Sauvignon Blanc

I don't even know where to begin.

So I'll begin with Dad pouring me a glass of wine. Remember, I don't drink. But, you know, there are moments when it just seems like the perfect thing to do. So I did.

Then Dad and I toasted each other, "Happy Holidays! Bon Vivre! Lacheim! A votre vivre!" All of those toasts. It had been a long day. Mom, in a downward turn of depression most of the day, had exhausted both of us, the Home Health aide, the housecleaner, AND the pedicurist. I was so verklempt I left to "run errands" and came back with ingredients to make turkey soup with the leftover turkey.

The soup was simmering as Dad and I clinked our glasses of sauvignon blanc. Then we started talking about Christmas and I reminded him that I was going to be gone for Christmas (I'm going to Birmingham December 22-28 to spend Christmas with my son, his wife, my first granddaughter, my nephew and his family, and my daughter. My first Christmas, except for one, away from my parents since I moved here.). Of course, Dad had forgotten that I was going. I expected that. So did he actually. I reminded him again, and he was fine with that.

But.......the trouble started because Mom overheard the conversation from the living room and instantly plummeted into a full-blown anxiety attack as soon as she heard that I was going to be gone for Christmas.

She yelled. She wailed. She whined. She complained. She even threw her glasses on the floor.

Here's the fundamental difference between my mom and my dad. When I reminded Dad that I was going to Birmingham to spend Christmas with family, his immediate response, "GREAT! I think that's wonderful that you're going to spend Christmas with everyone! "

Mom's response? Well, it was along the lines of, "I DON'T THINK THAT'S FAIR! SHE SHOULDN'T BE LEAVING US!"

About that time, still in the kitchen (resisting the urge to go into the living room and face my mother's wrath), I poured my second glass of Sauvignon Blanc. (Funny how it tasted even better the second time.) Dad wheeled into the living room to deal with Mom's tantrum.

Then Dad kind of ripped into Mom telling her, "I think that's very inconsiderate of you Patreesha. Denise deserves to have her own life. You should be happy that she's able to go spend Christmas with everyone." (Picture me toasting Dad, in the air, from the kitchen.)

But the real fun didn't start until Mom wheeled into the kitchen to "give me a piece of her mind." Now remember, I have two glasses of wine in me when she finally decides to come into the kitchen and pour out her wrath in my general direction. And remember.......I don't drink. Also remember, Mom has dementia in a really big way so it takes her.........a looooooong time to say anything. And most of the time, WHAT she is able to say, doesn't even make sense. Here's the gist of what she laid on me: She thought it was downright wrong of me to leave and if she and Dad couldn't go to Birmingham with me (a logistical impossibility--think of the bathroom issue), then I should stay home with them.

Then she tried the guilt trip, "I can't believe you would leave us like that."

Then she tried the super-guilt trip, "I'm going to commit suicide."

Let me just say........I'm not an advocate of "the drink." But it's amazing the assertiveness one gains after two glasses of wine.

So......to the guilt trip ploy I said, "Well Mom, I AM leaving, for five days. And you will be in splendid hands while I'm gone. And I will take lots of pictures of everyone and show you all of them when I get back. "

And......to the super-guilt trip ploy I said, "Really Mom? How exactly areya gonna do that? And even if you did Mom, then you'd miss seeing all the pictures of everyone that I'm going to bring back! Why would you wanna do that?!"

Then........I swear on a stack of bibles...........my mother who, just minutes previously had read me the riot act for having the gall to abandon her over Christmas, looked at me with her sunken eyes and overly-medicated stare and said, "What should Dad and I have for Christmas dinner?"

And I said, "Would you like to plan the Christmas dinner for you and Dad?"

And she said, "Yeeeeees."

And I said, "I think that would be lovely Mom. You can plan the dinner, I'll have it all ready for Dad to warm up, and you can spend a wonderful, romantic Christmas dinner with the man you have spent the last 65 years with. "

"67," she quickly corrected me.

"OK! Sixty-seven years then! Even better!" I said.

"I like that idea," she said.

