Our Aging Parents: Payback

I’m sitting here waiting on my mother as she has laser surgery.   It’s exasperating:  taking care of  an aging parent.  They don’t want to bother you with their problems until they want to bother you. 

I’m not sure when she was going to tell me about this eye problem: today? When the procedure was scheduled?  I can never tell with her.  On the way here, a few minutes into the drive she informed me that her hearing aids were on the table next to her chair.  “It’s okay, I don’t really need them”   “ Great”   I said in a normal  voice,  “you won’t hear me when I scream.”    She leaned over toward the driver’s seat “What did you say”?  I smiled silently to myself.

In the past few years , I have trained myself to begin every conversation by asking “ Do you have your hearing aids in”?    If I don’t, it only leads to frustration.  I am not a patient person.  (My problem, not hers.)  I also have trained myself to ask a ton of questions and if the answers are not satisfactory, I go to the source.  It takes time and patience, however I consider it worth my while; this is my mother’s well-being after all.

Stopping by to grab coffee this morning, I happened on an friend who , like me has an aging parent(s) with health issues.  She was in coming to town for the football game, when her 91 year old father fell and broke his hip. Her vacation plans were extended to come earlier to take care of her mother.  We shared stories , coping strategies and I explained my theory:  payback.   Our parents are paying us back for everything we ever did to them as teenagers.  We were often the reason for sleepless nights and countless walks across a living room window looking into the darkness . 

My mother is supposed to tell me when she decides to drive the 40 mile drive to the warehouse store;  I used to drive 6 hours  to college and forget to call when I had safely arrived.

Mom has been “bumping” into structures with her car and not telling me; I used to put 4 friends in my dad’s Austin Healey when he told me multiple times NOT to do this.  It wasn’t safe to stick to girls in the “back seat”.   

Mom goes out shopping at Walmart for hours on end with her cell phone and doesn’t answer it; I routinely missed curfew in High School for really important reasons. (I can’t remember what they are now.  It was important than I swear!)

There have been multiple times when I am ready to call the local authorities and ask if a woman matching my mother description has been in a wreck, when suddenly she appears.  She shrugs her shoulders and tells me not to worry.  

Sometimes I think that she goes out without telling me on purpose, laughing up her sleeve.  She knows it will get a response out of me and I will come running; A sure fire way to get to see me.  She often complains that she doesn’t get to see enough of me, though we live extremely close and I see her almost every day.   Payback.:  the guilt trip variety

I suppose at 80 years of age, 4 children, 7 grandchildren, 3 great- grandchildren,: she is over worrying and just enjoying life.   She wasn’t worried about this procedure.  She didn’t care that she couldn’t hear me.  She isn’t concerned about too much of anything and maybe this is how it should be.  She is just enjoying the ride.

It’s okay Mom...  I can drive from here, Love ya!

Peace.

NEPB

Move is Four Letter Word

Move as defined: to pass from one place or position.  Or there is this definition: to advance or progress. I prefer the second definition.  I tried to keep progress in mind through the recent nightmare, it was difficult.

We progressed 2 times in 5 days.  I was ready to pull my hair out. I had several private hissy fits: public ones are so unbefitting.   I knew last February that July was going to be a dicey month.  There would be a gap between lease dates: 5 days.  The new company thought they could make it work.  In the end they could not, the new place was not ready.

On the 13^th , my 3 sons,  one of their girlfriends,  2 friends, and my Significant other (SIO) moved the contents of my townhouse into a warehouse.   There were over 200 boxes plus furniture and Barbie’s massive empire.  Three months of my OCD packing and hard work had paid off for just this type of situation.   My oldest son, recalled helping me on a previous move years ago when I was not in charge and remarked that it had not gone as smoothly as this one.   One load was left on the truck; this was marked to be moved Thursday evening, the first of the multiple moves. This too was a backup plan from months earlier.  Obviously, I am really bad at math: Saturday, Thursday and the next Saturday.  That does make 3, correct?   Ugh.

Saturday evening, My 2 youngest children and I began our 4 day camp in with my mother.  Now I love my mother, however staying with her was challenging; I had given up camping years ago.   We tripped over each, didn’t have our own space and waited impatiently for move in day.  Thursday the 18^th, another group of friends and my sons unloaded the truck.  Half way through, we found the bag of “fresh” produce that had been picked up the previous Saturday and packed without my knowledge.  After a week of  hot temperatures, it  had fully ripened into an odor that called to every wild beast for miles.

