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.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
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..... :)
Friday, February 24, 2012
Subway
I made a pan of Tiramisu tonight in honor of Danny coming to dinner tomorrow night. When I was just about done, my mom said she was going out for some subs for dinner. That was around 5:45. I finished cleaning up and just hung out in the kitchen, thinking she would be returning in 20 minutes or so, as it was only a 5 minute drive to any Subway around here. After waiting 45 minutes, I decided to go back in my room and get on the computer to wait. And I waited. And waited. And then it was an hour she was gone and I began to get worried. I tried calling one of the Subways she frequents, but the number was disconnected. I said, "Dad, you know Mom has been gone an hour already?" He said, "Yeah, so what?" I said, "Well, I'm getting worried. It doesn't take an hour to get subs." I thought, who should I call? She didn't have their cell phone on her - she never does, I don't know why they bought it. Should I call the Venice police? What would I say? "Uh, hello...my name is Sharon Johnson and I lost my mom." I can picture them laughing and thinking it was a prank call. But then they would remember this is Venice after all, and most of the people here are old. Out of embarrassment, any young people around here probably dodge questions of where they live, and who can blame them.
Anyway, I decided not to call the police and then I thought of calling the different Subways in town. But then, what would I say to them? "Uh, hi, um, I'm looking for an old lady who uses a walker and goes real slow - did you happen to notice one who came in there tonight?" And just as my father got on the bandwagon and started searching through the phonebook for these numbers, who should walk in, but my mom. She of course came in singing a song and walking slowly. I got up and went out to the kitchen and said, "Where did you go, to China??" "No honey, I went to the Subway off of Jacaranda Boulevard." "Mom," I said, "You've been gone for over an hour. It doesn't take an hour to get subs that are 5 minutes away." "Oh, well, you see there was a long line and one of the people in line offered for me to take their place, but I said, 'Oh, no thank you,' so I just waited like everyone else and....." She went on and on telling me about the other people waiting in line and the workers behind the counter and that one of them didn't have gloves on and a lady in line told him she wouldn't buy anything from him until he put gloves on. This went on and on. I was just happy for her to be home. My imagination takes over when she's supposed to be home and she gets delayed somewhere.
My mom makes friends everywhere she goes. She will talk to everyone and anyone. When the man who cleans the pool is here, she will talk and talk to him and it really aggravates my dad. "He's supposed to be cleaning the pool," he says, and my mom just ignores him and keeps on talking. They are polar opposites, that's for sure. My dad likes sitting in his chair all day watching the stock market and my mom never sits still. She's either doing laundry, folding towels, emptying the dishwasher, tidying her room - something - all the time. When we were kids, we were never allowed to just sit around and watch cartoons on Saturday morning. We had to do chores. My brothers had the easy stuff and I had to do the gross stuff like cleaning bathrooms, floors and ironing. Girl stuff. They got to mow the lawn, take the garbage out, clean their rooms. I hated ironing because it took so long. That was in the days when we had to iron the sheets and that took forever. Although that was easier than my father's shirts. I hated doing those because of the buttons and you had to use spray starch. When we were done with our chores, we could go outside and play, but very seldom - only if it was raining or nasty outside - were we allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons.
Tomorrow is Saturday and maybe after I wake up, I'll go in the den, turn the TV on and watch cartoons, just to see what mom will say. That would be pretty funny, but I probably won't, because cartoons just don't hold the same thrill for me than they used to.
Anyway, I decided not to call the police and then I thought of calling the different Subways in town. But then, what would I say to them? "Uh, hi, um, I'm looking for an old lady who uses a walker and goes real slow - did you happen to notice one who came in there tonight?" And just as my father got on the bandwagon and started searching through the phonebook for these numbers, who should walk in, but my mom. She of course came in singing a song and walking slowly. I got up and went out to the kitchen and said, "Where did you go, to China??" "No honey, I went to the Subway off of Jacaranda Boulevard." "Mom," I said, "You've been gone for over an hour. It doesn't take an hour to get subs that are 5 minutes away." "Oh, well, you see there was a long line and one of the people in line offered for me to take their place, but I said, 'Oh, no thank you,' so I just waited like everyone else and....." She went on and on telling me about the other people waiting in line and the workers behind the counter and that one of them didn't have gloves on and a lady in line told him she wouldn't buy anything from him until he put gloves on. This went on and on. I was just happy for her to be home. My imagination takes over when she's supposed to be home and she gets delayed somewhere.
