tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12709705556497585942024-03-14T02:43:35.405-07:00Notes from JessicaJessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-85722580443217508152023-08-20T18:01:00.001-07:002023-08-22T06:47:01.153-07:00Cruise Controlling<p><br /> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpRH7scJKCf7yiLVZ3fJc2QSTR6M04CMgNeF1zZx2O2Ss2nQ14plDm23bz_XN9hNjeoTJnH8PWySPCc3thlzBTfrhAFd4rf7jch7Xj5ziX5UNT1Vs0fEoUqXV6k6GIgWhYQefxyLSmg1X19NKM5bAR46HM0s0Q5Q7pytQZ1MX4qDDHBL4iksxP_YnC6Q8/s4032/IMG_0778.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpRH7scJKCf7yiLVZ3fJc2QSTR6M04CMgNeF1zZx2O2Ss2nQ14plDm23bz_XN9hNjeoTJnH8PWySPCc3thlzBTfrhAFd4rf7jch7Xj5ziX5UNT1Vs0fEoUqXV6k6GIgWhYQefxyLSmg1X19NKM5bAR46HM0s0Q5Q7pytQZ1MX4qDDHBL4iksxP_YnC6Q8/w242-h293/IMG_0778.jpg" width="242" /></a></div><p></p>
<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #454545;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Cruise Controlling</span></b></span><span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></p></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote></blockquote>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Skip and I first
took the plunge (pardon the pun) and decided to go on a cruise, we weren’t sure
what to expect. We traveled with experienced cruisers who were eager to
initiate us into the finer parts of the experience. Being ready and willing
to learn, we soon found that a cruise is a terrific way to vacation. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Once welcomed into the
Captain’s Club, we went again…and again, and again! We were, as the
saying goes, ‘Happy Cruisers’! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So here we are, our
first time on a cruise to Alaska. The trip to get here was an interesting
one starting in North Carolina with the oppressive August heat mixed with
humidity that makes my hair and spirits wilt. However, a few days stopover in
Las Vegas where I was able to order raw eggs and by the time they were delivered
to our table they were fried, the bread was air fried (literally) and the
coffee remained piping hot in the 103 degree temperature, set things right. It
was God’s way of testing me to make sure I was ready for the not-so-sunny and
cool days in Alaska. We were not disappointed. I immediately pulled out my
sweaters and jacket from my overpacked suitcase, congratulating myself for
throwing in gloves and knitted cap (preparing for that ‘just in case’.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Day 1: The required
muster station and safety talks, orientation, and sampling ALL of the food at
the buffet, followed by a heavy dose of Tums! Then off to explore the
ship, cocktails and of course an ample dinner, more Tums, and a little
walkabout to work off that extra cookie. Oh, and just to put icing on the cake,
another cookie while stargazing and watching the Perseids Meteor shower from
the Crows Nest on the top deck, battling the winds and cold temperatures to see
an occasional shooting star. We reclined in lounge chairs with our friends and
fellow stargazer enthusiasts, Tonu and Eda, who joined us on the cruise. It was
great fun until I began to picture myself being discovered the next morning,
frozen stiff, head still tilted upward, and arm pointed above my head. “I
think it’s time to go inside,” I announced. (There’s always one spoil sport in
the crowd.) <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It took me less than a
minute to climb under the warm comforter in our stateroom, reminding myself
that only a few hours earlier I had scoffed at needing such a heavy blanket on
our bed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Day 2: Oh the joys
of the open sea! The ship was rolling in a lazy side to side
fashion that makes one doubt their ability to walk a straight line. I
woke up hungry. How could that be possible?! Skip and I wandered
over to the buffet, grabbed a table and while he guarded my juice and coffee I
went on a quest to find Eggs Benedict. I wandered around on both sides of
the large buffet, found the eggs but lost Skip. Granted, it isn’t a mega
ship…but still large enough to lose one’s bearing. With eggs in hand, I
didn’t want them to get cold, so I sat down with our friends, ordered more
juice and coffee and dined with them. Of course, being a thoughtful wife,
I texted Skip to tell him where I was, but Skip failed to download the Ship’s
text program so he had no idea what had happened to me. Fortunately, Tonu
decided to go retrieve Skip from the other side of the large dining area and
deliver him to me. We checked the day’s itinerary and chose those activities
that seemed the most interesting. As it turned out, after breakfast we
scattered like cockroaches and haven’t seen each other since. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was alone at the
onboard art auction! That’s extremely dangerous. Truthfully, I was
tempted to bid on several paintings, but refrained from being impulsive (not a
quality I ordinarily possess)!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3:00: When food is
involved, people always find their way to the dining areas. I knew we’d
find each other at high tea! Cruises are not for people who want to be by
themselves. I have found that most people are quite social and happy to
tell others all about themselves. So, suffice it to say that being seated with
two other couples provided not only delicious bites of sweets and tea, but also
interesting conversation. But there was no time to linger, we had things to do!
I still hadn’t explored the jewelry shop onboard. There were diamonds,
emeralds, and tanzanites to ‘oooh’ and ‘ahhh’ over! Skip promptly walked
to the other side of the ship like a man who desperately NEEDED a tee-shirt.
There was an awkward moment when the jeweler pulled out a pendant for me
to examine, and I called Skip over to come look. It took some reassuring that I
was not going to buy anything for me to coax him over to enjoy looking at the
sparkly offerings as one might appreciate fine art. The look of relief on
his face when we finally walked away was noteworthy. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4:00 Happy hour.
Okay…who passes up cocktails and honey roasted peanuts? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5:00: Dressy night
and fine dining. Cocktails and appetizers first? Yes please!
Delicious dinner? Yes please! A special dessert? Of course!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">7:00: Captain’s
greeting and champagne in the main theater followed by entertainment. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The ocean was rolling us
from side to side so much that they had to cancel the nighttime dance
extravaganza and make a quick substitution of a comedian. It gave us a brief
respite from food. I noticed that my ankles and feet were swelling and my pants
were pulling at my waste. Dare I consider cutting back on overindulgence?
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Day 3:
Sightscreaming in Juneau Alaska<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We arrived at our first
stop. The sea was calm and it allowed for easy passage into the port. </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It was threatening rain as we left the ship
today. Thank goodness we brought umbrellas because the threat turned into a
reality. Fortunately, we got our sightseeing in before it began raining in
earnest. The gondola ride we took offered panoramic views of the town, the docs
and the sheer 1,800 foot drop. Being a wimp when it comes to heights, I
reluctantly boarded the areal tram. Halfway up I began clutching Skip’s hand
and by the time we got to the top, I held his fingers in a death grip. My other
hand clutched desperately on the bar on the sliding door. The attendant had to
request in a firm voice for me to let go so they could open the door to let the
passengers out. I didn’t respond so he lifted his voice and commanded that I
release my entwined fingers. Skip nudged me and I disengaged my stiffened
hold. Walking along the windowed platform was worthy of gasps in awe from
the tourists while I had to control screaming out loud. We managed getting back
down the mountain without plummeting to our deaths! Walking around the
plaza and shops was a far tamer endeavor, but sitting on a bench and looking
around at the sights seemed to be the safest and easiest way to take in the
local color.</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" />
<span style="background: white;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; float: none; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">Highlights of the day were the spotting of a large
pod of orcas, watching an artist carving a totem pole, and hearing about the
Tlingit culture. There are twenty indigenous languages in Alaska. I found myself wondering how they all communicate with one another. But then, when I think of the various accents in our own part of the United States, it's a wonder that we all communicate.</span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white; margin: 0in;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Day 4: Glacier Bay. Rain, rain go away! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">We woke up at 6:00 AM as we entered Glacier Bay. We
were socked-in-fog and visibility was gloomy at best. However, we were assured
that once the morning clouds lifted, our view would be
spectacular. Magically, by 8:00 AM. the clouds lifted, snowy peaks
appeared and ice chunks floated past us in the placid water. Then
came the promised spectacles…the glaciers. The grandeur…the beauty…the
breathtakingly amazing wonder as we watched in awe as the Margerie Glacier
calved right in front of us twice! Harbor seals lolled lazily on ice
chunks and sea otters floated past on their backs. They took the
beauty in just as casually as we were overwhelmed by it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="color: #222222; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After all of the
lounging around taking in the sights from our comfortable lounge chairs we had
worked up an appetite and went to lunch. I was beginning to feel more and more
like a large whale who was fattening up for the summer. It made sense to take advantage
when food was plentiful! Nature setting the example I followed was an
easy justification for one more plate of pasta! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After lunch we went to a
very interesting presentation all about (apropos) whales! We listened to
whale songs and the tones resonated with me. I could almost translate their
message. “Eat, rest, and frolic.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yes,” I agreed with
enthusiasm.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When we reached the Icy
Straight, we debated going ashore, but like bloated ticks we sat on the ship
indulging ourselves on drinks, food and entertainment. I told myself that I
would be filled with energy tomorrow. Everyone needs a lazy day sometimes.
Right?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Day 5: Sitka Showers<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #454545; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A rainy day in Sitka is
as common as a sunny day in Arizona. Dressing accordingly, we were ready
for inclement weather. However, the forecast didn’t prepare me for the blustery
winds that blew our umbrellas inside out and drenched us after a few minutes
outside. There was one of the mega ships that pulled into port next to us
with its gazillion passengers scurrying to catch the shuttles at the end of the
doc. Competing with the crowds for a chance to get into the town was not
for the faint of heart. Halfway down to the shuttle ,we talked ourselves
out of going and made a beeline back to the ship. It was (relatively) deserted
making it a lovely day of relaxation, strolling, and spending quality time
together. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Seeing otters frolicking
in the water right in front of your window, or seeing an Orca surfacing nearby,
is so exciting! I looked out the window after going to our stateroom
to change for dinner and almost immediately saw the unmistakable water spout of
an Orca whale as he rose to the surface. “What did you do today,
Jessica?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Oh nothing much…just
saw a whale or two!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yup! I love this cruise!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After dinner we went to
the Orange party in honor of the King’s birthday. I’ll tell you the
ship was a-rockin’ ! Everyone (well almost everyone) wore orange and
was prepared to dance the night away. Sadly, the sea air, too much food, and
too many cocktails made us sleepy. I suppose that leaving the party early was
prudent for those of us planning to do any shore excursions the next morning.
It is one of the most frustrating aspects of cruising. There is so much to do
and so little time! I have yet to attend an origami lesson or a game
of bingo. We did finally manage to play trivia only to discover how dismally
ignorant we are. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Day 6 Ketchikan: Yes we
can<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We docked in Ketchikan
at 7 AM and the strangest thing happened…there was blue sky. We had all but
given up hope of seeing any sunlight on this trip. But there it was and we took
full advantage walking through town and shopping in the quaint little town.
Then we hopped on a trolley that took us to streams filled with salmon, to a
fish hatchery where we saw bald eagles, and where the black bears were casually
walking among the fishermen along the stream beds stealing the fish they
caught. We watched a Mama Bear and her two babies walk along the stream bed and
feasting on salmon while another Mama and her cub waded across the stream to
the other side. All the while a larger black bear observed everything from his
rocky vantage point above. Then we drove to a Tlinget Indian Village where
there were amazing and abundant totem poles. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Once back on the ship we
looked out on the water to see whales and porpoises swimming past. It was a
wonderful sight to see. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Day 7: our last day!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We awoke to sun
streaming in our windows and glinting on the water. The ocean was calm. It was
a perfect day to scan the sea for wildlife (being mainly porpoises and whales).
We felt lazy and unmotivated to make a beeline to the breakfast buffet. It
lacked its usual appeal which told us we were satiated. It was a shocking
revelation. We opted for brunch in the dining room with controlled
portions. By mid-afternoon I heard the buffet calling to me. I
was only going to get some iced tea but as soon as the doors opened to the
possibilities, I found other temptations. I told myself I can control my
portions. In fact, I managed to do just that which indicated that if I were to
go on a longer cruise, I might actually regulate my intake of
food. If we were to take a 14 day cruise perhaps I might even
acquaint myself with the gym. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At dinner, there was a
bit of a show when a Humpback Whale decided to slap the water with his
tale.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He kept it up so long that everyone
in the entire dining room witnessed the magnificent display.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I wondered how the cruise line had trained
this guy to perform for the tourists and also wondered how much they paid him!)
I guarantee that no one onboard left disappointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the highlight of whale watching.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Victoria was our last
stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a beautiful place!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrived in the evening so only had a few
hours to explore the area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skip and I
opted for a shuttle bus that took us to downtown where we walked around the
Empress Hotel, the downtown shops and saw the beautifully lit government
buildings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a small taste of the
town but a memorable one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We purchased one
more trinket, one more souvenir before returning to the ship, and then we had
to return home to the real world. No more happy hours. No more shows. No more
buffets and fine dining. No more tours rich with culture and breathtaking
sights. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 5pt;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’ll
use this time to get in shape for our next cruise. Until then I’ll rest with
the happy memories of pampered days and nights, of spending time away from
interrupting phone calls, TV, and other daily distractions. I will
tough it out through the remaining hot summer days. I may forget and gaze
outside hoping to spot a whale spouting in the distance, then sigh deeply and
move closer the air conditioner.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Post
script:</span><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There’s nothing worse than boarding a plane after a cruise and
finding that the seatbelt shrank. I tried to link both sides together but
ultimately had to request an extender! How humiliating! So, I have vowed
to eat celery sticks and carrots until I am sure that the seat belt fits
again. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-21767932869842415692020-05-08T12:42:00.000-07:002020-05-08T13:10:42.789-07:00A Very Disturbing Post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L6PbmBVi5TA/XrWvAFXFFPI/AAAAAAAADCw/obrSBqldsKAJ6risxtjSLLNw6FLKlZwVACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/snack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="562" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L6PbmBVi5TA/XrWvAFXFFPI/AAAAAAAADCw/obrSBqldsKAJ6risxtjSLLNw6FLKlZwVACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/snack.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Being someone who has always loved to bake, has naturally led me to creating some wonderful confections which my husband Skip has enjoyed on his frequent trips through the kitchen. For example, a malformed cookie's life expectation is 3 minutes on the cooling rack. A muffin is approximately 5 minutes unless it has cinnamon in it, then it is most likely less than a minute. I cannot frost, ice or garnish without finding something amiss. </div>
<br />
"Where's that cookie I set aside?" I ask Skip as he wanders back into the kitchen for another perusal of the baked assortment.<br />
<br />
"Which one? You mean the one with the oblong edge?"<br />
<br />
"Yes."<br />
<br />
"Oh. I ate it," he answers without any hesitation.<br />
<br />
"I was saving that one as a sample once I tried the royal icing flooding technique," I complain. "Now I'll have to practice on one of the good ones." This makes no impression on Skip who is still smacking his lips and brushing cookie crumbs from his shirt.<br />
<br />
I am about to make caramel corn and ask him where he is going to be since I know that I would prefer that he remain in his office while I am working. The thing about Caramel Corn is that once the caramel is cooked it must be spread on the naked popcorn very quickly before it cools too much. I can't navigate the pot, the spatula, and sauce around his sampling fingers too successfully. Skip's flash and grab approach works with some things but not others. In the instance where the hot caramel is still bubbling as I pour it, he's liable to get burned. I shoot him a warning glance that says, "If you value your life, you will leave the kitchen NOW!"<br />
<br />
Hurt, but not frightened, Skip extricates himself from further dire warnings telling me that he is going outside to mow. Now's my chance. I rush to start the process hoping to be finished before he returns. Before I can remove the pots and pans, he has returned to deliver one small jab back at me. This no doubt comes from the banishment pronouncement that I laid on him minutes earlier.<br />
