Soapbox By Kay

Gradual Rewind

2012-01-22T16:26:00.000-05:00

A few mornings ago, I walked into the kitchen for my second cup of coffee. Mother was sitting on the couch in the living room, saw me walk in and hollered "peep-eye!" Since then, she's said it a few more times as she's come around the corner to see me in the office, or when she's sitting in the living room or den and I walk into her view. I mentioned it to Steve, and then had to explain to him that this is a southern or maybe just a family version of "peek-a-boo".

Mother has always had a great sense of playfulness and whimsy. This new exclamation could stem from nothing more than thinking that it was a funny thing to say at the time, and continuing because our reactions are amusing. Or it could be another indication of the Alzheimer's Rewind.

Steve asked me when she was last evaluated. It's only been a few months. I told him that unless she begins starting fires or wandering the neighborhood, we'd stay with the annual neuro work ups.

It's weird watching your mother grow younger as she grows older.

Stages of Alzheimers

2012-01-11T09:49:00.001-05:00

The Alzheimers Association lists 7 stages of the disease.

Stage 1: No impairment
Stage 2: Very mild decline
Stage 3: Mild decline
Stage 4: Moderate decline
Stage 5: Moderately severe decline
Stage 6: Severe decline
Stage 7: Very severe decline

Mom seems to be mostly in Stage 4:

Stage 4:
Moderate cognitive decline
(Mild or early-stage Alzheimer's disease)
At this point, a careful medical interview should be able to detect clear-cut symptoms in several areas:

Forgetfulness of recent events
Impaired ability to perform challenging mental arithmetic — for example, counting backward from 100 by 7s
Greater difficulty performing complex tasks, such as planning dinner for guests, paying bills or managing finances
Forgetfulness about one's own personal history
Becoming moody or withdrawn, especially in socially or mentally challenging situations

but perhaps moving into the beginnings of Stage 5:

Stage 5: Moderately severe cognitive decline
(Moderate or mid-stage Alzheimer's disease)
Gaps in memory and thinking are noticeable, and individuals begin to need help with day-to-day activities. At this stage, those with Alzheimer's may:

Be unable to recall their own address or telephone number or the high school or college from which they graduated
Become confused about where they are or what day it is
Have trouble with less challenging mental arithmetic; such as counting backward from 40 by subtracting 4s or from 20 by 2s
Need help choosing proper clothing for the season or the occasion
Still remember significant details about themselves and their family
Still require no assistance with eating or using the toilet

Most of the time, it's not a big deal. She goes to the Dunedin Day Center three times a week, which she just loves. Edna, her home health aide, comes on Thursdays for her shower. We go to Felix's Hair We Are every 6-7 weeks for our haircuts, grocery shopping every other week, to the drugstore monthly. She's always cheerful and pleasant and easy-going.

But every once in awhile, something comes up that reinforces for me that even though the decline is very gradual, it is still there.

We went to a local restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner and had to park one small parking lot over due to the crowd. When we left, the walk from inside the restaurant, around the line of people still waiting outside, and maybe 40 yards on to our car had Mother so winded that she had to lean heavy on my arm the last few feet, and she huffed and wheezed half the way home. It has nothing to do with her lung function, and everything to do with the fact that she not only watches TV every waking moment she's not at the senior center, but that she lies down on the couch to do it. She is so very sedentary that any amount of walking seriously tires her.

After going out to dinner for her birthday, we stopped at the drugstore to pick up one of her medications that was waiting. Since the pharmacy is in the rear of the store, she has to walk more than she would like and more than she is used to. After picking up her meds and returning to the front of the store, we had to wait a moment for Steve to check out at the front register. Since Mom was tired, she wanted to sit down, but there was no chair or bench. So, she sat down on a stack of cases of plastic water bottles in a display at the front of the store, with no idea that this was not good plan or a safety issue. I told her she couldn't sit there, and she couldn't understand why not, and I had to insist that she stand while she was insisting that she was tired and needed to sit. And, since Mom is very hard of hearing, this conversation was carried out at a volume to allow everyone in the store to listen in.

When we got home, I talked to her about it again, and explained that the water bottles could have fallen, then she would have fallen, then they would have fallen on top of her, and she needed to agree that in the future she would only sit on things that were chairs or benches. She agreed, but she seemed amused by it and I don't think she really understood my concern or why I was making such a big deal about it.

Conversation

2011-06-05T16:13:00.000-04:00

Mom: You said yesterday that today is your twentieth wedding anniversary?

Me: No, Mom. Steve and I got married a year ago. We've only been married for one year. Remember we had the wedding last year?

Mom: So, it's not your anniversary?

Me: Yes, today is our anniversary, but our one-year anniversary.

Mom: Oh, okay. Happy anniversary!

Tripping Over Dr. Laura

2011-05-26T08:56:00.001-04:00

I try to be positive. I try to look at the good happening in my life and in the world. If there are things that aren't going well, I try to figure out how to fix them. If someone is unhappy (including me), I try to find solutions to whatever difficulties are in the mix. I don't watch the network news. I listen to NPR, which keeps me informed without feeding me flaming rhetoric. I do my best to avoid negative people, negative situations and drama. And for the most part, I succeed.

Last night, however, a link to Dr. Laura's blog showed up on my Facebook feed, with the poster's comment that she is "right on the money" concerning relationships between men and women. Even though I know better, even though I know she is amazingly negative, I clicked through. And tripped over and fell into a blog entry so full of vitriol, I am still upset and shaken this morning. Hyperbole, you're thinking. Please remember that I've been fairly successful at insulating myself from negative people and situations. So successful, in fact, that it seems I have little immunity to general hatefulness and deliberate offense.

In her response to an op-ed piece in Slate on-line, entitled "Sex is Cheap: Why Young Men Have the Upper Hand in Bed, Even When They're Failing in Life," she posits that the failure of men in our society is directly attributable to female promiscuity. Since every woman is ready to "put out", men have nothing to strive for in order to obtain ready sex with socially desirable partners.

When I started writing this, I thought about using quotes from her blog post and rebutting, but as I look through it, it's all offensive, I don't want to post any of it here, and I would have to try to find reasonable responses to words that were mostly chosen to inflame and offend. I just can't bring myself to do it. So, if you really want to read it, here it is.

What I initially found most offensive about this piece is that it reduces the relationship between a man and a woman to that of a sexual war. A woman must hold the front lines against a man's unrelenting assault at all costs, until a favorable treaty (i.e. marriage) can be negotiated. This also means that a woman's sexuality is the only asset she has to bring to the negotiation. If she decides that she does not want her sexuality to be held in reserve and used only as trump card in the treaty process, then she is an "unpaid whore" who isn't even getting good recompense for the only thing of value she holds. Oh, and she is also contributing to the downfall of civilization.

As I was falling asleep last night, I wondered how such an intelligent, articulate woman (and she is intelligent and articulate, which makes her opinions all that much more baffling to me) could also be such an amazing misogynist. As I awoke this morning, however, the flip side of her argument dawned on me. If women (and their controlled sexual urges) are the only guard against our society's downfall, what place does that leave men? They must be mere homonculo-penises, capable of being motivated only by the prospect of eventually attaining exclusive sexual rights claim on the body of a respectable "nice-girl". And if you give a donkey the carrot early, he won't have any motivation at all, right?

That's when I realized that Dr. Laura is not merely a misogynist, but a full-blown misanthrope. How very sad for her to have to live in the hateful world she has created for herself. I'm really glad I don't have to live there, too.

T-Shirt Contretemps

2011-05-24T11:21:00.000-04:00

Mother has a t-shirt from her old job. A comfy, tan, heavy cotton t-shirt with a slogan from some past customer service-oriented advertising campaign. She likes it . She likes to wear it. She likes to wear it often. She likes to wear it repeatedly. She does not, however, like to do laundry. So, her favorite comfy shirt gets worn several times before I realize that I've seen it many more times than I've seen her do laundry (more on that later), and I feel compelled to comment.

"Mom, you've worn that shirt four or five times already. It needs to be washed," I point out.

"It's fine," she replies.

"Mom, you've worn it the last three times you've gone to the senior center. They'll think you don't have any other clothes. Also, you need to wash it before you wear it again." I stop short of ordering her to go change. She wouldn't anyway, not without what I anticipate would be a really big battle - I'm not sure because I haven't pushed that hard yet.

"Okay," she says, in that voice and tone that I recognize immediately as meaning, 'I'm agreeing with you so you will stop talking at me about this.' So that's where I get it. Hmmm.

Yesterday morning was at least the third time we've had this conversation. My husband overhears and says I should make her change, or tell her the shirt will go away, but I'm not ready to be that much of an authoritarian for anyone, especially not my mother. I do have to agree with him on his point that it is not only a matter of esthetics, but also a health issue. *sigh*

So, I phone the senior center and have a chat with the social worker. She says to take the shirt and put it in the laundry, telling Mother it is no longer available as it needs washing and is in the laundry. Great plan - except that that still makes me the de facto laundress because Mother doesn't do laundry unless/until I go into her closet and pull out all the clothing that she has already worn and rehung and announce that it is Mom's Laundry Day. I don't want to do this. I am still trying to figure out how to get out of doing my own laundry. (No luck so far on that one, either.) *sigh*

I do have a Plan B, though. It won't get me out of my laundry duties, but it might reduce their frequency a little. I call Mom's old job. I speak to the manager. I explain to him a little bit of the situation, and how I attribute her fondness for the shirt to a combination of its inherent comfiness and the fond memories Mom has of working there for twenty-plus years. Is there any way, I ask him, I can get a couple more employee t-shirts for her. He transfers me back to the office manager, instructing me to tell her what size and how many I want. Hooray! The office manager also remembers Mom, and in addition to the three new t-shirts - one yellow, one orange, and one green - she will be including notes from current employees who also remember Mom from her time there. She starts to address the package to me, but I suggest addressing it directly to Mom so she will open it immediately and have a nice surprise.

I hope it arrives today.

Albino Tree Frog!

2011-05-23T09:11:00.001-04:00

We came home the other night to find an albino tree frog sitting on the ledge under our porch light. The gnats flying all around him, alighting on him off and on, didn't seem to bother him in the least. I gently prodded him with my finger, just to confirm he was alive. He moved a little bit, but this didn't seem to bother him, either. So, I got my camera and took a few photos.

He was completely underwhelmed by the whole encounter, but I am quite excited about having him (her?) living somewhere in my garden.

Sunflowers!

2011-05-22T17:56:00.000-04:00

Several weeks ago, I bought sunflower seed packets from our local gardening center. "Giant" sunflowers, which the package said will grow up to 16 feet tall, "Mammoth" - 8-12' tall, and then two varieties that should get to be about 4 feet tall, one red and the other a "Moonflower" - with petals a paler yellow than other sunflowers. I got some edging that's been on the side of the house since we moved in, and made a flower bed especially for the sunflowers.

Then I took out my garden book and sketched out plant placement based on potential flower height and how the bed is angled toward the lanai.

I planted the seeds in little starter pots and waited for them to sprout. The "Giant" ones sprouted very quickly, the others took a few days longer.

The pictures above were taken on May 4th. I finally got the poor, neglected, perhaps even abused, seedlings into the ground this afternoon. I forgot to look at my notebook, with my carefully-planned planting sketch, because I just wanted to get them into the ground before they completely expired.

If you zoom in, you can see the twisted, stunted seedlings trying to stand up, now that they have space to stretch their roots and find some stability and balance. I also gave them plant food and a thorough watering, in an attempt to assuage some of my guilt from having ignored them for so long. I do feel a little better, and they look like they feel better as well. I hope so.

Today's Happy Moments (so far)

2011-02-11T15:39:00.000-05:00

Mother had her appointment at the USF Alzheimer's Center this morning. Everything looks fine; pretty much the same as when we did the baseline neuro-cog eval about three years ago. Perhaps some very minimal decline, but really everything is great.

Afterward, we went to the Village Inn restaurant for lunch, where I ordered the Grown-Up Grilled Cheese (made with tomatoes and bacon). When it arrived, I was very pleasantly surprised to see their unique way of keeping that nasty pickle juice from getting on my sandwich and making the bread soggy. It made me very happy.

Then, even better, when I got home, I was able to successfully transfer the photo I took from my cell phone to my computer via some clever chip adapters so I could share with y'all!

I love living in the future!

Summer Reading Club

2010-07-20T16:48:00.000-04:00

When I was in grade school, the school library had special summer hours for students to check out books over the long summer break. This was wonderful for me because the school was only three blocks from my house, while the city library was over three miles and many busy intersections away.

When the kids were little, we always participated in the local library's summer reading club. They had weekly story time for the little ones who weren't reading yet, and then different age levels and prizes for the older kids. We went to the library every week, and after we got home, we would all sit down at the dining table with our books, so I could write down all the titles each of us had checked out. We then posted it on the fridge, so that the following week, we would know how many and which books we needed to search for so we wouldn't have to pay past-due fines.

I knew our local Oldsmar library had a summer reading club, but it wasn't until a couple of weeks ago that I realized it included an Adult level! I got to be in the Summer Reading Club again!!

Yesterday, I got a phone call. I had won a weekly prize in the Summer Reading Club! Wooohoooo! As you can see by the photo above, there is a substantial amount of loot here: a coffee mug with the Reading Club theme on it, several book marks, all of which contain flower seeds that will grow when you plant the bookmark in your flowerbed; a very pretty peacock picture frame, and a little gold butterfly bookmark that doesn't get planted in the ground. Oh! And coupons for McDonald's cheeseburgers.

Sweet.