My mom makes friends everywhere she goes. She will talk to everyone and anyone. When the man who cleans the pool is here, she will talk and talk to him and it really aggravates my dad. "He's supposed to be cleaning the pool," he says, and my mom just ignores him and keeps on talking. They are polar opposites, that's for sure. My dad likes sitting in his chair all day watching the stock market and my mom never sits still. She's either doing laundry, folding towels, emptying the dishwasher, tidying her room - something - all the time. When we were kids, we were never allowed to just sit around and watch cartoons on Saturday morning. We had to do chores. My brothers had the easy stuff and I had to do the gross stuff like cleaning bathrooms, floors and ironing. Girl stuff. They got to mow the lawn, take the garbage out, clean their rooms. I hated ironing because it took so long. That was in the days when we had to iron the sheets and that took forever. Although that was easier than my father's shirts. I hated doing those because of the buttons and you had to use spray starch. When we were done with our chores, we could go outside and play, but very seldom - only if it was raining or nasty outside - were we allowed to watch Saturday morning cartoons.
Tomorrow is Saturday and maybe after I wake up, I'll go in the den, turn the TV on and watch cartoons, just to see what mom will say. That would be pretty funny, but I probably won't, because cartoons just don't hold the same thrill for me than they used to.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Old People Horror Movie
The Jewish Community Center, which my parents and a few of their friends started more than 30 years ago, was having a "festival" which included a rummage and food sale on Sunday, so my mom and I went to see what they had. The food they serve there is pretty standard Jewish food, and we all wanted some kosher hot dogs and latkes, but by the time we got there, they were all out. Thousands of people come to this festival every year and this year was no different. We got there late at around 1:00, because I had gone to church in the morning. We ended up with some mandel bread, blintzes and chopped liver. Well, I should explain what this stuff is. Latkes are potato pancakes - grated potatoes that are seasoned and fried - very delicious. Mandel bread is a hard bread/cookie that is similar to scones. My grandmother taught me how to make these and they are very good, especially if you like dry cookies or scones. Blintzes are really good, and they are made out of a crepe like pancake that is stuffed with fruit or cheese. Really delicious! Chopped liver is just that - a yucky liver from a cow that is ground up with eggs and onions and spices that people eat with crackers. It is disgusting, but my parents love it.
I looked around at the rummage sale and there was so much stuff that it was hard to look at all of it. That's when my ADD kicks in. I was mostly looking at the art work anyway, as I love to find different pieces of original art. There was nothing that interested me, so I sat on one of the couches that they were trying to sell, and watched the hoards of people trying to squeeze through the hallway. I didn't see one kid there - they were ALL old people, with the exception of a few that were probably around my age. Oh, I take that back - I did see 2 kids, but they were so strange looking, that they looked old. Many people stopped to admire the couch, one took a measuring tape out and measured it, and another asked me if it was comfortable. People were swarming in through every door - it was very unsettling. I felt like I was in a movie and instead of aliens creeping in, they were all old people of every make and style. Most of whom spoke with New York accents at stellar volumes. "Hey Harry, look what I found over here! OK Sylvia, I'm right behind ya!" I was glad when my mom was finally done visiting with all her friends. We took the food out and ran for our lives. Of course we didn't really run. I waddled with my cane to the car and she slowly walked with her walker far behind me. And I walk slow. No matter how fast I try to get her to walk, a turtle would pass her up. She is exactly like the old man Tim Conway used to play on the Carol Burnett Show. She even mutters to herself like Tim did.