<br />
"As long as you're baking and such, you <b><i>should</i></b> make more dog bones for Kira."<br />
<br />
I look up from what I am doing and remind him that I have the leftover dough from the last batch I made. It is still in the freezer.<br />
<br />
"She doesn't like those," He reminds me.<br />
<br />
"Yeah. I know. That's why I haven't made any more for her," I reply.<br />
<br />
"You need to make the ones with more peanut butter, he tells me.<br />
<br />
"Those <b><i>are</i></b> the ones with more peanut butter!" I answer defensively. "They're the same ones she has always enjoyed."<br />
<br />
Skip shakes his head. "No. I couldn't taste the peanut butter in this last batch."<br />
<br />
This news is disturbing on so many levels.<br />
1) Skip is perhaps losing his sense of taste.<br />
2) Skip is giving baking advice<br />
3) Skip is giving advice on how to bake dog biscuits<br />
and finally...the most disturbing of all...<br />
4) Skip is eating dog biscuits!<br />
<br />
Let me paint you a picture of what has happened over the years. I decided to bake gourmet dog biscuits because our Siberian Husky is finicky and frankly, in her mind, she deserves homemade dog biscuits. So I found a good recipe to which I added an extra dollop of peanut butter, some vanilla extract, and even a teaspoon of hazelnut extract. I cut the dough into small rectangles so that the treats could be used as small rewards. The aroma was intoxicating as they baked to crispy perfection. Kira awaited the cooling process for her moment to sample, and when that moment finally arrived, she pushed her way to the front of the line past Skip whose chin was elevated and whose nose was twitching right along with our dog's. Kira ate her small sample with gusto begging for more. Skip quickly volunteered to throw her another piece. His hands grabbed a small fistful somewhat like one might grab cocktail peanuts. He shook his closed palm and tossed one to Kira and then tossed one in his mouth crunching loudly. "Mmm. He proclaimed. These are really good."<br />
<br />
"Stop that!" I yelled. "Those are for Kira." I might as well have shouted in the wind.<br />
<br />
Skip continued this practice throughout the entire supply of treats. I would hear him rummaging in the plastic container for treats for Kira two, three, four times a day. Then I would hear both of them crunching.<br />
<br />
"One for you and two for me!" He would tell her.<br />
<br />
Kira glowered at her master and retreated to the family room. Then one day, she seemed to lose interest in the treats altogether. I wonder if it had something to do with not wanting to share. Perhaps if I added ground liver and fish oil, Skip might stay away from them and she will go back to enjoying doggie treats again. Anyway, for now, I am trying to decide if I should bake some of the doggie treats for Skip after I finish the caramel corn recipe. No doubt he will be back in the kitchen in a half an hour so I better get a move on! The man will be hungry as a DOG, and I will need to toss him a snack or two or three.<br />
<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-75541560908606830832020-05-03T13:35:00.001-07:002020-05-03T13:42:27.174-07:00Isolation: The Upside<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jeG1JCW2HX0/Xq8sePo-R2I/AAAAAAAADCM/vjCNZnmiJ8gJZQbWPXRuMvE_FGZhwFUHQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Turtle%2BRecall_%2BDerby%2Bdashed%252C%2Bturtles%2Bgo%2Bin%2Bslow%252C%2Bsteady%2Brace.html.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jeG1JCW2HX0/Xq8sePo-R2I/AAAAAAAADCM/vjCNZnmiJ8gJZQbWPXRuMvE_FGZhwFUHQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Turtle%2BRecall_%2BDerby%2Bdashed%252C%2Bturtles%2Bgo%2Bin%2Bslow%252C%2Bsteady%2Brace.html.jpg" /></a></div>
This sheltering in place during the Corona Virus is showing me that we humans are a resilient bunch. Oh yes, we grump about not being able to take it anymore and yet we remain steadfast in our determination to avoid infection. We are bored and wonder how we are going to last another day. But human ingenuity wins out after a while. I guess that's the upside of all of this.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was the Kentucky Derby...well, it was supposed to be the Derby but that didn't happen. Instead, some genius created a program, designed an algorithm, and televised a horse race that was noteworthy on many levels. For one thing, it was virtual. For another, it took 13 Triple Crown Winners in history and pitted them against each other in a horse race that was both fascinating and exciting. It was ingenious how they could do that. I wanted to ask questions and wished that they had a chatbox on our TV like they do on our Zoom calls. How could they do this to the viewing audience?! I wanted to know, 'What if Seattle Slew had veered left? Would Secretariat have still won the race?' I also wanted to know, 'What if it had been raining? Would that have changed the results?' 'How did they choose which horse race to use from each of the horses?' I had so many questions and no one to ask.<br />
<br />
Skip got up from his spot in front of the TV and fixed me another bourbon cocktail. We had to rough it because there was no mint for a Mint Julep so we were drinking sweetened bourbon with orange and cherry. Mmm. Not bad. (See what I mean about ingenuity?) On our second round of cocktails, he announced that there was a turtle race being run and sponsored by Old Forester. "Sure! I'll drink to that!" I told him. The race was rather amusing but not so much as Skip's commentary. He was hungry for sports. He had gone too long without live sporting events and now, faced with a turtle race his attention turned to each of the entries. He commented and analyzed, sipped his drink while studying the attributes of each turtle and noted their names by repeating them to me as he often does when we watch other sporting events to help involve me. I sighed and nibbled my cocktail peanuts feigning interest. The trumpet sounded heralding the beginning of the race. (It was the actual Derby bugler) and then the announcer (the real Derby announcer) introduced each of the turtles. The field of seven was populated by the likes of Seattle Slow, Green Mamba, Galapa-Go, What the Turtleneck, Rocket to Nowhere, Steve, and American Tortuga. All were ready at their post.<br />
<br />
3-2-1, out of the gate, and they were off.<br />
No.<br />
They weren't.<br />
These shelled reptiles chose to build the tension a bit longer. Their 2 minutes of fame stretched into 3 minutes without anyone making a move. Then, suddenly one of the turtles, I think that it was Galapa-Go decided that it was his chance to score viewer fans by moving out of the circle. With slow-motion, he turned away from the others and began his slow journey to the finish line. But wait, the excitement was only just beginning. Some of the others chose to turn and race as well. "And they're off!" yelled the announcer. I can't say that we watched with rapt attention but it held our interest enough as the potential winner, Galapa-Go decided the last minute to turn away from the finish line thus leaving it open for another, What the Turtleneck to challenge him at the last minute. I turned to get more ice for my drink and perhaps missed some of the finer nuances of the race, but ultimately witnessed the historic nail-biting finish as one determined turtle stuck his neck out and crossed the finish line. Since 1945, the last time this race was run, the new winner, What the Turtleneck had achieved a first place victory to the cheers of the announcer, of Skip, and no doubt thousands...nay millions of hungry racing enthusiasts to earn his place in history.<br />
<br />
And so the sun set on another day of the Covid-19 isolation. But on this day, I learned that some things...some traditions will not be stifled by a virus. Mankind finds a way to rise above the challenges with which he is faced. He not only perseveres but through creativity, he excels.<br />
Fun-Factor Score: Man - 1, Covid - 0 .Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-89274541153739805532020-04-16T12:12:00.001-07:002020-04-16T12:43:10.039-07:00Covid Cooking. A Guide to 'Fine Dining' During Isolation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<a href="https://lifestylefrisco.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/fruits-and-vegetables.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lifestylefrisco.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/fruits-and-vegetables.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="http://newsfirst.lk/english/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Vegetables.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://newsfirst.lk/english/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Vegetables.jpg" width="320" /></a><img src="https://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2012/08/22/article-0-07299D64000005DC-337_226x243.jpg" /> </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<a href="https://penntoday.upenn.edu/sites/default/files/2018-05/iStock-888575586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="103" src="https://penntoday.upenn.edu/sites/default/files/2018-05/iStock-888575586.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Here we are in our 4th week of isolation with the refrigerator looming bigger than ever in our kitchen and our lives. We are low on some things and someone needs to brave the Covid-19 epidemic to make a run to the grocery store. My husband, Skip is the designated grocery store shopper equipped with mask and gloves, hand sanitizer, plastic bags, wipes, and Lysol spray. Each week we have taken greater precautions until the last trip to the store when I told him that he was not allowed in the house until he stripped off his clothes in the garage, washed his hands thoroughly, then took a shower. Meanwhile we took in the groceries that were perishable and left boxes and non-perishables on the garage floor. To my shock and bewilderment, I found that Skip had bought more perishables than non-perishables. There were two large bags of lettuce and a large plastic container of fancy-mix of lettuce. Another large tub was filled with spinach and then there was a huge bunch of asparagus, lots of corn on the cob, tomatoes enough to feed an army and other assorted fruits and vegetables. I panicked. What was I supposed to do with all of that stuff? Those bags of lettuce only last about three days. Asparagus goes mushy really quickly. Tomatoes develop black spots within just a few days, bananas go brown and spotted, and strawberries get moldy. Just the thought makes me gag. Skip also bought a large whole rotisserie chicken. My mind was spinning. How would I...how <b><i>could</i></b> I make use of everything before it rotted, turned to mush, and had to be thrown out? Being resourceful, I rolled up my sleeves and took out the salad bowl.<br />
<br />
Week 4 menus<br />
<br />
Day 1:<br />
Dinner - I made a HUGE salad to have with the chicken. I added leftovers from days past. (Waste not want not!) It was a smorgasbord of flavors that turned out to be quite tasty.<br />
Day 2: \<br />
Lunch - Salad with chicken pieces. There was still so much chicken left. I think that I overdid it on the salad the night before, but we also had a huge amount of greens just sitting there waiting to turn into sludge, so I remind myself that I shouldn't be wasteful.<br />
Dinner - Chicken soup and salad. (I used the leftover chicken to make the soup and lots of the fresh vegetables in the stock.) Even though the soup turned out delicious, it was hard to disguise the fact that we had just had the same ingredients at lunch. I was hoping that our digestive systems didn't stage a mutiny.<br />
Day 3:<br />
Lunch - Fruit and salad I also cooked the asparagus but just didn't have the interest in eating it, so I stuck it in the refrigerator for later. <br />
Dinner - Leftover chicken soup with pasta added; but please, God, no more salad!!! I was popping Tums and praying that my indigestion would go away by bedtime.<br />
Day 4:<br />
Lunch - Geez...some of the lettuce is slimy! We threw it out but managed to get lots of the lettuce into the bowl along with spinach and tomatoes for, yup...you guessed it...more SALAD! I added some of the cooked asparagus that really needed to be eaten and also found some leftover chicken slices in our lunch meat drawer. They were borderline greenish but Skip ate it without comment. I fear he might be losing his sense of taste and smell.<br />
Mid-afternoon snack: fruit smoothies. The fruit was beginning to look a bit off so I pureed and disguised it in a smoothie. Skip said it was a bit 'zingy' which in my mind meant that the strawberries were probably starting to ferment. Just for good measure I gave us both some Tums feeling a little queasy about all of that roughage. On a positive note, Skip definitely seems to have recovered his sense of taste and smell. He nailed the fermenting fruit, and then when he passed the trash can he smelled the rotting asparagus bottoms I had discarded.<br />
Dinner: I took the cooked asparagus and pureed it in a bit of chicken bouillon and onion salt. I added it to the last of the leftover chicken soup. It was delicious! Now I wish I had more asparagus, more chicken and more of the soup vegetables. (I can't believe I just said that!)<br />
<br />
It is now Day 5 of our 4th week of isolation and my stomach aches. I may have overdone it with the fruits and veggies. I am craving French Fries, pasta, and unhealthy snacks. We are out of popcorn. The Cheetos that we bought during week 1 of isolation (and that I yelled about having in the house) are nothing but a long-ago fond memory, and we have eaten all of the baked goods I made during my ambitious baking spree during week two. I am looking at some old fruit that is beginning to become questionable. The veggies are pretty much gone, along with most of the other perishables and dairy products. Our walk-in pantry which was so well-stocked that it challenged our ability to walk in to retrieve anything now beckons us. I remember that somewhere in the very back amidst cans...lots and lots of cans of soup, there are some crackers. CRACKERS!!! Should I retrieve them or wait another day? But what are my choices? Cautiously I enter the disarray of cans and packages of dried goods. They are the kinds of foods one only considers during the worst of situations. Oh wait...yes! This <b><i>is</i></b> the worst of situations!!! I reach for a hidden package of rice-a-roni and realize its expiration date was a year ago. REALLY? I had no idea that Rice-a-roni had an expiration date! I prepare it anyway, and mix it with a crumble of leftover hamburger from last week. I take out a package of grated cheese that I had the good sense to stick in the freezer and spread it on top of the mixture then allow it to melt in the microwave. Mmmm. Delicious. True pantry gourmet. We eat it and dream of the time when we could dine out. But alas, those times are gone as we wait out the Shelter-in-Place orders to be lifted.<br />
<br />
Now, I lift my pen to paper to write out the menus for the next few days. Maybe we will have some sausage gravy on stale bread. That'll be fun. Then we can have frozen soup veggies for dinner. Desperate times lead to desperate measures. We will survive!!!<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-79554791145280504822020-02-10T14:04:00.002-08:002020-02-11T11:05:11.841-08:00Blabberskipping<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ktDQSet0dgk/XkHSMAYqZxI/AAAAAAAAC64/IFq1Db0o8RsCEwv5SmHUHl0ncLaPvvp3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/blabbermouth%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1114" data-original-width="1600" height="222" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ktDQSet0dgk/XkHSMAYqZxI/AAAAAAAAC64/IFq1Db0o8RsCEwv5SmHUHl0ncLaPvvp3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/blabbermouth%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a>I guess I pictured going into my old age engaged in a peaceful
passing of time with both of us sitting in rocking chairs reading, listening to
music, watching television and laughing occasionally over a joke or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skip would mumble something and I would
respond with a word or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might say
something like, "What would you like for dinner?" and he might
answer, "Anything is fine."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Isn't that how we picture old age?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead, I have discovered something I never would have
expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband, Skip has gone
through a huge change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He's not the person I married.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skip used to be an introvert, very quiet,
totally cerebral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a perfect match
for me since I talked a lot and he was a good listener.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, though, he is exhibiting behavior
that makes me think that some alien being has inhabited his body and has taken
over his brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we go to parties he
is the one most likely to meet and greet, to stand in groups chatting amiably
about this and that...the king of small talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I, on the other hand, shrink off to a corner to talk to one person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went to a party a month ago and I literally
searched for something...<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anything</i></b> to say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, in my defense, I was sitting
amongst a group of non-working trophy wives who were complaining about
struggling to fit into their size 4 jeans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One young lady actually complained that she had found a grey hair!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would have spilled my drink on her if I wasn't
consumed with getting quietly drunk and needing all of the vodka in my glass. Anyway,
back to Skip, he was on the other side of the room entertaining a group with
interesting trivia when I looked up to be 'saved'.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ordinarily I would have caught his eye and
even before I suggested it, he would make small gestures of needing to
depart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would be moving towards the
door while I would be wrapped in conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But now, with this current role-reversal, I was wearing a hole in his
side as I poked him in reminder that it was getting late and we had to go home
to feed the dog.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few months ago, when I really began to notice this change
I asked him if he had been drinking (naturally assuming that it loosened his
tongue and inhibitions) but in many situations he is doing nothing more than
having a coffee or a glass of iced tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In fact, the other night, I was trying to work on a Sudoku puzzle and he
wouldn't stop talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Did you
know that the longest word in the English language has 45 letters?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Really?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What's
the word?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Hang on...oh, I can't find it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hmmm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It here somewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just had it
on my phone."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I waited while he
continued to thumb through the myriad posts that come to him on his newsfeed.)