My Dog, Bella

2010-06-23T00:34:00.003-04:00

(This is the text for my 2nd Toastmasters speech, which I will be giving in less than 8 hours. I should be sleeping, but I have to practice now.)

I mentioned a few weeks ago that I am a storyteller, and today I would like to tell you the story of my dog, Bella.

Bella is a very happy, slightly spoiled, fifty-pound, black lab mutt. She keeps close watch out the front windows and alerts us to all passing pedestrians, the FedEx guy, the UPS guy, and, of course, the mailman. She sounds big and fierce and very scary, and we appreciate that. We believe that were any of us in actual danger, she would rush in to save us. At least, we hope that she would. Usually once an intruder/visitor gets past the threshold, she hides behind whomever is handiest. But we still have hopes.

Bella came into my life several years ago when an on-line friend mentioned the skinny, half-grown pup that was haunting her alleyway. She yearned to play with the children in the backyard, but was so scared of men that she wouldn’t let the dad take the trash out. I lived alone in a small duplex and had been telling myself that when it was time for me to have a dog, I would know. When I saw the internet posting, and that the family lived nearby, I decided this must be the sign I had been waiting for.

I picked up dog food, and a couple of doggie bowls at the grocery, and drove over to their house. The mother and I managed to coax/push/pull/carry the nervous, skinny pup into the back of my mini-van. I took her home, gave her a bath, and then belatedly decided to check the integrity of my back yard fence, as I didn’t want to leave her alone in the house the next day while I was at work, since I had no idea how housetrained she might or might not be.

She was very nervous about being left alone for even a short time, and barked and jumped against the door all the time I was outside. Bark. Jump. Bark. Jump. I decided the backyard would probably hold her, and headed back inside, only to find that with all her jumping, she had flipped the deadbolt locked. It was a French door, so I resigned myself to breaking one of the panes and paying for its replacement. That’s when I found out that those little windows don’t break nearly as easily as in the movies. After several unsuccessful attempts, I went to a neighbor’s house and called a locksmith. Bella was very happy once I was back inside with her. The locksmith was very happy with his after-hours fee.

Several months later, I moved into an apartment and Bella went to live with my daughter, Janette, where she had a doggie door, a large backyard, and two barking buddies. It was, indeed, doggie heaven. And that was where we found out that Bella was not just a barking machine, but a fierce huntress. Unfortunately for Janette’s peace of mind, this included Bella sharing her trophies with the pack leader, who was, of course, Janette. She always knew when to expect to find her share of the kill, because Bella would be very excited upon the pack leader’s arrival home, and run back-and-forth, back-and-forth between the front door and wherever the trophy was waiting. This was usually some lesser portion of a squirrel, and Janette was very glad that the possums and raccoons seemed to be too much trouble for Bella to carry inside. The animal control number was pinned up on the refrigerator door for when those unfortunate critters needed removal from Bella’s hunting grounds.

Janette taught Bella to sit and patiently wait for doggie treats. Bella learned on her own to talk in order to be rescued from my granddaughter’s affectionate attentions. Bella knew that Eva, small as she was, still had higher pack status and so could not be directly corrected. So, Bella would vocalize her need for rescue when her floor-lounging was interrupted by a toddler using her for a pillow or handy seat.

When I moved to Florida, Bella stayed behind in Texas, but last year she finally made the trip, too. I worried that she would feel lonely being the only dog, but she seems to think that this is a fine turn of events. She doesn’t have to eat her food all at once to keep it from going missing later. She has her own bed that she is never displaced from. She gets a doggie biscuit every morning. She never has to jockey for position in the “don’t pet him, pet me” competition. She has learned how to shake and sit up on her back legs in order to get leather doggie chews. And she has several big windows across the front of the house to help her monitor all sidewalk trespassers.

She doesn’t seem to miss the doggie door too much, either. When she wants to go out, she’ll let one of us know. If her need to go out is dire (official doggie business, bark at encroachers, sit on the lanai and watch the rain), she will use her conversation skills to tell us that it’s very important. She also has different barks for different applications. There is the “intruders in adjoining backyards” bark, the “trashmen are taking our stuff away” bark, the “neighborhood doggie gossip update” bark, and then, of course, the “let me in, please” bark. And when Mother is the only one home, Bella knows to go to the sliding door off the living room to announce herself, because Mother is a bit hard of hearing and can’t hear her from the back of the house.

In the past, Mother has been nervous around larger dogs, but she is quite taken with our Bella. Bella keeps Mother company during the day, gives a good bluff to passing strangers, and has doubled or tripled Mother’s daily physical activity. She has also increased my level of activity, as my formerly irregular vacuuming is now a near-daily event in order to keep my home as fur-free as possible, and weekly doggie baths have also been added to my routine.

That’s OK, though, because we love our Bella, and it’s really nice to have a dog around the house again.

Rampage OF Appreciation

2010-06-03T13:47:00.000-04:00

This comes from listening to the audio book without having the actual book at hand.

Rampaging Appreciation

2010-05-24T16:34:00.000-04:00

I am currently listening to an audio book by Esther and Jerry Hicks. It is the second half of "Ask and It Is Given" and talks about different processes for improving your mood and mindset, or as they call it, "raising your vibrational rate".

"Rampaging Appreciation" is along the same lines as the age-old sage advice to count your blessings, or the 12-Step Gratitude List. Abraham (for whom Esther and Jerry purport to speak) advises that this exercise can be done anyplace and anytime for immediate vibrational boosting, but is most effective when done regularly, in writing.

For your enjoyment, amusement, edification - whatever applies - I offer my first session of Rampaging Appreciation, live, from my office in Oldsmar, Florida.

I love my desk. It is nice and big with plenty of desktop space for my computer and my bright lamp and all the desktop essentials, leaving plenty of room for writing space for my journaling, too.

I love my bright lamp for when it's raining and I need extra light for my brain.

I love my big Goddess coffee mug. It holds LOTS of coffee.

I love my mug rugs that I got years ago, handcrafted through Martin Luther Homes.

I love my computer and my flat screen, which helps me have extra room on top of my desk. I love being able to listen to music on it and watch videos and talk to Josh during the day through IM. I love having all kinds of photos as my desktop background, currently one of my beautiful granddaughter sitting in the middle of a field of bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes

I love my curved keyboard.

I love my little goddess figure holding a crystal sphere in her lap.

I love my computer speaker system that lets me listen in stereo without having to wear headphones.

I being able to check books out from the library so that I can read and have access to a lot more material than if I had to purchase each item.

I love the pull-outs on either side of my desk so I have plenty of room to spread out when I need it.

I love my big bulletin board, where I can pin upcoming events and maps and papers that I don't want to lose (like the marriage license).

I love my blue water bottle that reminds me to drink plenty of water throughout the day.

I love my Rolodex that I found for $2 at the thrift store. The base, plus the dividers and all the cards, would have cost me about $40 new at the office supply.

I love air conditioning.

I love my office, which is in the back of the house, far enough away from the front living room that I don't have to listen to the sounds of the Encore Western Channel all day.

I guess that's enough for now. I'm feeling pretty darned good. I suggest everyone give this Rampaging Appreciation stuff a try.

Toastmasters Speech #1 - The Icebreaker

2010-05-19T21:46:00.000-04:00

I recently joined the Top of the Morning Toastmasters group. It meets right here in Oldsmar, at 7:30 on Wednesday mornings. I understand your disbelief in the idea of me being anywhere (besides my own bed) voluntarily at 7:30 a.m., but Wednesday is also the day that Mother goes to the senior center, and I have to set my alarm for 6 a.m. to make sure she's up and has coffee before her van arrives. I'm up anyway, so it seemed like a good plan.

And so it has proven to be. This morning I gave my Icebreaker speech, which is the first project in the Competent Communicator's workbook. I have actually done this project before, but that was over two years ago in Kerrville, so I thought I'd just start all over, since I hadn't gotten very far anyway.

The Icebreaker Speech is supposed to be for four to six minutes. I ran through it last night with Steve, who clocked me at a little over five minutes. He cautioned me about being nervous and talking faster than normal, which would speed up my time. This morning, I concentrated on speaking at an even pace, and ended up talking for 8 minutes and 12 seconds. There's a timer's light box that gives the speaker cues on how much time is left depending on what lights are lit. I didn't even notice the light box until all the lights were lit - and I had no idea how long they had been. Oh, well.

I'm including the prepared text of the speech below, but since I didn't practice it as much as I should have, it's not exactly what I said. I missed a couple of things, and added a couple more, but it's basically the same.

One of the things I found very interesting was my opening. I've been trying to figure out who I am and where I am going, outside-world-wise, for the past few years. Maybe this is the answer, and I just have to figure out exactly what that means.

My name is Kay St. John, and I am a story-teller. My friends and loved ones are well-acquainted with the phrases “I have a story about that” and “Do you want the short version or the long version?” The short version will tell you all you need to know, but the long version is usually much more entertaining.

The memories of my childhood and the knowledge of events in my family are stored in my brain as fables, cautionary tales, fairy tales, and bedtime stories. I’d like to share a few of those with you this morning.

When my Papaw, Daddy’s daddy, was a small child, his father was killed in a logging accident. He left a widow with three young children, one still a babe in arms. Her husband’s family members offered to take the older children, as they were old enough to put to work but she would have to figure out something to do with the baby. She thanked them, kept all her children with her, and did laundry for men in the logging camp to support her family. This story taught me that mothers in our family take care of their children.

When Momma and Daddy first married, he was fresh out of the Navy, and worked a small farm as sharecroppers. I grew up hearing about how Daddy had chopped wood for the stove and Momma had used the pump on the porch to draw water to be heated on that wood stove for my sister’s baths when she was a baby. After a few years, Mom and Dad packed up and left Magnolia, Arkansas for Lubbock, Texas, where my brother was born. Mamaw, Daddy’s mother, was very upset and told them they were going to starve to death in Texas. Daddy replied, “What’s the difference? We’re starving to death here.” That story taught me about taking initiative.

After Lubbock, where my brother was born, the family moved to Houston, where I was born. When I was about a year old, Daddy was laid off from his job. He went to Dallas, where he found work, worked for a week to get a paycheck. Mother had packed up the house while he was gone, so when he got off work that Friday, he rented a truck, drove to Houston, they worked all night packing up the truck, and then drove back to Dallas with Daddy driving and Momma, my 14-year-old sister, 7-year-old brother, 1-year-old me, and the dog, all in the cab of the moving truck. When we got to Dallas, to the house Daddy had rented, they unloaded the truck so that it could be returned within the 24-hour rental period, so they wouldn’t have to pay the 2nd day truck rental. This story taught me that sometimes you’ve just gotta do what you’ve gotta do.

With my sister being fourteen years older, I heard many stories about her childhood and adolescence, many of which had to do with her being a normal rebellious teenager – and being vocal about her opinions and intentions. I don’t know that there was much difference in how many times each of us was grounded as a teenager, but I was NEVER grounded for something I had yet to do. The stories of my sister taught me that if I could control anything, I could control what came out of my mouth.

Now I tell my own stories – of how while my children were growing up, I got my bachelor’s degree on the 17-year plan. I attended school and worked part-time, taking college classes in between PTA meetings, piano and swimming lessons, and serving as Lutheran Sunday School and Vacation Bible School teacher, Cub Scout Den Mother, Girl Scout Leader and High School Band Mom. I sewed summer play clothes, Easter dresses, and Halloween costumes. My alter-ego was OmniMom – omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent Mom. I loved it.

My degree plan was based on the idea that as I had been reading anthropology, sociology, and psychology for fun, it would be nice to have a piece of paper indicating that I knew a little bit about at least one of these subjects. After only four years at the University of Texas at Dallas, I graduate with a BA in Psychology, with a Sociology minor.

I spent five years working in a small halfway house for people coming out of the psych ward, and then another five years working at a much bigger halfway house for parolees and probationers. My pay was about the same, sometimes a bit less, than I had made as a bookkeeper while I was working my way through college. And after ten years, I was quite ready for a break from direct client contact. I went back to bookkeeping.

A little over three years ago, my long-widowed mother decided she no longer wanted to live by herself way out in East Texas. I had moved from Dallas to Kerrville shortly before that, and we agreed that she would sell her house and move to Kerrville to live with me. I thought I would be getting a roommate, but during the move I realized that she really shouldn’t have been living alone as long as she had, and I had to become accustomed to being a caregiver for my mother. We have both come a long way in our new roles since then.

I also have a great story of how I came to move to Tampa, but it’s a pretty long tale in and of itself, so I will save it for another time, except to say that I will be getting a new name in less than three weeks.

Basic Unity Principles

2010-05-18T09:27:00.000-04:00

As noted previously, I attended a service at the Unity Church of Palm Harbor yesterday. I received a visitor packet which included a copy of the Basic Unity Principles, as outlined by Connie Fillmore in her book "Keys to the Kingdom". I think these principles are the closest thing I've seen to my current belief set. However, after attending the Lutheran church for almost 20 years, it seems to me that Unity services need more singing.

Basic Unity Principles

1. God is absolute good, everywhere present.

2. Human beings have a spark of divinity within them, and Christ spirit within. Their very essence is of God, and therefore they are also inherently good.

3. Human beings create their experiences by the activity of their thinking. Everything in the manifest realm has its beginning in thought.

4. Prayer is creative thinking that heightens the connection with God-Mind and therefore brings forth wisdom, healing, prosperity, and everything good.

5. Knowing and understanding the laws of life, also called Truth, are not enough. A person must also live the truth that he or she knows.

2010-05-17T23:26:00.000-04:00

I went to an unusual writing workshop yesterday. It was given by Janet Conner, author of Writing Down Your Soul and presented at the Unity Church of Palm Harbor. She gave a short talk at both the morning services and then had the workshop there after a light lunch for attendees.