I really shouldn't talk - I mutter to myself all the time. Since I get tired of saying everything twice around here, I will sometimes talk to myself in a low mutter; however, I don't answer myself. Yet. I learned the other day that my great grandmother had dementia before she died, and my grandmother had it (her daughter) and now of course my mom has it, and I naturally will be next in line. What a dismal thing to look forward to. I just hope I don't end up like one of those little old ladies who drool, swear and talk crazy to everyone. I hope I am more like someone who is living in bliss, happy and singing in the hallway somewhere. Oh well, let's change the subject. I will fight becoming like that anyway, and since I am a born fighter, I may just win.
Yesterday, my mom and I went to the dog shelter in a nearby city, because we all talked about getting a dog. My mom wants a small one, however, I want a Mastiff, but since this is their house, I will humour her with trying to find a small dog. We didn't see anything appropriate at the shelter. We were going to see a dog this morning, but I didn't have a good feeling about it and then my mom surprised me by telling me that she wasn't ready for a dog now anyway. I just thought it would be good for both of them, because Kita brought so much life in here and they both fell in love with her. Maybe when I come back from Madison, I will start the search again for a small dog if I can talk my mom into it.
I'm going to Madison so soon because my granddaughter Jade will be "dedicated" in the church service on March 4, and so I scrambled to get an airline ticket today. I also will be meeting with a state retirement counselor, as I am planning on officially retiring and will be pulling my pension as soon as I am able. I can't believe that I am actually retiring. After all these years, and now it is really going to happen. When did I get this old? Good grief, it seems like I was young just a short time ago. It's bizarre how fast life goes the older you get, but when you're young, it seems like it takes forever. I wonder if we are ever really content with who we are, with what we have, and when we have it. I can honestly say that since last June, I've never been more content in my life. Maybe that just happens as you age. Or maybe it's because I trust God more now than I've ever before. Whatever the reason, it's finally good to know.
I looked around at the rummage sale and there was so much stuff that it was hard to look at all of it. That's when my ADD kicks in. I was mostly looking at the art work anyway, as I love to find different pieces of original art. There was nothing that interested me, so I sat on one of the couches that they were trying to sell, and watched the hoards of people trying to squeeze through the hallway. I didn't see one kid there - they were ALL old people, with the exception of a few that were probably around my age. Oh, I take that back - I did see 2 kids, but they were so strange looking, that they looked old. Many people stopped to admire the couch, one took a measuring tape out and measured it, and another asked me if it was comfortable. People were swarming in through every door - it was very unsettling. I felt like I was in a movie and instead of aliens creeping in, they were all old people of every make and style. Most of whom spoke with New York accents at stellar volumes. "Hey Harry, look what I found over here! OK Sylvia, I'm right behind ya!" I was glad when my mom was finally done visiting with all her friends. We took the food out and ran for our lives. Of course we didn't really run. I waddled with my cane to the car and she slowly walked with her walker far behind me. And I walk slow. No matter how fast I try to get her to walk, a turtle would pass her up. She is exactly like the old man Tim Conway used to play on the Carol Burnett Show. She even mutters to herself like Tim did.
I really shouldn't talk - I mutter to myself all the time. Since I get tired of saying everything twice around here, I will sometimes talk to myself in a low mutter; however, I don't answer myself. Yet. I learned the other day that my great grandmother had dementia before she died, and my grandmother had it (her daughter) and now of course my mom has it, and I naturally will be next in line. What a dismal thing to look forward to. I just hope I don't end up like one of those little old ladies who drool, swear and talk crazy to everyone. I hope I am more like someone who is living in bliss, happy and singing in the hallway somewhere. Oh well, let's change the subject. I will fight becoming like that anyway, and since I am a born fighter, I may just win.
Yesterday, my mom and I went to the dog shelter in a nearby city, because we all talked about getting a dog. My mom wants a small one, however, I want a Mastiff, but since this is their house, I will humour her with trying to find a small dog. We didn't see anything appropriate at the shelter. We were going to see a dog this morning, but I didn't have a good feeling about it and then my mom surprised me by telling me that she wasn't ready for a dog now anyway. I just thought it would be good for both of them, because Kita brought so much life in here and they both fell in love with her. Maybe when I come back from Madison, I will start the search again for a small dog if I can talk my mom into it.