"Oh, here it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a medical term."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Of course it is!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We don't use those."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went
back to my puzzle but within seconds Skip was throwing out some political
commentary from an obscure authority on the subject of the upcoming
election.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feigned interest but when he
abruptly changed the subject to discuss taxes and the newest tax laws I began
to yawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was still talking when I
began to sing a melody in my head that made me smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in my 'Happy Place' which meant that
someone was droning on and on and I had stopped listening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, It came to me. 'Just be direct,' I
told myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I looked him in the
eyes and announced, "Skip! You are blabbering!" Granted, he was informative and interesting, he was sharing and conversational, he was being the perfect husband. But to me, I was on noise overload. The TV was on and he was competing with that, with my inner voice, and my puzzle-solving ability.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What do you mean I'm blabbering? I thought that you might like knowing these things." </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I do, I <b><i>do</i></b>. But right now, you're being a blabby-butt!" I turned up the volume on
the TV as Skip retreated into quiet reflection for a few seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I noticed that he looked hurt and so I
apologized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Oh Sweetheart, it's
cute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's just so unlike you."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Skip smiled at me and encouraged by my returning smile he
hit me with a full discussion of a project he's working on that involves
technological tools I've never heard of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I took a deep breath and returned to my silent song.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Sudoku puzzle had to wait until Skip went
to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the morning my husband was
awake and chattering on about the latest developments in his newsfeed. ('La-la-la-la,'
I sang in my head.) Now I really shouldn't complain. Most wives married to the same man for many years would give anything to have lots of conversation rather than spend long quiet evenings just sitting and watching TV. But honestly, after a full day of brain activity, I just want to vegetate over mindless TV.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other night he did it again...this time with
friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was on a roll and I was
trying to unsuccessfully insert a comment when it hit me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skip was blabbering and the new term for it
was born in the deep recesses of my brain<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">:
</b>Blabberskipping!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Skip!" I
announced with dramatic flourish. "You're <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">BLABBERSKIPPING!" </i></b>So
now I've coined a new word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn't
help the fact that I am experiencing this metamorphosis right before my eyes,
but at least I have a term for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You're
welcome, America.</div>
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-39828528440677146252020-01-20T10:30:00.000-08:002020-01-20T11:50:11.560-08:00Up in the Air: Travels and Tribulations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JVRBHCbZA7s/XiYAdZXI_eI/AAAAAAAAC4E/vSOCi2p0MY8PGXpqcrhGEW4y22AxsieKACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/airplane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="634" height="247" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JVRBHCbZA7s/XiYAdZXI_eI/AAAAAAAAC4E/vSOCi2p0MY8PGXpqcrhGEW4y22AxsieKACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/airplane.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Skip and I went to his annual company meeting in Seattle and decided that as long as we were traveling all that way from North Carolina we should definitely go visit his sister, brother-in-law and mother in Idaho. We flew out of Raleigh at an ungodly hour to catch our plane to Chicago.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, I am a nervous flyer. I find it difficult to accept that it is safe to fly high up in the air, relying on people I don't know who have manufactured a mechanism that is,in my mind, too heavy to stay aloft, has too many moving parts to be certain that something will not malfunction, and has too many miles of service not to have some sort of mechanical break down. At best, if and when that happens, we are inconvenienced with delays, but the worst...well, we know what <b><i>that</i></b> might be! It's that thought that keeps me awake and filled with worry.<br />
<br />
Neither of us slept well the night before and were extremely sleepy when we got to the airport parking and shuttle service. Thank goodness our shuttle trip didn't require a security check since I am sure that I would have had to go through the same ordeal that met us at the airport. I made the grave error of wearing a sweater that was trimmed in metallic threads. BIG MISTAKE! You'd think that I was wearing an explosive vest. I was pulled to one side and had to wait for a special agent to check me. I was asked to remove several items of clothing, wanded, and then subjected to the whole body scan. Finally a female TSA officer walked me over to a sign with a colorful graphic of the human body. Pointing at the sign, she explained where she would be touching me (inappropriately) and then proceeded with the examination. I asked her if she wanted to buy me dinner first but she didn't find it amusing. She also closely examined a pin I was wearing. She shot me a suspicious glance and rotated the pin to see if it was in fact some sort of dangerous weapon. Finally satisfied that I was no danger to anyone she handed me my pin, my scarf, and told me I was free to get my things and go to the terminal.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PsX5GADBGyc/XiYAr6kzg8I/AAAAAAAAC4I/MAQvF-PpIYchpTQLT0w-xH1rzcN9QTVsACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/IMG_7611%2B%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PsX5GADBGyc/XiYAr6kzg8I/AAAAAAAAC4I/MAQvF-PpIYchpTQLT0w-xH1rzcN9QTVsACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_7611%2B%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Once I put myself back together we hiked to the gate...a remote outpost at the very end of the terminal. Halfway there, my energy gave out and my muscles began to cramp. I looked for volunteers along the way who might hand me a cup of water to cheer me on, but sadly, the marathon walk had no event organizers like one expects to see at most marathon events. Evidently, we participants were on our own with the finish line still 10 or 12 gates away. When we finally arrived at gate 3959 Z (or something like that) I plopped down on the nearest hard plastic seat and whimpered that my most comfortable walking shoes were evidently not that comfortable any more. My little toes were screaming at me and I was sure that there were a few raw spots on my heels.<br />
<br />
Our airplane, a sardine can with wings, was outfitted with seat belts designed for Barbie and Ken. Clearly, anyone over 100 pounds with an average-sized lap could not fasten this contraption without some major contortions. I let the belt out all the way and still had to suck in my breath and tighten the glutes in order to fit the two sides together. I watched as the flight attendant rushed down the aisle supposedly checking to make sure we all were good little passengers who had secured ourselves with our seatbelts and stowed all personal belongings in the above compartments or under the seats. She barely glanced in my direction and couldn't possibly see if I had my seatbelt fastened since it was hidden from view by my metallic sweater/exploding vest. I finally decided that my look of discomfort was probably enough to assure her that I was wedged safely and securely in my seat.<br />
<br />
Our pilot, an experienced man who knew how to keep me calm by not doing nose dives, loop-dee-loops and other such stunts, safely delivered us to freezing cold and snowy weather in Chicago. I unwound myself from the cramped seat complaining that my back had a spasm that wouldn't allow me to stand up straight. We were at Gate 1A (or something like that) and had a connecting flight at Gate 10,385 ZZZ (or something like that). There were no carts or helpful attendants. We had to WALK! I don't know how other people could do it because my tongue was hanging out, my feet were barking louder than a pack of hounds chasing a fox, and I was sure that I might die somewhere between the Starbucks and McDonald's about 2 gates down from where we landed.<br />
<br />
"Do you want something to eat?" Skip asked helpfully.<br />
"Oh no thank you. I'm still full from the stale cookie and cold cup of coffee they gave us on the plane," I answered sarcastically.<br />
<br />
We had a two hour wait for our connecting flight so I was able to catch my breath and recover enough to limp to the next plane. From Chicago we had a long flight to Seattle. The plane was full and we sat three across in seats meant for Lilliputians. I'd like to know who the Marquis de Sade of airline seat designers is so I can personally thank him for my ever so enjoyable trip where I was so tightly ensconced in the seat that I couldn't get up or down without a great deal of effort. Hence, I tested my bladder endurance and pushed myself beyond what most people could do. It became my personal challenge. Could I make it to Seattle without using the lavatory? I hate using in-air lavatories. We always hit turbulence just about the time I walk in and lock the door. Trying to balance myself after sitting in a cramped position for several hours is bad enough, but having to engage in a half squat and keeping my focus while worrying about plunging to my death in that compromising position is even more stressful. Therefore, I try to avoid getting up from my seat to use the facilities.<br />
<br />
Oh boy! There was an on board movie that I hadn't seen. I grabbed my earphones and plugged them in to enjoy watching something that should not have been shown on a small screen in a lighted cabin. The scenes were too dark and I found that I only caught small glimpses of the action. I missed about 75 percent of the movie and finally gave up in disgust. It was time to close my eyes and get some sleep. Just about then was when food service began in first class seating just in front of the flimsy divider curtain that hid nothing but the fact that we were in coach. The fragrance of bacon and eggs assailed my senses exacerbating the fact that someone was offering me a glass of water and pretzels. I decided to push the envelope and get another drink of water before realizing that it might make me have to go to the bathroom. UGH! What was I thinking?! With another two hours to go in the air, I was beginning to feel that distinct feeling of discomfort. By the time we landed in Seattle and taxied to our gate, I was in full panic mode running down attendants and passengers alike to get to the rest room.<br />
<br />
The walk to the next gate involved picking up our luggage and changing airlines, so there was no casual stroll to a nearby gate. We had to walk from one end of the airport to the other to find the remote outpost where our luggage was delivered. The airport diverted all traffic to the right wing of the terminal to take us downstairs. From there it was another hike to the side of the terminal from which we came, just under the gate where we had landed. I questioned the wisdom of this, particularly since we had to then hike on back upstairs to check in and go through the dreaded security check yet again. By this time, even though I was told I had a pre-check tag that meant I didn't have to take off shoes, scarf, jewelry, etc. I knew better. Of course I would set off the alarms. So, rather than subject myself to more humiliation I removed my offending items, placing them on the conveyor belt, and walked through the magnetic detector. The alarm went off and I nodded knowingly.<br />
<br />
"It's my sweater," I told the TSA security lady. She gave me a withering look and told me to walk through the body scanner. I did so obediently and then pointed to the metallic threads. Another withering look and a pat-down then freed me to rejoin my husband who had dutifully collected my miscellaneous items from the conveyor belt and X-Ray machine. Now came our sprint to the next gate at the other end of the world! Oh, but that wasn't all. Now we were told that the gate had changed and we had to walk even further. Finally reaching the departure gate we were told that this plane could only be boarded by walking outside. There was snow on the ground and freezing temperatures. I bundled up in my coat, scarf and gloves as we followed the dotted lines on the outdoor boarding zone to then climb up a ramp to the airplane. By now my feet were numb, not because of the cold weather, but because my blisters had blisters from all the walking. I couldn't feel my toes at all which was probably a good thing, and my muscle cramps had taken up permanent residence in my calves.<br />
<br />
A short hour later we were standing in the Spokane airport waiting for luggage yet again. This time, the walk was in the other direction and just as long. Fortunately, we were through with catching airplanes and only had to rent a car to drive an hour to Idaho. I thought that a car rental service might cleverly locate just outside of baggage claim, but that would be a silly notion. It makes far more sense for a car rental desk to be at (you guessed it) the OTHER end of the airport as far away from baggage pick up as it could be. I do not usually use expletives, not even under my breath, but I might have thought three or four of them with every step I took.<br />
<br />
By the time we actually got in our rented car, the snow was coming down pretty steadily and what should have been a 45 minute drive to our hotel in Idaho became a grueling stop and go ordeal of<br />
1 1/2 hours. I worried about spinning out on the slippery roads. It was rush hour traffic and snow plows couldn't get through to rid the highway of the collecting snow. We finally pulled up to our hotel to deposit our luggage, freshen up and then get back on the road to go visit Skip's family. Needless to say, wine awaited us when we arrived. Thankfully it didn't continue to snow until after we had left and gotten back to our hotel.<br />
<br />
The next morning we awoke to a winter wonderland and cleared roads which made the drive back to the relatives much easier and certainly beautiful albeit freezing cold. After two days, it was time to return to Spokane to catch a flight to Seattle and my jittery nerves returned to allow for more stress and anxiety. Security check-in was much easier. I wore nothing that could set off alarms. Still, my boots didn't make it through and I had to remove them because they apparently had a metal shaft. Oh, and Skip didn't make it through with me because it seems like he had forgotten to turn in his car rental keys when he dropped off the car at the rental return. The TSA security people didn't like this at all. I was questioned by the agent asking who that man I was traveling with was and why did he make an abrupt departure from the security gate? Just looking at him, one would easily be suspicious that he was a terrorist for sure. His graying hair and open honest expression is a dead giveaway. I'm sure that both of us are now on some list.<br />
<br />
The gate to our aircraft was located in outer Mongolia (or something like that). When we got there we were told that the aircraft was slightly smaller and the overhead bins would not accommodate much in the way of carry-ons. They neglected to mention that the plane was an old-fashioned propeller style. The propellers were located just outside my window. I was so nervous, I couldn't even talk. I pointed at the propellers in shock and horror making some sign of distress while Skip reassured me that it would be just fine.<br />
<b><i>JUST FINE</i></b>???!!!<br />
I squinted and checked each bolt and blade to make sure that nothing looked like it might be loose or ready to fall off. As the propeller blades began to rotate I cinched my seat belt tighter and prepared for take-off which miraculously couldn't have been smoother or easier.<br />
<br />
Once back on terra firma I was breathing again and happily enjoyed a couple of days of respite before having to go through the entire flying ordeal to return home. The hiking and hauling of luggage, the tight seats and discomfort, the security check-ins, the difficulty with gate changes, lack of sleep, no food service on the airplane and no time to eat a decent meal on the ground all culminated with our final leg of the trip from Dallas to Raleigh. We were seated three across. Skip was in the middle and a very large gentleman sat down on the aisle seat next to him. I felt sorry for Skip who looked like a piece of lunch meat wedged between two slices of bread. It turned out that our seat companion was far more interested in talking than sleeping or watching the movie. His booming voice could be heard several aisles back and I knew that the dirty looks that we were getting came from that fact. I tried to rescue Skip by asking if he wanted his headphones so he could watch the movie but he told me, "No. You can use them." (Why do I even bother trying to save him?)<br />
<br />
When we landed in North Carolina a gave a silent prayer of thanks. Once again we were delivered safe and sound. All in all, I can say that the next trip we take will be a driving one. I don't care if it is 1 hour or 15 hours! All I know is, somewhere there is a TSA agent who owes me a dinner and a flight attendant or two who owe me a very strong cocktail.<br />
<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-89857581500878772019-11-24T08:24:00.000-08:002019-11-24T08:25:18.415-08:00An Empty Place at the Table<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9idecdKoymk/XdqtUNu7osI/AAAAAAAACzo/C_CBInue_g4ekkvpyvWmFTqWY8JZaeFBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/Thanksgiving%2B2015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9idecdKoymk/XdqtUNu7osI/AAAAAAAACzo/C_CBInue_g4ekkvpyvWmFTqWY8JZaeFBwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Thanksgiving%2B2015.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
This is the week that will test me. It will be our first Thanksgiving without my mother. I am beginning to bake and cook now. The aromas of cinnamon, apple and sugary pumpkin fill the air. Suddenly I remember those moments when I stood at my mother's side and stirred bubbling saucepans filled with those same fragrant ingredients. She was in charge. She lovingly taught me her secrets to timing and technique for the perfect Thanksgiving meal. I think back to holidays past and remember. I think about the family and friends, the poignant moments, the special feeling, the excitement knowing that soon we would hear the doorbell ring and would gather with grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. They are all gone now save a few cousins who are thousands of miles away.<br />
<br />
When it was time, when I had a family of my own, <i><b>I</b></i> began to make the Thanksgiving meal. Smiling through tears I recall my mother's comments, her teaching, her patience as I attempted <i><b>my</b></i> first Thanksgiving dinner. My mother assisted, taking care not to intrude. She had passed the baton. It was my turn to become the matriarch and she stood beside me as sous chef. We invited new people to our table. There were our own children now. But always...always there was a place for parents. My mother and father graced our table for each of the holidays. As the years passed (all too quickly) a place where my father once sat was empty.<br />
<br />
My mother's role changed again. She had Alzheimer's and as the disease progressed she was no longer my assistant. She became an appreciative guest, happy to sit at the table and proclaim that each dish was her favorite. All too soon, the shift occurred as my mother's Alzheimer's Disease erased her memories and decimated her thoughts. Our final Thanksgiving was devoid of her ability to taste or enjoy the food on her plate. She ate without tasting. She sat without seeing. She heard without understanding. But still she was with us. I could look across the table and see her smile, feel her presence, assured that she was still filling a place at the table.<br />
<br />
But now, today, as I began to place things, counting out the dishes and the silverware, I shift everything over removing the space where my mother once sat. I will miss her smile on Thursday. I will miss filling her plate and helping her with her napkins. I will miss pouring a tiny taste of champagne for her. I didn't know that it would hurt this much. I didn't know that the emptiness would be so unbearable. My grief overshadows my memories momentarily and I struggle to regain them, to once again recall the laughter, the jokes, the cheer.<br />
<br />
Through blinding tears, I shift my gaze to the window. It is windy outside. The dying leaves flutter to the ground and the autumnal colors create an artist's palate that is beautiful to behold. Everything changes. Seasons change, people change, lives change. I am reminded of the beauty of cycles. Birth, life, death, birth, life, death. I witness it in the natural things. Our magnificent oak tree stands as testament to nature's cycles. Always...there is such joy as after the stark winter, the first leaves emerge: the promise of new life...the fulfillment of nature's promise. Yes, my mother is gone but there is also a promise of new things, of new experiences, of new life on the horizon. I dry my tears and return to my work.<br />
<br />
I stir a saucepan full of cranberries and smile to myself as I remember my mother's suggestion to add a little more cinnamon. I am so thankful for all that she was and did for me: her little reminders, her teaching, her help and her support. There may be an empty seat at the table this year, but there will never, ever be an empty place in my heart. It is full of her grace, her beauty, her love, and her presence. It will be a happy Thanksgiving.<br />
<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-49295546935354815362019-06-09T09:56:00.001-07:002019-06-09T10:32:59.991-07:00No Time for Tea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-71Axn2gyhBA/XP06IBhfn-I/AAAAAAAACnI/mJBlT6-3hDsMslWZRqJtrxZ0i90t3EVGACLcBGAs/s1600/chocolate-cookies-and-two-cups-of-tea-on-a-wooden-table-FTAX48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="772" data-original-width="1332" height="185" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-71Axn2gyhBA/XP06IBhfn-I/AAAAAAAACnI/mJBlT6-3hDsMslWZRqJtrxZ0i90t3EVGACLcBGAs/s320/chocolate-cookies-and-two-cups-of-tea-on-a-wooden-table-FTAX48.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
