Boxing Day

And how the Aged Parent and I would love to box each others' ears. Mom said ' for 26 years, I fixed dinner and nobody ever had a problem with it, but your sister and I can't agree about anything". Never mind the fact I spent hours on my feet preparing and cooking Christmas Dinner, then washed all the dishes from the family feast. No, I am a bad daughter because I kept the meals low in salt, and did not fix gravy.

If I were a better Christian, I'd try to see it from her point of view. She's stuck in a wheelchair--by her own choice, but that is for another post called 'Lack of Exercise". Mom spent a good part of the year either in hospital or rehab. She knows her body is not in good shape, and at 84, she's fairly sharp, but does get confused when she is tired.

OK--but why is she being such a grouch today. We had such a good time yesterday. It's not all that suprising because Mom spent the better part of Christmas being annoyed at her Grandaughter, who stopped by for a short visit, then went down to Delaware with her boyfriend. All in all, we had a very good time, and I thought Mom was comfortable with the world and her family.

Wrong wrong wrong. She's is a pilly mood. I suggested she change her adult diaper, and she told me 'you said the pants were clean and I could wear them:. I pointed out that was several hours ago, and did she want a change now? The Aged Parent has no sense of smell--she lost it in childhood, so she is blissifully unaware of the strong odors that waft from a soiled or wet Depends.

It's just the negativity and moodiness that make me annoyed

Our Elizabeth

I wish I could create a vivid, living picture of my Mom. She is a cross between Princess Grace and Gracie Allen. The Serene Highness, who may lose her cool, and say something completely outrageous. I love Mom's tales of newlywed life with my Dad. Their first apartment was on Fourth Avenue, a block from Dad's store. It was a railroad flat, with plenty of large roaches. The floors were wooden, with a pattern carpet in the living room. Mom always waited for the roaches to crawl on the carpet, then she would squash them with one of his or her college text books. It was Dad's job to dispose of the corpses.

A few years later, when we lived on 91st Street, Mom had one of her misadventures. She had put us 4 girls to bed, then went down to the basement to do laundry, while Dad fell asleep on the living room sofa. I guess the drier was running a bit slow, so Mom got the idea of laying on the basement floor, and taking the drier pipe off, so she could remove extra lint. Naturally, her arm became stuck in the pipe, and there Mom was, calling for help, while fretting that one of the water bugs would come a crawling. ( There were two in our cellar, and my Dad named them 'Felix' and "Francine"). Anyhow, Dad finally heard her cries, came down but couldn't get her arm out--so he called our next door neighbor, Mr. Navarro, who suggested they squirt Mom's arm with baby oil--which made it supple enough to move.

When we were teenagers, we took a winter break vacation down in St. Maarten. It was 1973, and the island was still fairly undeveloped. At the motel, unit, Mom had the bright idea of putting her evening dress, a black and white shift dress, on the deck railing, to air it. So, she begins to get dressed, and realized that she was not alone--a gekko lizard had crawled into the dress and perched on her arm. Meanwhile, my younger Sister, Cathy, and I, had dressed, and came into the room to get soda. Mom screams out "Jesus, Mary and Joseph; it's on me, get it off' while we girls are doubled over, helplessly laughing. My Dad shot us a look, and then bit the side of his mouth so he wouldn't laugh--just repeated in a soothing tone 'it's all right". As he caught the lizard and headed to the outdoor deck, Mom called out 'Don't hurt it, Bob. Just get rid of it".

Mom was, and is amazing, and I love her very much.

Resolutions

Oh, God I am a terrible person, but Mom's singing drives me nuts. It is as though she has to dominate her setting by song. I wonder if the Von Trapp family really enjoyed singing, or did Maria force it upon them? Interesting idea, controlling your offspring with grace notes, three quarter time or the dotted punctum.

Why do I hate the singing? Mom has a good voice--she wanted to be a professional singer, but obeyed her father who told her only loose women went into show business. It's hard for me to understand that concept: does that mean the seemingly virginal Doris Day was a hoochie Momma? No, I think my Irish American grandfather had a very stereotyped view of women, and forced his view upon Mom. As an obedient daughter, she went to graduate school and became a speech teacher, married, and raised 4 daughters.

On long car trips, Mom always sang because " I don't like the silence". As I got older, this annoyed me because I enjoyed the silence. When you lived with two older sisters, and one younger, silence was a rare event, and I treasured it. But, the silence of my thoughts would be shattered by a song: 'The Wild Goose Song" ( sung with Yiddish accent, no less, or as Prince Charles would say 'thank you very much) or "Climb Ev'ry Mountain".

If I wasn't thinking, or fantasizing, I was playing my own songs in my head--and they often got drowned out by Mom's. Like many daughters, I felt she was invading my inner dreams, and 'killing them softly with her song'. Mom has no idea of how I really felt--a case of 'do I ever get to sing my song"? She's always defended herself by saying " I sing because I'm happy. don't you want me to be happy?". My silent rebuttal would be 'how can you achieve happiness by driving the rest of the family insane?"