I'm going to Madison so soon because my granddaughter Jade will be "dedicated" in the church service on March 4, and so I scrambled to get an airline ticket today. I also will be meeting with a state retirement counselor, as I am planning on officially retiring and will be pulling my pension as soon as I am able. I can't believe that I am actually retiring. After all these years, and now it is really going to happen. When did I get this old? Good grief, it seems like I was young just a short time ago. It's bizarre how fast life goes the older you get, but when you're young, it seems like it takes forever. I wonder if we are ever really content with who we are, with what we have, and when we have it. I can honestly say that since last June, I've never been more content in my life. Maybe that just happens as you age. Or maybe it's because I trust God more now than I've ever before. Whatever the reason, it's finally good to know.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Life's Twists and Turns
It's been almost a month since I last wrote, partly because I don't have my laptop with me and mostly because so much has happened during this time. Where do I begin?
Well, I moved all my stuff back to Madison and I was living with my daughter and her family. I thought that was the right thing to do at the time, even though my dad was upset when I left - he wanted me to stay longer. He feels more comfortable when I'm with them, as my mom's memory is going and there are times when she simply doesn't make sense. My dad doesn't know how to handle this and I think he looked to me as the buffer between him and my mom.
I lived with Leah a few weeks and then I got a phone call from my little brother that his wife had died. He was totally distraught and I wished I could have been down there (he lives in Florida too) to help him. My kids and I all decided to go down to Florida for the funeral. Jason flew and so did Micah and Jasmin. Leah, Parris, Ashanti and I all drove down to my mom's in their van. It was quite an experience and one that I won't forget. We had a lot of laughs going down there.
Finally we all got to my mom's and relaxed for a few days before the funeral. Danny had asked Micah to speak during the service and so they both said something and it was a short, simple and peaceful service. Afterward, we all went out to eat but Danny wanted to just take his daughter home and sleep. They both had a grueling and emotional week and I'm sure they were exhausted.
The rest of the week, we all just hung out and talked and I realized that I had left Florida too soon. I decided to just stay here for an indefinite amount of time, as long as my parents need me, and now Danny needing me. I didn't think it all the way through when I moved back to Madison, and the timing wasn't right. I will miss my grandchildren as well as my children and friends, but I have to do what I feel is the right thing to do. Besides, I will still come home every three months for my doctor appointments, so I will see everyone then. There's no greater place to be than to be in the will of God. There can be a whirlwind of storms all around you, but if you're in the center of His will, then you're in the safe palm of His hands.
So I guess my blog won't end here after all, since I'm still living with old people. Oh, and I should mention that I was approved for Social Security disability, so I will be retiring officially within the next few months and pulling my pension. Life is interesting and always full of twists and turns. And it's even more exciting when being led by that unseen hand...
Well, I moved all my stuff back to Madison and I was living with my daughter and her family. I thought that was the right thing to do at the time, even though my dad was upset when I left - he wanted me to stay longer. He feels more comfortable when I'm with them, as my mom's memory is going and there are times when she simply doesn't make sense. My dad doesn't know how to handle this and I think he looked to me as the buffer between him and my mom.
I lived with Leah a few weeks and then I got a phone call from my little brother that his wife had died. He was totally distraught and I wished I could have been down there (he lives in Florida too) to help him. My kids and I all decided to go down to Florida for the funeral. Jason flew and so did Micah and Jasmin. Leah, Parris, Ashanti and I all drove down to my mom's in their van. It was quite an experience and one that I won't forget. We had a lot of laughs going down there.
Finally we all got to my mom's and relaxed for a few days before the funeral. Danny had asked Micah to speak during the service and so they both said something and it was a short, simple and peaceful service. Afterward, we all went out to eat but Danny wanted to just take his daughter home and sleep. They both had a grueling and emotional week and I'm sure they were exhausted.
The rest of the week, we all just hung out and talked and I realized that I had left Florida too soon. I decided to just stay here for an indefinite amount of time, as long as my parents need me, and now Danny needing me. I didn't think it all the way through when I moved back to Madison, and the timing wasn't right. I will miss my grandchildren as well as my children and friends, but I have to do what I feel is the right thing to do. Besides, I will still come home every three months for my doctor appointments, so I will see everyone then. There's no greater place to be than to be in the will of God. There can be a whirlwind of storms all around you, but if you're in the center of His will, then you're in the safe palm of His hands.
