Blog Block

So............yeah..........I........uh............have been suffering from a major case of blog block. Not sure why. Not sure how long it'll last. Just thought I'd admit it.

For Whom The Bell Tinkles

So......there was this little bell see.........

Okay so we all remember The Bell. The Damn Bell. The g.d.m.f.c.s. BELL. Yeah, that The Bell. It's been a couple of months since The Bell was used. Now, with Mom at the ALF, there is, of course, no more ringing of the bell. It has been retired, as it were, and it sets, gathering dust, on the shelf in my office. So yeah, the Bell is silent....sort of. I say, "sort of" because, well, because though there may be nobody ringing The Bell per se, my brain continues to insist on hearing it.

We'll subtitle this post: An Update On My Ongoing Struggle To Exorcize The Aforementioned Bell And It's Nauseating Tinkle From My Psyche.

The thing is..........there are surprisingly many things that share the same frequency and resonance as the tinkle of The Bell. Allow me to share a few:

• The next door neighbor's telephone. (It's apparently just the right distance away, with just the right number and type of barriers between wherever their phone is and my ear, to mimic the tinkle of The Bell.)
• The exhale portion of my bulldog, Emily's deep-sleep snore. (It's that last little respiratory effort that produces this sort of ringing-whistling sound--a dead-ringer for the tinkle.)
• (You're not going to believe this one.) The silver bracelets that Steve Tyler wears on his right wrist. Okay, okay, so I confess, I watch American Idol. But seriously. Every damn time Steven Tyler moves his right wrist (which is a lot, trust me), those stinkin' bracelets tinkle. Drives me crazy. I'd mute the sound except, well, it's American Idol. Kinda need the sound on.
• The high-pitched meow of my cat, Peter, when he's at the opposite end of the house crying for no apparent reason (He does this ALL THE TIME--just cries, incessantly, and, might I add, usually in the middle of the night! Stupid, needy fluffball of a cat. By the way, anybody want a stupid, needy fluffball of a cat? Stupid question. No, of course nobody wants a stupid, needy, fluffball of a cat that cries incessantly in the middle of the night for no apparent reason!!!! How do I end up with stupid, needy pets that meow, and snore, and whine, and snort, and take up half the bed, and rub their eye buggers all over my legs, and drag their stinky butts back and forth across the same rug I do my yoga on.......sorry, digression....)

Case in point. This morning, right before I woke up, I was having this weird dream that I was in the kitchen doing......something.......and Mom started ringing the bell from her room and I yelled, "I'll be right there Mom!" Then, in my dream, I started thinking, "Wait a minute, I thought Mom wasn't here...." And then the bell rang again, and just as I started to yell again, I woke up. And immediately, some tiny part of my consciousness realized it was really Peter meowing (cuz I remember thinking to myself, "Oh it's just the stupid cat meowing!), but because I was still mostly in dream-mode, most of my consciousness was convinced it was really Mom ringing The Bell. So before my consciousness was awake and aware enough to know better, I was already out of bed and walking toward my bedroom door before my brain finally "came to" and I suddenly stopped and realized there was no bell, no Mom.....just a stupid, needy, fluffball of a cat and a really eerie dream.

So yeah.......The Bell may be on the shelf, but my brain keeps hearing it ring, or tinkle, or snore, or meow...

Sushi

The newest key to my dad's heart is apparently sushi. Exhibit A: Today's trip to Central Market where we purchased sushi for tonight's dinner.

Dad went to bed over an hour ago. But I'm guessing he just couldn't settle into the sheets without wheeling back into my room (at the other end of the house mind you) to tell me, "The next time we go to Central Market, let's get mackerel and tuna sushi."

"Okay Dad."

[Pause while Dad just stands there with a big ole grin on his face.] "Okay!" [Another pause. More grinning.] "And, let's go back soon!"

"Okay Dad" as I note my father's enthusiasm to return to Poulsbo NOT to see Mom, but........to get sushi.

[He turns and goes back to his room. Still grinning.] "Okay! Good night!"

Sushi. I have to admit, I'm not sure how I feel about my father's inner priority list...

converse

Today's theme is the word converse. That's all I'm tellin' ya.

So..........the dining room at Mom's ALF. First of all, let me just say that, I love this place. It's relaxing. It's bright. The staff smiles. The residents smile. My mom smiles. A lot. And, in turn, I smile. A lot. Big difference from Mom's previous experiences in nursing home/rehab facilities. No tears here. No wailing here. No irrational demands for hatchets. Oh yeah, good times.