"Me too," I said.........looking for my glass of wine.

Black Mules

I'm not a chatty person.

In fact, I've found that in the last year, I've become less and less chatty. It's not that I don't have anything to say. I just prefer to listen. Especially with my parents.

Used to be, whenever I had to drive Dad to an appointment, or to CostCo, I'd make a point of controlling the conversation just to keep him away from the three deadly topics--religion, politics, and money.

But lately, I just get in the car and clam up. If Dad goes off on one of his religious or political rants, I simply listen, and maybe toss out a "yep" or a "right" every now and then. It's either that or end up screaming at him, not out of anger, but because that's the only way he can hear anymore. If I say something once, he'll say, "WHAT?" almost immediately, then I'll say it louder, and he'll say almost immediately again, "WHAT"! and then I just out and out yell whatever I said at him.

Kinda takes away the enjoyment of a good conversation.

Anyway, Dad had an appointment with the hearing aid specialist at CostCo this afternoon. Mom chose to stay home (after changing her mind three times).

Dad and I climbed into the jeep and set off on our way, about a ten minute drive, to CostCo. In keeping with my current trend, there was no conversation except for Dad's intermittent banging on the dashboard--his signal that he wants the heat turned up. Real subtle.

Then we passed by the big field where there is almost always a group of horses, mules, and brown and white cows grazing and roaming.

As we pass, Dad blurts out, "BLACK ANGUS! Look at those beautiful black angus! Those are black angus! Did you see those beautiful black angus??" He whacks me across the right upper arm with his left hand. (He does this all the time when he wants to punctuate a point. He thinks it's funny. And it is. The first time.)

And the thing is, the creatures he thinks are black angus......are mules. And since I'm feeling belligerent, I say, "No, those are mules."

"MULES!?" Dad recoils, appalled, unbelieving. "What do you mean MULES?!"

"Those are mules, Dad, not black angus." I'm calm, matter-of-fact, slightly smart-alecky.

"Why are they so black?" Dad's challenging me now. He does that a lot. Dad loves to press my buttons. He knows I prefer not to talk, so he needles me to make me do exactly what I don't want to do.

"They're BLACK mules." It's the best I can come up with.

Dad is silent.

We continue on, down Hendrickson Road, then I turn up Priest Road, which just happens to have a field on it where three big black angus steers are grazing.

I point them out to Dad, "THOSE are black angus." I'm smug. I'm a smart-ass. But it's been a long week trying to get Mom stable and I'm tired and not feeling very patient. Smart-ass is the best I can do. More importantly, I forget how well my father knows me. He may be 94, and stubborn, and belligerent, but dang if he isn't incredibly quick some times. This was one of those times.

As soon as I proudly point out the three black angus to him, he immediately comes back with, "Nah, those are black mules."

Smart aleck.

She's Back

The Mom of Monday morning is a welcomed relief from the Mom of last week. Both Dad and I are buoyed at not having to put out any Mom-fires this morning.

Dad has a hearing-aid appointment at 12:30 today. Mom says she wants to come along.

Great!

Mom asks me to come in and help her pick out something to wear.

Great!

I tell her I'll be in as soon as I finish what I'm doing (which, I kid you not, was writing the previous blog).

Great!

I try to wrap up the blog post. No more than two minutes pass. And yet.......it comes. The anxious breathing from the next room. The random whimpers.

Great.

I keeping tapping away ferociously on the keyboard so I can get into Mom's room before the anxiety that seems to be mounting completely takes her over and ruins what is, so far, a really, really good day.

Too late. Two minutes was clearly too much time.

I post the blog.

I turn to get out of my office chair.

And there she is, standing in my doorway, clothed in only a Depends (Large/Moderate Absorbency), her hip brace, her shoes, and her foot brace. Oh yeah, and her walker.

"Did.......yyyyyyyyou..........forget.......meeee?"

Damn those aliens.