So I guess my blog won't end here after all, since I'm still living with old people. Oh, and I should mention that I was approved for Social Security disability, so I will be retiring officially within the next few months and pulling my pension. Life is interesting and always full of twists and turns. And it's even more exciting when being led by that unseen hand...
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Choices
My mom is so cute. She gets very excited when she goes out in the car by herself. This morning, she went to a friend's house. Yesterday, she took back a few things to the grocery store. She's self-sufficient again and loves it. She still has to go very slow when she gets in and out of the car, but she uses her walker and gets around quite well. I'm really proud of her. She didn't just sit around getting worse - she didn't just give up.
My dad, on the other hand, gave up a long time ago. It makes me sad to watch him, a figure who looks nothing like he did when he was younger. He sits in his chair all day, watching the news or the military channel or the channel about animals. This is his escape from the reality that he will die one day. He either sits in his chair watching tv or sits in his office at his computer. I tried to get him into the pool when it was warmer, but for some reason, he wouldn't budge. He never goes anywhere and doesn't even sit on the screened in porch, where he would at least get some fresh air. I ask them to open up the doors in the morning to bring in some kind of breeze, otherwise it's stuffy and sad in here. There's something about fresh air that gives life to what is dull. My father, I determined, is just sitting there, waiting to die. Not consciously, I think, but because he does nothing, he mindlessly watches the world go by via the tv and computer, even though every now and then he calls my brother to change one of his stocks. My kids are not coming down to get me after all. I'm disappointed about that, because my parents would both have enjoyed Ashanti and it would have given my dad a change in his day.
I'll be flying home this week and instead of sitting here writing, I should be packing. I'm being very lazy about this for some reason. I'm not sure what I should take and what I should leave here. Because I'm flying, I can't take it all like I was planning. I really don't have that much stuff, so it's not a big deal, but I've never been good at making choices. If you give me a menu with a hundred things on it, I calmly freak out because I don't know what to choose. If I have to clean up a big mess, again, I can't figure out where to start. Big grocery stores are troublesome for me, as there is too much to look at, at one time. It's sensory overload, just like carnivals or circuses. Well, scratch that - I hate circuses, so I would never go there. But whenever there are a lot of choices or decisions or things to look at, I sometimes have a hard time distinguishing what is what. I decided that this is from adult ADD, but then it may not be that at all. It could be that I'm just weird. That's probably the best explanation.
So, I'll be moving home and won't be living with old people after this week. So it seems a good time to complete my blog. But I really don't want to. I mean, it can't go on forever and ever, so it has to end at some point, and this is the most logical point. Maybe I'll start another blog on an entirely different topic. I really don't know what to do, but I'm not done yet. I still have four days left living with old people, and I have no doubt my parents will give me something more yet to write about.
My dad, on the other hand, gave up a long time ago. It makes me sad to watch him, a figure who looks nothing like he did when he was younger. He sits in his chair all day, watching the news or the military channel or the channel about animals. This is his escape from the reality that he will die one day. He either sits in his chair watching tv or sits in his office at his computer. I tried to get him into the pool when it was warmer, but for some reason, he wouldn't budge. He never goes anywhere and doesn't even sit on the screened in porch, where he would at least get some fresh air. I ask them to open up the doors in the morning to bring in some kind of breeze, otherwise it's stuffy and sad in here. There's something about fresh air that gives life to what is dull. My father, I determined, is just sitting there, waiting to die. Not consciously, I think, but because he does nothing, he mindlessly watches the world go by via the tv and computer, even though every now and then he calls my brother to change one of his stocks. My kids are not coming down to get me after all. I'm disappointed about that, because my parents would both have enjoyed Ashanti and it would have given my dad a change in his day.