Dad and I visited today. His first visit since a week and a half ago when Dad was Mr. Grumpy Gills the whole drive out, the whole visit there, and the whole drive home. But today.........today, I'm happy to report, was drastically different. Mom smiled the whole time we were there. She and Dad ate lunch together............well, Dad ended up eating most of Mom's lunch but nevertheless, they sat at the same table while Dad ate virtually everything that was placed in front of him. Dad insisted I taste the dessert--some graham cracker/vanilla pudding/blueberry pie filling concoction. He thought was delicious. Mom thought it was delicious. It was the only lunch item she scarfed down. They called it blueberry pudding pie. Whatever. Mom clearly loved it. How great to see her enjoying food.

Recliner Row. That's what I call the lineup of six, count 'em, SIX recliners all backed up against the back wall of the dining room, directly facing the windows. It's apparently a favorite hangout amongst the dementia-ed, and it ended up being where Mom, Dad, and I spent most of today's visit--Mom and Dad, side by side, in recliners, me in a little chair off to the side. (The other recliners were all taken. damn.) The highlight today in Recliner Row, for me anyway, was Pauline, a slight little woman with a raspy, deep voice who clearly sees and hears in only her own private world and who never hesitated the entire time we were there, sharing that world, out loud, with everybody else. Pauline ranted about needing to go the drugstore to buy gum, about wanting to get flowers for the cemetery, and about how somebody, SOMEBODY!, had to dance with her NOW!, which she did at one point, with one of the aides. But my favorite part about Pauline were the velcro Converse shoes she wore. Like the Converse shoes my kids wore as kids and still wear today. In a room of Rockports, slippers, and other therapeutic shoewear, Pauline's hunter green Converse stuck out like non-arthritic thumbs. They made a statement, a different beat of a different drum, kinda like Pauline.

On the drive over to the ALF, Dad complained several times about having to leave the dogs alone for the afternoon. "It's not right" he said at least three times, each one more forceful than the one before it. Personally, I found his excessive display of concern for the dogs somewhat unnerving. Especially since, not once, did he say anything about looking forward to seeing Mom. I dunno.......it just struck me as pretty strange.......though NOT really strange for my dad........pretty typical for him actually.......(I'm thinking out loud here, can you tell?)

Anyway...............on the drive home, I took Dad to Central Market in Poulsbo. He's never been. Last visit, Dad had no desire to see Central Market. Remember that drive home? That was when a bird was nonchalantly walking across the road--I saw a beautiful pheasant; Mr. Pouty Puss saw a scruffy old roadrunner holding up traffic. This time however, Dad was pretty eager to see Central Market. Inside, he was like a kid in a candy store. We bought sushi, and cookies, and chili rellenos, and petit fours. He was exhausted but invigorated, and yapped the whole way home about how he was going to feast on sushi for dinner.

The crowning glory to today's visit: when we pulled into the driveway and Dad said, "You know................I think I'm missing Mom more than she's missing me."

This is how my Monday began....

So......I'm sitting in my office working.

And Dad comes rolling in, clearly in a chipper mood.

And he begins......

(I don't know why Blogger flipped the rotation. It's vertical on my desktop and in iTunes. Sorry.)

Wonky-Wonks

So......I'm visiting with Mom at the ALF....

And I comment to her casually during the visit, "Everyone's so nice here Mom. Have you noticed how nice everyone is?"

And she says to me, "Yeeeees. But the people who run this place are a bunch of wonky-wonks."

And I think to myself, "Wonky-wonks? Wonky-wonks!? What the hell is a wonky-wonk? And more importantly, from where in my mother's plaqued and tangled brain did she retrieve a term like wonky-wonks? Does that term even exist?" (It doesn't. At least, not per se. I looked it up. "Wonky," yes. "wonky-wonks," no.)

Anyway........I'm putting "wonky-wonks" right up there with "shenanigans" and "red hot poker", on list entitled "Bizarre Words and Terms My Mom Says Randomly and For No Apparent Reason."

Wonky-wonk, wonky-wonk, wonky-wonk, wonky-wonk. Say it enough times, it makes you smile.

And now, for your listening pleasure, ....

.....the classical stylings of........my father.