When the Saints Go Marching In

Today is All Saints' Day, and I am learning how to deal with my limits as a caregiver.  I'm a little too anxious about Mom, especially when it involves her moving from one chair to another.  She kept on telling me this weekend that she did not need to be lifted ( the aides at Rehab looked as though they were giving her a wedgie) but given a push.  Sure enough, this morning, I tried to lift, Mom got crabby, and rightfully so ( altho' I said 'oh be quiet, you old crab") and she got from chair to wheelchair without further confrontations.  My other Sister, Cathy, said 'you and Mom fight like an old married couple' and that about sums it up.    What can I say:  I have to be more patient with Queen Elizabeth.

Mom has always been quite a character.  This morning, as we were watching the NYC Marathon broadcast, Mom began doing her rap song about Ginny's tabby cat, Muffy:  "here comes Muffy with the Mark of Mary/she's kind of fat and kind of scarey" etc etc.  Muffy was a very bad tempered brown/grey and white tabby who disliked almost everybody but Ginny.  Her nicknames were 'Pretty Muffy" "Bubba Sue" "Muffalda DiMango ( after a local political leader) and was so tall and muscular that Mom once called Muffy a 'female impersonator'.  Not every member of 'The Greatest Generation' makes up a rap song about a cat. 

I love the way Mom has always screamed at bugs or creatures:  usually 'Jesus Mary and Joseph".  This from a woman whose ancestry was 3/4 Irish and 1/4 English and said she never knew her Father's family was Irish except for the fact that her Paternal Grandparents had brouges.  They never talked about Ireland, or their families.  Mom is very Irish American and very very Catholic, even though she's a Liberal Democrat: the only one in Bay Ridge.

More tomorrow:  the subject of this blog needs a change.