I'll be flying home this week and instead of sitting here writing, I should be packing. I'm being very lazy about this for some reason. I'm not sure what I should take and what I should leave here. Because I'm flying, I can't take it all like I was planning. I really don't have that much stuff, so it's not a big deal, but I've never been good at making choices. If you give me a menu with a hundred things on it, I calmly freak out because I don't know what to choose. If I have to clean up a big mess, again, I can't figure out where to start. Big grocery stores are troublesome for me, as there is too much to look at, at one time. It's sensory overload, just like carnivals or circuses. Well, scratch that - I hate circuses, so I would never go there. But whenever there are a lot of choices or decisions or things to look at, I sometimes have a hard time distinguishing what is what. I decided that this is from adult ADD, but then it may not be that at all. It could be that I'm just weird. That's probably the best explanation.
So, I'll be moving home and won't be living with old people after this week. So it seems a good time to complete my blog. But I really don't want to. I mean, it can't go on forever and ever, so it has to end at some point, and this is the most logical point. Maybe I'll start another blog on an entirely different topic. I really don't know what to do, but I'm not done yet. I still have four days left living with old people, and I have no doubt my parents will give me something more yet to write about.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
It Was What It Was
I am back in Florida for a few weeks and then I am moving back up north to live with my daughter. My parents are doing well - my mom actually looks good and my father is doing well, however he looks like Howard Hughes. He refuses to cut his hair or his beard until he absolutely has to and wears a baseball cap on his head, I suppose to feel young again. I don't know. I hope he doesn't scare Ashanti when she comes in a couple weeks. This is the same man who made my brothers wear crew cuts when they were young, and wore his hair like that as well, all the years I was comin' up. It was definitely not the style at the time and I'm sure my brothers hated their hair like that. He was exactly like that sgt. in the Marines on the TV show "Gomer Pyle," way back in the 60's. In fact, when I watched the show, it was scary how much that actor and my dad looked and acted alike.
When I first walked in the house, I noticed that my mom looks much better. She actually had more skin on her face and looked healthy. She told me that she gained 5 pounds and I told her that that was awesome. She still weighs herself at Publix on the giant scale in the front of the store. I'm positive that she still announces to whoever is around at the time how much she weighs. She delights in this as much as I delight in a hot fudge sundae. As much as I love my mom, we are so not alike. She and I have much different ideas about beauty, self and raising children.
My mother is, in the truest sense of the word, a food "nazi." No matter which room in the house she is in, if I go into the kitchen at any time of day or night, she will be in there in the matter of seconds. She is quickly alerted by the sound of the refrigerator door being opened, no matter how quiet I try to be. Sometimes I think she flies in there with a swoosh of her wings. She feels she must sit or stand, guarding the refrigerator and watching every single morsel I put in my mouth. She will recite endearing phrases such as "Don't forget dinner is in twenty minutes," or "Why don't you go and take a nap now," or "Is that all the cookies that are left?" She has, and always had, a vehement desire to see that my brothers and I adhere to her strict serving sizes and demand for complete food submission. And because she was such a food "nazi" when we were coming up, as soon as her foot stepped out of the house, we would steal as much food as we could from the refrigerator and the freezer in the basement. And so, you see, because she wanted us so much to be thin and trim, she actually caused us to all be overweight. It's such a reverse-psychology kind of thing that I learned in grade school. She has yet to learn this and I'm sure it puzzles her why she never got us the way she wanted us.
The freezer in the basement was awesome. It held little pound cakes and treats that we would gleefully eat and then stuff the wrappers at the bottom of the garbage can. We did this for a long time before she actually began to wonder why the treats in the freezer seemed to disappear so fast. Those treats were not for us - they were for my father, who also got to eat ice cream from the container, eat off bricks of chocolate my Nana would bring for him and drink pop - all of which were off limits to us. Instead, we would have Jello for dessert, or fruit, or something equally not as exciting as what my dad would get. We would drool watching him down a 1/2 carton of ice cream with a spoon and imagined what it would be like to be able to do that. It became too much torture, so we actually snuck and ate several times out of the container, attempting to make the spoon carvings just like my dad's, and we got away with it for awhile. That is until she made my dad put the ice cream in a bowl.