Every Morning's Another Day...Or Another Mother

"When what to my wondering eyes should appear"............(when I came in to Mom's bedroom at 9am to see if she was still asleep).....but my mother, propped comfortably, contentedly even, up in her bed, glasses on, reading the new Julie Andrews book (which has been lying on Mom's bed, unread, untouched, and ignored for months).

I stopped in the doorway. I mean, imagine my surprise. Every morning for the past week, Mom's morning has begun with confusion, anxiety, and incoherence. The woman lying so casually on her bed now, was.....well, it was a little odd to see.

Mom looked up briefly from her book and said casually to me (normally....as if this is how she starts every morning), "Well good morning! How are you?"

So.....my question is.........what devious alien kidnapped my dementia-ridden mother during the night and replaced her with a lucid one?

And.......can I keep this one?

Shrinkage

And for the record: I noticed this morning, when I was walking behind Mom into the dining room, that she is significantly shorter than she was two weeks ago, before I went to NYC.

Two weeks.

People can shrink in two weeks?

You know what it makes me think of? (And I'm certain this is NOT a new idea. Just new to me.) It makes me think of the fetal position, and how we start out in that position, become more and more upright as we mature, then become more and more "down-right" as we age and sort of revert back to the fetal position.

I love it when life hits you square in the face one of those "full circle" things.

"Foosey!"

Clearly Mom's on a roll today. She just wheeled into my office and declared clearly and loudly, "I'm a foosey!" (Of course, I knew she meant to say 'floozy', which is why I nearly choked on my T'giving leftovers.).

I asked her why she thought she was a "foosey".

She said, "Because I can't figure out how to make the TV guide work."
So, excuse me now while I go and explain to my mother: 1. The definition of floozy; and 2. How the TV guide works.

Guess I'll finish my leftovers later.

Short Circuit

Okay so my mother, who has been unable to piece together more than two words in the last week (and that is NOT an exaggeration), weebled herself over to the glass doors just now, gazed out at the early morning sun and snow-covered mountains, and then blurted out "LOOK-AT-THE-BEAUTIFUL-SUNSHINE-ON-THE-MOUNTAINS!!!!"
Scared the crap out of me.

Thanks, Giving, and Tawny Port

This is going to be strange Thanksgiving. I've decided on a rather warped strategy for getting through today. It will include a play-by-play update. It'll be like you, the reader, are right there with me! "Oh goody!", you're saying right now. Right?! Here we go.

8:58am: Mom is fretting and whimpering. Kind of a pre-anxiety attack. She keeps asking me where everybody is. I told her it's just her, Dad, and me, and Dad's asleep. She wants to climb into bed with him. I convince her that's not such a good idea. They haven't slept together in thirty years. We're already one half of an anti-anxiety pill into the day.

9:01am: The parade is starting. I'm watching from the living room. I can hear Mom whimpering in her room. I think seriously of sipping on a teensy bit of the tawny port. But, in reality, I'll probably wait. At least until ten.

9:44am: Trying to jumpstart Mom back into her normal routine, and hopefully a relatively normal state of mind. Got her into the dining room for her breakfast, while I start tearing up Challah for the stuffing. I pull out the big, blue wooden bowl that is always traditionally the Fleener Stuffing Bowl.

I ask Mom, "Where'd you get this bowl Mom?" And this spawns a whole stream of fragmented comments....."Marshall Field"...."wedding gift"......"spices and herbs" (?!).........."couldn't find it....."........then, as Emily, the bulldog started licking up a dab of cereal Mom had dropped on the floor earlier, Mom yells out, clear as a bell, "Clean it up Emily, it's all you're going to get today!"

10:44am: Dad's up. Bracing myself for his presence--sticking his nose (literally) into anything everything I'm trying to cook. He wheels into the kitchen and starts asking questions about EVERYTHING, and in the midst of my trying to explain to him why I was cutting up onions (for the stuffing), Mom blurts out, "And Pauline was Jewish!" which stops both Dad and I cold.

(Oh, by the way, Pauline was my grandfather's secretary.) (Yeah......like that makes Mom's outburst any more logical....) Okay. The tawny port is out of the liquor cabinet and now setting on the kitchen counter.