I had borrowed her book from the library a few weeks ago, after reading a small piece she wrote for the Unity daily meditation magazine "The Daily Word". She talks about using a form of journaling as a prayerful, meditative practice, carrying on a dialogue with God, something along the lines of Neale Donald Walsch's "Conversations With God".

As I had already read her book, and had actually started the meditative, interactive journaling she describes and promotes, I was a few steps ahead of some of the other participants. We listened to music designed to put us into a meditative brain-wave state, and what kept popping into my head during our writing session was that I needed to start writing, and specifically that I needed to start blogging again. I haven't written much of anything here since moving to Tampa, but it looks like I will be soon.

Synchronicity

2010-02-17T09:48:00.002-05:00

Since moving to Tampa in Fall 2007, I have yet to be fully, happily employed.

I have worked at a "medspa" where clients came for botox, laser rejuvenation and the like. Every time someone walked through the door, I wanted to hug her (it was usually a her) and tell her that she looked just fine! I also started looking way to closely and worrying way to much about my own signs of aging. It was not a good fit for a feminist social-worker type.

I not-briefly-enough did bookkeeping for a paranoid-schizophrenic who was suspicious of my motives in asking him about the charges on the credit card bill (so I could code them properly for the general ledger entries).

I worked several months at a local bowling alley. It was actually pretty fun, except my number of scheduled hours varied widely so I never knew what my check would look like, and I sometimes had to work as late as 3:00 a.m. Even though I'm a night owl, I'm not THAT much of a night owl.

My last job was at a call center, verifying information for private colleges on people who had expressed an interest in pursuing their education. This sounds great, right? Except that most of the people "expressed their interest" through pop-ups on job boards that they thought were part of the application process, or because they thought they were submitting their information to win a new computer, video game console, Wal-Mart gift card, etc., etc., etc. So what I initially suspected was a phone sales job, but was assured that it wasn't, turned out to be a phone sales job. I did finally get past that, and didn't mind the job so much, as it was only about a mile from the house, but it was less that 30 hours per week - and, oh yeah - I'm not really a sales person. It finally became apparent to both me and my employers that it was unlikely that I would be able to make their expected quotas.

So, here I am, once again job-searching. My panic has been only slightly delayed by my small tax refund. I'm trying something different, though. I've signed up for the volunteer training class this Saturday with Suncoast Hospice. I have applied for a couple of positions with them since I've moved here, but even though I have ten years social service experience, I don't have any specific hospice experience. I thought that it would be a positive use of my time and also might segue into something more.

Tangentially, my son had a singing valentine delivered to his wife by four tuxedo-clad members of Dallas' Vocal Majority, a very talented men's chorus. He sent me a video, and it was wonderful. I've thought about doing something like that from time to time, so I searched for a Tampa women's chorus and found Toast of Tampa, an affiliate of Sweet Adelines International. I went last night as a visitor, was voice-placed as a baritone (upper alto) and paired with a Buddy who, if I pass my audition, will be a mentor to me for the next year or so. It was wonderful to be a in group of over 100 women singing 4-part harmony and really enjoying what they were doing. The director was great, and every person I met there was very nice and very friendly. I believe I have fallen in love.

Oh - and my buddy, Liz? Turns out she's a nurse for Suncoast Hospice.

Always Be Nice

2009-08-11T13:10:00.002-04:00

Always be nice; a lesson I learned very early, along with most other women my age, and the one which has been most problematic for me, I think. Even in writing this blog, I have been very careful about the topics I post, so as not to give offense to whomever. I don't like conflict and avoid confrontation when at all possible. I really thought it was mostly just me, but I'm realizing that it is how most all women are socialized.

Kate Harding's recently column at Salon addresses part of this issue/problem in reference to the recent shooting at a Philadelphia gym:

Because we're taught to be polite, submissive, and generous even when men are making us uncomfortable, we automatically reach for the "nice guy, but..." out. Then the guys convince themselves that "nice" is a dirty word, and charlatans like Steele profit from telling men who hate, fear and objectify women, who feel entitled to women's bodies and enraged when they're denied access, that they just need to stop being so gosh darned nice to women. And then one of them snaps and starts killing women he describes as not even looking human to him, and we're all like, "Huh, didn't see that coming. "

Harding also references a June blog entry by Harriet Jacobs about "how women's socialization leads to the very behavior we're blamed for if we have the poor judgment to let ourselves be raped", which I recently ran across and forwarded to all my young women relatives.

I've sometimes cringed at my daughter's more in-your-face attitude and style, thinking she should try harder to be "nice". I'm glad she didn't take that lesson to heart as much as I did from my mother. The old adage is that nice guys finish last, but the greater truth is that too-nice girls never even make it to the track.

Coffee

2009-07-23T12:28:00.003-04:00

I love coffee.

Well, actually, I love coffee once I have added enough sugar and cream (real cream, NOT non-dairy cream substitute) to turn the nasty, bitter, black liquid into something that actually tastes as good as it smells.

I did not drink coffee until I reached my mid-thirties, when a good friend lured me to Starbucks and bought me a White Chocolate Mocha latte' (cappuccino? I still don't know which is which...) and I discovered that you can make almost anything palatable if you add enough cream and sugar to it. After spending more money than I ever should have at the local Starbucks shop, I broke down and bought a small coffee pot that made just enough coffee to fill the insulated travel mug that came with it.

That was sufficient for a number of months, but, we all know how addictions progress. The same friend who took me to Starbucks (Thanks, Joy!) later gave me a French press that made very nice, smooth coffee in larger quantities than my little travel mug set-up. After that came the 4-cup coffee pot, which is really misnamed because it only filled my coffee mug twice. Four cups, indeed. Then came the 8-cup coffee pot, you know, in case I had friends over who wanted coffee. When Mother moved in with me, I started making a 6-cup pot of coffee every morning, but sometimes when I went back for seconds, I would find the pot empty. This meant I had to start preparing an 8-cup pot of coffee every morning, just in case we both needed extra on any given day.

Now, over ten years after that first Starbucks experience, I have graduated to the 12-cup monster shown above. (I got it free from Gevalia by signing up for their coffee subscription service, after I forgot to turn the coffee pot off one day, and Steve found it 15 hours later, when he smelled something roasting at the other end of the house.) The spiffy new black-and-stainless pot has a clock/timer that allows me to set it to come on at a certain time, but more importantly, allows the coffee pot to turn itself off after two hours. Now I don't have to worry about burning the house down with Mother in it.

Mother is drinking less coffee these days, so I'm back to brewing six cups every morning, an amount she and I split approximately 70/30. She has her coffee with a little cream in a regular coffee cup. I have my coffee with a lot of sugar and cream in a large mug (my favorite shown above - thank you, Sweetheart!). Sometimes in the afternoon, I will finish off the morning's pot by making a nice, creamy iced coffee to drink on the way to work, as long as I don't intend on trying to sleep before 2 a.m.

Bingo

2009-06-29T22:16:00.005-04:00

Mother recently started going to Adult Daycare at the Tarpon Springs campus of the Neighborly Care Network.

I was worried that she would be insulted by the very large "Adult Day Care" sign in the front of the building, but I just don't think she makes any kind of connection with it being like day care for children. Even though I don't believe she would be able to live alone again, she is still capable of staying at home by herself during the day, so her attendance is more like an enrichment program for her.

The program is 6.5 hours per day, Monday through Friday, but Mother just attends on Wednesdays. I drive her there to arrive around 10 a.m., and the van brings her home around 3:30 or 4:00, depending on which van trip she is on that afternoon. The van could pick her up in the morning, too, but we would have to have her ready by 8:00 a.m., and she doesn't really want to be gone from the house that long. When we first moved here and looked into this program, she was very reluctant to go, much as she was with the Take Five Club in Kerrville. After I started working closer to full-time hours, I think she was getting more bored and lonely, and so was more open to the idea. Plus, I insisted. The day before her first day there, she told me that since it looked like it was going to rain the next day, she...and I interrupted her to finish the sentence that she would be going anyway, because in Tampa, it could very well rain every day from June through November. I think she stuck her tongue out at me.

Her first Wednesday afternoon, one of the activities was playing Bingo, and she won a teddy bear. She set it on the couch, and when Steve got home, she very proudly showed him her Bingo prize. He asked her what she had named it, and she said she hadn't, but later told us that she had decided to name it Honey Bear.

The following week, she came home with a pastel-colored Beanie Baby rooster. You can see him in the photo above, leaning against the table lamp. His name is Cock-A-DOODLE-Do (emphasis on the "DOODLE" - go ahead - say it out loud). The third week - no Bingo, so no Bingo prize. But the fourth week - another teddy bear! This one is Sugar Bear, and s/he sits with Honey on the end of the couch Mother sits/lies on to watch TV during the day. Add in the two teddy bears that my niece has sent with floral arrangements for Mom's birthday and Mother's Day, and we now have a total of five stuffed friends hanging out in the living room, helping Mom watch Bret Maverick and Roy Rogers outsmart the bad guys on a daily basis.

The Grumpy Grammarian: Who vs. That

2009-06-29T19:46:00.003-04:00

I am continually astounded to hear evening newscasters use these terms incorrectly, and I cringe each and every time it happens. These terms are also unfortunately misused in newspapers and magazines, as well, bringing my flow of reading to a screeching halt with the wrongness of it.

PLEASE REMEMBER:

Use "who" when referring to a person: Mary is the girl who is dating Jim.

Use "that" when referring to anything that is not a person - a dog, a chair, etc.: Can you help me find the ball that rolled under the house?

Thank you, and please pass this on.

Mother's (and my) Progress

2009-06-25T12:30:00.004-04:00

There have been many positive changes in Mother's quality of life issues - which have also been quality of life issues for me! I am mostly past the point of being embarrassed when having to address hygiene issues. I've made suggestions, gradual changes, and sometimes outright bullied her into taking these steps.

I didn't realize until just before our move here that she was NEVER brushing her teeth. She had gum surgery several years ago, and was always very conscientious about brushing and flossing, even taking a toothbrush and floss to work with her and using them after her lunch in the company break room. But her increasing dementia, and perhaps depression after my sister passed away, had given way to no attempts at regular hygiene at all. I finally told her that she HAD to brush her teeth at least once per day and (taking a page from the "dealing with small children" notebook re: offering options) asked her if she would prefer to brush her teeth in the morning or in the evening. She chose just before bed, and now she faithfully brushes her teeth every night, promptly at 9:30 p.m.

After her initial appointment with her new primary care physician, we were referred for an Activities of Daily Living (ADL) assessment, and ended up having several weeks of physical therapy, and a health tech aiding with showering. Mother's poor balance and increasing weakness were, for the most part, due to her amazing levels of inactivity. She was not moving around much, she was not getting any exercise; she just sat (or lay down) and watched TV all day. After a few weeks of 3x per week PT with increasing levels of exercise, and my gentle observation that if she became incapacitated, I would not be able to care for her, she has been walking around more and is generally in better shape. She did not continue the exercise regimen the PT set up for her, but neither did she return to her previous level of inactivity. As she is VERY interested in what the mailman brings us, I told her that I won't get the mail, so that she will at least make the walk to the street and back every day. I still can't get her to walk around the grocery store with me, though. She walks from the car to a bench at the front of the store, and waits there until I'm done, then walks with me back to the car.

She now sees a podiatrist every other month for footcare that she is no longer able to do for herself. She has new, comfy shoes purchased from SAS shoe outlet. We almost had a fight in the shoe store, as she was appalled at the cost ($80) and said she wasn't going to pay that for a pair of shoes. I told her they were good quality, leather shoes, and she WAS going to replace the old, wornout, ill-fitting shoes she had. I also told her that if she didn't buy them at this store, we would just have to go to another store - and another and another - until she found some new shoes that suited her. At that point, she must have realized that I was dead serious, and decided that buying what she thought were expensive shoes would be much easier in the long run. She is now quite pleased with them.

A health tech comes to the house on a weekly basis and assists with shower and shampoo. After the initial PT sessions, which included shower help, Mother realized that showering wasn't all that scary (the master bath has a large walk-in shower). But she was still resistant, and oh-my-goodness, I was quite reluctant, to me giving my mother a shower, and so it just wasn't happening as often as it needed to. I finally told her that I was arranging for weekly bathing visits by a nursing service, and it was going to cost $28 per visit, and as it was a health issue, it was no longer negotiable.

We have also moved through a series of steps to her wearing Depends (or actually, the Publix brand equivalent). I was worried that she would take offense at the suggestion, but her reaction was totally positive. She just seems to consider them to be a handy, helpful item. Thank goodness!!

For those of you who realize the import, I am also very happy to report that the Big White Purse is GONE! I had tried several times over the past two years to get her to go through it and replace it with another of her bags, but she was always extremely resistant. I guess we finally reached some tipping point of me really insisting and her getting tired of arguing. We cleaned out gasoline receipts that were over 10 years old, got rid of notes and phone numbers that she had no idea whom they were for, and got everything switched over to a nice beige purse (see photo above). And as with the shoes, after the painful act of change, she is now quite pleased with her new bag.

In addition to all these life improvements over the past nine months, Mother has recently started spending one day per week at a local senior program. But that will get a blog post all its own.

My New Job

2009-06-25T02:17:00.003-04:00

After eight months of intermittent (and mostly un-) employment, I snagged a mostly full-time job with health, dental, vision and retirement benefits. The company has stores nationwide, the atmosphere is fun, and my boss and coworkers are genuinely nice people. And yet I am still finding it difficult to come right out and tell people that I am now employed - at a bowling alley.