She asked me to join them for tea. My mother and father were seated at the round table in their attached apartment, napkins folded neatly, two plates placed in front of them, two cups ready to be filled with the hot liquid, and a small plate of home-baked cookies placed in the center of the table.<br />
My father was less than enthusiastic about drinking tea, but humored my mother with her daily ritual out of love and devotion to her. I, however, didn't exhibit the same loyalty to the practice of stopping everything to imbibe in a cup of steaming hot Lipton (my mother's personal favorite.)<br />
<br />
"No thanks, not today," I told her. "I need to get back to work." I held the borrowed cup of flour in my hand ready to go back downstairs...back to my own kitchen in my own home even though their apartment was merely a doorway away from my kitchen. I needed to finish the cooking and get the dinner started before I returned to my work projects. Within 15 minutes I would be back at work, talking to clients, answering emails, adding notes to my files. There was no time for chit-chat with my parents, no time to spend idly sipping tea, tasting Mom's cookies, and hearing about how she thriftily used the stale grape nuts cereal to add extra crunch.<br />
<br />
"Well at least take a taste of my new recipe," she insisted as she held out a cookie on a napkin.<br />
<br />
Reluctantly, I took a small nibble already detecting that once again, she had left out a critical ingredient. The expected sweet taste was missing. The cookie tasted like a dog biscuit.<br />
Mom was becoming forgetful. Her baking skills were diminished by her inability to focus. It was begining to happen too often and I knew that soon, she might have to give up cooking altogether. For now, my father didn't seem to notice and the two of them continued to dine in their kitchen upstairs, contented with the bland fare, perhaps remembering that Mom <i>used</i> to be a great baker and convincing themselves that she still was.<br />
<br />
"Well?" She asked expectantly. "What do you think?"<br />
<br />
"They're good," I lied rushing back downstairs. I knew that a plateful would be delivered to us within a few hours for us to 'enjoy' at our leisure.<br />
<br />
I left the door ajar and could hear my parents talking quietly together. They were planning what they would watch on TV that night. I heard discussion about eating leftovers from the night before for dinner. Mom asked if Dad had remembered to take his pills. There was just simple, every day, unimportant conversation and yet it spoke of the normalcy, the simplicity, the harmony and the beauty of living together so many years.<br />
<br />
That was about two months before my father passed away. He had Alzheimer's, a bad heart, and prostate cancer. We didn't know at the time that he was terminally ill. We were told that he still had lots of time left. He was still cogent, conversant, (almost) self-sufficient, pleasant to be around. Oh there were tell-tale signs of course! He began mixing colors...outragious blends of maroon and orange. He lost things. He forgot things. He got confused. But still he smiled, joked, and lovingly indulged my mother and her need to sweeten each day with her baked confections.<br />
<br />
When I think back to those days, my care giving duties were minimal. They took care of each other in ways I never could. Their 61 years of marriage were enough to sustain them even when they began to need supervision and more care than they could provide themselves. I used to laugh about their antics, their signs of aging that were both frustrating and endearing. They were both hard of hearing, distracted, slowing in oh so many ways. But they smiled and laughed, remained positve and upbeat. They loved each other like no others and set a phenomenal example for all of us to follow and emulate. To look back at those days, to remember how they were together and with us, I feel the bittersweet lump in my throat. It isn't regret. It isn't guilt. It's something else. Maybe just a yearning to experience them once more...just for a moment...to go back to that time when I innocently believed they would live forever.<br />
<br />
The lost opportunity to sit with my parents, to enjoy 15 minutes of relaxing, talking, remembering, listening and experiencing the activity of doing nothing more than enjoying each other's company weighs more heavily on me today. I had a dream...a message in my sleep that alerted me to the fact that I am allowing time to slip through my fingers. How do I stop this? How do I seize all opportunities to cherish each waking minute. I thought about my time caring for my parents as a difficulty, a diversion from doing my own work and exploring my own interests. Yet now I appreciate the richness of the experience. It allowed me the time to spend with them. It gave me irreplaceable memories.<br />
<br />
It has been 17 years since my father passed away, and one month since my mother joined him. Today I am free to do as I please without the responsibilities of caregiving. However, the joy of having them nearby, of reaching out to touch their arms, to trace the lines on their faces, to feel the warmth of their skin, lingers in my mind and heart. They will always be a part of me. I just wish...<b><i>OH</i></b> how I wish I had a chance to sit and have just one more cup of tea at their little kitchen table, hear their laughter, see their smiles, and taste the wonderfully awful grapenuts cookies.Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-1278004763583120082019-05-11T11:55:00.000-07:002019-05-15T09:07:56.332-07:00A Mother's Day in Passing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PwjNGvymkco/XNcaEjWvrpI/AAAAAAAAClg/qV3cO4VwxzEu10A0EL8gDwYOd5IX0CRowCLcBGAs/s1600/8a3d151c0f181bd944aa1a3fe151ddf2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="620" height="179" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PwjNGvymkco/XNcaEjWvrpI/AAAAAAAAClg/qV3cO4VwxzEu10A0EL8gDwYOd5IX0CRowCLcBGAs/s320/8a3d151c0f181bd944aa1a3fe151ddf2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The phone call came around the time we were getting ready to go to bed. "Mrs. Bryan?" The caller identified himself as someone from my mother's hospice service. "I am very sorry to tell you this..."<br />
I didn't hear much after that. It was over. The long journey had come to an end. The finality of it hit me immediately. My mother was gone and I found myself unable to control my voice or my tears. I hung up quickly and sat stunned, eyes leaking alligator tears. Skip, my sweet husband, hugged me and comforted me but he, too was needing comforting and we clutched at each other. Moments ticked by as we processed the information. A loved one dies. It happens to everyone. 'We were expecting it. It is a relief that she is finally at peace. She's in a better place.' You know? All of the things one says...all of the things <b><i>we</i></b> say.<br />
<br />
Emotion was soon replaced with rational thought. We must tell our children, our grandchildren, other family members. There was no time to grieve. I called our daughter and opened my mouth to speak the words but found only a small sob. I gulped it down and tried to speak, hesitating, telling her only the most important words and then hanging up. Our son, who was visiting from Colorado came downstairs with his girlfriend, Christina and they hugged me, sat with me, talked in quiet monotone telling me all of the things that one says at that moment. It seemed like a long time but in retrospect I realize that the moment dragged on as it often does when one is overwhelmed. In reality it was maybe only twenty or thirty minutes. Soon we were reminded of funny things, memories that made me laugh. "Remember how she tried to run over Christina's cat with her walker?"<br />
"Yeah, she hated that cat." I smiled through my tears.<br />
<br />
I thought about all of the stories, a lifetime of laughter. I wrote so much about my mother. I knew when I wrote, that I would someday re-read my words and gain solace when she was gone. Now I thought of my writing and was so grateful I had done it, so happy I had pushed myself when my eyelids drooped and I wanted to go to bed. This was so special now. I had memories that were permanently chronicled. In time we'd forget the little details, the small moments. I felt comforted by the fact that I would have a reminder. As raw and new as the emotions were just then, I was also reassured by this thought.<br />
<br />
I became introspective and quiet, telling myself what I must do next. I sent everyone to bed and began my announcement which I would send out via email and social media to everyone. I dispatched my duties quickly without focusing on how bone weary I suddenly felt. The sadness had crept into my body and had worked its way into every cell. I stood up and turned off the lights not even aware that my cheeks were wet with tears. I longed for sleep, to dream of happier times, of the mother who used to be. Instead, I walked outside and looked up toward the heavens. <b><i> She</i></b> was gone. She lived a long, long life (one month shy of 100 years!) but it was as one small star in the sky when one considers eternity. Still, she left an indelible mark on our hearts.<br />
<br />
The night was clear and warm. The stars twinkled brightly. There were still a few remnants of a meteor shower that had passed through and as I gazed upward a small meteor shot across the sky, it's light extinguished at the end of its journey and in that I saw what I needed to see. My mother...the bright light filled with joy, smiles, exuberance, energy, kindness, sweetness, talent, creativity, knowledge, beauty, grace, wisdom, enthusiasm, devotion and most of all love, had streaked across the sky and her light was extinguished. It was gone.<br />
<br />
I know, I know. Humans are not forever. Their names and graves are soon forgotten save a few who have historic recognition. The billions who are here today will be forgotten tomorrow. And yet, there is something to remind us of our predecessors. They toil and teach, expand, and build upon the very foundations that created humanity. Mothers give birth and nurture their young creating a living legacy so that when their light is extinguished there are still others like stars in the sky...billions and billions of stars in the sky.<br />
<br />
It has only been a few days to get used to being an orphan. Now I must face the future as the elderly parent. There has always been the older generation in the past and even as they died off, my mother remained. Now it is different.<b><i> I</i></b> am the older generation. But it was just yesterday...no...we are all just a streak in the sky.<br />
<br />
I look at the calendar and see that it is Mother's Day tomorrow. I haven't thought about it. How will I feel? I pray that I will be a strong matriarch encouraging my children and grandchildren to carry the torch into the future as my light begins to dim. I'm not ready yet but someday...someday. For now, I think about the mother I had and I am grateful. Tomorrow I will pay tribute to her in ways I cannot guess yet. Perhaps we will tell stories and share memories. We will drink a toast to her life and shed a few tears. When they leave...when they are all gone, I will permit myself to feel the emptiness of a Mother's Day without my mother. But that will not last. My thoughts do not reside in melancholy. I look around and see her incredible influence on all of our lives, and celebrate that joyous time when her light flashed brightly...brilliantly. It lit up the room and our lives in ways that I can never truly express. She will forever be my mother...my loving, beautiful mother. Happy Mother's Day, Mom.<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-87499530286151063142019-05-04T05:48:00.001-07:002019-05-04T10:26:39.911-07:00Never<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><u>NEVER</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><br /></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used to think of it from time to time when I was young...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if my
mother and father died? What if I was all alone?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But those thoughts were cast adrift to the murky waters
where I did not set sail.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Don't worry," my parents told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"We won't die." </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Never!" I beseeched.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They wrapped their arms around me and I felt
reassured...safe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The parental lie we tell our children:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>innocent, well-meaning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When it happens, when we catch them in that lie we forget
that they told us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We forgive them this untruth because we know that there was
no other way...not then.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just now, I
remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You promised!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You said, "We won't die!"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now what? I feel the glimmer of the small betrayal.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My inner child remembers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But...I reconcile and move on.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am an adult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am
independent, self-sufficient, secure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My children asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My grandchildren ask now.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Don't worry," I say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"I will never leave you."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is not a lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
will surround them with memories of me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will give them love that will always remain.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a hundred ways I will always be with them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Their thoughts, their actions, their mannerisms,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Their very biology!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I realize how strong an imprint we make,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even when we don't know it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I look around and remember.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here is a photo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is a gift.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I smile and see my father's expression in my face.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I blink and see a glimmer of my mother's eyes.<br />
A favorite food, a flower, a painting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother...my father. Everywhere.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then I know that my parents told the truth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-58476097334379962782019-03-20T05:22:00.000-07:002019-04-19T18:38:26.451-07:00RecoveryYesterday, someone told me that I looked and even <i>sounded</i> different.<br />
"Really?" I asked incredulously.<br />
"Yes," my friend replied. "It's like you're lighter. You're facial expression has changed and your voice is bouncier."<br />
<br />
I thought about it for a minute. Had I been weighted down by my caregiving duties to the point that it had actually changed me; I who told others that the only way to care for our loved ones was to first care for ourselves; I who spoke publicly about how to nurture ourselves through stress-reducing activities and who fervently reminded others that they should be vigilant about their own mental state, had overlooked mine?<br />
<br />
I retreated to my car and took a mental inventory. I felt the same. I was still caring for my mother albeit long distance. I was still running to the nursing home to check on her, to visit, to make sure that the nurses were doing their job. But there was something different. That stress--that ENORMOUS responsibility had been lifted from my shoulders. Over the past few weeks, Skip and I had managed to actually have a couple of date nights and even a spur-of-the-moment drive to get milkshakes. (Something that we considered reckless and wild.)<br />
<br />
I love the sense of wild abandon I feel when I announce, "I'm going to run an errand." I don't have to check if it is okay with Skip that he has to stop doing whatever it is that he is doing to go into the family room and sit with Mom. Suddenly those little things, the things we used to take for granted, the simple freedoms we had lost during the four years we cared for my mother in our home, are restored but now with a new-found appreciation. Can I go to the grocery store? Yes...YES I CAN! Can I sleep until 9 AM? Yes. Can I be gone until after dinner without worrying about a schedule or food preparation? Yes. YES. <b>YES</b>!!!<br />
<br />
Before you think me too jubilant, let me hastily remind the reader that my heart is still heavy as I worry about my mother every day when I awaken and before I fall asleep. Being the control fanatic that I am it is extremely difficult to face the fact the my mother's well-being is in the hands of others now. I dread each phone call hoping and praying that it isn't a nurse calling to tell me that my mother has fallen, is injured, isn't eating, has misbehaved, is sick, or has gone missing.<br />
<br />
I think about my visits to see my mother. I am frightened. Old memories flood into my consciousness...childhood memories of visiting my grandmother in that horrible nursing home. I was so fearful of the old people. They reached out to me and touched me as I walked by--the wordless, wrinkled, wild-eyed or zombie-eyed strangers who followed me down the halls. Here too they sit in the halls and await my approach. I avert my eyes when I walk into the building to see Mom, careful not to look into the blank and vacant faces of other patients. I find my mother slumped on a bench and for a moment I only see a frail and tiny woman with deep wrinkles and wild hair. When I touch her shoulder she opens her eyes and smiles the smile she reserves for strangers. There is no recognition and my heart shatters into a million pieces.<br />
<br />
I notice that her cheeks are sunken and her toothpick ankles do not look like they could support her. It has only been a few days! How could she have changed so much?! Perhaps I didn't notice before.Suddenly I reach out to her wanting to hold this nearly helpless human and to protect her, to love her, to care for her. I forget my fears as I stroke her head, her back and her arms.<br />
<br />
Mom has three months to go before she is 100 years old. I never thought that she would make it to 100 but now I am cheering for her. "Please dear God, let her remain healthy and safe," I beseech. Why do I pray for this milestone when just a few weeks ago I cried and carried on that this was no way to live, that she wouldn't have wanted to be this way? Before...just a few weeks ago I cried over the unruly appearance, the lack of grooming. Now, I am amused by clothes that the nurses dress her in. They are clothes that don't belong to her. I resign myself to the fact that she is wearing someone else's socks, that her hair is uncombed and that she shuffles around like all of the residents. Still, I sadden over her purple mottled skin that tells me her heart isn't pumping strongly enough to oxygenate her extremities. I worry over each bruise. I fret over her weight loss. "It's out of my control," I remind myself. Can others do it better (this caregiving) than I? <br />
<br />
Another few days go by. I visit with heart in mouth until I see her sitting alone on a bench...the oldest resident, the ancient wizened face looks up and smiles that same sweet smile she has always smiled from the time I was too young to remember. Only now it is not about anything in particular and maybe everything at once. Maybe it isn't so bad after all. Maybe she is okay.<br />
<br />
I watch two old ladies follow each other from room to room weaving their way in and out of the doorways like a two-car choo-choo train. They shuffle mindlessly nearly colliding with the man who comes out of one room and enters another. There is perpetual motion and the nurses follow along guiding the patients out of the rooms. "No Miss Emma, this isn't your room. Mr. Smith, let's go this way," they patiently shift their trajectory to another doorway. I watch and observe them stopped at a wall like the battery-operated robot toys that move until there is an obstruction. They bump into it over and over until the nurse turns them once again. I am fascinated by this and watch with a kind of sick curiosity no longer experiencing the shock (and yes, even a little revulsion). I begin to find the humor in this. I refer to this sad drama in more comforting terms and laugh at the antics. One patient wanders from room to room picking up others' personal items and leaving them in other rooms. It is now clear to me why my mother is now sitting in a garish pair of fuchsia and orange pants with yellow striped socks and a blue top none of which belong to her. They were in her room and so they become hers for the moment. They were gifts from the shufflers, the choo-choo trains, the wanderers, the hunters and gatherers.<br />
<br />
As I sit with Mom who is silent but awake on her bench, a man walks up to her and she looks at him smiling coquettishly. He touches her knee and she signals for him to draw nearer. The nurse tells me that she is going to kiss him if he comes closer. He makes no move but then as I get up to leave, he quickly grabs my seat next to her and as I turn to say goodbye I see the two of them smiling at each other. They are perhaps joined in their silence and somehow content with each other's company. My need and desire for control evaporates in a bittersweet moment as the door closes and locks behind me. My mother is safe for now. She is cared for. I am free to go home and make dinner for my waiting husband who deserves my full attention and an unburdened evening.<br />
<br />
There is some sort of comfort in all of this. My sadness is healthy. There is symmetry in my emotions. Obligation, stress, discomfort, worry are balanced with a sense of letting go, of relief, and a rediscovery of who I was before I was a caregiver. I see that this is the circle of life--<i>my</i> circle of life and I revel in my recovery.<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-34143797482610266832019-02-22T12:40:00.002-08:002019-02-26T09:24:57.878-08:00Goodnight, MomI am awake. I can't go back to sleep even though it is stll early morning. All I can think about is what I have done. I don't feel guilty about it but I feel sad and sorry.<br />