In comparison, my kids pretty much ate whatever they wanted to, when they wanted to. I mean, I made dinners most of the time, but they were usually simple meals and I didn't worry about how many carbs there were, etc. I was always tired coming home from work, so I bought a lot of frozen pizzas and made tons of macaroni and cheese, because we received "free" cheese when my kids were young. The cheese was so processed that it hardly melted - it would just sit there and you really had to mix it up good or it was one big blob. But it was food (I think) and it filled our bellies. They also ate a lot of Ramen noodles. Whatever was cheap and still filled the belly. I never hounded my kids on what they ate or didn't eat. I never told them that people were starving in China so they had to finish all the food on their plate. I was determined that I wouldn't raise my kids the same way I was raised, but I probably should have made them healthier meals. When you're on welfare or making minimal money at your job and still have to pay for day care, the cheapest food is what you could afford. I'm not proud of that fact - but it's just the reality of it. It was what it was. It is what it is. I like that phrase a lot. It is what it is. Simple but absolutely true, without going into a plethora of explanations.
When I first walked in the house, I noticed that my mom looks much better. She actually had more skin on her face and looked healthy. She told me that she gained 5 pounds and I told her that that was awesome. She still weighs herself at Publix on the giant scale in the front of the store. I'm positive that she still announces to whoever is around at the time how much she weighs. She delights in this as much as I delight in a hot fudge sundae. As much as I love my mom, we are so not alike. She and I have much different ideas about beauty, self and raising children.
My mother is, in the truest sense of the word, a food "nazi." No matter which room in the house she is in, if I go into the kitchen at any time of day or night, she will be in there in the matter of seconds. She is quickly alerted by the sound of the refrigerator door being opened, no matter how quiet I try to be. Sometimes I think she flies in there with a swoosh of her wings. She feels she must sit or stand, guarding the refrigerator and watching every single morsel I put in my mouth. She will recite endearing phrases such as "Don't forget dinner is in twenty minutes," or "Why don't you go and take a nap now," or "Is that all the cookies that are left?" She has, and always had, a vehement desire to see that my brothers and I adhere to her strict serving sizes and demand for complete food submission. And because she was such a food "nazi" when we were coming up, as soon as her foot stepped out of the house, we would steal as much food as we could from the refrigerator and the freezer in the basement. And so, you see, because she wanted us so much to be thin and trim, she actually caused us to all be overweight. It's such a reverse-psychology kind of thing that I learned in grade school. She has yet to learn this and I'm sure it puzzles her why she never got us the way she wanted us.
The freezer in the basement was awesome. It held little pound cakes and treats that we would gleefully eat and then stuff the wrappers at the bottom of the garbage can. We did this for a long time before she actually began to wonder why the treats in the freezer seemed to disappear so fast. Those treats were not for us - they were for my father, who also got to eat ice cream from the container, eat off bricks of chocolate my Nana would bring for him and drink pop - all of which were off limits to us. Instead, we would have Jello for dessert, or fruit, or something equally not as exciting as what my dad would get. We would drool watching him down a 1/2 carton of ice cream with a spoon and imagined what it would be like to be able to do that. It became too much torture, so we actually snuck and ate several times out of the container, attempting to make the spoon carvings just like my dad's, and we got away with it for awhile. That is until she made my dad put the ice cream in a bowl.
In comparison, my kids pretty much ate whatever they wanted to, when they wanted to. I mean, I made dinners most of the time, but they were usually simple meals and I didn't worry about how many carbs there were, etc. I was always tired coming home from work, so I bought a lot of frozen pizzas and made tons of macaroni and cheese, because we received "free" cheese when my kids were young. The cheese was so processed that it hardly melted - it would just sit there and you really had to mix it up good or it was one big blob. But it was food (I think) and it filled our bellies. They also ate a lot of Ramen noodles. Whatever was cheap and still filled the belly. I never hounded my kids on what they ate or didn't eat. I never told them that people were starving in China so they had to finish all the food on their plate. I was determined that I wouldn't raise my kids the same way I was raised, but I probably should have made them healthier meals. When you're on welfare or making minimal money at your job and still have to pay for day care, the cheapest food is what you could afford. I'm not proud of that fact - but it's just the reality of it. It was what it was. It is what it is. I like that phrase a lot. It is what it is. Simple but absolutely true, without going into a plethora of explanations.
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