Every time I think the words "bowling alley", I see the scene in the Dudley Moore film, Arthur, where the butler tells Liza Minelli's character, his voice totally deadpan, "We usually have to go to a bowling alley to meet a woman of your caliber".

It is very nice, however, to have a regular paycheck, and health insurance has been an almost forgotten dream these past few years. The only thing I don't like about it is my schedule, which shifts back and forth from afternoons to late nights (sometimes at late as 3 a.m.), plus I am generally working all weekend most weekends, including every Saturday evening. Another positive, though - lots of fodder for future blog posts.

What I'm Reading Now

2008-11-06T13:27:00.008-05:00

I'm almost finished with "America's Hidden History". I'm fascinated by the stories that help make our historical figures more than two-dimensional ones about which we were made to memorize name/date/battle factoids. I'm glad I didn't arrive with the Puritans!

I chose "Conquistador" because I just finished the Gary Jennings novel "Aztec Autumn", his sequal to "Aztec", both about the Spanish conquest of the Americas, but told from the conquered point of view.

"Tuned In" just looked interesting.

I'll let y'all know.

(A sub-note: Blogger is making me learn HTML in order to format this the way I want it. I've resisted learning HTML this long; I resent having to learn it now. Hmph!)

Drum Circle

2008-09-24T21:47:00.006-04:00

I went to my first drum circle in Florida this evening. (See my little-used-of-late doumbek above; it seemed happy to have a night out.) The circle was facilitated by Shannon Ratigan (http://www.drumcircles.net/) and is held every 4th Wednesday at Coconuts Comedy Club (http://www.coconutsclearwater.com/). It was very nice, low-key, about 20 people were there and Shannon had a variety of hand drums and various percussion toys for people to play with, if they did not have anything of their own.

I asked the bartender about the comedy club stuff, and I found out that they have open mic every Friday night at 7 p.m., $5 cover, and professional shows on Friday at 9:00, and Saturday at 7:30 and 9:00. I asked a couple more questions about how open mic night worked, etc., and then she gave me two free passes!

There was also some bellydancing, courtesy of Kimara and a couple of her students (http://www.beledibay.com/), plus whoever wanted to get up and dance some, including a young woman with a light-up hula-hoop! Since bellydancing is ALSO something I've always meant to get around to learning about, I put my name and e-mail address on their mailing list and got a copy of the class schedule.

The drumming circle ran from about 7:30 until probably about 9:30, but my ears got tired around 9:00 and I headed outside to go home.

Once outside, I chatted with a few people who were also taking a break, one of whom was Shannon's wife, Marti. She said she had taken her first bellydancing class with Kim the night before and really enjoyed it. When I mentioned that I was jobhunting (which I'm trying to make a point to tell EVERYONE), she said that someone who was normally in attendance, but wasn't there tonight, had been looking for an office manager, and she took my e-mail address, in case the position was still open. Wow! Drumming, a bellydancing class connection, free comedy club passes, and networking all in one evening!

My New Library Card and What I'm Currently Reading

2008-09-24T15:21:00.001-04:00

First Official Florida Blog

2008-09-24T15:02:00.005-04:00

We have officially landed in Oldsmar, Florida. The house we’ve rented was built around 1958, and while it feels quite spacious, the closets are pretty small, which means I have difficult clothing choices to make. *sigh* The kitchen, however, was recently redone and has great countertops, plenty of cabinets, a ceramic stovetop and a built-in microwave/convection oven, which I have become quite fond of in the past couple of weeks.

In the photos above, you can see the front of the house as we rented it, and then again after we spent this past weekend trimming back plants that had not had attention for at least a couple of years. It gives the front yard that awkward got-a-haircut-today look, but that will remedy itself in short order, and it has vastly improved our view through the dining room window.

There are many, many, many lizards in Florida. And many of them live in our yard.

I am currently job-hunting. I have had a couple of interviews, and the last one is quite promising, but I haven’t heard back from them yet, so I am still hitting the employment websites daily and sending my resume’ on ones that sound like a good fit and aren’t too far away.

Mom seems to be settling in nicely. We have cable that includes the Encore Westerns channel, and this is the one she watches most of the time. We had the movers put the comfy couch from Kerrville in the den, back by her bedroom and the office, but she prefers being in the living room, which is airier, has more light and windows from which she can watch for the mail carrier. So, we may be rethinking the use of half the rooms in the house, which will necessitate major furniture moving. Wheee!

Whichever of us gets up first gets the coffee pot started. If she gets up first, she lets me continue to sleep and does not turn on the LOUD TV until I am up. (Thank you, Mom.) If I get up first, I get the coffee started and when it is ready, I wake her up (at her standing request) for us to have coffee and read the newspaper together. By which I mean, we drink coffee, I read the newspaper, and she eats six to eight cookies and sometimes glances at the headlines of the newspaper before going into the living room to turn on the Western channel. At which point, I usually retreat to the office in the back of the house to play on the computer. The television is barely audible from back there, and if I shut the office door, I can’t hear it at all!

I have found a program here similar to the Dietert Center’s Take Five Club, but it is a little longer and costs $65 per day, so until I am working, I am reluctant to even introduce her to it, as I can’t take her now, and if she knows it costs anything, she will refuse to go at all.

So, she gets dressed so she can get the mail from the streetside mailbox, and we go grocery shopping on the weekend. She has a sandwich and chips for lunch after the noon news, and I have whatever sounds interesting whenever I finally get hungry sometime later in the afternoon. I cook dinner, either for Mother, Steve, and myself or for just Mother and me on the days he is busy with Scouting activities.

I am gradually getting the last of the boxes unpacked and things put away as I continue to wait for my new employer to call, whomever that might eventually prove to be. I know my perfect job is out there – I just hate this darned waiting part.

First Week in Tampa

2008-08-04T09:42:00.002-04:00

For those of you who are not already aware - I've moved to Tampa, Florida! Steve finally won the "Move to Tampa/Move to Kerrville" debate, since his better-paying job coupled with still-teenaged son argument pretty much trumped the Kerrville is prettier argument.

So, here I am, alone in the apartment, ostensibly conducting a jobsearch (I HAVE sent out resumes!), and updating this blog that I haven't touched in several weeks.

Mom is currently staying with my niece in Kerrville, and we have the move set up for the end of the month, after Mother and I go to Dallas for my granddaughter's 2nd birthday. How did that baby get so big so quickly???

So many things have happened since the last blog, that it's difficult to even know where to begin, so I may not even try to recap. Suffice it to say that I'm really happy, and while Mother is not exactly excited about the move, she does like Steve, and doesn't seem to be overly fearful with the process.

While the last 17 months in Kerrville have been safe and restful and recuperative, I am so glad to be returning to a metropolitan area. It was nice to not have traffic and noise; it was REALLY nice to be able to see all the stars at night, and way fun to have deer feeding in our yard on a daily basis, but I have so missed having basic goods and services readily available, not to mention the availability of interesting community activities. Tampa has a very active drumming community, so I may actually be able to have a place to go to play on/with my little doumbek.

The area Steve's apartment is in is not the area we will be househunting, so things like getting a library card and finding the closest whatevers will have to wait until I know just what area we'll be settling in, but I should be able to start looking around for a writer's group, at least.

We picked up the Sunday paper for the employment ads, and one of the first things I see is a section with all these headshots of individuals who have been laid off for extended amounts of time, coupled with the salaries they USED to make. Put a little bit of a damper on my job-search enthusiasm, but not too much. There are still quite a few jobs posted in the newspaper that seem quite promising, and I have sent out several e-mails with resumes attached already.

Perhaps during the downtime amidst jobsearching, I will commit myself to writing something each day. Well, something besides e-mail. Something that might eventually turn into something a publisher might want to buy. I was reading a bookabout writing by the guy who co-wrote the "Left Behind" series (Jenkins, maybe?). I had to turn it into the Kerrville library before I was finished with it, but I really liked it and plan on finishing it at some point in time. One of the things he said that I have said about myself (in variation) for years, is that no one really enjoys writing, but enjoys having written. He said that putting one's butt in the chair and producing quality writing is hard work and not fun. Satisfying, when it's done, but not fun whilst being done. And this is my problem. It's difficult for me to stick with things that are tedious and Not Fun. *sigh*

But, I remind myself that anyone who was able to get her BA on the 17-year plan has the gift/skill/fortitude of perseverance, and should be able to accomplish anything she truly sets her mind to. Now, I just have to get to the productive butt-in-the chair part.

Daddy was in the Navy.

2008-05-28T20:31:00.005-04:00

Daddy had a tattoo on his arm of a girl in a two-piece swimsuit. He got it when he was in the Navy during World War II, which I think is before they called them bikinis. He talked about how a very large island woman had done the tattoo while he was very drunk on jungle juice. He also said that in its original form, the woman had been naked. Before he was due to come home to Arkansas and his church-going, Sunday School-teaching Southern Baptist mother, he had to go get her swimsuit put on. He said that the swimsuit part of the tattoo, applied when he was stone-cold sober, hurt a lot worse than the initial naked woman part. If asked, he would flex his bicep so she would wiggle a little bit.

Daddy also had small scraps of shrapnel imbedded under his skin on his arms and legs. I asked him why he had never had them removed. He said that at the time, the bits of metal had been so hot that they cauterized and sealed the wounds on their way in. Since there was little chance of infection, medical care was reserved for those boys whose wounds were much more serious than Daddy’s had been.

Daddy didn’t talk much about his time in the service. One time I asked him about it, and he talked about how he was just a kid, and all the other boys were just kids, too – on both sides of the fight. He talked about the drinking water on board ship being sea water that was put through water treatment to make it drinkable, but that it still tasted brackish. He said it was very hard to drink that water knowing how many young men had died in the ocean it was pulled from. He talked about a Japanese ship that was sunk near his ship, and seeing the Japanese boys in the water. He remembered one in particular because a crewmate standing beside Daddy had pointed a rifle at the Japanese boy in the water, and the Japanese boy raised his hands and went underwater, never coming up again. Daddy figured he inhaled as he went down, preferring dying there to being captured. Daddy’s crewmate laughed about it; I don’t think it ever struck Daddy as being all that funny.

The only other thing I remember Daddy mentioning was being stationed off the coast of New Zealand for eighteen months during his tour of duty. Mutton was the only meat available for restocking the ship's larders, and so they had mutton at every meal. The only time I ever remember Mama cooking lamb chops was one time when Daddy was out of town. I didn’t much care for lamb, either.

After Daddy passed away, my brother told me about how one of the ships Daddy served on had been sunk by torpedoes, and how Daddy had spent two or three days in the water, surrounded by pieces of his ship and dead crewmates. Daddy never told me about that part.

Recipe/Family History booklet plan

2008-04-18T22:05:00.002-04:00

I’ve been kicking around the idea of writing a family history / family recipe booklet to give to Mom’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

I put “family history questionnaire” into the Blingo search engine and found this really nice one at the Texas Cooperative Extension of the Texas A&M University System. Who knew they had such cool stuff on an ag website?

http://fcs.tamu.edu/families/aging/reminiscence/family_history_questionnaire.php

There’s a link for downloading it as a Word or Wordperfect file, which I did, and have now printed out a copy. I think I’ll answer all the questions, too, in case any of my kids or grandkids are ever curious about this stuff.

Mother and I went to Cici’s for dinner. I took along a large spiral notebook and the printout of the questionnaire, and told her my plan. She thought it sounded like a good idea, and we brainstormed about recipes to include. I also asked her the questions on the first couple of pages, just to get us started.

When we got home, I sent an e-mail to all of her descendents (and spouses) for whom I have e-mail addresses. I told them what recipes we thought should be included, and asked them if there were any others they’d like to see, or if there were any recipes from their own families that had become traditions with them and that they’d like to share with the rest of the extended family.

I think this will be a pretty fun project for both of us and give us some interactions that don’t have to do with food, television or doctor’s appointments.

Bathtime Blues

2008-03-23T23:05:00.001-04:00

I got Mom’s shower all set up. My boss came to the house and installed the new shower head. I got the shower curtain and liner up, the non-slip stickers in the bottom of the tub, the new shower chair and the bolt-on handle to assist with stepping into and out of the tub also installed. Tuesday evening I get home and ask Mom if she wants to go give it a try.

“No, I don’t. I don’t want my hair to be wet when I go to bed.”

“Mom, your hair will have plenty of time to dry in the three hours before bedtime.”

“Well, I just don’t want to.”

“When will you want to?”

“Soon.”

“Soon is not a time, Mom. If you’re going to shower before our company arrives this weekend, and you don’t want to do it tonight, it will have to be either Wednesday or Thursday.”

“Ok. Thursday, then.”

Wednesday morning before her doctor’s appointment, I try to show her how to use the handheld shower head, thinking she might try a shower before going to the doctor.

“I’m not going to use it without you here!”

“Do you want me to come home from work a little early so I’ll be here for you to shower before your appointment?”

“No. I’d really prefer a tub bath.”

“If you prefer a tub bath, why have you not taken one since we moved in here last July?”

“I don’t know.”

“If we don’t do this in the next few days, I’m going to be bringing someone in the help you in the bath.”

“Oh, Ok”, Mom laughingly replies.

“I’m serious, Mom.”

*sigh*

Making Progress

2008-03-14T09:52:00.003-04:00

Mother is now a regular at the Dietert Center Take Five Club. She even went an extra day one week when they had their Valentine’s Day party, and picked out a special shirt to wear that had hearts woven into the pattern.

We’ve made some progress, and I’ve got other things in the works that she is as yet unaware of. This past week, she had an appointment with the podiatrist, who said that her feet were very healthy, just needing a little extra attention due to her age, and then he recommended a specific style of SAS shoes. And since SAS stands for San Antonio Shoes, and we are only one hour from San Antonio, we should be able to pick those up this weekend.