<br />
Yesterday we received a call that a room was ready for my mother in a skilled nursing home. We had planned on moving her later but the room was available a day early. I wasn't ready yet but Mom was more lucid and able to move around, so we decided that there was no time like the present. Skip and I had agreed a month ago that it was best for Mom and for us. Mom needed a place where there were no dangers. Our home was an accident waiting to happen. There were steps, stairs, and wires. There were obstacles and distractions. Mom was prone to fits of intense anger. She was fearful of moving, of standing up., of lying down. She reacted in violent outbursts. She would scream, punch and throw her body backwards, mindless of how she could cause herself (or others) harm. The sedating drugs we sprinkled on her food helped a little but we worried that she would drop the food on the floor (which she often did) and our dog, Kira might eat the food and ingest the drugs. I worried, I stressed, I watched. When I left the room, I hurried back. When I couldn't be with her, Skip had to stop what he was doing to watch, to assist, to do all of things I never, ever, EVER wanted him to do. We couldn't do any more than we had already done but when the decision was made, I questioned it. I worried and cried. Finally, resigned to the inevitable, I packed up a few things and loaded Mom into the car. Mom didn't want to go. We told her we were taking a drive but somehow she knew.<br />
<br />
"No. I don't want to go. Please," she begged as she turned away from the door.<br />
<br />
All these months of mindless existence evaporated as she understood what was happening. She turned to me with a panicked look in her eyes, "Let me...I wanna...please." She couldn't put the words together, but I knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to sit in her chair. She wanted to close her eyes and nap quietly. She wanted to be lifted gently when it was time to move to the kitchen for her dinner. She wanted to hear the familiar words and sounds that she only partially understood, 'It's time for dinner. It's time for bed. It's time to change your clothes.'<br />
<br />
I couldn't look into her eyes. I knew I that my resolve would evaporate. "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow," I told Skip.<br />
<br />
"No. We need to do this now." My loving husband, my rock, my anchor reminded me of all of the reasons we had to follow through with the plan. Four years of dedicated caregiving, four years of staying home...putting Mom first, deferring our own needs: trips, parties, nights out, social engagements,work, personal care, and unnecessary expenditures--we needed our lives back. There was nothing more we could do for Mom.<br />
<br />
We drove down our driveway and I knew that Mom would never again sit in our kitchen. She would never walk through the door or drive down this driveway again. I glanced back at Mom sitting silently in the back seat. She looked small and vulnerable. She was our almost 100 year-old child, our ancient baby. I smiled at her trying to mask my feelings. Tears welled up in my eyes and I turned my head to focus on the road. The rain had stopped and the sun emerged from the clouds. The Carolina sky sparkled its perfect blue in the large puddles that collected along the roads.<br />
<br />
"What a pretty day!" I remarked, hoping that Mom would notice. She remained silent and unseeing. I wondered, "What is she thinking right now?" We drove out of the neighborhood thinking our own thoughts. The car was heavy with silence, with sadness. Then, from the back seat a small voice spoke with a clarity we hadn't heard in many, many months.<br />
"Where are we going?"<br />
<br />
I wasn't prepared for this. I searched for the words. Then, I replied, "We're going somewhere you've been before." It was true. She had been to the nursing home when she needed rehab after falling and breaking her clavicle. Then I added, "You're going to see the nurses and doctors." I don't know if she heard me. I know that she wouldn't have understood even if she <i>had</i> heard me. Her eyes were already glazing over. She fidgeted and fiddled with her sweater and then sat back motionless. I thought that she might be falling asleep but her eyes remained open and again I found myself wondering if she knew something, if she understood more than I thought she did. Had part of her brain awakened? Fresh tears fell from my eyes and I struggled to regain my composure--my unemotional self.<br />
<br />
When we arrived at the nursing home I rushed out of the car leaving Skip to help Mom. I wanted to meet with the admissions people, sign the paperwork, to complete the process and leave. I needed to hold it together just for this little amount of time--to get through without falling apart. I remembered how I felt when we put our dog down and how I tried and failed to hide my sadness--how I rushed off to cry alone. I felt the same now. Granted, we were simply putting my mother in a safer environment, but the thought that she might not flourish in this environment, and the knowledge that she would die here made me want to grab her and hold her...to take her home again...to erase my resolve. In an irrational moment I wanted to turn around and walk back out the door. I glanced back at the car and then turned with all of the emotional strength I could find. I had to show my brave face, my resignation.<br />
<br />
"Hello. I'm Jessica Bryan. I'm here with my mother, Pauline."<br />
<br />
The paperwork was completed. My painted smile quivered when the admissions clerk asked if my mother had a living will. I wanted to cry out, "My mother is nearly 100 years-old with an incurable illness. She's in last stages of Alzheimer's. There is no reason to keep her alive. There is no quality of life!" Instead I shrugged and said that she probably had one somewhere, but for now I would make the decisions as her daughter--her Power of Attorney. I would do the humane things, the things that would be sensible when the time came.<br />
<br />
Skip joined me after having escorted Mom to her room and carrying in her few belongings that I had packed. I reminded myself that I had forgotten her comb and instantly felt remorse. (Okay, so this is how it was going to be. I would spend my time feeling remorse over stupid things. I would beat myself up because her hair might be unkempt for 24 hours until I could get back there!)<br />
<br />
We walked to the Alzheimer's wing after we thanked the nice lady for processing the paperwork, the nurses for taking Mom's medications, the orderly who showed us how to release the door lock that kept the patients inside--locked away behind the doors, away from families and normal life. I walked into her room, a clean room with sparkling floors. She sat alone, tiny, and old--<b><i>so</i></b> old. She looked up and tried to smile bravely but I could see the fear and confusion in her eyes. I told her we were leaving now but would be back soon. Skip took my hand as we walked down the long halls filled with residents lining the corridors, gazing without seeing, sitting without interacting, speaking without understanding. I lowered my eyes and listened to the sound of our footsteps on the stark floors and echoing against the institutional walls, gulping air and trying not to cry until I got to the car.<br />
<br />
Last night as I fell asleep I thought of Mom. She was surrounded by people--lots and lots of people. Yet, she was alone. I sent a prayer that she would be okay, that she would know I was thinking of her and most of all, that I loved her. "Goodnight Mom," I told her, knowing that she would never again hear me say that as I tucked her into her <b><i>own</i></b> bed in her <b><i>own</i></b> room. "Goodnight Mom," I repeated, knowing that I would see her in a few hours, that I would care for her needs in a limited way, that I would show her my love as well as I could, that I would say words that made me feel better but would have little effect on her. I was sad--oh <b><i>so</i></b> sad. I mourned for my mother who little by little had slipped away. I was too preoccupied to mourn for her while I was tired and frustrated in my caregiving role. I was busy. I was tired. But now, in the quiet of the night, I listened to hear the familiar sounds of her breathing over the monitor. There was nothing but silence. I told myself over and over that this was the best decision, the right decision. Now I would have time to remember the mother I loved, the mother I cared for, the mother whom I would visit without feeling exhausted and frazzled by my caregiving duties, the mother I would hug and love even though she couldn't return the emotions. One more time, with tears beginning anew, I breathed the words to her empty room, hoping that somehow, across the miles she would hear me. "Goodnight, Mom."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-43249649513899229172019-02-07T06:16:00.000-08:002019-02-08T20:53:58.798-08:00Why I'm Not LaughingA friend saw me today and inquired as to why she hadn't seen any funny blogs from me lately. I grimaced as I told her that there was nothing funny to write about. My friend's sympathy was immediate. I hated the fact that what I said evoked a sympathetic response. Yes, my mother is going downhill quickly, and, yes, it is incredibly difficult for both my husband Skip and for me to deal with the changes, the outrageous anger, the screaming and the dangers that accompany her manic episodes. However, I am seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and humor will soon creep back into my life. We have been told by everyone--all of the nurses, CNAs, hospice workers, and social workers that Mom should be in a skilled nursing facility. She is a danger to herself and to us. So I set aside any guilt that I might have had surrounding placing her in a nursing home and began calling to see who could take her. We found a home that was recommended by another friend and began the paperwork. There were forms to fill out...lots of forms. Navigating my way through the process was, and still is, a learn-as-you-go feat. The most difficult part is leaving messages for people and then waiting for them to call back (usually when I am in the shower, walking out the door, or on the road without ability to make notes.)<br />
<br />
So, what I am saying is this; I have spent 20 years observing my mother's slow descent into oblivion. It began a a few cognitive slips that caused me to raise my eyebrows. Then there were some memory issues that crept into conversations and again, I took note. After Dad died it was apparent that Mom had a brain dysfunction that prompted me to take her for tests and that was when she was officially diagnosed. As time slipped away Mom grew more and more confused, forgetful, and childlike. Four years ago, when we took her into our home to care for her because she was no longer capable of living independently, I began my journey as caregiver in earnest. But it was not without humor and love. Always, there has been laughter, playfulness, and joking that cheers us. Always...always...always. Until now. The past six months have been unbearably difficult--a nightmare from which we do not awaken. I have described things in other blogs or at least alluded to incidents. They are daily, even hourly now. Hospice was called in because, well, she's dying. (We just don't know when.) Hospice prescribed medication to control her unfounded anger, her hysteria. We tried different pills, different amounts, different ways to administer medication to no avail. She is drugged, she can't speak, she can't hear, she is fearful of everything, and now she is completely dependent on two strangers (us) whom she thinks are trying to kill her every time we gently assist her by touching her. She sits in wet diapers not allowing us near her to change her. She punches, kicks and slaps me when I try to help her into her nightgown. She flails about when we are on the stairs and I fear that one or more of us might take a tumble.<br />
<br />
This leads me to my original point. There is light at the end of the tunnel because with as bad as things are, I cannot see any reason to continue to try to care for her at home any longer. She had a good run but I know that if she were cognizant she would tell me to put her somewhere so she could spare us any more heartache. Oh...but there<b><i> IS</i></b> heartache. It is the knowledge that my mother's last years are providing an indelible memory of the hiddeous nature of Alzheimer's, of the images of a broken woman reduced to immodesty, all dignity removed by the situation of having her diapers changed, of being fed, of being bathed, dressed and toileted.<br />
<br />
The thing is, before I celebrate my newfound freedom, I am already beginning to wonder how it will feel having our home back. How will I adjust to my new role as non-caregiver? I know that when she enters the nursing home she will never return to us. Her last time at the kitchen counter, the last tissue I will remove from her breakfast dishes and throw in the trash, the last diaper I dispose of, the last time we change the sheets on her bed--it will all hit me and I know that for a while I will feel like something has been torn out of me.<br />
<br />
I sit here evaluating. Is it true that the stress and daily turmoil has become so much a part of me that I will miss it when it is gone? I remind myself that just like any other form of grieving, I must take time to allow for the adjustment, the tears and the loss. I take a deep breath and go to bed wondering if tomorrow will be the day that all of the paperwork is ready, that Mom is admitted to her new<br />
home--her last home before she is called to her eternal home. I said my 'Good-byes' many years ago, but now, with this final decision I want to hold her for just one more minute, one more day because when she leaves us she takes a lifetime with her, a bond, a mother-daughter relationship, a presence. I know that I will live the next few weeks on tenterhooks waiting for that phone call. It will come sooner rather than later. It will be from her nursing home, some kind soul will deliver the news and I will cry regardless of how I have prepared myself, how I have hated these past few months. A loving child always cries. We cry for our mothers who used to be, for the child within us, and for our own mortality. So today, if you ask me why I am not laughing, you will know.<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-14331810151884122092019-01-19T14:01:00.004-08:002019-01-19T14:09:38.213-08:00Manaleega<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-deg61AoDY8Q/XEOeFoGzXxI/AAAAAAAAChE/qbfWfy4gq_sBjZtQ1uG0436Y6whj3aelgCLcBGAs/s1600/Untitled-2%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="289" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-deg61AoDY8Q/XEOeFoGzXxI/AAAAAAAAChE/qbfWfy4gq_sBjZtQ1uG0436Y6whj3aelgCLcBGAs/s200/Untitled-2%2Bcopy.jpg" width="167" /></a></div>
My mother has been driving me crazy saying non-sensical things that I can't understand and then getting angry at me when I don't respond. The other day she yelled at me (just because I said, "Mom, I can't help you because I can't understand you." Then I asked her to point at what she wanted and she got frustrated and threw her arms up in the air like I was an idiot. She stormed off yelling that I was mean and mumbled something about "Just you wait...mumble, mumble...you're gonna get yours!" Implying that someone was going to rub me out or at least do some act of violence.)<br />
<br />
Mom is always threatening violence these days. If we gently take her hand to assist her getting up she yells, "Take your hands off me!" Then she yells "HELP, HELP! Momma...they're killing me. Help me Momma--M-O-M-M-A!!!!" (Yup; THAT comes out loud and clear.)<br />
<br />
I feel like I am living in a loony bin. (Have I said this before?) So, when Mom walked into the kitchen and pointed at the counter saying "Manaleega," you can imagine my confusion. I shrugged. "What's manaleega?" I asked. Mom looked at me with a blank expression. "WHAT'S MANALEEGA?" I asked loudly thinking that she didn't hear me. Still, she looked at me blankly. Finally I screamed, "Manaleega...what is it?"<br />
<br />
"Yes," she answered.<br />
<br />
I could feel my veins popping out on my temples. "NO...not 'yes'...I mean, I don't know what Manaleega is!"<br />
<br />
Mom looked at me like I was speaking Latin. "Neither do I," she answered.<br />
<br />
That's how our communication is these days. There are moments, snippets of intelligible speech and then it lapses into gibberish. One day, Mom sought me out and asked, "Can I sit here?" pointing at her usual perch next to me.<br />
<br />
"Of course," I answered.<br />
<br />
Then Mom started talking gibberish and when I answered 'yes' to something that evidently I wasn't supposed to answer 'yes' to, she got angry and stood up grabbed her walker<br />
and stormed out of the room saying very clearly, "HRMPH! Some companion you are!!!"<br />
<br />
I'm getting used to this abuse, but still, every once in a while I react inappropriately. I utter things under my breath. Okay, I'll admit it. I am not an angel. When Mom told me "Go to Hell!" I uttered quietly, "I'm already there!" It's childish but somehow satisfying. Look, even if Mom didn't have Alzheimer's I would get angry every once in a while. So, there is not any guilt about my reactions. I'm okay with the fact that I find this person objectionable. She screams and demands, shouts and insists. She curses, and spews bile at us while we perform our caregiving duties trying to protect her, feed her, keep her clothed and clean. I hope that somehow, somewhere inside that dying brain there is knowledge that we love the woman she was and made a commitment to care for her.<br />
<br />
Sometimes...just sometimes though, we feel like pinning a note on her shirt saying 'Please take me,' and leaving her at a local fire station.<br />
<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-38293691966576115062019-01-02T06:15:00.000-08:002019-01-04T05:33:08.942-08:00Into 2019<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">We end each year looking forward to new beginnings, choosing to make changes, improvements, and goals. We sometimes try to forget our mistakes and ask forgiveness of ourselves and others. The moment the clock chimes midnight, we sing and celebrate to herald in the new beginnings. I know already what 2019 will bring without being a prophet, without a crystal ball, and without seeing a fortune teller. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">In my life, in my house every day is the same.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> 2018 went out the same way 2019 came in. There was nothing more than a whimper. My mother, for whom we care, slept through the toasts, the celebrations and the partying of others. She slept through the proclamations that this next year would be better. She snored softly as revelers looked forward to good health and good fortune. When she awoke she called to unseen and long dead relatives. She was confused and babbling as we entered her room. She couldn't communicate nor could she understand the simple words we used to tell her to go to sleep. It was still too early. On New Year's Day, she walked in a fog, slept, ate without knowing what she consumed, and sat in her chair gazing at nothing. By evening she was angry and stubborn, just like every night. We gave her medication to calm her, to quiet her. It didn't work and once more she fought us as we attempted to help her to her room, to help her undress and ready herself for fitful sleep. She railed against us, cursed at us, threatened to kill us. She slammed her fists down and screamed as loudly as she could using every bit of air in her lungs. This is what the new year brings. This is the final stage of Alzheimer's disease. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Still, there is hope that this year will bring solutions, cures, pills, medical breakthroughs. It will be too late for my mother but for others...maybe, just maybe there will be something that will help them. There <b><i>is</i></b> hope that soon, my mother's journey will be over and this nightmare that locks her unwillingly into this reality releases her. Does that sound harsh? Does it sound unfeeling that I would wish that my mother's soul be released? I defend my attitude as I stand witness to this obscenity we call Alzheimer's disease, helpless to do anything but keep her comfortable and in absence of that, to keep her drugged. There is nothing to be done but wait, service her needs, endure the pain. For those who know nothing of caring for someone such as this, I counsel that it happens to too many. Everyone knows someone. It is happening more and more and unless we find a cause, or a cure, it WILL affect almost everyone.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">So...2019: I begin with a promise to do my utmost to be compassionate, loving, and caring, already knowing that I will fail miserably. My personal goals to care for myself, to get more exercise, to eat right, to share more time with loved ones and dear friends will not be met. Even though it seems like a bleak future, there is optimism that I will find great strength and joy somehow and somewhere. This I know--that each and every year I look back and evaluate what I have learned and how I have grown; and among the ups and downs there is a sense of accomplishment. I cannot see too far forward--it's murky what will happen and when it will happen, but seeing the past is crystal clear. Instead of leaving it behind me and making resolutions I will build upon everything I have learned and how I am growing with each new challenge. This is something to look forward to in 2019.</span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-62115657196757687322018-11-17T11:36:00.000-08:002018-11-17T11:36:00.436-08:00TRAPPED!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vYnG20QEYRM/W_Bs1tuPH6I/AAAAAAAACfY/_rg-0ftJVvYp3Ut8WNNjwYJMvkt3tYHrACLcBGAs/s1600/trapped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vYnG20QEYRM/W_Bs1tuPH6I/AAAAAAAACfY/_rg-0ftJVvYp3Ut8WNNjwYJMvkt3tYHrACLcBGAs/s320/trapped.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I am still shaking from my ordeal, but at last I have regained my composure and can write about this. My worst nightmare was realized this morning as I went in to help Mom get up and get dressed. I walked into a big puddle on the floor as I greeted Mom. Once again she had removed her diapers during the night and had proceeded to pee on the floor. That, in and of itself would have been bad enough; but let me back up for a moment to explain:<br />
<br />