10:55am: Dad: (after snooping around the kitchen and discovering the bottle of tawny port) "Hey! What are you gonna do with that bottle of tawny port?"
Me: "I'm gonna drink it!"
And then he made the face that's posted on the side.

12:10pm: Turkey's stuffed and in the oven. Mom's pulling catalogs and blankets and other crap out of the basket next to her chair in the living room. She's looking for something. I ask her what. She says: "For.......something........night.........scare my face.........table......." and then she just gives up and goes back to looking.
What's Dad doing? Reading the paper. (like any other day)

12:44P M.; Dad: (to no one and to everyone, and without looking up from the paper) "Well I'll be damned, another royal wedding! Did you see this Patreesha?"
Mom: (her brain thinking it understands, but doesn't at all) "Oh yes, how about that?"
Thirty seconds goes by.
Mom: "Who's getting married?"
Then Dad explains the whole Prince William thing to ...her. Which doesn't help but hey, it's always worth a try.
About five minutes goes by.
Mom: (to me) "Did you show Dad your locket?"
Me: "What?" (subtext = wtf?)
Because.......I don't own a locket.
Mom: "Tell Dad about that ring that Myrt gave you." (Myrt was my dad's mother.)
So....the tawny port is now opened.......

!:41pm: (note the tawny port-induced typos that have started to pop up) Welllllll...... leave it to dogs and babies, right? The National Dog Show has been on since noon and Mom is now as calm and as content as a kisker's whitten. Oh wait.......well, you know what I mean. That was the port talking.

3:50pm: Turkey comes out in a half hour; the greens are simmering on the stove (mushrooms, kale, leeks, yam medallions, and sherry), Dad's still reading the paper, with Emily at his feet (see photo), and Mom's in her room fretting over how to get Dr. Oz on her television (even though it already is). Oh, Sweet Turkey-Induced-Sleep, where are you?!

4:17pm: The turkey rest-ith. The green/yams simmer-ith. Mom's still trying to find Dr. Oz. (Aren't we all?)

5:51pm: Done. Everything put away. Kitchen cleaned.
Family members will appreciate Dad's big remark at dinner......"Hey, ya know what'd be great?!" (Family members will know what's coming.)
He just keeps talking (because he never waits for acknowledgment anyway), "It'd be great if everyone came here for Thanksgiving next year!! Wouldn't that be GREAT?!" (For non-family members, this is probably the stupidest idea in the universe.)

Then he spends the next five minutes trying to count how many people
"EVERYBODY" would actually come to (Wait.......honestly, it was more like ten
minutes......Dad is soooo NOT good with numbers!).

"Nineteen people! That'd be nineteen people! Wouldn't that be GREAT?!"
Again, no acknowledgment.

And then fifteen minutes later, "It'll never happen." (Which is what family members were all saying when they read the remark in the first place.)

And while Dad was going on about having EVERYBODY getting together and how great that would be, my inner dialogue was out of control! In fact, I had, like, sixteen different inner dialogues talking over and under each other, and then rebutting each other, and then agreeing with each other, and it all got so crazy I had to just get up from the table and go have more pie. There's nothing like pie to quell the inner dialogue. "s."

Preparing to Disembark: Part Trois

My suitcase is packed and loaded in the car.

Mom, formally referred to as The Woman Who Bore Me, is resting. Her breathing, for the first time today, is inaudible.

I'm minutes from actually, really, leaving.

How do you describe with letters the sound of a heavy exhale? Hahhhhhhhhhhh? Does that work? Picture the exhale that comes from the toes. That's the one that just came out of me.

Thanks to all who offered words of encouragement and support. Thanks especially to the incredible Home Health professionals who turned a seemingly impossible situation into an optimistic one.

C'est tout.......for now.

Preparing to Disembark: Part Deux

As they say........It's not over til the Fat Lady sings.

And........in my case, I'm not going anywhere til I'm on the airplane.

I'm scheduled to leave for NYC tonight. Scheduled.