Next week, we return to the internist for what I have told her is a medication check, but actually we are going to be getting a referral for a neuropsych evaluation so we might have a definitive diagnosis and baseline information.

After that, I’ll be setting up appointments with the dentist, the optometrist, and a bone density scan. With each appointment, I anticipate the same conversation.

“Mom, I need to set up your appointment for (insert current concern here).”

“I don’t need an appointment for (current concern)!”

“Yes, you do.”

“My (current concern) is just fine!”

“I’m making the appointment for next week.”

I’m not sure how I’m going to explain what the neuropsych eval is all about. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but we have seen some decline just in the time she has been here.

“What’s Good Friday?”

I was quiet for a moment, because I was somewhat shocked by the question, and then debating how to answer and it what detail. “It’s the Friday before Easter.”

“Oh. The Dietert Center is going to be closed on Good Friday.”

“Well, that’s not a problem for us, because you go there on Mondays.”

“That’s right.”

I borrowed a copy of The 36-Hour Day from the Take Five lending library. It’s about being the caregiver for someone with dementia. It’s taken me awhile to start reading it, but even just the few chapters I’ve read have helped my mindset. What I read last night talked about how difficult it can be to perform multi-step tasks because there’s so much to remember, and things like cooking, cleaning, or even taking a bath can be confusing when one can no longer remember which steps, in which order, are necessary to the task.

So, I have a better understanding of Mother’s lack of initiative in helping with the cooking or cleaning. In a strange kitchen, she doesn’t know where anything is or where anything goes, compounded by the fact that she doesn’t really remember how to cook anymore. I guess that’s better than me having to worry about her burning the house down.

The book also talks about all the behaviors that are part of the dementia process, and how if family members are unaware, they might believe their loved one is just being lazy or stubborn or mean. I saw Mom in several of the examples, giving me additional insight into this process. She has always been fearful of unfamiliar situations, especially if they challenged her skillsets, and her increasing forgetfulness exacerbates these fears. I’m glad now that she voluntarily gave up driving.

I am still attending the Kerrville Writer’s Association meetings, although I haven’t actually written anything in several weeks. I have also bought studio time at the Hill Country Arts Foundation, which is a wonderful artists’ cooperative, and I have been there a couple of times to play with clay. I’ve found that Mother is less anxious with my being gone in the evening if I am able to make it home for dinner before going out.

So, I’m slowly exchanging resentment for understanding. I know I have been doing the things I need to do. Now I am working on doing them with the right spirit.

The Take Five Club

2008-02-12T09:50:00.001-05:00

Yesterday marked Mother’s third Monday morning at the Dietert Center’s Take Five Club. The Thursday before her first visit, the program director came by the house to introduce herself so that Mother would be able to see at least one familiar face upon arrival. When I told Mother about the visit that evening, she asked why.

“To talk to you about the Take Five Club.”

“I’m really not interested in going.”

“Mom, you need to give it a try. It’s hard on me being your only social contact! I need you to at least give it a shot!”

“Well, is the bathroom nearby? I’m worried about sometimes making it to the bathroom in time.”

“I’m sure they have a bathroom right there.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“I can’t stay with you every time, but yes, I could stay the first time or two.”

Mary arrived shortly and was so warm and friendly that Mother was soon agreeing that Take Five sounded like fun. When Mom mentioned that I would be staying, Mary said, “Oh, no, she’ll just go on to work and pick you up at the end.”

Mother then gave me “the look” which was my cue to speak up and say that I had already promised to stay that first time. I amended that I wouldn’t be staying in the same room, because that might disrupt the program, but that I would bring a book and be nearby. That seemed to satisfy her, and Mary eventually left, telling Mother that she would see her the following Monday morning.

As we stood in the kitchen, watching Mary’s car pull out of the driveway, I asked, “So, does it really sound like fun, or were you just being polite?”

“No, it does sound like it might be fun.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad.”

By Sunday night, however:

“Well, I wish I didn’t have to go to that old place tomorrow.”

“Well, Mom, I wish you were looking forward to it more.”

We arrived at the Center the next morning, promptly at 10 a.m., and found ourselves the first to arrive. Mary offered to take Mother’s coat and purse to hang on the wall hooks, but Mother declined. We were then ushered into the sitting area, consisting of comfy looking couches, recliners, and end tables with happy-looking house plants. Mother sat with her purse beside her leg and her jacket pulled close around her, legs crossed and arms folded, giving Mary short, polite answers to conversational inquiries.

Others began arriving, and I stayed until the activities started, then excused myself to an adjoining room. I perused the lending bookshelves, made a couple of phone calls, and read a magazine until about an hour had passed. Then I peeked around the corner to find Mother’s body language completely changed. He arms were relaxed into her lap, she had a smile on her face, and she seemed quite engaged by what the director was saying.

I took that as my opportunity, and stepped in the room to tell her that I had some errands to run. She confirmed that I would be returning right afterward, and I agreed. She smiled and said, “ok”, and turned back to what was happening with the group. I went back to work, and when I returned to pick her up at 2 p.m., she was surprised that it was already time to go.

When we got to the car, I asked her about her morning, and she told me about singing songs, having lunch, and getting to pet Bennie the Bunny, a therapeutic pet visiting for the day. I was afraid to ask her if she was going back the next week and hear her knee-jerk “no” that usually comes to new ideas. I figured I would have plenty of time to broach the subject before Monday rolled around again.

And so I did: my niece came to visit and I asked Mom to tell us about her first experience with the Take Five Club. She seemed happy to do so, and I picked up the Dietert Center lunch menu to show to Vickie. I then pointed to the following Monday and said, “Mom, look. You’ll be having spaghetti for lunch when you go back next Monday.”

“Am I going back?”

“Well, of course! You had a good time, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. You’re sure it’s not too much trouble for you to leave work to take me and pick me up?”

“Mom, it’s more troublesome to me worrying about you being at the house all day, every day, with nothing to do and no one to talk to.”

“Well, ok, then.”

*Whew*

The following Monday, when we pulled up to the Center, Mother said, “Oh, this is it? We’re here already? Ok, see you at 2 o’clock!”

And she hopped out of the car and went right in without a backward glance.

Now my brain hurts.

2008-01-20T19:58:00.000-05:00

I walked with Leslie Sansone again this morning. Mother shuffled a few steps, did a couple of sidesteps, and then sat down. I told her that was better than she did a couple of days ago, and that she’d build up to doing more if she kept at it. She seemed doubtful.

At dinner, I brought the Dietert Center schedule to the dining table for us to choose what day we wanted to go to lunch. She couldn’t decide which one sounded most appealing, so I chose Tuesday’s “Crabby Cakes” for our lunch out.

I talked to her a little bit about the Take Five Club, which is actually a caregivers’ respite program. It runs from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. and includes lunch brought into the activity room because some of the people are less ambulatory than others. It also costs $35 per day attended, which Mother would NEVER agree to, but they could send the monthly statement to my work. I am thinking this might be the best way to introduce her to the center, as she seems absolutely uninterested in attending any of the activities.

“Mom, when I picked up the menu last week, I talked to one of the ladies about the Playing with Paint class. She said it’s watercolor and pretty fun.”

“OK.”

“Is that something you’d be interested in trying?”

“I’m not interested in any of that stuff.”

“But Mom, I’m concerned about you just sitting at home all day and not doing anything but watching TV.”

“Well, when you’re 80 years old, you’re not interested in doing that much.”

“You’re not 80, you’re only 78, and Papaw walked until he was 92. And you had friends in Wills Point, and now you don’t talk to anybody except me all day, and when I can’t come home for lunch, then you’re here the whole day alone.”

“That’s OK.”

“No, Mom, it’s not OK.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“And I can call people on the phone.”

“Who do you call?”

(Thinks a minute.) “Whoever.”

“Whoever is not a person. Give me a name.”

“I don’t know.”

“I know you’ve called Charlie. Anyone else?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d really like you to try this Take Five Club. It’s more of a social group than an activity group. They talk and have coffee and have lunch. I can go with you the first couple of times.”

No answer.

“Anyway, Mom, we’ll go to the center for lunch on Tuesday.”

“Ok.”

*sigh*

I dunno. Maybe I’m rushing things. Maybe I’m not pushing her enough. I have no idea how to treat an adult who is functioning on various levels, all of them below where she was even one year ago. Especially when that adult also happens to be my mother.

Mixed Success

2008-01-18T09:05:00.000-05:00

I just walked a mile in my living room in 18 minutes!

Mother walked about 2 minutes, then said she was tired and sat back down.

*sigh*

Renewed Hope for the Dietert Center

2008-01-18T07:28:00.000-05:00

Every morning, as we sit having coffee and reading the morning paper, Mother will say, “You have your regular schedule today? You’ll be home at regular time? And you’ll come home at lunchtime?”

I used to say, “Yes.” Now, because my duties at work are evolving, I say, “I hope so.”

Yesterday, shortly after this exchange, I said, “I think you ought to try going to the senior center and meet some people. I bet you could find a nice friend there.” And, instead of the automatic “No, no, I don’t want to” that I expected, she said “Do you think so?”

“Yes! I do!” I was suddenly filled with some hopes of her actually trying to do something besides sit on the couch and watch TV all day, with me her only source of social contact. I was able to come home for lunch, have a ‘delicious sandwich’, as we do every day, and then, on the back to work, I took the long way around to stop by the Dietert Center and pick up their monthly menu and activity schedule.

I stopped in to talk with my friend, Dawn, who told me that in addition to the regular activities, staff was working on having a “coffee social” time in the morning, but they weren’t sure when that would happen.

I don’t know if Mother’s total disinterest in any of the activities has been due to some level of depression from my sister’s passing and the move from east Texas, or if she is concerned about trying something new that will shed unwanted attention on growing cognitive deficits. I am now hoping that it was more the former. While I doubt that she will ever sign up for Table Tennis or Western Philosophy, perhaps Playing with Paint or Quilter’s Co-op will strike her fancy. I really believe that if she will just go there enough times to meet a couple of people, I’ll be taking her on a regular basis.

And, this morning, since I woke up at 5:30 and have what I hope to be PLENTY of time, I’m going to see if I can get her to agree to “Walking with Leslie Sansone” (which my niece, Vickie, highly recommended and I bought several months ago, but haven’t been motivated enough to try) before the television is tuned to the morning news. (I know you were wondering when I would get to why in the world that picture was there, especially on MY blog - hahahaha!)

Post-Holiday Mish-Mash

2008-01-05T13:07:00.000-05:00

All the holiday excitement and stress are over, and it's back to normal. I still have many post-holiday chores to do. I have put away most of the nativity sets, but the tree is still up and decorated, something I will attend to today.

I finally got the last of the antique frozen food out of the chest freezer we moved from east Texas in July. There was no easy way to dispose of it beforehand, so we just moved the half-full freezer as it was. The meat that was in it was already so old as to be scary, not to mention the frozen bread, margarine, and unidentifiable objects. The trip down here in the back of the moving van didn't help it. I bagged up three trash bags of mostly meat, and threw several packages of bread products and a half-bag of broccoli out behind the house for the critters. The gallon of water frozen in a milk jug - I'm not quite sure why that was in there - is thawing in the garage.

My first inkling of Mother's cognitive state came when we were looking through that freezer back in June and I observed aloud that she had several packages of frozen hush puppies. She asked me what was a hush puppy. *sigh*

Anyway, we all had a nice time at Christmas. I bought Mother a sweater and matching pants, Vickie gave her a nice casual top, and Steve gave her a casual set of pants, top, and hoodie. Since she won't buy clothing for herself, this evidently seemed the best idea to all of us.

Janette and Eva flew in on December 26th and stayed through the 29th. I think they had a nice visit. Eva is VERY busy. And she has started saying several words and is willing to try to say all kinds of new words. I believe that in another three or four months, she will be talking up a storm, telling strangers all of Janette's secrets in a clear, loud voice. Eva enjoyed the dogs at Vickie's house, and surprised everyone one by hitting it off with Willow, the extremely stand-offish kitty whose behavior with Eva we were most worried about. Not only was Eva enamored of Willow, but Willow seemed equally taken with Eva, allowing Eva to "pat" her and on occasion "hug" her by practically lying down atop her. Willow didn't even rowr or hiss, something she has done to all the adults in the house.

We all drove to Marble Falls (in Vickie's Brand New Van!!) to see the Christmas lights on the river. They were beautiful, but it was very cold. We were all glad to see them, and also all glad that since it was after Christmas there were hardly any people there so we were able to park very close to the entrance, instead of walking from a couple of blocks away, as Vickie said they had done a couple of years ago.

On Saturday morning, before Janette flew home, we had brunch at IHOP. All the straps/buckles on all the booster seats and all the high chairs were missing or broken. We tried to just have her sit with us on the seat, but once the food arrived it just didn't seem to work out. (Did I mention that Eva is VERY busy?) One of the waitstaff offered that they could secure her in the high chair with a folded-over apron, which turned out to work quite well. She entertained all of us, including our waiter.

Steve was able to visit for almost two weeks. It was very nice having him here. My Christmas present from him was a beautiful necklace and earrings set of sterling silver (my precious metal of choice), small ropes of silver knotted into square knots for the earrings and a figure-eight knot for the necklace. The image above does not do them justice, as they are amazingly bright-and-shiny.

He said that although he understood and believed me when I talked about how loud the TV was, and how it permeated the house, he hadn't fully grasped the reality of it until he was actually here. Now he understands. It's really loud. From 8 a.m. to 10 p.m. daily. Except that now that Mother understands that it wakes me up, she keeps the volume down on weekends until I get up, so I am actually able to sleep in now. That does help.

