he can taste anything with all the BBQ sauce he dumps on his food. Because of that, I really shouldn't take it as a compliment...
Little by little, my mom seems to be creeping into the dark hole of dementia. It bothers me a lot because I remember her mother not remembering who she was toward the end of her life. She had Alzheimer's and I don't have a clue what the difference is between that and Dementia, but it can't be that big of a difference. I don't think I could handle it if my mom gradually didn't know who I was. I'm getting teary-eyed just writing about it. My mom and I have had a rocky relationship as long as I can remember, but the older I get, the more I love her. In some ways, I feel like being down here helping them is my "pentance" for the way I've treated them when I was younger, especially in my teenage years. At dinner one night, my mom was describing to my dad and I that when I was in the "hospital" she would come 3 times a week to do my laundry and she would see me behind locked doors but couldn't talk to me because of the rules. She would have to drive a long way home (we lived on the north side and the hospital was on the south side) and it wasn't until she got into her bedroom and sat on her bed, that she would cry. I didn't know that - how could I have known that? And being the self-centered teenager that I was, I never bothered to ask her how she was doing.
That leads me to something that I find repulsive and arrogant and usually comes from young women, as well as teenage girls. I understand it for the most part from teenagers, but not from young (or older) women. I cruise through Facebook almost daily and every now and then I read a comment made by the person whose profile it is, that someone just told her she was pretty, or talented or whatever it is that exalts herself. That really bugs me. Not just because the Bible says, "Let another praise ye," but aren't we supposed to outgrow that self-centeredness in adulthood? Well, I think so. Another thing that bugs me, as long as I am on the subject, are those folks who feel the need to "preach" to other folks. Telling others how to live, what to do and what not to do, condemning others and bringing all sorts of drama on there which, I think, is totally inappropriate. I don't understand either way of thinking and when I don't understand something, it bugs me. I'm tempted to disconnect my account and be done with it, but for some reason, I haven't done that. I guess I'm nosy and I like to see what others are up to, their pictures and keeping in contact with long, lost friends. So I guess I'll be on there yet awhile and try to be more tolerant of those who get on my nerves. A lesson in tolerance, I guess. Lord knows I need lots of lessons on different topics...
So I'm leaving today for Madison for 12 days and looking forward to seeing my grandchildren and children. I think I have an appointment every day I'm there, so I will be kept busy. My favorite part is sleeping with Ashanti and feeling her little toes and knees banging against me as she tosses and turns. She takes after me in that respect, as I am a very restless sleeper. But you know, I was told that people who toss and turn in their sleep are highly creative, artistic and brilliant individuals.
Ha - just kidding..... :)
Little by little, my mom seems to be creeping into the dark hole of dementia. It bothers me a lot because I remember her mother not remembering who she was toward the end of her life. She had Alzheimer's and I don't have a clue what the difference is between that and Dementia, but it can't be that big of a difference. I don't think I could handle it if my mom gradually didn't know who I was. I'm getting teary-eyed just writing about it. My mom and I have had a rocky relationship as long as I can remember, but the older I get, the more I love her. In some ways, I feel like being down here helping them is my "pentance" for the way I've treated them when I was younger, especially in my teenage years. At dinner one night, my mom was describing to my dad and I that when I was in the "hospital" she would come 3 times a week to do my laundry and she would see me behind locked doors but couldn't talk to me because of the rules. She would have to drive a long way home (we lived on the north side and the hospital was on the south side) and it wasn't until she got into her bedroom and sat on her bed, that she would cry. I didn't know that - how could I have known that? And being the self-centered teenager that I was, I never bothered to ask her how she was doing.
That leads me to something that I find repulsive and arrogant and usually comes from young women, as well as teenage girls. I understand it for the most part from teenagers, but not from young (or older) women. I cruise through Facebook almost daily and every now and then I read a comment made by the person whose profile it is, that someone just told her she was pretty, or talented or whatever it is that exalts herself. That really bugs me. Not just because the Bible says, "Let another praise ye," but aren't we supposed to outgrow that self-centeredness in adulthood? Well, I think so. Another thing that bugs me, as long as I am on the subject, are those folks who feel the need to "preach" to other folks. Telling others how to live, what to do and what not to do, condemning others and bringing all sorts of drama on there which, I think, is totally inappropriate. I don't understand either way of thinking and when I don't understand something, it bugs me. I'm tempted to disconnect my account and be done with it, but for some reason, I haven't done that. I guess I'm nosy and I like to see what others are up to, their pictures and keeping in contact with long, lost friends. So I guess I'll be on there yet awhile and try to be more tolerant of those who get on my nerves. A lesson in tolerance, I guess. Lord knows I need lots of lessons on different topics...
So I'm leaving today for Madison for 12 days and looking forward to seeing my grandchildren and children. I think I have an appointment every day I'm there, so I will be kept busy. My favorite part is sleeping with Ashanti and feeling her little toes and knees banging against me as she tosses and turns. She takes after me in that respect, as I am a very restless sleeper. But you know, I was told that people who toss and turn in their sleep are highly creative, artistic and brilliant individuals.
Ha - just kidding..... :)
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