Saturday was warehouse day and we did it all again with a much smaller crew; your friends can only take so much.  I should do an Xfinity commercial like that now running with the guy trying to find help to move.   Amazingly, the work went faster than before with less people.  Perhaps it was the croissants from Our Daily Bread, one of the best bakeries in town, inspiring the crew to work more efficiently.

Since moving in, my OCD kicked into overdrive, there have been many late nights and early mornings spent unpacking.   Did I mention this entire month is a restricted time in my office?  We are not allowed to take time off.  It’s our busy time at the University.  Campus is swarming with 5000 new freshman and their parents, preparing for Fall.   Wondering around, maps in hand, gazing up at our lime stone buildings and dreaming of that first exam.   I can only dream of unpacking my next box .

Out of 200 boxes, the count is down to 20.  The kitchen is my worst nightmare.  It is waiting for my oldest daughter to arrive this week.  She wrote the book on organization.  She is the case study for OCD manifestations.  They say every generation improves on its gene pool right?   She will set it right and then some.

Now to the missing items:  Last night during dinner with my SIO, I was lamenting over missing items.  SIO, trying to calm me took me to the warehouse to show me that everything had in fact been removed.  “It must be in the house somewhere”.   He gave me an evil wink and told me “It could be in your mother’s museum.”   I slapped my forehead.  The place IS a museum.  I have stored a few things there, all carefully marked.  The thought of spending time precious unpacking time there is unnerving, knowing I could get distracting by cleaning up another mess.  Help!  I could be lost for hours cleaning up something I really didn’t intend to do.  Sometimes I just can’t stop myself. It’s the OCD kicking in and kicking my “you-know-what”. 

I have been asking myself how long I can live without these items. It can probably be done except for one.  The most important item missing, the desktop computer monitor is vital.  It is clearly marked, as were all the other items.  This fact alone leaves me baffled.  How did these things 3-5 boxes go AWOL?  I was careful to mark everything.  And yet now I cannot find them.  Everyone says in a move things go missing and you find them months later.  Months later… are you kidding me?  The monitor is needed now. 

I have been to mom’s several times in the past few days looking.  Today I will be there again and will not leave until I find the monitor.  There are two possible outcomes:  I will find the monitor or I will be laying in her front yard throwing a hissy fit just like I did when I was 3 years old.     I am my mother’s daughter.  If I am going to throw a fit, it’s best I do it in front of her

The new place is great.  It’s beautifully old, quirky and I can walk to work.  It’s right downtown where we love to spend time in our charming Burg.  We are going to be very happy here.

 Peace

NEPB

Looking Backward and Forward

I am moving.  I have lived in this townhouse for 7 years.  I have been packing, donating unwanted belongings and cleaning for months; these efforts have intensified the last 2 weeks.  Memories swam around me like  fire flies at sunset.

Every drawer emptied brings a new memory: pictures long lost are now found, theater tickets from a favorite performance, and a sweater thought lost, finally found.    This home has been my solace from many trials.  I returned to my bedroom retreat upstairs after life altering events.  I lay awake night after night after my diagnosis with stage 3 breast cancer.  I wondered how my children and I would exist.  It was a time of extreme uncertainty. I returned there after every treatment for 2 years: hunkering down in my bunker  with  a supply of meds, bottles of Gatorade (the mere site of Gatorade now makes me ill), a copious amount of pillows and endured with the help of my children. 

I took a bottle of champagne home and “cleaned house” to celebrate my divorce,  a process I started during treatment and finalized at the end of my 2 year run.   It was a giant victory ; Made more victorious that I had accomplished it during that ordeal  and had the fortitude to escape the abuse.  A single woman alone gathering the strength to do it alone with 3 children under 18, imagining the future of a positive life… What was I thinking?   I made it work better than anything previous.

My 3 youngest children and I have built a live here together over the past years.  We huddled together when here when my father died.  He used to drop by unexpectedly for visits to see what we were doing.  We knew he was really coming by to see our German Shepard Kate.  Daddy had a soft spot for German Shepherds.  I am sure if you look close you can find some of Kate’s hair somewhere. Kate left us not long after Daddy, 4 years ago. 

There were the 4^th of July cookouts we used to have with our neighbors. It was always here because here because I had the biggest backyard and was closest to the pool. Do you think they were using me? Well yes, but who cares.  We had always had a good time.  I remember trying to explain to a group of international students about flag cake: the cake with the blueberries and strawberries?  They just didn’t get that we were eating a symbol of our cake.  Crazy Americans.

My 9 year old daughter was toddler in this home.  She colored on the walls, learned to swim in the pool and  learned to ride a bike behind the house.  Her memories are the strongest.  This is where her real life memory began. When she is a grown woman she will look back and this will be the first place she remembers.  I worked hard to keep the memories good.  I hope I succeeded.