Steve also brought his camera and took many, many pictures of all of us - except himself, because I never remembered to get the camera from him. Thank you, Steve, for all the wonderful pictures of our holidays. And my necklace and earrings. And your visit. And my sanity.

Preparing for Christmas

2007-12-23T16:03:00.000-05:00

I haven't had a cigarette in almost two weeks. The only time I want one is when I go grocery shopping with Mother. And yesterday was the big, buy-everything-for-Christmas-dinner shopping trip. I really wanted a cigarette. But I maintained.

Today, I am doing early prep - making the pound cake, fudge, cranberry relish, and cornbread for use later in making the dressing. I cannot rely on Mother's memory for any of the recipes. She forgot that it took three sticks of butter or that mace was one of the 7 ingredients in the pound cake she has made every year since I can remember. She looked it up on her copy of the recipe, since I was working off one I had copied from hers. She reminded me to grease and flour the cake pan. I told her I had made cakes before. She said, sarcastically but not being mean, just responding to the irritation in my voice, "Really?! I didn't know!" And then called me a smart aleck. I am aggravated by the fact that she doesn't want to do any cooking, baking, anything, but she wants to supervise my doing of these things.

After she mentioned that she didn't remember the pound cake having mace in it, I double-checked the fudge recipe on the internet. Her handwritten recipe calls for three packages of chocolate chips, but it doesn't specify what size package. She told me it was three small packages. But the recipe on the net closest to the one I have calls for three 12 oz. packages, whereas the small ones are 6 oz. each. I decided I would get more chocolate chips because if that is an error, then it will be an error on the side of more chocolate rather than less, so it won't be too bad a thing.

I am typing this while waiting for Steve to return from the grocery, as I was in the middle of making the pound cake to realize I have no flour. And so I decided to start on the fudge while he was gone, only to decide that I also did not have enough chocolate chips. *sigh*

And in the background there is the unceasing sound of back-to-back old western shows - first Bonanza and currently Gunsmoke. I really miss being in a quiet house.

$5 Fair Admission

2007-10-28T20:54:00.000-04:00

Mother and I went to the grocery store on Thursday evening, since I had been out of town all weekend and into the middle of the week. We say the sign for the Kerr County Fair, and Mother said, "The Fair is this weekend, but I won't be going."

I asked if she would like to go. She asked if I would like to go. I said I would. She asked the cost of admission - $5. She said she'd go if I wanted to go. And so it goes.

The Kerr County Fair ran this weekend from Friday through Sunday, but the best time for us seemed to be Saturday afternoon, after I got home from my weekend job at the local youth shelter. It was at the Kerr Co. Ag Barn, on Hwy. 27, and though I wasn't sure just where it was, I figured we would know it when we saw it. And so we did. We pulled into the entry gate, drove past the mini-ferris wheel and tilt-a-whirl, into a large field partitioned off for parking. We found a place not too far from the entrance booth (after we realized all the most readily available parking spots were designated for handicapped drivers), and Mom paid the $10 for both of us to get in.

There were a few vendors outside the main tent area, but we saw the sign that said "Petting Zoo" and proceeded inside. We found the requisite baby sheep and baby goats milling around with their dams, trying to avoid the cups of farm animal kibble being forced upon them by small children, and decided not to actually venture into the fray. After a minute or two of standing near the 5-ft fence, I notice there was a smaller enclosure within the main one, containing a lop-eared rabbit, a pot-bellied pig, and what appeared to be a miniature kangaroo. Something in the back of my mind whispered wallaby, and I told Mother that's what I thought it was, but that voice is not always reliable, so I asked the woman selling kibble cups. She confirmed that it was, indeed, a wallaby! (I felt so smart!)

We also noticed that there was a camel! How could we have missed a camel, you ask? He was sitting down! At that point, the back of my mind whispered dromedary?, but I didn't feel like encouraging it anymore, so we're not sure on that one. We walked to the other end of the pen to get a better view, and also noticed a fawn, still with it's spots, although it seemed a little large to still have spots, and I suspect that there may have been a little milkpaint involved, although I have absolutely no proof. There was also some kind of game animal, but the little voice could only give me some kind of antelope, I think. It was becoming less and less reliable, so I decided to dismiss it for the rest of the afternoon.

We wandered into the main tent where the vendors and the performance stage were set up. There might have been 30 vendors altogether, but perhaps not quite that many. I picked up a packet from the local Democratic party that included a few pieces of candy. I asked if they had any voter's registration forms, but they said I would have to go to the second story of the county courthouse, fill one out there, and allow the county to mail it to Austin. I thought that was a little strange, but then everything here seems to be a little strange.

We passed by most of the booths, but near the stage happened upon one that was selling bright-and-shiny objects of sterling silver. I stopped to peruse them, and Mother sat in a folding chair to the side of the bleachers facing the stage. I picked out a garnet ring, an ear cuff, and a pair of dangly earrings for my daughter's belated birthday present (shhhh - don't tell her). As I was looking at the garnet rings, I realized someone was standing VERY close to me, well inside the limits of my personal-space bubble, and looked down to find my co-worker, Helen. She liked the rings I was looking at, and when I pointed out that Mother was sitting nearby, Helen joined her for a short chat while I finished my transaction. Helen told us about her daughter's prize-winning quilt in the crafts tent, and as I had been looking for something more than the vendor area, I was quite happy for us to follow her next door.

The craft area was meager, but perhaps I am jaded by all those years of having had the opportunity to attend the great State Fair of Texas. In any case, we looked over all the submissions in painting, photography, woodworking, mixed media, baking, canning, and some other items whose categories were difficult to discern. This took approximately 10 minutes. We did find Helen's daughter's quilt, which was sporting a Best of Show ribbon for the youth category. It was very nicely done, and I will have to be sure to tell her on Monday that we saw it.

I headed back to the first large tent and Mother asked if we were leaving. I told her that I wanted to be sure that we got our $5 worth. She commented drily that we could walk around the entire evening and still not get our $5 worth. I could only laugh, because it was oh, so true, and yet I had enjoyed myself so far. As we entered the main tent, my ears were rudely assaulted and I realized the stage was once again being used for karaoke. We wended our way to the front of the tent, past the food vendors and headed for the parking lot. Mother declined my suggestions for caramel apples, cotton candy, and kettle corn.

Much to my amazement and delight, we passed a vendor selling chocolate-dipped frozen bananas on a stick! I love these! At one point in time, you could walk into almost any Dairy Queen in North Texas and acquire one for as little as 50 cents. Alas, no longer. As best I understand it, almost every DQ in North Texas (perhaps in the entire state) has been purchased by an evil consortium that sanctions the sale of only those frozen treat items trademarked by the Dairy Queen franchise. Since they cannot really trademark a frozen chocolate-dipped banana on a stick, it is no longer allowed. *sigh* BUT - there he was! The frozen chocolate-dipped banana vendor! The photo on the side of the booth showed the banana dipped in chocolate and rolled in chopped nuts, but I am a minimalist when it comes to my frozen chocolate-dipped bananas. As the bananas were only dipped in chocolate once requested, I was able to acquire mine as desired. I chatted up the vendor in the hopes he might be able to direct me to a more reliable source, but he said he didn't know of one, although I could find him at other local county fairs. *SIGH*

My future prospects of acquiring frozen chocolate-dipped bananas did not look good, but at least I did have the one in hand. Mother did not care for one(!!??), so after I got mine, we continued towards the parking field and the car. My frozen chocolate-dipped banana was gone before we got home, but it was very nice while it lasted. And so was the Kerr County Fair.

Interlude

2007-10-24T20:27:00.000-04:00

I returned last night from spending six days away from home. I flew to Detroit, Michigan for the 75th anniversary celebration of Lawrence Technical University (www.ltu.edu/ - originally Lawrence Institute of Technology), in conjunction with the 75th anniversary of the LTU chapter of Phi Kappa Upsilon fraternity (www.phikapp.com/). No, I didn't go to school there, nor was I ever in a fraternity. I was just along for the ride. During my time there, we visited many tourist spots in addition to the college and frat activities.

Thursday night, Steve and I arrived at the Detroit Airport separately (his plane arrived first, so he was there to greet me), rented a car, and made our way to the Westin in Southfield. It was a nice room, but the wetbar was locked so we couldn't put anything in it (they just want you to take stuff out of it, I guess, and they want to know when you are doing so), and the bottled water on the dresser had tags to let you know that they were $4 if you drank them. The coffee maker and coffee were gratis, but I can't drink coffee without cream and I couldn't buy cream because the fridge was locked. Oh, well. There was a Starbucks in the lobby of the hotel, so that all worked out.

On Friday, we tried to go to the Motown Museum (www.motownmuseum.com/), but it was closed for a private event. It seems the city was unveiling the street signs for having named the small part of Grand Ave. in front of the museum "Berry Gordy Ave." I didn't really recognize anyone, but I'm pretty sure a couple of famous people were there.

The Polish Art Center in Hamtramck (polartcenter.com/) was another stop, made at my request. I dabble with pysanky every spring, and when I moved last year, I had to pour out all my jars of egg dye. I am once again collecting quart Ball jars in anticipation of my Lenten psyanky-fest, and the Polish Art Center is where I usually purchase my pysanky supplies via mail order. It was a wonderful treat to be able to go there in person to choose the individual dye packets, look over the colorful instruction books and see all the other craft tools available. To my great delight, I found that the Polish Art Center also carries an impressive amount of baltic amber set in sterling silver. My self-control was intact, barely, and I did manage to retain enough money in my checking account to make the car payment. Barely.

Then we went to a fraternity brother's house for an informal get-together that evening. They had a beautiful house and all the people were quite nice, and they played a film of a Little Caeser's commercial that was made in the frat house in 1984. Someone else had filmed the making of the commercial and they were all surprised and excited to realize that one of the unknown actors who was brought in for the commercial (and didn't make the final cut of either of the two ads) was Tim Allen!

Saturday we went downstairs for Starbucks. It was not open on Saturday or Sunday. Hmph. We found an alternate coffee fix, returned to the Motown Museum and had a WONDERFUL tour. The docent was lively and entertaining and knew and loved his subject matter to the extent that he really made the visit worthwhile. What was normally a 45-minute tour, he stretched into over two hours, and we only left then because we had to be back over at the frat house for a tour of the new alumni lounge.

The rest of Saturday was filled with fraternity and college activities. We toured the frat house where Steve lived all the time he was in college. The alumni group has just redone the garage into a VERY nice alum lounge with a sauna, shower, wet bar, leather couches, wooden lockers, and a big screen TV. They had a formal ribbon cutting, christening the outside wall with a bottle of champagne. Then, everyone caravanned to the college for several large group photos, and then on to the Skyline Club for the formal dinner and dance. Godiva chocolates as table favors and bottles of champagne as parting gifts for each couple. Indeed, a good time was had by all.

Sunday found us at the Franklin Cider Mill (www.franklincidermill.com/), where we saw chopped apples being smashed in stacked layers under a VERY large press to extract fresh cider. It smelled wonderful. And the cider and fresh cake doughnuts tasted wonderful. The mill is powered by a water wheel in a stream that runs underneath/beside the mill. The ducks that live in the stream outside are very fat and very spoiled. I witnessed many doughnut bites thrown into the water at the ducks. Unless the bits were within easy reach, the ducks did not even bother to scramble. They just looked at the tossers with a mixed air of disdain for poor aim and jaded expectation of the next offering.

The Henry Ford Museum and Greenfield Village (http://www.hfmgv.org/) took all of Monday. Actually, Greenfield Village took most of the day, and then we rushed through the Henry Ford Museum before it closed. We visited the weaving shop, the glassblowers, the print shop, the pottery studio, saw Edison's Menlo Park workshops, walked into the inside of a Georgia plantation's slave cabin, saw the 15,000,000th Model T to come off the Ford assembly line, strolled through the Wright Brothers bicycle shop, and visited the homes of Noah Webster and Robert Frost. We walked a lot.

We talked to the weaver about the loom he was working on and the other looms in the shop, one of which was a Jacquard loom. Two stories high, it was designed to use punchcards as programs for the weaving design. Turns out Jacquard licensed International Business Machines to utilize this punch card technology in their calculating machines, but he required them to alter the cards so they were not identical to his. So, they had to cut off one corner of each punch card. For those of you who remember punch cards, now you know why the corner was cut off....

In the Henry Ford Museum, we got to sit in the actual seat, in the actual bus, that Rosa Parks was too tired to get up from, that started the Montgomery bus boycott in 1955. It was actually quite moving and awe-inspiring. We saw a bunch of cars and a bunch of planes and a bunch of trains, but it was about 4:30 by then, and I was worried about whether or not we would get to the gift shop in time to adequately look around, so I think Steve got more out of the museum part of the visit than I did.

We left the museum and drove across town to Grosse Point (yes, just like the movie) to Bob and Joni's house, and proceeded from there to dinner at an Italian bistro that I can't quite remember the name of. It was quite yummy, and the creme brulee was served in a soup bowl, and topped with many strawberry slices and much whipped cream. We were a little concerned when our waiter dropped the torch as he was assembling it before caramelizing the top, but he didn't catch any of us on fire, and it was quite impressive overall. Joni pointed out to Steve more than once during the evening how nice Kerrville, Texas is, and how he should really consider moving there. I could only smile, as I have said that a few times, myself.