Skip is out of town. He left this morning to do some work in South Carolina. I was awakened by his alarm going off at 5:00 AM. As he quietly got dressed I remained awake. When he whispered goodbye to me I sat up and looked at the clock. 5:30 AM! Oh Joy! I was awake and couldn't go back to sleep. I walked out of the bedroom to get a cup of coffee and sit in the family room enjoying the quiet. It was only for a moment. Already, Mom was stirring in her room. I listened to her moving items around on her dresser. It was dark outside and out of principle I would not go get Mom until the sun was up. She would have to wait. At least now, with the lock on her door I didn't have to worry that she might become impatient and walk out of her room to try to descend the stairs and go to breakfast, as she had done before. We had resisted locking her in for a few years, but now, with her worsened condition of late stages Alzheimer's it was necessary for her own safety to keep her contained.<br />
<br />
I continued to sip my coffee luxuriating in the the moment of relative quiet. The dog was still asleep, Skip was gone so the morning news wasn't on. Mom seemed to have sat back down and was fidgeting with the sheets so all I heard from upstairs coming over the monitor was the sound of fabric being folded. (It is one of Mom's favorite activities--folding her sheets and blanket.)<br />
<br />
The clock ticked the minutes away and as I played a few puzzle games on my tablet, checked my email, social media pages, and calendar, I also watched the sunrise. It promised to be a pleasant morning. I reminded myself of the early morning call I was making to two new agents who needed some advice before beginning to work with clients. I wanted to allow enough time to get my mother dressed, fed and "settled" before accessing my conference call. I decided at 7 AM that I would go up to get Mom. That takes me back to where I started.<br />
<br />
I opened the door and entered. Mom was eager to get dressed and we did so quickly. I scouted around to find where she had hidden her diapers. They were in her walker and as I removed them I remembered to spray the interior storage compartment with Lysol. I was determined to not let anything bother me today. Then I walked her to the door. I moved the wet mop I had used to clean her floor back out of the way, held the wet diaper in the plastic bag gagging just a little over the foul odor, and pushed on the door lever. The door didn't open! I pushed harder and then realized that the lock was still engaged from the outside. There was no way to open the door. We were locked in. I began to panic but then thought that I could find something to open the door through the small hole I could access to disengage the lock. Then I remembered that this was the <i>only</i> door in the house that had a one-way lock with no hole on the other side. My heart sank. There was no way out. Skip was gone. Our dog, Kira was not the kind of 'hero' dog to come to our rescue. Our son was no longer living in the apartment, having left for Colorado. His girlfriend, Christina was now the only occupant and she was still asleep. Nevertheless I began knocking on the door and yelling for her. There was no response. I continued knocking and yelling. Now Mom joined in as well. It must have been fun for her because she was really getting into it!<br />
"Help!" she yelled with gusto.<br />
"Christina!" I bellowed. "Save me!"<br />
The house remained quiet. I looked around wildly hoping that I could find some means to help me escape. The smell was nauseating and I envisioned dying of asphyxiation. (Could the smell of Old Lady Pee kill me?) "HELP!" I shouted in earnest. "HELP<b>, HELP, <i>HELLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPP!</i>"</b><br />
I was now panicking and pounded on the door. It shook the walls as I continued to pound and scream. I stopped and listened assuring myself that I would hear the sounds of footsteps on the other side of the door coming to my aid. Sadly, the house remained silent. I rested a moment and then began my pounding and shouting again.My level of panic rose to new heights. Maybe Christina was already up and out the door on her way to work, possibly running an errand first which would explain an early departure. What if she didn't get home until late tonight. I tried to remember if she had mentioned anything to me about being gone for the weekend. <br />
<br />
"Oh no, oh no!" I cried to myself. "I could be stuck here for two days!" I wondered f Skip would call when he arrived in South Carolina. If I didn't answer would he assume that I was taking our dog out and not call back? It might take him until the evening to call me again as was often the case when he was working. When would he begin to worry? Would his concern cause him to take action? What would he do? Who would he call next to check on me? Whose phone number did he have on his phone? All of these thoughts were running through my brain at lightening speed knowing that Skip was the king of not memorizing anyone's phone numbers and even if he had a person to call, how would they get into the house? Now the reality of the impossible situation sank in. Mom and I were unlikely roommates for the duration until someone returned home and discovered that I wasn't there. By then, I might be lying unconscious on the floor (from the aforementioned asphyxiation or from an stress produced embolism, or from a conniption fit!) Whimpering helplessly I collapsed on a chair and looked at my mother who was pacing like a caged animal. It was only a matter of minutes before she would realize that she was not being fed her breakfast; and for those who know my mother or who have read previous blog posts they will realize that nothing...NOTHING stands in the way her food. She has an appetite of a hungry bear and a disposition to accompany that. <br />
<br />
"Why can't we go?" Mom asked.<br />
"The door is locked. Just go sit down on your bed."<br />
Mom nodded and proceeded to pace in circles.<br />
"Why can't we go?" she asked again.<br />
"The door is locked." I repeated.<br />
"Oh." She paced in a circle then asked one more time, "Why can't we go?"<br />
"AURGH! <i style="font-weight: bold;">Christina!!!" </i>I shouted desperately. I began pounding on the wall. "<b>CHRISTINA...HELP ME, HELP ME...HELLLLLPPPPPP!"</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The minutes ticked away. I thought of people trapped in a building collapse, an earthquake, a mine disaster, an avalanche. I thought of their futile cries for help as rescue teams searched for them. I thought of them running out of oxygen and becoming weaker and weaker until their cries became inaudible. My hand hurt from pounding. My throat was scratchy from my screaming. My voice was hoarse. My rescuers would never find me.<br />
<br />
My imagination was now running wild and still, my will to survive kept me pounding and yelling. Hours passed (or at least it seemed that way to me.) I knew that there wasn't much time left. (Okay...perhaps a bit dramatic of me but I <i>was</i> thinking that I was going to miss my conference call!) I was certain of it now. I gave one last pound on the door, yelling my head off. Suddenly there was a small voice on the other side of the door. Oh miracle of miracles!<br />
"Jessica? Is that you?" <br />
<b><i>"OH MY GOD...YES! It's me. Let me out. I'm locked in!"</i></b><br />
Christina opened the door and I practically fell on top of her scrambling to get some fresh air. I know that I looked like a mad woman as I hastened to explain, between gasps what had happened. Christina told me that she hadn't heard a thing until just then when she thought that she heard construction noise from the home that is being built next door. Then as she awakened she thought that she heard a voice and thought that it didn't sound like construction workers. That's when she decided to go check and see where the noise was coming from. Oh how fortunate. I was so happy to be free that I almost forgot to get Mom. As an afterthought I went back to extract her from her room. Then I gave one long blast of Lysol room deodorizer, sprayed the sheets with Fabreze extra strength leaving the room in a cloud of chemical neutralizers and went downstairs. <br />
<br />
Sadly, there will be no news reporters, no book deals, no survivor stories. In fact, the entire incident would go completely unnoticed if not for this account. Christina was laughing so hard I knew that she would <i>never</i> support my claims of a near death experience. Alas, I stood on the precipice of disaster and no one even noticed. When at last I stumbled to the phone to call Skip to report that I was safe, he hadn't even missed me. He was still driving and was more concerned about telling me that he had received a speeding ticket.<br />
"A speeding ticket?! Oh no. I am so sorry!" I told him, almost forgetting about my ordeal. My crisis was overshadowed. <br />
<br />
Darn it! How could he trump me with a speeding ticket?! Life is just soooo unfair.<br />
Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-12770521412655227862018-11-16T07:24:00.000-08:002018-11-16T07:24:44.003-08:00EXHAUSTIPATED<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r8MazmmXH_o/W-7fwKuvV4I/AAAAAAAACfM/xn-Q51Fw_jQnWfZ2cX8wXdBqCVTbUX7iQCLcBGAs/s1600/exhausted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="296" data-original-width="296" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-r8MazmmXH_o/W-7fwKuvV4I/AAAAAAAACfM/xn-Q51Fw_jQnWfZ2cX8wXdBqCVTbUX7iQCLcBGAs/s200/exhausted.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
A nod to a fellow writer, Irene Francis Olson who shared a new word she learned after attending an Alzheimer's conference: 'EXHAUSTIPATED'. The meaning: (as a caregiver to someone with dementia) When you are too tired to give a crap! I laughed out loud when I read that. It was so true. Caregivers are continuously exhausted. As far as how constipated they might be; well...I can't speak to that. Suffice it to say, we don't have much time alone for personal care. Of course the double entendre didn't escape me. I don't seem to care as much any more. I am really, really tired. But still I muscle through the days and look for the things I can laugh about. It's really all we have left--humor. Beneath it all there is, of course, love. The love is for the woman I used to know, and for the poor soul locked within the withering body and mind of the person who lives with us.<br />
<br />
The challenging moments throughout the day create singular events that weave an interesting fabric. It's...uh...shall I say,<b><i> colorfu</i></b>l?! They offer glimpses into how we do or do not cope depending upon our own current mental state. When we lack sleep, Skip and I are less patient, more reactionary, and less likely to find the humor in something my mother says or does. Allow me to illustrate with a few examples:<br />
<br />
First of all, I think that it might be noteworthy to share that our dog has put in her notice that if things don't change she might consider leaving home; this, over the fact that my mother has now taken a liking to Kira's dog bones. As my mother scans the floor for fallen objects she picks up the rawhide bones and places them on her walker. Evidently she has decided that they might make good snacks and so we have now caught Mom nibbling on the rawhide bones that Kira leaves around the family room. Good grief! Now we have one more thing to supervise. In the unending string of surprises and departures from normal, we have had to hide all edible and even inedible items that might be construed as potential food sources. Oh it's not that we are starving Mom. On the contrary; she is eating more now than ever...VORACIOUSLY! She treats each meal as though it were her last with lip smacking, slurps, gulps, and industrious shoveling of every crumb. I have even caught her licking the plate and her placemat. If we leave the kitchen to escape the noise and bad manners, we run the risk of Mom helping herself to any food that is left out. If left unattended Mom overeats. She doesn't remember that she has eaten nor does she employ an inner switch that reduces her appetite. After overeating, Mom suffers from indigestion and we sometimes deal with the occasional eruptions of Mount Etna as Mom spews forth in vomitous explosions. Our carpet has become one big stain. <br />
<br />
Moving on with my litany of complaints, Mom has taken to leaving her dirty tissues in various inappropriate locations. I opened the cabinet door to extract a plate for lunch and found a used tissue sitting atop a clean dish. I have found them in drawers, on top of dish towels, tucked into magazines and books, and always...ALWAYS on the countertop where I cook and prepare food. Being the fussy germ-a-phobe that I am, I should own stock in Clorox Wipes. I certainly use enough of them to keep them in business.<br />
<br />
All of this is enough justification for me to use a word such as exhaustipated, what with Skip and I having to clean up after her, do several loads of laundry each day, clean the floors, the carpet, cook, unclog the toilets, change her diapers, and so on. But the thing that makes me cringe the most is how my mother's attitude has changed. She is downright combative when we confront her with her misdeeds. <br />
<br />
Today, I caught Skip telling Mom that leaving her used tissue on the kitchen counter was as bad as pooping on the counter. (He does that for shock value but the result is often a fiery exchange.) Mom took great umbrage as she told him, "You're a disgusting person! <br />
I would never do that!" Skip argued that she left her used, wet tissues on the counter all the time. Of course it was futile to tell her. Mom insisted that she NEVER did that. Then, as the argument continued and escalated, Mom began to threaten him saying that she was going to kill him. (Probably by throwing a wet tissue at him.) Almost everything we say to Mom these days is fodder for dispute.<br />
<br />
"Hey Mom, it's time for bed," we announce.<br />
"No it's not."<br />
"Yes it is."<br />
"Ah baloney!" she huffs in response. "I'll decide when I want to go to bed."<br />
<br />
We have tried to walk away from engaging in any disputes but sometimes our inner child comes out. That's when we do things like we did this evening. "Okay. If you don't want to go to bed we'll just leave you in here by yourself." Then we turned off the lights in the family room and left her sitting in the dark. (We stayed nearby to observe her.) After brooding for a while she forgot the argument and was quite ready to toddle off to bed. It doesn't always work like that though. There was one night that was so bad when I was trying to get her ready for bed that I finally said, "Mom, I am trying to help you. I am your daughter and I care for you. But if you continue to act mean and angry..." (she was shoving me and calling me names, telling me that I was terrible to take her clothes off of her and how if her sister were here she's take care of me) "then I will just leave you here and let you stay dressed. You can put yourself to bed." Then I turned off the lights and walked out. She began screaming all kinds of horrible things. She threw a complete temper tantrum. It was awful and yet somehow laughable. I was deeply shaken but was also somewhat amused by the depths to which her behavior had sunk. You see, Mom was always a sweet woman. She was happy and loving. I very seldom saw her cross about anything. She was sensitive and caring. Her nature was to be hurt by others' misspoken comments rather than to hurt others. These days were so different, with behaviors so unexpected, so unusual, so bizarre. Living with Mom is rather like riding through a carnival fun house. There is always a little apprehension over what we might encounter around each turn. I awaken each morning with dread, my stomach doing flip flops. I wonder what the day will bring. What new assault will she fire at us? What misguided accusation will she level? Will there be another mess to clean up in her room? (Most certainly!) Will she allow me to bathe her? (Probably not without a fight.) Will she balk about sitting on the chair lift, argue that I am trying to kill her as I take off her nightgown, grab her socks and hide them in her walker as I turn to throw away the wet diapers? Will she remove her pants that I have just put on her, try to put her nightgown back on or pull at the sheets and covers in an attempt to wrap herself up? She seems to have a million hands and the strength of twenty weight lifters. I can't subdue her and I can't deal with her but still I must. I am...oh yes, I am most definitely EXHAUSTIPATED!<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-81389463736860880532018-11-11T10:03:00.003-08:002018-11-11T10:16:08.488-08:00It's 5 AM: Do You know Where Your Mother Is?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d914JSu6MaU/W-hx314xN7I/AAAAAAAACew/YE7futC9TKIWDyAHjJbqpQWqPhwnLfsuACLcBGAs/s1600/Untitled-2%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="819" data-original-width="832" height="315" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d914JSu6MaU/W-hx314xN7I/AAAAAAAACew/YE7futC9TKIWDyAHjJbqpQWqPhwnLfsuACLcBGAs/s320/Untitled-2%2Bcopy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I can hear it ringing in my ears, "It's 10 PM. Do you know where your children are?" It was a Public Service Announcement that used to play on TV. Nowadays, we are so connected electronically that we know where EVERYONE is all the time! However, at 5 AM I have no desire to know what, where or who is anywhere. All I want to do is sleep. Unfortunately, my mother often has other plans. This morning, for example, I was jarred out of a wonderful dream by a cacophony upstairs broadcasting across the monitor. Mom was clanking and banging in the most unusual way prompting Skip to run upstairs to see what all the ruckus was about. Evidently Mom thought that it was a fine time to scrub her disposable adult diapers with a toothbrush.. "Now where is that thing?" She rifled through her cosmetics box, the drawers in the bathroom, and myriad items situated on her vanity. Obviously, the toothbrush was not easily found but alas, she finally discovered its whereabouts and began her washer-woman scrubbing technique with some soap and water. Swoosh, swoosh, back and forth.<br />
<br />
"What the heck is going on upstairs?" I asked sleepily when Skip returned.<br />
His muffled response displayed how annoyed he was. "Oh...she's scrubbing her diapers..." Then he mumbled something else and crawled back under the covers. I couldn't understand what he was saying and asked for more of an explanation. Once he told me, I thought about what Mom had been doing and then my brain got busy thinking...thinking about Mom, thinking about what I had been dreaming, thinking about what I needed to do once I got up, what I had forgotten to do the day before. I was now wide awake. There was no way sleep would return to me.<br />
<br />
When I finally made the decision to get up a half hour later, I was resigned to the fact that my day would start early in a productive flurry of work. "I'll check my emails, and be able to reply in peace and quiet without the morning news blaring in the background," I told myself. However, I soon discovered that NOBODY writes me emails at 5:30 AM! <span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> I was stuck staring at a blank screen. "Aha!" I thought. I'll begin reading my next book for book club</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">, </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">but I hadn't bought the book yet and when I went searching for the ebook to download, I was disappointed to see that it was far more expensive than most ebooks. "Nope! I'm not paying that much for a book that I might not even enjoy. I'll get it from the library," I told myself. Okay then...no book, no email, and noise still coming from upstairs. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm usually so busy that I complain that I never have a moment for myself but now, I had a couple of hours before the day would start and I didn't know what to do. I found myself laughing out loud as I thought of the irony in all of this. My thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang. I looked at the video from my mother's room to see what Mom was up to now. She had moved over to her dresser and was launching her walker into the side. Bang! Bam! Then she wandered to the wall to park her walker and sit back down. Bang! Bam! She pushed it into the wall. Then she got back up and walked to her closet where she must have thought by crashing into the door with her walker, it might magically open. Bang! Bam! </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I yawned loudly and sat back down on the sofa. It was still dark outside and if only it were quiet upstairs I thought that I might actually fall asleep; but another loud bang against a cabinet or the wall assured me that sleep was not possible. It was now 6:00 AM and with each loud reminder, I knew EXACTLY where my mother was. I also knew where the dog was, where my husband was and where the rest of the normal people were. They were (mostly) in their beds sleeping and enjoying the last hour of blissful sleep. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-9816281308422598312018-10-14T11:15:00.002-07:002018-10-14T11:15:45.414-07:00Hurricane Madness or Gone With the Wind<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8LDCAEXySJ4/W8N0jvH2DTI/AAAAAAAACd4/tJSNudbSws4HHTEiYsrqfkzJOFO5fGTZACLcBGAs/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8LDCAEXySJ4/W8N0jvH2DTI/AAAAAAAACd4/tJSNudbSws4HHTEiYsrqfkzJOFO5fGTZACLcBGAs/s320/Untitled.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a hurricane a few days ago that became a tropical storm by the
time it blew through our area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However,
we had straight line winds that downed trees and left huge areas
without power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Are you okay?" friends texted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Nope!" I answered truthfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frankly, if not for my mother we would've been fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little thing like a power outage
is merely an inconvenience unless one has a 99 year-old mother with Alzheimer's
to contend with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, here was the
scenario:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without power we had no lights
and Mom couldn't see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was
disoriented.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hurried to plug in the
generator to run our sump pump so there would be no basement flooding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got out lanterns and flashlights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took one of the lanterns to Mom's bedroom because all of
the night lights were plug-ins and there was no electricity to power them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had no monitors, no safety alarms, and no
camera for her room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait a minute...WE
HAD NO POWER--HENCE NO CHAIR LIFT TO HER ROOM!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together Skip and I tried to get Mom up the
stairs with her fighting us all the way.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Will someone get this man off of me, DAMMIT!!!"
