Salad, Panninis, and Mama Chia

My brother and sister-in-law and I sat outside the Encinitas Whole Foods eating our salads and panninis and drinking our Mama Chia juices as we simultaneously discussed the current hot topic of conversation--whether or not to move Mom and Dad (and me) down to San Diego.

Reasons for and against moving are chewed concurrently with the chewing of toasted bread. Justifications for staying in or for leaving the PNW are tossed about along with our crisp greens.

The many factors-to-be-considered are bandied about--Will Dad consider moving? Will Dad refuse to move if I decide to move? Would Dad be happy living with Mom in an assisted living facility? Can I afford to live in SoCal? Can Mom and Dad afford to both live in a facility in SoCal?

We explore all of these questions and more. We drink, we eat, we talk. We eat and drink and talk more. We're all sort of thinking that Dad will like the idea of being closer to the rest of the family. That he'll rather like the opportunity to be closer to his great granddaughter, see more of the family on a more regular basis, be able to spend every day with Mom. It all makes good sense. The panninis are delicious and so seems our logic.

Then my cell phone rings.

It's my dad.

I answer it.

He's just calling to see how my visit's going. Am I having a good time? How is everyone? How's my granddaughter? Walking yet? Talking yet?

I fill him in on everything. My brother and sister-in-law munch away as I chat with Dad. We're having a lovely conversation. So lovely, in fact, that it occurs to me, as we talk, that a door of opportunity has suddenly opened and perhaps this would be a good time to possible plant a little seed, test the waters as it were, regarding Dad's feeling about the notion of moving.

I commit.

I dig.

I dip.

Then I begin to gush.

"Dad you should really see your great granddaughter! She's so precious! You know Dad......do you know how wonderful it would be if you could see her all the time? Do you Dad? Do you know how great that would be? To see her growing and changing ALL the time? You know what I mean Dad?"

Then I wait.

My brother and sister-in-law stop chewing their panninis, stop sipping their Mama Chia juice, stop spearing their salads, waiting to read my reaction to whatever Dad is about to say next.

"WELL...........TELL THEM THEY NEED TO COME UP FOR A VISIT SO I CAN SEE MY GREAT GRANDDAUGHTER?!"

This is NOT going to be easy.

HEAT!

"IF YOU DON'T STOP YOUR YELLING AND BANGING ON THE CAR, I'M GOING TO TURN THIS CAR AROUND AND TAKE YOU HOME!!!"

Sound familiar? You're nodding yes, aren't you? Right? Cuz.........Is there anything more frustrating than trying to be a safe and responsible driver when a temper tantrum is running amuck in the seat next to you?

First, you try to ignore it--maybe it will just stop on its own.

Nope.

Then, you try a direct command, "STOP IT!"

Nope.

Then, you try the fortified command, "STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"

Nope.

Then,.......well just re-read the first sentence here. That's what happens next. Or some variation of that.

I thought I was taking Dad to visit Mom at the new A.L.F. in Sequim. I thought since the place is only a few miles away from the house, we could just zip over, have a pleasant visit, then zip home. I thought Dad would be in a great mood, excited to see Mom in her new digs after whining and moaning the last couple of weeks about how Poulsbo is soooo far away and how much he misses her.

I thought wrong.

In a word, Dad was in a mood. I have no idea why, but he was In A Mood. No sooner had we pulled out of the driveway and he was banging on the dashboard "HEAT! HEAT! WHERE'S THE HEAT?! BRRRRRRRR! IT'S GODDAMN FREEZING IN HERE! HEEEEEAT!" Vigorous running of palms together; exhaling of warm air into cupped hands...more yelling for HEEEEAT!...

It's a small car. There aren't a lot of places for the sound to go, except into my right ear. (Talk about a candidate for hearing loss!)

This is about the time when I tried the direct command. "STOP!"

Which had no effect whatsoever.

He continued--the banging, the yelling, more banging. Mind you......it was a warm sunny day; Dad had his L.L.Bean winter coat on. Sure, maybe he wasn't toasty warm, but it was a far cry from freezing in the car. Banging on the dashboard with both hands was definitely NOT warranted.

So, I refused to turn on the heat. (I can be moody too.) "No. We're almost there Dad! I'm not turning on the heat!"

That's when he got really belligerent about the whole thing. "WELL.....THEN I'LL TURN IT ON MYSELF! WHERE IS IT????"

That's when I tried the fortified command. "STOP IT RIGHT NOW!" Which, as I sort of figured, had absolutely no effect.

And it was at that point that my father's personal treasure hunt for the heater button/switch/lever ensued. Picture big ole' wrinkled withered ninety-five year old hands banging their way all over the dashboard (my side included) in search of HEAT....while I'm driving. He pressed everything. Coupled every press with "IS THIS THE HEAT?" Notice I said, "coupled" not "prefaced." The question is a mere formality. A obligation programmed from childhood that my father has not utilized with any sincerity for years. The banging continued...

The CD player suddenly blasted on.

I turned it off.

The FM blared.

I turned it off.

The CD player ejected.

I closed it.

The little CD storage compartment flopped open.

I shut it.

My GPS was toppled off its dashboard mount.

I re-attached it.

Now re-read the opening sentence again. Because this is where I finally lost my patience and resorted to using it. I pulled the car over to the side of the road, turned off the engine, unbuckled my seat belt, turned to face my father, and yelled in his face, "IF YOU DON'T STOP YOUR YELLING AND BANGING ON THE CAR, I'M GOING TO TURN THIS CAR AROUND AND TAKE YOU HOME!!!"

And the most frustrating part--we were not more than thirty seconds from the A.L.F.! Sooooo close....

So I yelled at him. At my father. In the car. Like he was some out-of-control five year old brat. I wanted to drag him by the ear out of the car, shake my finger in his face, whoop his little arse, take him home and send him to bed without supper.

I didn't wait for a response. Started the car back up, pulled back onto the road, arrived at the A.L.F., when in to see Mom (Dad trailing behind me), hugs to Mom, pulled up a chair for Dad, pulled up a chair for me, started to chat idly away and not ten minutes into the visit.......

Dad is sound asleep.

Mom and I had a lovely visit.

Evil Puppetmaster God

When my daughter was four or so she wandered into the living room one beautiful sun-filled morning while I was talking on the telephone, giggled as she toddled over to me, began to climb up into my lap, then....as if some evil puppetmaster God decided to flip a switch inside of her little four-year-old tummy, she threw up her entire breakfast right there in front of me. Just like that. One second--happy as can be. Next second--barf on the floor.

What does this have to do with my parents? Everything.

When Dad and I were visiting Mom last Saturday at the A.L.F., it was a beautiful sun-filled afternoon. The sun streamed through her window, we chatted about her upcoming move to the A.L.F. in Sequim (next Friday....stay tuned), she said how excited she was to be moving closer to home, we remarked at how gorgeous the roses were outside her window, then.....as if some evil puppetmaster God decided to flip a switch inside of her 90 year old dementia-filled brain, she busted out into a full-on bawl and screamed, "I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN TAKE IT ANY LONGER!" Just like that. One second--roses and sunshine. Next second--bawling on the floor.

Just shoot me.