Anyhow, the first resolution is to use the Season of Advent as a time to find my own voice.

Thank You

For not letting me lose my temper, even though Mom was being very difficult today. She had a good positive check up yeterday, as well as a great PT session. If I had that type of a day, say one with weight loss and a good Hg1AC, I'd be floating on air. Instead, Mom tried to go on a salt rampage for lunch. I wonder what provoked it?

First, I tried to take a nap, because I woke up twice during the night with low blood sugar. Then, I became aware that somebody was out in the kitchen, dropping metal cans on the floor, with a loud 'clunk'. When I went out to the kitchen ( my bed is in the living room), Mom had just emptied a can of beef gravy into a saucepan, and was trying to open a can of tomato paste. I opened the paste for her, then saw her holding a can of onion soup.

Being diplomatic, I asked 'what is the sodium count' and she replied '120 per serving and 2.5 servings in a can. That seemed unusually low for a can of condensed soup, so I read the label of a second can on the counter. It had 900 milligrams of sodium per 1/2 cup serving--quite a difference for an 84 year old woman who has congestive heart failure.

Instead of yelling, which was my first instinct, I said 'why are you doing this? It's pretty self destructive, and seems a bit unfair to Ginny and me, who are working hard to keep you healthy." Her first excuse was that we did plenty of things that she did not want us to do, and the second was that she was not going to follow a long list of diet rules. I replied 'the difference is that eating a great deal of salt is going to put you in the hospital'.

It's more the timing--just when she's on the verge of success, she wants to pull the plug. oh well,

Orchester Palais de danse - 1912: Turkey Trott (Ragtime)

Yes, this sums up my attitude to the holiday. First of all, I am thankful that the Aged Parent did not hurt herself when she rolled out of bed Monday Morning. She was wrapped in two polar fleece blankets which cushioned the blow. It was a shock to look at the floor and see her sitting up. Anyhow, I guessed she would not agree to a trip to the ER, so we compromised--I was able to call a 'lift up unit". For those of you who don't live in the NYC area, a lift up unit is a NYPD patrol car. The two officers took Mom by the arms, and lifted her back to her chair.

Much of Yesterday and today has been taken up with Thanksgiving preparations. I'm not looking forward to the Holiday, because I'm a bit neurotic about my Sisters. Part of it could be a lingering poor self image. Why should they respect me when I do not fully respect myself? Part of it is reacting against the media Holiday frenzy. I feel that Holiday cheer is being stuffed down my throat. I am being intubated with the Normal Rockwell Thanksgiving, when I'd much rather spend the day looking after Mom and cooking a nice dinner. Well, Ginny and I will cook a nice Thanksgiving meal, and enjoy it as best as possible.

I meant to write more, but I am too damn tired.

" Arise, Go Forth and Conquer"

The other title for this post should be 'Something's Gotta Give" but this morning Mom is definitely the immovable object.  Her arthritis, in the knees, is very bad--she should have had a knee replacement years ago, but due to her cardiac/respiratory issues, the surgery could not be done.  Add her anxiety to her physical problems and Mom makes herself totally unable to get out of her wheelchair.  It is frustrating for both of us.

There is a cynical little voice inside my head that says Mom is playing a mind game.  As long as she cannot move, she has her aide as well as her daughters, standing around her.  Ginny and I will not go out to run errands or walk the dogs.  Mom has us right where she wants us.  I do wish she could find a more positive way of engaging our attention.  This should be a goal of mine.

BTW, I do not want anything to do with Thanksgiving, but Mom ordered a turkey from the butcher, so it looks as though we are stuck with the holiday feast.  Christmas has a spiritual dimension, but Thanksgiving seems more about consumption and 'Black Friday'.

Donald Duck as a Nazi - Der Fuehrer's Face

This is one of Aged Parent's favorite songs--she sang it at the hospital two weeks ago. I'm glad the roomate was out of the room at the time: heaven only knows what she would have made of it.

Anyhow, Aged Parent had a bad day yesterday. She was tired, depressed, and convinced herself that it was impossible to lift herself from the wheelchair. At first, we thought she was nervous, because my Sister, Cathy had stopped by with the dog groomer. Not true--there was no liftoff after the visitors departed. Parent got herself whipped up into a negative frenzy, and was truly the immovable object.

After several hours of pleading, prayer, Ginny and I managed to move the Aged P from the wheelchair to the bed. She needed a good bed bath, but more importantly, she needed a clean adult diaper and a good long nap. Today was somewhat better, but I don't know how she'll be tomorrow.

I am making mushroom stuffing to go with the roast chicken. If the stuffing is a hit, I will make it for Thanksgiving.