Tuesday morning was spent packing, and after we checked out of the hotel, we made one last scheduled stop, at the Lawrence Tech bookstore for the final round of souvenir purchases. Then lunch at T.G.I. Fridays (don't try their mini-desserts - nasty), and off the the airport. We hadn't realized until the night before that the first leg of our outbound journies coincided, and so we were quite delighted to find that we did not have to actually say goodbye until we both changed planes at the Nashville airport, and then we were so rushed to get me to my connecting flight that there wasn't much time for anything more than a quick kiss and hug. *sigh*

I finally got in to the San Antonio airport around 9 p.m., got out of the the terminal and to my car by 9:30, and then made it back to Kerrville just before 11 p.m. I had called Mother from the airport to let her know my plan had arrived safely and to give her an ETA, and she waited up for me. She said she missed me and I couldn't be away that long again.

It's nice to be missed, and it's nice to be home, but it was a very nice time away.

New (Additional) Job and Pending Trip

2007-10-15T08:55:00.000-04:00

When I was job hunting back in April, I saw an ad running for night/weekend workers at the local youth shelter. I knew this wouldn't pay enough, plus I didn't really have the emotional reserves for something like that, so I never even applied. That ad has been running, off and on, ever since, and a couple of weeks ago, I dropped off my resume and filled out an application. I interviewed with the director, they called my references (when asked about my temperament and ability to handle difficult situations Ellen told them "Kay doesn't do drama" - I love that! Thanks, Ellen!), and called me late week-before-last to set up training.

I now have a certificate for TACT-2 - Thereapeutic Aggression Control Techniques - 2, in both verbal and physical intervention. Of course, the hope is that one can use the verbal intervention techniques to as to never have to progress to the physical interventions. One of the trainers said she has worked at the shelter for 6 years and has only ever had to physically restrain three residents, so I'm hoping I won't ever have to use the physical stuff at all.

I am still working doing the books for the dry cleaners during the week, and when I applied for the shelter job, it was originally with the idea of it being PRN, but they have put me on a regular weekend shift, 8a - 4p, Saturday and Sunday. Since I can use the extra bucks right now, I'm going to go with it, but I have a feeling I will be getting that cut back no later than after Christmas. My boss at the dry cleaners was very understanding about my needing to attend that TACT training a couple of days last week, but it was kind of irritating to have to trade 2 days of work for hours that paid me little more than half as much. I made part of that up before and after the training, but still.

I am preparing to fly to Michigan on Thursday. I am accompanying my friend (what DO you call the person you're dating when you're both over 40?) to his college's and fraternity's 75th anniversary joint celebrations. My boss is amused that I am traveling halfway across the country, into cold weather, in order to attend a frat party. I'll be flying out Thursday morning, and returning Tuesday evening. Mother and I went shopping at La Cantera last weekend for shoes for me, as there is a semi-formal dinner/dance, and I get a chance to wear a girly dress and needed girly shoes to go with it. We will probably have a chance to cross over into Canada for a day, so I had to find my passport, which has a HORRIBLE picture - 10x worse than my driver's license ever thought of being. Yuck. I know it will be lots of fun, and with only 3 days left until I leave (3 DAYS!), I'm becoming increasingly excited and increasingly nervous.

Mother initially didn't like the idea of me being gone that long, but she's settled in here pretty well, and seems more comfortable. She will be able to call Vickie if she needs anything, and I'm hoping Vickie will be able to come by and visit some while I'm gone. Mom and I went grocery shopping yesterday and got everything she'll need for while I'm out of town.

So, except for this northern interlude, it looks like I will be working, at one job or the other, 7 days a week. I realized this weekend that I've never worked two jobs like this before. I've had two part-time jobs, but I've never worked jobs back-to-back. We'll see how I do, and how long I'll keep it up.

Lunch at the Dietert Center

2007-10-07T01:27:00.000-04:00

The Dietert Center ( http://www.dietertseniorcenter.org/ ) is the local senior center, where there are activities and hot lunches provided for local seniors Monday through Friday. When Mother had only been here a couple of weeks, my niece, Vickie, took Mother to lunch there. Mother was underwhelmed and didn't think she would be interested in going back. The lunches are free for seniors, but those under 65 are asked to contribute at least $5 for lunch, and Mother thought this was burdensome to whomever would be taking her there.

Now that Mom has been here long enough for the shock of the move to wear off, and the accumulated boredom of sitting home all day, every day, with the only break being when I come home for 1/2 hour or so to have a sandwich with her, she seemed more amenable to trying it again. Especially after I pointed out that $5 is not really that much for lunch, as we would pay that much apiece were we to go to Jack In The Box.

So, we decided that Friday would be the day. My friend, Dawn, who works at the Dietert Center, said baked chicken day was always popular, so we should plan on arriving around 11:30 so as to secure a table. Plus, soup, bread, and salad is put out at 11:30, so we could start with that while waiting for the main meal to be served at noon.

As it was my payday, and I needed to go by the bank before we went to lunch, I left work at 11 a.m. to pick Mother up. We parked at the bank, went in, and I suggested Mother have a seat in one of the comfy chairs in the middle of the lobby while I waited at the counter.

"Where are the tables?"

"Do you need a table, Mom?"

"Well, where are we going to eat?"

"This is the bank, Mom."

"Oh, that's right. I'll just sit right here, then."

I go to the counter, request that my check be cashed so that I might have some cash in my pocket, with the balance to be entered into the account as a cash deposit so the funds will be immediately available, which I do every pay period. The woman who waits on me half the time, and who was the one to initially suggest this strategy, seems puzzled by my request, but goes ahead. I like having my money immediately available to me, not at some later time the bank determines it proper. Anyway.

I lament to the teller the lack of the place to purchase dress shoes in town and mention that we're going to the nearest REAL mall, which is just inside the San Antonio city limits. The helpful teller points out to me how a woman who works at the bank with her was robbed at gunpoint in the parking lot of that particular mall a few weeks ago. Thanks for the info.

I finish my transactions and conversation and Mother and I head back out to the car. We drive on across town to the Dietert Center, arriving just before 11:30. I pull in beside an older luxury car with really big doors. I notice all the dings all along the really long door on my side. I realize why most of the cards are parked a space apart. I pull out of the parking space and park one space over, leaving an empty space on one side and a grassy break in the parking lot on the other.

Mother and I walk into the center, which is a brand new facility, opened this past April, nice red brick and overlooking the Guadalupe River. We walk up to the counter, and I tell the woman we are here for lunch, and to meet with Dawn. She asks if Dawn is expecting us and asks for my name. I'm glad she didn't also ask for the secret code word. She directs us to the elevator, and tells us the administrative offices are to the right once we exit onto the 2nd floor.

"Did you pay for our lunches?"

"No, Mom, we're going to Dawn's office first."

"Why are we doing that?"

"Dawn is eating lunch with us. We're going to get her and then the three of us will go to the dining room."

"Oh. Okay."

We find the administrative offices, and yes, Dawn is there, along with her boss, who is a good friend of my boss. We exchange introductions all around as they finish up what they are doing and Dawn, Mother, and I go out into the hallway to make our way back downstairs and to the dining room. Directly across the hall from Dawn's office is the very nice conference room with a glass window wall overlooking the river. Dawn asks if we would like to see the view.

"Are they going to bring our food to us in here?"

"No, Mom. This is the conference room. We're just enjoying the view for a moment."

We head down the hall, down the elevator, past the doors where we first came in, and finally make our way to the dining hall. There are quite a few people already there, and three or four ahead of us in line. The couple in front of us smells faintly medicinal, and I try to keep a little distance between us, but Mother is crowding me from behind. I step aside to let her go ahead. Dawn chats with the people behind us, who are pleasantly surprised that she is joining the group for lunch. When we get to the sign-in registry, Mother signs in, and the greeter asks about her paperwork. Dawn assures the volunteer that Mother's paperwork has already been done, as she had lunch there several weeks ago. Dawn and I put our money into the donations box, and we are directed to Table #23.

We put our purses down, and make our way to the soup table for "Autumn Soup". Dawn tells us there is soup every day, and it is generally quite good. There are also packages of saltines and slices of white and wheat bread. Mother takes saltines. I take wheat bread. Dawn gets our drinks for us. We wend our way back to #23, balancing soup, bread/crackers, and glasses of water. Mother asks if I will get salad for her when I get mine. I am happy to bring her a bowl which is, like my own, filled on one side with a cucumber/yogurt salad, and on the other with a black-eyed-pea/tomato salad.

On the way to the salad bar, I see Forrest, a man I know from the Unity church, there with his father. I greet him, telling him that I'm there with my mother, and he tells me that he had noticed us earlier, but we were across the room. I guess "halloooooing" across the dining room , a la Tigger, is not good form at the Dietert Center. I will remember this for future reference. In any case, it is nice that I am beginning to see people I know - it is nice that I'm beginning to know people! - and getting a hug on the way to a salad bar is always a welcome addition to one's day.

Back at Table #23, we enjoy our soup and salads, waiting for the main serving line to open. I wonder about the advisability of a number of elderly people rushing to the serving line, but Dawn assures me that this is not the case, as we are called to the line by table number. We then start to pay more attention to the woman droning into the microphone so that we may be sure and hear our table number called.

Finally, we hear "Table #23", and make our way around the tables to the serving line on the opposite side of the room. A portable steam table is there, with three or four people serving up a nice lunch of two pieces of chicken, a scoop of dressing, and peas-and-carrots. Gravy is ladled over each piece of chicken, but not the dressing. As we leave the serving line, I notice this, and since it seems to me that gravy should be on dressing, not necessarily on baked chicken, I go back and request gravy on my dressing as well. I am the last one back to table #23.

"You got two pieces of chicken!"

"So did you, Mom."

"Oh. I guess I did."

"I just asked for gravy to be put on my dressing, too."

It is a tasty lunch, although I wonder about serving seniors bone-in chicken thighs with gravy on them, which almost necessitates using knife and fork. I have full mobility and it is a bit of a challenge for me. As we are finishing up, Dawn tells us that while table numbers are called for the serving line, dessert is first-come, first-served, once it is available. Shortly thereafter, we see that dessert has already been put on the serving line, and we are a little nervous about missing out, but there is plenty. Dawn accompanies me to the line, where she gets her dessert bowl with pound cake, custard and multi-colored sprinkles. I get two, one for myself and one for Mother. Dawn teases me about looking greedy, but we figure it will be alright once I get back to the table and hand one of them off to Mom.

One of the volunteers stops by our table and greets Mother, welcoming her and encouraging her to come again. Mother seems pleased with the attention, as am I. We finish our dessert and then it is time to go, as I have to return to work after I take Mother back home. We get to the hallway, and Mother asks Dawn where the ladies room is. Dawn points her down the hall.

"I'm going to the restroom. Don't run off and leave me."

I am beginning to wonder if this is merely a quirk of speech due to childhood abandonment issues or if Mother truly believes I'm going to take her somewhere and leave her. I make an impatient gesture as she walks away, and Dawn make soothing noises reminding me that this is a new situation for Mother and patience is a virtue. (Dawn - if you're reading this, I bet you didn't realize you conveyed all that with "now, now".)

When Mother returns, Dawn walks us to the lobby, we thank Dawn for having lunch with us, and she very graciously thanks us for inviting her. Mother and I make our way out to the car, and then back to the house to drop her off before I head back to work.

We have plans to go for lunch again on Tuesday, when the main entree will be sausage and red cabbage, and Ellen has promised to join us. Perhaps Dawn can join us again. And Ellen has suggested that she might take Mother for lunch there week after next, when I will be out of town for several days. The plan is for Mother to have lunch there at least once a week, to get to know some of the other seniors, and eventually become interested in some of the activities that are offered during the week. That's the plan.

Thank you, Dawn and Ellen.

It's National Alpaca Day!

2007-09-29T18:24:00.000-04:00

(Photo borrowed from http://www.stevenstique.com/ )

Mother and I have coffee and read the newspaper every morning. This morning, there is a long article in the Kerrville Daily Times (Weekend Edition - they only publish one paper for the entire weekend) about how today is National Alpaca Day, and a local alpaca farm is having Open Barn days today and tomorrow. I ask Mom if she's interested in going, and she answers in a way that lets me know that she's actually interested, rather than saying that she's interested just because she thinks that I'm interested, and doesn't want to say anything to deter me in doing something I'm interested in, even though she might not be interested, and might not enjoy it, but she will go along because I'm interested. (*whew*) Anyway, she seems genuinely interested, and also seems somewhat interested in going to the local Quilt and Fiber Arts Show at the Kerr Arts and Cultural Center. Our afternoon is planned!

We have a quick breakfast and head out the door. (Yes, Mother, I have my keys. And my purse.) We get to the end of our street, and notice a scarecrow holding a "Garage Sale" sign, pointing back the way we've just come.

"Oh, look - a garage sale on our street."

"Would you like to go to the garage sale, Mom?"

"Yes, I think I would."

I check the rearview mirror, and start to back up to make a backwards three-point turn, only to see that a car has come around the curve and is coming up behind me. *sigh* So, I wait for all the cross-traffic, drive straight across the 6-lane highway into the Mini-Mart parking lot, where I make a u-turn and then exit, crossing the highway again to our street. We drive a couple of blocks down to the garage sale, get out, look around, find nothing of value (but you never know....), get back in the car, and head out again. As we're making our way back toward our house, which we will pass on our way back out of the sub-division, Mom sees the mailman in his car with the flashing yellow light on top.

"Oh, look - there's the mailman."

"Yep."

"Let's go home and wait for him."

"----Okay, Mom."

We pull into the driveway, and I put the car into park to wait for the mailman.

"Oh, I forgot my watch!"

"That's OK, Mom. You can go in the house to get it while I wait for the mailman."

