Grand Central at the Chute

Two unsatisfying visits with mom this week. First time she was asleep and I didn't wake her. Sleep is good, but she didn't get to see me and chat a bit. Second visit was the busiest most chaotic I've seen her memory wing social circle. Aides were helping people walk in and out of the circle, mattresses were moved out of one room into another, a male aide was pushing a wheelchair with two oxygen tanks on it - taking empty ones out and bringing full ones back in, I guess.

Birdie can't walk without help now, and seems seriously disoriented. I had to work to get her attention and give her my usual finger-fluttering wave, but when she finally got it she broke into a big smile. I don't know why they were taking mattresses out of Lilia's room and moving them into Lana's, but all this was happening within a few feet of where the Activity Lady was trying to engage the residents in looking at spring buds on her plant stems.

Mom was distressed with all the action and distraction. She waved her hands in the air signalling it was all too much. I told her everything would be fine, and that I was going back to my office. The Activity Lady nodded to indicate it would be good for me to go, as it would reduce her demand for attention.

I lugged the big bag of laundry out of there and came home to write the newsletter for my professional group - an enjoyable activity for me.

The Real World

A Saturday of duty: Mom's tax information is ready to take to the accountant. I have all her data except statements on two of her insurance/annuities - so I sent a note to the investment guy handling her accounts to see if he has them.

What was interesting is I have recently noticed my mom-duties have become pretty automated in my life - laundry, visits, banking, filing medical, insurance, investment, and other paperwork (she gets as much mail as I do), etc. The raging resentment I had when I first took on this job 3 years ago is gone. I've even found myself thinking, "She deserves this peaceful time, free of worry and free of the burdens of past grudges and slights."

Even more interesting, then, to notice that all it takes is a year-end review of the paper trip, doing file cleanup and summarizing for the tax accountant, to bring that resentment back. Truly, I noticed I was angry about having to do this job... again. And I noticed I wonder how long she can keep going, i.e., keep me working for her. And I considered maybe this is payback for all the rotten things I did that made her worry about me, or embarrassed her, or otherwise gave her more gray hair than she would have had if I'd been more thoughtful and kind than I was. If it is payback, I honestly hope we're almost even, because I don't want this job for the rest of my life.

I'm glad mom's got a good place to be, with people who think up clever things to keep her pleasantly occupied. Out here in the real world of file boxes and tax forms, the job is to keep things humming so the Deeply Retired can take naps and make scrapbooks and holiday decorations. She'll be cutting out shamrocks soon enough.

Wiggles and Giggles

We've been doing a program in the Yosemite area of California, which takes a day to get to (airplanes through Houston, rental car from San Jose) but is by a lovely lake. We've been there twice now, and each time I pick up a pinecone or some pine needles or other seed pod type thing. Mom loves that stuff. She used to make pinecone wreaths and other nature-y type decorations.

This time, I got a funny multi-needled evergreen thing that I've never seen before. It was unusual, and she was fascinated. We both wondered over it, then I told her I would put it in her room.

"Where?" she asked.
"In your room."
"My room?"
"Yes, I'll take it there now."
"Put it on ..." words failed her (that loss of nouns thing again).
"I'll put it on top."
"Yes," she said, looking satisfied.

I don't think she cared on top of WHAT, but at least she felt confident it wouldn't disappear. I put it on her bathroom countertop where she would see it later in the afternoon.

We walked into the social circle room where the Activities Lady was starting something she calls "Wiggles and Giggles". It's a sitting-down exercise session, where you lift up your knees one at a time, kick out your foot, lift arms, twist shoulders, etc. I was impressed she'd put this together, and mom was totally absorbed. She's always been good at following instructions, and she was concentrating as hard as she could to get it right. Nobody giggled.

I left her there when I began getting antsy, impatient to get back to something more active for myself. I went home and unpacked from the trip and prepared for a business week.

Hand puppets everywhere

Visited the Chute today and every single lady in the after-lunch circle had a little stuffed animal or fuzzy hand puppet in their lap. Looks like the rabbit I gave mom started a craze. They're all talking about the eyes and ears on each others' animal, and chatting about how the animals could go to a party together. Like little girls with dolls.

Mom asked me if I was working and I told her yes, I had several jobs I am doing. She asked about my sister Wende and I reminded her that Wende retired from her last job. Mom said, "I couldn't do that. I'm still working. I'm on the job." Her co-workers are one rabbit handpuppet, Birdie and her stuffed bear, Wanda and her a squishy owl, and Katey and her sock-monkey.

In the background, Frannie is in her room adjacent to the social circle, strapped into her wheelchair and yelling every 5-10 minutes, "Help, somebody help me! Help!" She doesn't know she is doing this, the staff says they know about it and there is nothing to do to make it stop, and the puppet-ladies don't even hear the shouts. The aides say Frannie is fine, and go in and check every 15-20 minutes, but the yelling continues. (I'm thinking Frannie might be quieter if she had a couple of margaritas, but nobody seems concerned.)

So the ladies are on the job, in a slightly distracting work environment, eh?

Rabbit

I took mom a handpuppet rabbit this week. No reason, I just saw it in the birdfood store (we're spending a fortune on keeping birds fed these last few freezing-cold weeks) and knew she'd like it. I played with it a bit, made it look like the rabbit was washing his face, or sleeping, or rolling on its back. She was enchanted, talking to him. I took him off my hand and set him in her lap, which she liked.

When I was ready to leave, I told her to take good care of her rabbit.
"My rabbit?" she said, surprised.
"Yes, this is your rabbit," I assured her.
"I never had a rabbit," she said, petting him and talking. She barely noticed when I waved goodbye.