she yelled angrily.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"C'mon Mom," I coaxed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"This man happens to be my husband,
Skip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am your daughter and we are
trying to help you get to bed."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mom calmed down enough to allow Skip to assist her up the
stairs with her groaning every minute of the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was certain that we were both trying to
kill her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once I got her changed and tucked into bed I left the
battery-powered lantern on for her to find her way to the bathroom in the
middle of the night should she feel the need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Why I bothered, I don't know, since the only <b><i>need</i></b> Mom ever has is to tear her
nightgown off, take her diapers off and proceed to wet the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometime during the night, the lantern
battery died and THAT'S when Mom decided to awaken and walk around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We, of course didn't know, because there was
no monitor to awaken us by her motion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She stumbled around, knocking things over and finally crawling back to
bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can only imagine what went on up
there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the morning when I went to get Mom she was sitting on her
bed looking like the hurricane had swept into her room overnight. The electronic
monitor was lying on its side on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The lamp was off the table and the table was swept clean of all of its
items. Her nightgown was off and tossed on the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her covers were strewn and a towel was
wrapped over her otherwise naked body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She looked like a scene from Gone With the Wind (um...literally) as her
room was laid to ruin and the only things remaining were upended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I assessed the situation and quickly
discovered that while we were using the sump pump in the basement, we could
have used it upstairs as well to alleviate the flood that Mom created on her
mattress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The room smelled like a
barnyard, everything was soaked through and through, and I knew that there
would be no flood insurance to cover <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">this</i>
disaster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had no hot water (having
tankless water heaters that require power to turn on.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom had been lying in urine and obviously
found that rolling around her wet bed was fun because even her hair smelled
like Eau de Pee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no bathing
her because the water was too cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According
to her screams of protest, I was trying to contribute to her demise by even
thinking of cleaning her."It's FREEZING!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Stop it right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You're killing
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>HELP!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>POLICE!!!"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Okay, okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
won't shampoo your hair or wash your bottom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let's just get you
dressed." Mom shuffled her clothed bottom onto the wet bed and sat down
before I could get her to stop. "NOOOOO!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was too late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her clean pants now wore a nasty wet spot
that was sure to smell.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once Mom was dressed we needed to get her to navigate her
way down the stairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Between the two of
us, Skip and I managed to take her down one slooooooow step at a time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Explaining to her that there was no power and
that we had no way of using the chair lift was like shouting in the wind. She couldn't hear or process our words. Once
downstairs, Mom made a beeline for her place at the counter to have breakfast;
only breakfast was not as usual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had
no way of heating water for tea and no way of toasting her bagel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom didn't complain but seemed unsettled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We gave her coffee since we ran a wire from
the small generator to the coffee pot. Mom complained, "This is
bitter!" </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Sorry Mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's
all we've got," Skip told her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
he explained about the hurricane, the power outage, etc. for the 10th time that morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom ignored him and went back
to eating her piece of cold bread with cold cream cheese and cold strawberry
preserves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She grimaced and scowled
while I secretly wished I could just go to a hotel somewhere far away and let
Skip, the dog, and my mother fend for themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Okay...not fair to Skip...or the dog.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truth be told, my dark thoughts were not fair
to Mom either. It wasn't her fault that she had Alzheimer's.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn't her fault she was old, incapable of
understanding why she had to forego hot tea and toast in the morning, why we
had wires running down the hallway making it unsafe for her to cruise around
and around with her walker aimlessly moving without thoughts or understanding.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Skip plugged the charger into the phone and then into the
generator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were back online!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He checked the power outages in the area and
reported grimly that it was widespread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was a bad one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no
hope that we would see power restored anytime soon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our sump pump was still working hard to get
rid of all of the water seeping in and we knew that we would have the generator
working overtime downstairs so being prudent with its use for refrigeration,
charging batteries and making coffee was important.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the third day without power we were getting pretty proficient 'roughing it' in our home. However, Mom gave us quite a bad time being walked up and down the stairs without use of the chair lift. Her patience had dwindled to complete refusal to move. She was terrified and frozen stiff to one spot halfway up the stairs the night before. No matter what we did, how we talked to her, how we tried to reassure her she was bent on flinging herself backwards down the stairs. When we physically pushed her to keep moving, she screamed bloody murder and at the top step, flopped down on the floor crying hysterically until we bodily lifted her and carried her to her room. Oh! The commotion as she pushed and cried. (I mused that perhaps we should just leave her on the floor, open the windows and let the residual winds carry her away.) </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the morning, when I went into the kitchen to start coffee I found out there was no water! Our community water tower was dry. (We later found out that without power, the sensor to signal water levels was not operating, so we had drained ourselves of all water. Just about that time, Mom decided to go to the bathroom. (AND I DON'T MEAN TO GO PEE!) There was no way to flush. ARGH! I was now beginning to panic. I yelled for Skip to call the water emergency line and tell them that this was a <b><i>major emergency</i></b>. I guess that his explanation and tone of voice was enough to get someone out here ASAP. While we awaited the solution to the problem I suddenly began smiling and feeling an unexpected calm spread throughout my mind and body. Being an ex-Girl Scout, I have lived a
lifetime by their motto 'Be Prepared'. I
<b><i>was</i></b> prepared. While madness might have prevailed, I was still sane enough to remember that storm preparedness included an
ample supply of wine. It was 11:00 AM and
frankly I was ready with my Cork puller and a wine glass. While the power was out, nothing was working, and things were going from bad to worse...NO PROBLEM! My coping mechanisms were thankfully still fully functional.</div>
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-20575482541183754272018-09-25T12:23:00.001-07:002018-09-26T06:50:23.446-07:00'Naked and Angry' Meets 'Alert and Afraid'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T3jYtbeMHUc/W6qNMcGM_oI/AAAAAAAACc8/xW2rithynLo0HZUuAL7kg-nWx2KgsVbaQCLcBGAs/s1600/Untitled-2%2Bcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T3jYtbeMHUc/W6qNMcGM_oI/AAAAAAAACc8/xW2rithynLo0HZUuAL7kg-nWx2KgsVbaQCLcBGAs/s1600/Untitled-2%2Bcopy.jpg" /></a></div>
I don't mean to scare any of you with my stories about Mom. She is in <i>advanced</i> stages of Alzheimer's and it has been a long time in coming. We had a chance to prepare, and many years of good memories, laughter and mutual moments of enjoyment knowing that eventually things would change. At some point we knew that the symptoms of advanced Alzheimer's would be unpleasant. Now that it is here, it's...um...well...there's no sugar-coating it; it has become very challenging and difficult! Mom is apt to experience mood-swings without warning, and while we have medication to help her with her agitation, it doesn't work well and we are witnessing an increasing number of bouts with an angry aggressive woman who is stubborn, argumentative and sometimes even exhibiting violent outbursts. We are learning how to handle these events as well as we can, but we're not perfect and do not always react as well as we should. So, for example, the other day when my mother lost bladder control, soaked through her adult diapers, and was sitting on an unprotected upholstered chair, I asked her to stand up and move to the towel-covered chair that we assigned to her while I went to get her a fresh diaper and change of pants. (It is her chair! She knows that. But she doesn't like having a towel on it and therefore sits on other chairs.) Mom balked and told me in a nasty tone, "I can sit wherever I like!"<br />
<br />
I told her that she had wet herself and was now wetting the chair. I don't know why I said that. She was only focused on the fact that I was telling her to move and didn't care what the reason might be. I asked her nicely once again. She gave me a pouty look and then turned away refusing to discuss further. I reached over and grabbed both of her hands to help her get up off of the chair. That's when Mom went off the deep end, (Think David Banner turned into the Incredible Hulk) shouting at me and telling me to leave her alone. "Don't touch me," she yelled pulling her hands away and pounding her fists on the counter.<br />
<br />
Again, I explained that she had to move and she said angrily, "You can't tell me what to do!" ARGH!!! I stormed out of the room. I was seething and wondering where I could find a stick of dynamite to blast her off the chair. (Would that be considered Elder Abuse?) I began to laugh at myself as I envisioned something. Let me explain; I have always been a fan of the silver screen and found that seeing some of life's more difficult moments as movie and cartoon characters makes it somehow tolerable. This time I chose Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner. (For the record, I saw myself as Wile E. Coyote with the dynamite plunger in hand.) As usual, I found a reason to turn my frustration into something funny.<br />
<br />
Dealing with Mom's anger is an everyday occurrence. We have gotten used to her negativity, her anger and her mood swings. She goes from stubborn refusal to do what we ask to laughing and cooperative within minutes. What we are<b><i> not </i></b>used to, and what consistently surprises us, is her new affinity for nudity. At any given time, Mom will whip off her clothes and present herself to the world naked and unadorned. It is horrifying to look away for a minute only to find that she has removed her clothes when I look back in her direction. The other day, sitting right next to her, I was working on my laptop. I looked over and noticed that Mom had fallen asleep. I seized the moment to check a website and focused on the screen. No more than 30 seconds later, Skip walked into the room and bellowed, "Mom! What are you doing?!" I looked up to see that she had removed her blouse and was beginning to pull off her pants. "Stop!" He commanded. Mom glowered angrily and narrowed her eyes menacingly as I reached over to help her put her blouse back on.<br />
<br />
"OW!" She yelled as I pulled the top back over her head. (I hadn't done anything to hurt her...Honest!) I recoiled wondering if this was going to escalate into a violent outburst. My sweet mild-tempered little mother was now like Stripe in the movie Gremlins. I was experiencing a fearful moment trying to figure out how to diffuse Mom's anger before she began running amok. Thankfully, the moment passed. I breathed a sigh of relief. She transformed into her old self somewhat like Dr. Jekyll after being Mr. Hyde.<br />
<br />
The other day, I heard a woman telling everyone that her 10 month old baby was now walking and I reminded her that when babies become toddlers, mommies grow eyes in the back of their heads. Well, here's another warning. When we become caregivers we once again have to hone in on our sensory skills. Listen for the slightest sound, watch vigilantly, and most of all, never, ever let your guard down. Stay alert, and afraid...VERY afraid!<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-32019137035033757552018-09-18T13:46:00.001-07:002018-09-18T14:27:06.923-07:00Why Are You Looking At Me Like That?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I often walk around shaking my head at my mother's
antics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alzheimer's is so
unpredictable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom's behavior fluctuates
constantly leaving me to wonder what she will do next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One moment she is squirreling away dirty
napkins and half-eaten cookies in her walker and the next she is pacing around
the kitchen looking for a snack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I
feed her, she takes a bite on-the-run and immediately returns to her favorite
spot outside on the screened porch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
daytime antics are manic and frustrating since she has no understanding of what
she is doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her communication is nil
and when she does speak it is muddled and unintelligible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine our surprise, then when we hear her
speaking full sentences in the middle of the night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night we were awakened to the sound of my mother's
voice admonishing someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>"Why are
you looking at me like that?" she asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then, she continued, "What's Wrong?" (pause)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> "</span>I want a glass of water."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Skip got out of bed and trudged upstairs to
deliver the glass of water and found her standing in front of the bathroom
mirror talking to her image. Mom wore a scowl on her face. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No doubt the sight of her image glaring back
at her was offensive, causing her to scowl even more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was glad Skip managed to get her the water
when he did or there might have been a fist fight between Mom and the mirror. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Trying to protect Mom from herself has become a full-time job. She is perpetual motion and often finds ways to put herself in harm's way either by trying to eat something that is not meant to be eaten, or to wobble precariously close to a table edge. Today, she tried to go down the steps to the patio as I flew to stop her. "NO!" I shouted. "Stop!" Then approaching her and closing the door firmly I admonished her. "You don't go out there." I still had visions of the face plant she did when she escaped outdoors and down the step.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I didn't do that," she replied. (It's amazing how Mom can speak in full, understandable sentences when in the midst of proclaiming her innocence.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Mom, look...you opened the door," I told her pointing at the door. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Again she denied it only this time she told me "Oh, THEY did that." ('THEY' by the way, seem to be responsible for all things that are done for which my mother does not wish to take responsibility.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To say that this is a trying time would be a colossal understatement. I am equally torn between laughing at the bizarre woman who resides with us and feeling tremendous sadness over having lost the logical, organized and fastidious woman she once was. From moment to moment I battle my demons who rail in anger against this huge inconvenience in my life, and the loving daughter who remembers the 80 plus years of joy she brought to all of us. I want to reach out and hug her, hold her, feel her warmth, and then she does something that instantly pushes me away in disgust. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I detach myself from the lesson that is delivered to me. I recognize it and marvel at the clarity while fighting each new test that is delivered. It is the lesson we sometimes never learn; a test we do not pass. Will I succeed? Today I have failed once again. Perhaps tomorrow I will conquer my human failings. I am a daughter. I will tap into that love...that familial tie and allow the mother-daughter bond to supersede the impatience I feel. I will try, once more to look for the humor. It's there. Oh yes it is! She will undoubtedly blame that other person--'THEY' will do something that makes me cross, and when I admonish her or scold her she will offer to punch 'THEM'. I expect to see her tussling with an unseen combatant hoping that she doesn't injure herself but all-the-while cheering her on as the victor!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-44669568903147145442018-09-11T10:09:00.001-07:002018-09-11T13:01:20.922-07:00When it Rains, it Pours--LITERALLY!What a week it was last week! Mom has been her usual self and I have had a full week of watching her. She has manically walked in and out of the house to the porch, the kitchen, the hall, the kitchen, the porch. Over and over...round and round she goes. Each time, she leaves the door to the porch open and I can practically see the dollar bills flying out the door as the cool air escapes into the hot muggy outdoors. In between these meanderings, Mom always circles the kitchen touching everything that is left out. If food is out she snips off a piece, samples, bites, or pokes her finger into whatever the item is. This is a problem because her hygiene is so poor I cannot keep up with where her fingers have been. I shudder just to think about it. The other day, Skip made the grievous mistake of leaving half a peach out on the counter. Mom had just finished a large lunch including her fill of peach slices, but in her demented state she didn't remember this fact and so she stood up from her place at the counter, (some sandwich still on her plate) and picked up the peach. My attention having been diverted for a moment didn't notice this and therefore it wasn't until Skip returned for his remaining peach half that I saw what had happened.<br />
<br />
"Um...did you take a bite of this?" He asked accusingly. He held up the peach with a large bite right out of the center of it.<br />
<br />
I laughed out loud. "Really? Would I do that?! If I wanted a bite of your peach I would have taken a knife and sliced a piece off."<br />
<br />
Skip nodded in agreement. He knows my habits and realized immediately that he was 'barking up the wrong tree'. Then he cast a dark look at my mother. Imagining the germ-infested peach, he handed her the rest of it. I felt sorry for him because it was a really lovely peach. (We haven't had many of those this year.)<br />
<br />
Caring for Mom is a full-time job, but there are always other things in our lives that keep us spinning, our lives in turmoil, and our days full of distractions. For example, it is currently hurricane season here in North Carolina which means that when a storm develops out in the Atlantic, we immediately go into our hurricane preparedness mode. Store shelves are stripped of bread, water and milk. (It's the same if snow is predicted in the winter.) I don't quite understand this because having been a native Californian my experience in natural disasters was limited to those things one cannot predict: brush fires and earthquakes. Both happen so fast, one doesn't have time to think about what to do. In California, one just sleeps fully clothed with wallet and cell phone in hand along with car keys and extra batteries in a hip pocket! I have learned though. OH MY, have I learned!!! When in the South do as Southerners do. Get yourself to the grocery store and buy everything off the shelves, girl.<br />
<br />
A couple of days ago, I decided that with the projections for a major hurricane to hit our area in 6 days, maybe I should send Skip out to look for some supplies. Well, obviously I wasn't the only one thinking that way. In fact, the entire county seems to have been of one mind and the shelves had already been stripped bare. Sadly, the <b><i>one</i></b> thing that we REALLY needed was nowhere to be found. We needed a generator. This was not a convenience but a necessity if we lost power because our sump pump would stop running and (as we experienced in the last hurricane) our basement flooded.<br />
<br />
So...Skip went out looking in three or four surrounding counties to see if he could find a generator for the sump pump. We weren't looking for anything special. Really, anything would do. Since Skip was running around on this errand --<b>ALL DAY</b>!!!--I was stuck dealing with my mother without respite. She was in a particularly zombie-like mood wandering to and fro. I was trying to get some work done, but between Mom's meanderings, Skip's phone calls asking me to check various websites for availability of the elusive generators, and the oppressive heat, I was not in the best of moods. By evening, we finally resolved the generator problem when we found one in Charlotte (three hours drive from here). However, with our daughter and son-in-law living in Charlotte, we could have them pick it up for us and deliver since our son-in-law was meeting Skip at a halfway point between here and Charlotte so Skip could drive our granddaughter, Julie to a special dance lesson in Raleigh. Don't even begin to ask me about how we worked that one out and how many phone calls it took for us to figure out that Julie could leave school and make it in time to take a lesson from a choreographer who is well-known in the dance world...an opportunity that just could not be missed!<br />
<br />
That night when we finally settled down after dinner and decided to rent a movie to relax and enjoy after putting Mom to bed. We were just getting into the movie when we heard a blood curdling scream. I realized it was coming over the monitor system.<br />
"That's Mom!" I shouted, getting up to run to her room. Before I reached the door I heard her crying out, "God help me." Now I KNEW something was wrong. I ran into her room preparing myself for whatever disaster awaited me. Mom was sitting on her bed, eyes wide as saucers, telling me that someone was screaming at her. "That was YOU," I announced.<br />
<br />
"No, no. Someone was screaming and telling me to take it off the mungo muddle..." Her aphasia had kicked in so I have no idea what she was saying after that. I finally convinced her that she was having a bad dream, rubbed her back and calmed her down enough to get her back to sleep. I was about to step back out of her room and return to the movie when she popped her head up, looking like something was terribly wrong.<br />
<br />
"What's the matter, Mom?" I asked. There was no response. I came closer understanding that she had difficulty hearing me. "Mom? Is something wrong?" I asked two more times before she replied.<br />
<br />
"I have to go to the bathroom," she told me getting up.<br />
<br />
I helped her to the bathroom waiting patiently while she moved slower than a snail. When she finished and opened the door I noticed that her wet diapers were placed on the sink and there was a puddle on the floor. The toilet was the only thing she didn't use. "Clean up on aisle five!" I announced over the monitor and Skip came running up with the wet mop. The movie would have to wait another 15 minutes.<br />
<br />
That brings me to my reason for writing this today. I had a live webcast I was invited to do today as a guest author. The last time I did something like this I was invited on a podcast and my internet connection was very poor. We kept disconnecting and the podcast was cancelled. I was frustrated and angry when my husband explained that my location I chose for the interview was a weak location. Therefore, I tested the webcast connection and location the week prior to the live show to make sure I had a perfect connection, location, lighting, etc. I told everyone that I was doing this so not to call me during that time. Just to be safe and to avoid those pesky robo calls that occur with regularity every 20 minutes or so, I turned all of the phone ringers on mute. Then, I told Skip that we should have lunch early just to make sure that there would be no noise coming from the kitchen during the show. I got my lap top set up in the library, set my chair at the perfect angle, adjusted the lighting and even put a note on the front door saying, 'DO NOT DISTURB. BROADCAST IN PROGRESS.' I needed to advise our son, who often comes downstairs from his apartment to say 'Hello', but I was out of time so I told Skip to text him while I grabbed a sip of lemon water and returned to my laptop.<br />