I go to the mailbox and pull out the letter Mother has put out to be mailed. I drop the red flag. I turn around to see that the mailman and his car have vanished. I'm about to tell Mother that he must be taking a different way when he suddenly appears again from a sidestreet that I didn't even realize was there. Now he is only one house away. I stand at the end of the driveway, waiting for him to put the mail in the neighbor's mailbox.

"Show him the letter!"

"I have the letter, Mom."

"Well, show it to him!"

I wave at the mailman with my letter. He stops and trades me two letters for my one. One of the letters he gives me is the October schedule for the Dietert Center, the local senior center. More on that later.

We set out again.

"Ok, Mom. First we're going to stop by the shoe repair and drop off my boots. Then we're going to the Dietert Center's thrift store to drop off the box of donations for them."

"What box?!"

"The box of donation items that has been sitting in the living room the last month. Some video tapes and coffee cups."

"Oh. I guess so."

"Ok. After we go to the thrift store, then we'll come back by the quilt and fiber arts show, and then on to Center Point."

We get to the shoe repair place right at noon. It's closed. And there are no hours of business posted. And the little sign that says "Will Return By:" has the clock portion covered by the "Closed" sign. *sigh*

We move on to the thrift store. I pull into the parking lot.

"Why are we stopping here?"

"This is the thrift store. I'm dropping off the donations."

"Well, I want to see it."

"The thrift store?"

"No, the box."

"Ok, Mom. See, it's just some of my clothes, some children's videos, those boots you don't want anymore, and a few coffee cups."

"Oh. Okay."

We drop off the box and head out again, this time to the Kerr Arts and Cultural Center. It's actually a fairly nice gallery, located in what was once the Kerrville Post Office.

http://www.kacckerrville.com/

We go in and are very nicely greeted by the volunteer. She asks that we sign the guest book, as the board likes to see how many visitors come through. I put a couple of dollars in the donations jar and we go into the front gallery. We start looking at the first of the art quilts and Mother sees the Ladies Room.

"I'm going in the Ladies Room. I'll be right back. Don't run off!"

"Mother, I won't. I didn't bring you here to abandon you!"

The volunteer thinks this is funny and laughs really loud. Mother appears to feel that she's been made the butt of some joke, and I feel guilty for my smartass comment that was just meant to be a little snarkiness between mother and daughter, not a source of public humor. *sigh*

Mother reappears and we are looking at the beautiful art quilts and reading the names of the creators and what they have to say about their art and themselves. Then, I notice a door that says something like "Flourescent Rock Display". I try the door and it opens! Inside the closet-sized room is dark, but there is a window across one wall with a three-tiered display of different sizes and shapes of unpolished rocks.

"Mom, look at this!"

"What is it?"

"It's a display of flourescent rocks. Let's see."

"Don't lock us in!"

There is a button to gradually dim the lights and start the short audio presentation that is synched with shining UV light of different wave-lengths on the rocks so that we can see the different minerals flouresce under the different kinds of light, and then shine both short- and long-wave lengths so we can see which ones flouresced different colors under both of the different lights. It's pretty cool. Mother seems somewhat impressed, too.

We exit the dark closet and continue to make our way around the gallery. By the time I get to the end of the first gallery, Mother is standing near the exit. I ask her if she wants to sit down, as I am going to walk through the second gallery. The volunteer shows her the nice upholstered chairs near the entry, and she waits there for me for the additional five minutes it takes to finish my walk-through.

We thank the volunteer and take our leave, finally ready to point the car east and head out of town toward Center Point and Open Barn Day at La Sonodora Alpaca Farm.

"Center Point - 10 miles. That's not too far away."

"No, it's not."

"How's your gasoline? Is it holding up?"

"Yes, we have plenty of gas."

"Now, what is it that we're going to Center Point to see?"

"The alpaca farm."

"Oh, yes. That's right."

We pass the Veteran's Hospital, and the Credit Union, and then we're out of town. It's a very pretty drive, and following the directions printed in the newspaper, we find our way very easily. There's a sign on the front gate that says "National Alpaca Day" and "Open Barn Days". This must be the place!

There are several cars parked outside the well-lit barn, and we see people milling around with what we assume are alpacas. Alpacas look like a bit like llamas, but smaller. The woman who owns the "ranch" tells us that alpaca fleece is so soft and fine that historically, only the aristocracy in what is now Peru (and wherever else alpacas come from) were allowed to wear clothing made from alpaca fleece. The common folks had to content themselves with clothing made from llama.

The husband tells us the alpacas don't really like being petted. One of them sneezes, and he says, no, it is actually spitting at its alpaca buddy for getting to close to the food. He tells us they only spit at each other, or something or someone they consider to be another alpaca. He then tells us about one of the alpacas that used to spit at him, until he sprayed it with a water hose, convincing the alpaca that the man was, indeed, the MUCH better spitter.

We learn that alpaca babies are born between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. because the group (herd?) comes down from the mountain in the valley every morning, and the baby must be strong enough to climb back up the mountain with the mom by the end of the afternoon.

We also learn that as a prey animal, the alpaca doesn't have a lot of weapons at its disposal, so battles between rival males consist of each competitor attempting to bite the other's scrotom in order to neuter him and thus permanently remove him from the competition. So, the watch dog that shepherds them protects them not only from outside invaders, but also each other, as he knocks down fighting males until they decide them don't want to fight any more.

Alpaca fleece is very, very soft. There are bags of it for sale, but I can't think of what exactly I would do with a bag of alpaca fleece. I'm sure if I had time to give it a little more thought, I could come up with something, though.

There is only one chair for someone to sit in, and a woman who looks at least 10 years older than mother is in it. As Mother is ready to go, and has nowhere to sit to allow me to linger, we head out.

We get sprinkled on a little as we walk to the car, but decide to drive through Center Point to see what is there. We still don't know, as we completely miss it. The only thing I notice is the cafe', which is closed.

I see a sign that says "Camp Verde - 12 miles", so we just continue that way and stop in at the Camp Verde General Store. I tell Mom about Camp Verde being where the army experimented with camel patrols. She thinks that sounds somewhat interesting, but she is completely underwhelmed by the store itself. We stay long enough for me to sample some of the dips they have out and purchase a jar of specialty salsa.

So, all in all, we have a very nice afternoon, and get back in plenty of time for Mom to watch Tiger Woods play a little golf.

(The Llama Song: I know, alpacas aren't llamas, but they look a lot like llamas, and this silly video makes me laugh every time. http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/llama )

Going Out to Play Pool

2007-09-27T01:38:00.000-04:00

I told Mom that I was going to play pool with Charlene and Shannon. (A local bar has free pool tables on Wednesday nights. It's a cheap evening out for all of us.) And I initially told her that I would probably be home by 9:00 so I could watch CSI. But then I checked the listings and realized that the CSI that I want to watch is actually the one that comes on Thursdays.

"Mom, I won't be home at 9:00, after all, because the show I want to watch is tomorrow night, not tonight."

"But you'll be home by 9:00 to watch your show."

"No, Mom. The show I want to watch is tomorrow night, not tonight."

"You won't be home at 9:00?"

"No, my show comes on tomorrow night, not tonight."

"When will you be home?"

"Probably after 10:00."

"I got to bed at 10:00"

"OK, Mom."

"Well, how late do you think you'll be?"

"I don't know, Mom. You don't have to wait up."

"Well, what time does the place close?"

"It's a bar, Mom. It closes at 2:00 a.m."

"2:00 a.m.??!!"

"Yes, Mom, but I won't be out that late. I just don't know exactly when I'll be home."

"Oh, OK. Well, you still want to get up at 7:00?"

"Yes, Mom. I'll see you in the morning."

The Long Goodbye

2007-09-26T19:21:00.000-04:00

Every morning, Mother sees me to the garage door with a quick kiss and hug. I open the garage door, get in the car, and back out into the driveway, to find Mother waiting at the end of the sidewalk beside the garage so she can wave goodbye to me. I wave back.

She then moves out of sight, going back to the front door. I back down the driveway, back into the street, and then begin driving away, as she stands in the open front doorway, waving goodbye some more. I wave some more.

Satisfied that she has seen me safely on my way, she finally closes the front door and goes back to watching television. Until I come home mid-day. Then when lunch is over, and I have to leave again to go back to work, we do it all over again.

Life with Mother - Changes

2007-09-08T22:08:00.000-04:00

Shortly after I moved to Kerrville, my niece, Vickie, and I began planning to move Mother down here as well. She had lived alone, the past 18 years, in east Texas on 11 acres that Dad bought for his retirement. When Dad died just before his 67th birthday, Mother stayed out there, working at the local grocery store. For the last few years, my sister, Margie, lived out there with her, attending nursing school. About three years ago, Margie had at least one heart attack and/or series of strokes (we're not really sure which came first), and her health gradually declined until she passed away just before Christmas last year.

Mother decided to retire, sell her house and land, and rent an apartment in Dallas. We told her there was no place in Dallas that she would feel was affordable, that we would feel was safe. And so, after receiving my brother's blessings, she agreed to move to Kerrville to live with me.

I rented a 3/2/1 duplex on the edge of town, and my niece in Dallas, Lisa, spent every weekend for a couple of months driving to Mom's to help her pack up. On Moving Day, Lisa miraculously assembled a small army of sons, nephews, and friends, and her sister, Vickie, who lives in Kerrville, and their brother, Walter, and I all converged east of Wills Point, Texas to rent a moving van and trailer, pack Mother's house, and carry her, all her earthly belongings, and her 1983 Dodge pickup 330 miles away from where she had lived for over 20 years, her last home with Dad.

It's been an interesting adjustment for both of us. I've gone from not having a television and rarely even turning on a radio, to having a LARGE television on MAXIMUM VOLUME going from 8 a.m. to 10 p.m., seven days per week. Mother has gone from knowing her way all around her small community, to a different (and slightly larger) community where she knows nothing and no one. She starts her pickup once a week so the battery won't die, but she doesn't want to try to drive it anywhere. She's afraid she won't find her way either to where she's going or back home.

Mother makes coffee every morning, and graciously wakes me around 7 a.m. We read the newspaper together, commenting on local events and national tragedies. She keeps me apprised of select sports scores (Tiger Woods has somehow captured her imagination, although neither she nor anyone we know has ever played golf) and I tell her about local art events that are coming up, although we have yet to attend one.

I now come home for lunch every day at noon, and cook dinner every evening, something I haven't done regularly in several years. I started out washing the dishes as well, but Mother has since begun doing them during the day, so I usually just wash the pots used for cooking after I put leftover food away. I was appalled at Mother's diet (pot pies, TV dinners, and sometimes cereal for dinner), but then I realized that mine has not that much better (ramen, sardines and crackers, and sometimes vegetables with ranch dressing), so perhaps that is just the lot of single people who feel it's too much trouble to cook for just one. In any case, we are both eating better, and I am slowly rebuilding my rather atrophied culinary muscles.

Vickie tells me her grandmother looks so much better in the month since she's moved here, that her posture, balance, and overall appearance have all improved, as well as her general mood. I have noticed it, too, at least the mood part. I know she was kind of in shock after the move, as I was with so many changes in the past few months. And I suppose we both are benefiting from an improved diet. We bought a couch yesterday, which will be delivered this coming Wednesday, along with my mattress and box springs, so that we will be able to watch TV while sitting on something more comfortable than dining room chairs, and I will get to sleep on something that is neither a couch nor an inflatable mattress, for the first time in about five months.

Life is good.

Inertia vs. Entropy

2007-08-18T22:23:00.000-04:00

From Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 10th Edition:

inertia: a property of matter by which it remains at rest or in uniform motion in the same straight line unless acted upon by some external force

entropy: the degradation of the matter and energy in the universe to an ultimate state of inert uniformity

These two laws of nature have long been constants in my life. When I only look away for a moment, my house (and sometimes my entire life, it seems) is attacked by some kind of speed-of-light form of uber-entropy. And looking at it, and thinking about trying to oppose it, seems such a hopeless proposition, that I end up doing absolutely nothing. Ok, it's not quite as bad as all that, but sometimes it feels that way.

I've had an idea for a small craft item that I've been kicking around for years. I've moved the templates and supplies for it from Dallas to Richardson to Casa Linda to Farmers Branch to Oak Cliff to Wills Point, and finally now to Kerrville. A good friend has offered to make a website and show me how to set up on e-bay to give this idea at least a decent shot. So, either it will be entertaining and profitable, or it will be something that I gave a good try, and I can lay it to rest.

You can see the picture I took above (I meant to paste it in right here, where I'm typing about it, but that's not exactly what happened. *sigh*) - not the one that will ultimately end up on the website or e-bay, which will be taken with a better camera, and with a 2.0 version of the product. Here we have a 1.0 version of a Dream Dolly. I had some 1.1's, but I guess I gave them away over the last few years. So - Susie, Lisa, and any of the rest of you with Dolly prototypes - you could have major historical artifacts, there. And wish me luck - I'm scared to death that it won't fly - or that it will!

Jumping right in, I guess

2007-08-17T09:13:00.000-04:00

I have essentially been a vagabond for the past year or so, and moved way too many times in the 3 years prior as well. After many months without my own home, my own space, even my own bed, I have finally landed in a rented duplex in Kerrville, Texas. My computer is up and running, I have high-speed internet access, and evidently some kind of twisted need to share my thoughts with as many strangers and friends as I can lure here.

I joined myspace a few years ago in an attempt to keep tabs on my children. I'm sure they had other accounts, but at least I got to see some of the stuff they posted, and I began blogging now and again. As a bit of background, and perhaps oversharing, here is the link to the things that have fallen out of my head and into the keyboard.

http://www.myspace.com/soapboxbykay

I'm also trying to find an acceptable photo to post on here. Wish me luck on that....