In the meantime, The Woman Who Bore Me is in the throes of an anxiety attack because.......well, because this is what she does when I try to go visit anywhere for any substantial length of time.

My father and I were both awakened early this morning when Mom pressed her LifeLine button (the first time). "Take me to the hospital!" she wailed. (Which........is tempting for a few reasons. But since there was nothing physically the matter with Mom........soooo not really an option.)

The second time Mom pressed her LifeLine button was not more than two minutes after Dad had just suggested we remove Mom's LifeLine button and I had reassured him that she wouldn't press it anymore. (Yeah, a lot I know.) That's when Dad looked at me and said, "You should just leave" then turned around and went back to bed.

So.....it's been Mom and me........since 6am.........

And, as I type this, TWWBM is wailing, "Deniiiiiiise, come in here so I can see you!!" And I can't help but wonder, why doesn't she climb in her walker and come into me?"

Oh wait.........wait..........she's wailing again, "I'm coming to you. I'm going away!" And I can hear her getting up........taking off the brakes of her walker.........and now wheeling out of her bedroom........and.......and..........there she goes right past my office where I'm sitting........and into the living room still wailing, "I'm going away Denise! I'm going awayyyyy!"......and now she's turning around.......back down the hallway........past my office.......past Dad's bedroom (Dad is up now).......and back into her own bedroom. Dad's wheels in to see how she's doing.

He asks, "Are you doing better now?"

Mom says, "Why did you agree to this?"

Dad doesn't hear her (like it would matter anyway) but he sees the cat perched on top of Mom's dresser and says, "I think it's wonderful how the cat jumps right up onto the dresser like that. Isn't that wonderful Patricia?"

Then he wheels back into his own room to brush his teeth.

And now........here comes Mom again.....this time she wheels into my office (seriously.....I am typing this as it is happening!) and says to me, "I'm going to fall! I'm coming into tell you to tell you I'm going to fall!"

And I keep typing and say, "You're not going to fall unless you want to."

Then she turns around and wheels out and back into her bedroom saying, "I don't want to fall, I don't want to fall...."

But wait there's more.......

Now she's on her bed wailing to me, "Deniiiiise, come heeere! I've got something for you!"

Hang on.........let's go see what it is, shall we??? Hang on........

Okay, back. She wanted to give me her wedding ring.

oy vay.

Preparing to Disembark

I love the ferry.

And what's not to love? The smell of saltwater, the sounds of Puget Sound crashing against the boat, the Seattle cityscape in the approaching distance.

I was riding a ferry once......I'm not sure where, although I know it wasn't the Seattle ferry.......and as the boat neared its destination, an announcement came over the speaker system, "Please prepare to disembark."

For some reason, I always found this humorous. It was so formal. It suggested that many, many complicated details had to be addressed before leaving the boat when all most people did was turn the key in their car and drive off.

So even though the Seattle ferry does not make the "Prepare to disembark" announcement as we reach our destination, I always still hear it in my head.

On Saturday, I leave for NYC to spend two weeks with my daughter, who is graduating from her theatre conservatory. As I've learned from taking short trips to visit family, Mom doesn't deal very well with my leaving to go anywhere for longer than a few hours. Because of this, Dad and I both agreed not to tell her about my upcoming two week trip until we absolutely had to.

Today was the "absolutely had to" day.

The caregiver came over this morning to get checked out on the morning and evening routine. She has covered for me before. Mom and Dad both are very fond of her and I know that they're in excellent hands. Nevertheless, because the caregiver was here this morning, Mom asked the obvious question, "Are you going somewhere?"

To which I answered, "Yes Mom, I'm going to NYC."

To which she asked (after a rather lengthy pause), "When are you leaving?"

To which I answered (after throwing a glance to the caregiver), "Saturday night."

Then, like any well-trained Pavlovian dog, my mother squeezed her eyes shut, pressed her face together, and sobbed.

That was four hours ago. Since then, I have had to: search for the tv remote four times; search for Mom's Afrin twice; and answer three wails for apparently no reason at all.

As of today, I am preparing to disembark.