<br />
With all of the preparation, one would think that nothing could go wrong. Au contraire. This is MY life we're talking about.<br />
<br />
About one minute before going live, my mother's elder monitor began to beep loudly. Having been told that the video broadcasting equipment was very sensitive to the slightest sound, I made the decision to take a nose dive to turn the interrupting speaker off. Only, I couldn't see how to do that so I unplugged it and threw it across the room returning to my seat just in time, adjusting my hair, my lipstick and my blouse in time to smile broadly and greet the hostess online. Whew! The guest panel was introduced with not a moment to spare. As the hostess asked each of us to introduce ourselves I noticed that my screen froze, I hurried to refresh the url and was fortunate to make it back in time for her to get to me. I was dividing my attention between the introductory comments and my intermittent Internet connection. When a question was asked of the panel, I couldn't wait to answer but as I spoke, once again the screen froze, and this time there was no recovery. My Internet was down. I had to exit and try again. It took much longer than the first time and when I returned the panel had moved on. The hostess very kindly returned to me to get my response and I was able to complete my thought but not without being distracted. I had lost my train of thought in the moment of panic and didn't recover as well as I would've liked. Being used to my frantic days, I have learned to think quickly and found something intelligible to say. We moved on to another subject and suddenly, in the background my phone in the kitchen rang. What?! I had turned all the ringers off. How could that happen. Skip was outside and had to run in to catch the phone on the second ring. I heard his voice in the background and quickly put my laptop on mute. What else could go wrong? I didn't have to wait too long. Suddenly the door swung open from the screened porch. Mom came barreling inside complaining that she felt like she was going to throw up. She was followed by our dog who wanted to play and my husband who was trying to maintain order and silence. I tried to ignore them and continue listening to the discussion hoping to be able to keep my wits about me in view of the pandemonium in the other room. A question was asked but I missed it because my computer froze. The hostess asked me when I reappeared if I had a comment. (About what? Uh...um...'NO'). All in all my computer froze five times and I tried to follow the show as best I could, but felt kind of like a blind person in a paint store. The final straw was when the side door opened and our son came downstairs looking for all of us. He wandered around the kitchen, then went back upstairs to the attached apartment closing the door noisily. (UGH). A little while later, his girlfriend started her car just under the library window then stopped, went back inside, closing the side door, then reopening and returning to her car. (Later, I found out that her car was not acting right and they had called a tow truck.) There was more door slamming and then silence just as the hostess was saying goodbye and thanking her guests. I mutely waived goodbye smiling broadly and exited the show. Taking a deep breath I looked for Skip.<br />
<br />
"How'd it go?" he asked innocently.<br />
<br />
"How'd it go? HOW'D IT GO?! <b>OH MY GOD!!!" </b>I yelled. "I live in a mad house, that's how it went."<br />
<br />
Skip looked hurt. "I'm sorry about the phone."<br />
<br />
"...And Mom, and Kira, and the doors, and Bill coming in. I thought that you texted him."<br />
<br />
"You said you were putting up a sign," he answered defensively.<br />
<br />
I rolled my eyes. What was the point of arguing that I told him to text our son. Instead I told him about the Internet issues.<br />
<br />
"Well that's not the strongest signal in the library," he answered.<br />
<br />
"It was fine last week," I reminded him.<br />
<br />
"Well, that's because all of us weren't at home and on the Internet at the same time." It turned out that Skip was watching the weather reports, Bill was up in his apartment on the Internet and there were probably at least three devices accessing the Internet as well. My eyes were bugging out and my head was exploding as I tried to take in this last bit of information. To make matters worse, Skip had to leave to go pick up our granddaughter and didn't have time to talk or to make me feel better. Skip left the room to move on to his next task leaving me with my mother who decided that going in and out of the house leaving the door open each time was how she wanted to fill the rest of the afternoon. I resigned myself to the fact that my life is destined to be this way...crazy, funny (if you choose to laugh) and certainly nothing boring about it!<br />
<br />
Skip just announced that our air conditioner has stopped working. We have a call in to the air conditioner people but I won't be answering the phone. I will be the crazy woman sitting in the padded cell laughing maniacally.<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-52470507949490049802018-08-30T16:16:00.001-07:002018-08-30T16:31:28.219-07:00GRAMA-RANG. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wvgOq0G9H5c/W4h-N-ICQjI/AAAAAAAACcc/0g0hq2Sw_TMmn0Mq0eelKFer3gjsbKEIACLcBGAs/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wvgOq0G9H5c/W4h-N-ICQjI/AAAAAAAACcc/0g0hq2Sw_TMmn0Mq0eelKFer3gjsbKEIACLcBGAs/s1600/Untitled.jpg" /></a></div>
I know that my sense of humor sometimes downplays the angst I feel about my mother's progressing Alzheimer's. Skip and I are handling it the best we can. As a new situation arises we deal with it. We are coping and have been for several years now. But sometimes I just HAVE to laugh. <br />
<br />
Among those things I find funny is how my mother responds to my attempts to protect her. For the longest time, for example, we were reluctant to install a camera in my mother's room preferring to allow her privacy while monitoring her via an alarm system and a baby monitor that enabled us to hear what was going on in her room. If she needed us we were there in an instant. Of course, that was when she was more conversant. But now Mom doesn't say much. If there is an emergency she is likely to remain silent. We often hear the strangest noises coming from upstairs without a clue as to what they might be. <br />
<br />
For weeks, I kept hearing a sound that sounded like a zipper being zipped over and over again. <br />
"What's that sound?" I asked Skip one night. "I keep hearing it."<br />
<br />
"What sound?" Skip replied. He strained to listen more closely to the monitor even carrying it into the family room where we sat watching TV.<br />
<br />
I listened and waited. There was nothing but the sound of my mother's walker banging into the wall. "Well, it's gone now. But I <b><i>heard</i></b> it!" <br />
<br />
"Hmm." Skip looked at me with an expression of doubt.<br />
<br />
A minute later I heard the 'zip' again. "There! Did you hear it?" I shouted triumphantly. <br />
<br />
"Yes! Hmmm..." He said again. It was somewhat like taking my car to the mechanic complaining of a squeak and having them actually hear it. I felt vindicated. Now we both wondered and mused as to what the mystery sound could be. There were no zippers in Mom's room. Perhaps she was raking her fingernails across something that was textured. There were other sounds that were similar. We were able to identify those sooner or later; like the hairbrush scrubbing the seat of her walker, the plastic bags being folded and refolded then stuffed into the storage compartment of the walker, the locking of the brakes, the wheels squeaking There was the sound of Mom pulling on the locked door of her closet, the click of the light going off and on, sheets being ruffled, drawers being opened and the contents being moved around. All of these sounds were detectable. The 'zip' was not. It was the last straw--what drove us over the edge to purchase a camera.<br />
<br />
The next day, Skip came home with a super, duper, state-of-the-art camera with night vision, and a wide-angle lens. The associated app enabled us to remotely view on Skip's cell phone and even record activity. After setting it up all we had to do was wait until we put Mom to bed. We hovered over Skip's phone like we were watching a reality TV show. All that was missing was the popcorn snacks. <br />
<br />
"Look! She's moving!" I announced. Mom changed positions on her pillow and pulled at the sheet. We watched with rapt attention. After several uneventful minutes something happened that we had not expected. Mom sat up and moved to the edge of the bed where she continued to sit for the next three hours--not changing her position other than to lower her head to her chest. In the beginning we weren't sure what she was doing but quickly determined that she was sleeping sitting up, head in hands and swaying slightly back and forward. Skip went upstairs after the first few minutes to try to put her back on her pillow but the moment he left the room Mom popped back up and resumed the sitting/sleeping position. So that's how she continued until we grew weary of watching. Then came the sound--the 'Zip!' I ran to the phone to see her bent over her walker. 'ZIP'. <br />
<br />
"Oh my God! It's in her walker!" I exclaimed jubilantly. I watched as she lifted the lid of the seat and on the back side there was a small compartment I had never noticed. Lo and behold there was a zipper! Mystery solved. Thank you super-duper-night-vision-camera! <br />
<br />
As the days turned into weeks, we discovered that the indoor camera was more of a menace than a helpful tool. Watching Mom at night became a frustration rendering us nervous and constantly sitting vigil to her nighttime wanderings. We realized that Mom was awake a great proportion of the night and early morning hours. She took catnaps and the rest of the time simply wandered about aimlessly or manically. Furthermore, since my phone didn't have a compatible operating system, Skip became the designated 'watcher'. One night, while observing the nocturnal activities, Skip gave a loud groan. "UGH! She just took her nightgown off! She's <b><i>NAKED</i></b>!!!"<br />
<br />
"Turn it off, turn it off!" I yelled.<br />
<br />
Skip dropped the phone and rubbed his eyes like his retinas were burning. I retrieved the phone and discovered that my mother preferred wrapping herself in bedsheets to wearing a nightgown. She began pulling at the sheet and twisting herself in it like a mummy. The worst part about that was the sheet, being loosely attached to the bed rendered it impossible for Mom to cruise around the room. She would manage to move about a foot away from the mattress and get yanked backwards. I watched her fall back on the mattress. Being resilient and determined, she tried again, and again...and again. Each time she bounced backwards returning like a Boomerang. I debated running to her rescue but knew that she would just keep doing it. Hadn't we seen it before? The first week of our remote viewing we had run upstairs to stop Mom's potentially dangerous actions, the near-accidents, the potential falls because she had forgotten to use her walker. Then, realizing that the moment one or the other of us exited the room after righting the situation, Mom was right back at whatever she was doing before we stopped her. Such was the case with us trying to get Mom to lie down. I watched as Skip left the room and immediately my mother popped back up to her sitting position. I wanted to laugh, thinking that she was like a human Boomerang...A MAMA-RANG, or maybe we'd call her 'Gramarang'. Yeah, I liked that just fine. It worked for everything she did lately. We'd point her in the direction of the bathroom and she would circle back without stopping. Or she would walk past us when she came inside and we could see her making a bee-line for the food on the counter. We would run interference turning her in the opposite direction but she would doggedly Gramarang herself back to the food.<br />
<br />
"I wonder how long she's done that--the sitting up thing?" I mused out loud.<br />
<br />
"She's probably done all kinds of things that we would worry about if we had known," Skip replied.<br />
<br />
"Yeah...but now we DO know!" I replied pointing at the camera. "UGH. We'll never get any sleep." Then I thought about it. We could attempt to restrain her, to drug her, to drive ourselves crazy running up to her room to save her from herself; or we could allow her to do what she wanted. She was 99 years old and had earned the right to do that. Why did I feel the need to protect her? Someone her age, her condition, and her lack of understanding COULDN'T be protected. The moment we put a stop to one thing that could be a hazard, she would turn around and repeat it. I sighed deeply and picked up the cell phone, turned the camera off and put the phone on the counter. There would be no more Gramarang-watching tonight!<br />
<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-2617943975010146092018-08-30T10:47:00.001-07:002018-08-30T10:47:53.778-07:00What is Love? When people say, "I love you," it can mean oh so many things. Today, we learned what one kind of love means. Our children and their loved ones demonstrated a love that enveloped compassion, consideration, generosity, and overwhelming thoughtfulness. We gathered together to celebrate my mother's 99th birthday, and Father's Day. We even threw in my girlfriend's birthday for good measure. We had dinner, laughed, loved, enjoyed each other. We had cake and exchanged cards. At the end of the celebrations, we sat down in the living room to visit and continue enjoying the after-dinner moments before everyone had to leave. But there was one more surprise...one more act of generosity. The family handed us a card that said, 'To Mom and Dad.' What? It wasn't MY birthday. Why was I getting this? I opened the card with Skip sitting next to me, looking over my shoulder. How could I have forgotten another occasion soon to be celebrated by us? Skip and I were going to celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary in less than two months. We had no plans to go anywhere or do anything. We knew that we would have to put the celebration on hold or at least minimize what we might do to mark the occasion. There was simply no money to spend of frivolity. We were budgeting carefully these days. Caring for Mom had taken its toll on our expenditures and our earning ability. Even a night out was sometimes prohibitively expensive when one considered the cost of hiring a professional to be with Mom while we attended a dinner or another event.<br />
<br />
The card held a surprise that we hadn't expected. A roll of bills sat inside the card with the most lovely note one could ever get. It wished us a happy anniversary and held an early anniversary present urging us to think about going somewhere together--to get away and just enjoy each other. The money was to help defray the cost of a sitter for Mom, to take the stress and worry out of being able to get away even if for just a couple of days.<br />
<br />
I couldn't read the note out loud. Tears filled my eyes. Both Skip and I were so moved by the gift, the amazing thoughtfulness and understanding that we really, REALLY needed this. The note went on to thank us for exhibiting the meaning of commitment. The love they exhibited assured me that we have done a good job with our children.<br />
<br />Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1270970555649758594.post-37853019654842220502018-08-23T08:38:00.000-07:002018-08-23T08:38:30.652-07:00Cussing is Cathartic <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">How quickly my mother's condition is deteriorating now! She is extremely reactive to anything we do, flying into angry fits and threatening us. Some of it is actually laughable but most is just sad, patience-testing, and anger-provoking. I knew about various mood changing drugs that would help but was opposed to using them. I worried about side-effects and hated to administer something artificial; but after putting up with her little outbursts for several weeks,--each one being a bit more violent, I finally contacted her doctor and received a prescription for anti-anxiety, anti-agitation drugs. "A few drops will calm her down," I was told. So off I went to the pharmacy to pick up a tiny bottle that cost $55 (our portion of the payment AFTER insurance had paid over half of the total!) I couldn't wait to administer the dosage and see if she would become a calmer version of herself. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The first day, there was no change but the second day it seemed like Mom was more of a Zombie than usual. At least there were no emotional outbursts though. Then day three hit. I walked into her room to help her get up and get dressed. Her Depends were off (she removes them at night) and there was a large puddle on the floor of her bedroom. As I walked in narrowly missing stepping in the puddle, I saw that Mom's nightgown was on backwards indicating that she had removed it at least once during the night. Well, at least it was back on her and she hadn't been running through the house naked! I removed her clothes from the locked closet with Mom standing next to me practically panting with anticipation and pointing her finger at the shoes on the floor. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I need the...the...those!" she reminded me. (Mom couldn't remember what the shoes were called but she most certainly remembered that they were in the closet.) As she sat down she was more focused on the shoes than on getting dressed, freeing herself to grab at them every few seconds. (I should note that dressing Mom is like dressing an octopus. Her hands grab at everything and she is unfocused on the job at hand. If left alone, she would wear nothing but her shoes and be perfectly fine with that!)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I finally managed to get Mom downstairs I was already in a lather since her room was hot and I was working fast and furiously to get her dressed quickly. I took several minutes sitting under the ceiling fan rotating on the 'high' setting to recover and cool off. Then I began my day. Mom sat at the counter eating her breakfast and blowing her nose in her napkin. As usual, the napkin was then placed on the counter where she took her mug and ran over the top of it 'ironing' it flat. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Please don't do that, Mom." I told her like I had never told her that before,when in fact Skip and I tell her that at least five times per meal. "The napkin is dirty. You blew your nose in it. Throw it in the trash." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mom argued that the napkin was clean. As always, I showed her the wet spots and told her again to throw it in the trash. I would have done it for her but was handling food and didn't want to personally touch the napkin. Mom sat stubbornly refusing to throw the napkin away and eventually, I reached over and tossed the napkin in the trash. Problem solved! Mom shot me a look of defiance grabbed another napkin and blew her nose. Then she place <i><b>that</b></i> napkin on the counter flattening it with her hands. I turned my back on her and walked away counting silently to 10. When I turned back, Mom was headed for the screened porch and I was able to retrieve her breakfast dishes, dirty napkin, and coffee mug that was covered in sticky jelly. (It is always a risk handling Mom's dishes!)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All morning Mom walked in and out every couple of minutes. She was agitated and yet, stupidly, I thought that I could handle it. By noon, when I fixed her lunch I was so tired of being patient and understanding I could barely wait to feed her and get her back outside. Again, I dealt with the napkin-turned-tissue that Mom refused to throw away and instead turning it into some sort of origami project. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Stop handling that! It's dirty."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mom scowled at me and continued to run her fingers across the mucous-soaked napkin.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Ugh!" I gagged. I opened the cabinet to show her the trash can. "Put your napkin in here."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mom lifted her plate and started to throw it away.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"No! No! Not your plate. Your napkin! Throw your napkin in the trash."</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I don't have to and you can't make me!"</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Oh yes I can!" I had reached my breaking point. "Now do it!" (Mom sat stubbornly, refusing to cooperate. She mumbled something that was unintelligible.) I shook the trash can at her and coaxed her a little impatiently. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She looked away and said, "Stop it!" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"These are my rules," I told her. "You have to follow them."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mom screamed loudly saying that she didn't have to follow my rules. Now we were in a full-out battle of wills. I was not going to back down even though I knew that I was dealing with a temper tantrum from a two-year-old. Instead of being the adult though, I countered with my own display of temper and need to control. "You do this now!" I bellowed in my authoritarian voice that implied the words, "<i><b>YOU WILL OBEY</b></i>!!!" At this point, Skip, who had been working in his office, came running to see what was going on and to keep the two warring factions from killing each other. When he approached, instead of becoming 'Peacemaker' he entered into the fray. He told my mother to listen to us and do what she was asked. When she refused, he took her napkin, threw it in the trash and told her to get down from her stool and go sit down in the family room. When she refused, he guided her taking her by the hands and placing her hands on the walker, then pointing the walker in the direction of the family room. I could see Mom's face. She was furious. By the time she sat down next to me I decided to take the high road and talk to her with a rational and calm voice. "I can see that you are angry. Why?"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Because," she sputtered, "Those people over there think that they are such big shots and they're nobody! I'm going to get my husband to take care of them. They'll be sorry!" She threatened this in a voice filled with malice. <span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">(It was definitely time for a dose of the medicine.) I reached over and administered the dropper-full smiling sardonically. Within minutes my mother was calm and cooperative. So much so, that when it was bedtime I didn't think that any more medicine was needed. Oh how wrong I was! All night, Mom remained agitated and walking around her room, refusing to go to sleep. I was too sleepy to responsibly administer any medication and endured the noise and commotion coming over the monitor. By 1:30 Mom had opened the door a couple of times and Skip got up to put her back in bed. Mom refused to lie down so Skip assisted her guiding her backwards with his hand on her arm.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Don't touch me!" she shouted. "Don't you dare touch me!"</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"I'm just trying to help you lie down," Skip told her patiently.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Get your hands off of me, you Son-of-a-Bitch!" She fumed. (Mom never, ever said that. I never heard her use that expression nor did she ever use bad words. She was always the picture of decorum and propriety. In all my life I had never heard those words coming out of my mother's mouth. But here she was at 2 AM cussing at my husband.) There was a long pause and then I heard the door open and close. Skip returned to bed trying to control his breathing. I could tell he was upset. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"What happened?" I asked.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"She called me a Son-of-a-Bitch!" he repeated with disbelief.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I laughed out loud. What next? I wondered. Would she drop an 'F' bomb? For someone with Alzheimer's when there is little control over one's life, one's words, one's actions and even one's thoughts, maybe cussing is cathartic. Maybe that was the one way my mother could express herself when all other words escaped her, when cognition was limited, and when more than anything, she wanted to be at peace. It was as if we kept poking her with a hot poker until she reacted. She didn't understand, didn't know why, didn't care. She wanted to be left alone. Sadly, I fell asleep understanding this and yet feeling helpless to do anything about it. I am Mom's caregiver, but felt overwhelmed and more than a little over my head, incompetent, and exhausted. Recognizing this, I was immediately grateful for the answer that came in a small amber bottle with a dropper dispenser. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just before drifting off to sleep two things struck me: first I thought of Charlton Heston screaming, in Planet of the Apes; "It's a madhouse, A M-A-D-H-O-U-S-E!" Immediately my mind switched to One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest when the patients were given their daily dose of medication to keep them compliant, drugged, and docile. Was I turning into Nurse Ratched? A small nagging guilt grew inside of me and yet...and yet...I knew that there was no way I could or would be that calm, composed caregiver that could tolerate the cussing and violence. Yes, it's a madhouse and I have the means to make things better. I fell asleep with the knowledge that I was doing the very best I could do.</span></span></span>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16533596756471554837noreply@blogger.com0