We are moving to downtown.  A smaller space, I have one less child at home now and one more graduates next year.  When I considered this new home I looked at the possibilities:  downtown, walking distance to my office, a park/ playground in my back yard and several other perks.  I was doing my forward thinking.  It all fell into place.   It was time. 

There is always a time.  It is sometimes difficult to look ahead and see into the future, do the planning, packing and preserving you have to have a little faith.  You have to let some things go. Let the past be gone and step into a new beginning.  There are so many other things that come to mind when packing up your home and looking back.   If you take too much time looking back it slows down your forward progress.  Life is about forward progress, moving on to new things, improvement.  And this is where we are going, forward.

Peace.  NEPB

The slow pace of Christmas

It happens earlier every year: Christmas.  Before Halloween decorations come down from the retail shops, there were signs of Christmas decorations beginning to come out from their hiding places.  I cringed. It’s against my religion. I need a slower pace.

I’m a Lutheran.  We celebrate the season of Advent:  a quiet time of waiting and reflection of simple gifts.  You won’t hear Christmas music sung in my church until Christmas Eve.  It’s been said that we certainly know how to take the fun out of a holiday.  Guilty as charged.

I guiltily admit I use my religion as an excuse to hold off on decorating.  When friends ask me what I have done, I reply “Nothing”.  This is not to say that I don’t slowly began to decorate after the start of Advent (December 2^nd)  and I do began to slowly shop for my family. 

I try to take in the slowness of the season and enjoy the subtle joys that it has to offer.  My little town has a few offerings.  There is a giant tree on Main Street and  the entrance to campus. Saved from being cut down years ago, it is now the Official Christmas Tree which causes me to drive slower just to take in the sight of the towering lights. There is a parade as only a small town would offer; you know the type, the kids in pajamas, the high school band and the fire truck at the end with Santa yelling Merry Christmas.   

I tend to take “short cuts” through neighborhoods where someone else has gone overboard to decorate their home with lights. Driving slowly, I take it all in until a car behind me gets angry and sounds their horn, prompting me to drive on.  Obviously  someone needs to get on with their Holiday spirit!

As for Art and Music, the possibilities are endless.  It’s a University town; talent knows no bounds.  I go to a few, again in that slow pace; always.  I’m still waiting for a live theater production of Dickens: A Christmas Carol; Anyone?  Anyone?

The season shouldn’t be about hustle and bustle of the crowd, like the lyrics of the popular song. It should be about listening for the sounds of the bells ushering in the Joy.

I hope you are able to slow your pace, drown out the noise, enjoy the lights  and bask quietly in the Joy of the season.

Peace!

NEPB

Time out for the Moon

The Moon was beginning to rise as I was walking out of the store this evening. I had my medication in hand, and was not feeling well when I happened on a young woman who had dropped a bundle of papers.  She looked up at me bewildered, “It’s been like this all day.”

I went over to help her pick up her papers, not caring that we were in the middle of a busy parking lot, in danger of being run over in the dark.  I understood; my day had been the same. 

Thanksgiving and Black Friday were over.  The holidays had worked a number on me.  I was exhausted.  Saturday night I had struggled to keep my eyes open during the movie Lincoln.  Shamefully I admitted this to my SIO.  I had talked about going for months and he had carefully planned the evening around my other obligation just so he could take me to the movie. 

Yesterday a family member had a major health episode which threw us all into a tailspin, once again pulling on my reserve energy.  This morning at the office I found myself feeling extremely weak.  Giving up, I called my doctor and made an appointment. 

Sure enough I was sick: Contagious too.  He wanted me on antibiotics and out of commission for 2 days.  “Ha- you do stand - up comedy in your other job don’t you?”  He knows my life.  The only time I stop running is in the office and while there, it’s not a calm job by any means. He laughed as he wrote prescriptions.

The young woman and I silently picked up her papers, stood up together and as she started to speak I quickly interrupted “Look,” I said pointing, “It’s the Moon playing peek-a-boo. Isn’t it beautiful?”  I turned and walked away before she could say anything.  Dumbstruck, she stood there looking at the Moon now floating freely above the clouds, carefree and smiling at her.

Getting in my car, I too looked back up at the Moon, feeling a little better, it was the best thing I had seen and felt all day.  It was time well spent looking at that beautiful Moon, freeing me from the worries of the day and the stress of not feeling well.  I hope the young woman felt it too. It’s contagious you know.

Peace.

NEPB