A Reason to Live

I have never kissed someone without teeth.

Pucker up, honey!
(Source: Google Images)

I'm just putting this out as a public service announcement since my mother felt compelled to ask me about it last week. Maybe others want to know.

Mommie Dearest turned 87 a couple of months ago, and these days life is getting more difficult. Not because her health is failing, but because she doesn't have anyone to kiss. Nobody to flirt with. No elderly 'boyfriend.' A fact she bemoans to me at every opportunity.

What is the point of living?

As her July birthday approached I contemplated what to give her. It's hard to know what a woman who has outlived two husbands, several 'boyfriends,' her entire family of origin, a boatload of friends and acquaintances, and had more than a few brushes with death could want. Unable to come up with a gift to wrap, I decided this year I would give her the gift of service. I had been noticing that her apartment was taking on that suspiciously chaotic look of a hoarder. Because, in fact...she is a hoarder. Every time I mentioned that we needed to clean her apartment she would say, "Oh yes, we do. But I don't want to throw anything away!" So really now, what's the point of that?

One day I stopped by to see her and after knocking on the door I heard her say, "Just a minute," followed immediately by an alarming 'thud.' Next she yelled, "I just fell," and I took off running to find someone who could unlock her apartment. When I entered, she was on the floor but seemed unhurt. I picked her up, put her in her chair, and after a few minutes told her I wanted to see if she could stand. In her crankiest voice she said, "Oh I'm fine."  I insisted she stand up. Then, I told her I needed to see if she could walk. At this she got very irritated and in her best 13-year old smart ass voice said, "There. See. I can walk," while shuffling along, wiggling her butt, and doing a little dance.

She was fine.

The fall made me realize that her apartment had become a danger zone and I could no longer avoid conflict by not cleaning. On the other hand, trying to clean while she insisted I not throw anything away had the potential to make me contemplate pushing her down. Since I would prefer to avoid elder abuse I knew I needed a plan. Fortunately Anna Queen of Planning, was home for summer and concocted a strategy whereby Steve, who basically deserves sainthood, would take Mommie Dearest to lunch and shopping while we stayed behind to clean. Perfect. She'd have to choose between making sure we didn't throw away grocery lists from 2010, junk mail, and crushed packets of saltine crackers, or shopping, which is her favorite activity following flirting. And kissing. Oh, and drinking wine. Whatever.  We had this.

While Steve and my mother dined and shopped, Anna and I cleaned and discarded. We scrubbed, and vacuumed, and organized until finally, tired and dirty, we plugged in a sweet smelling air freshener; our denouement. Moments later Steve and Mommie Dearest returned. I was concerned that she would be upset about all the things we had removed. She didn't even notice. She was so excited about the over sized purse Steve had bought her she could think of nothing else. The purse was way too big for her bony, arthritic shoulders to carry but that didn't matter. She had something new. And something new meant she might not be too old. And not being too old meant she might be able to attract a man. 

A reason to live.

A few days ago I went to see her and asked how she was feeling. A stomach virus had made her ill in the days prior. She said she was bored. The boyfriend thing again. I asked how she was feeling physically. She said she was fine. But bored. No available men. She pointed around the room and said, "Just look at what I have to choose from!"  She proceeded to point to a nearby man, and said, "That one doesn't even have any teeth!" Imagine that, I thought...she does have standards.  Nevertheless, I suggested she stop being mean. Ignoring me, she kept repeating it and finally said, loudly, "Have you ever kissed someone with no teeth??"   No, I assured her, I had not kissed someone without teeth. Maybe someday. But not yet.

It's been a while since Mommie Dearest has had a steady beau. I guess when you're 87 and insist your guy has chompers you limit the field a bit. Regardless, I'm sure there's someone out there for her. Someone to play a very old Rhett to her walker laden Scarlett. It probably won't be long before she crooks her gnarled up little finger with its long, red acrylic nail at some unsuspecting bachelor and nabs him.  Then she can commence flirting. Kissing. Drinking wine.

And living. 

Tiny Tim Goes Shopping

There is nothing my mother enjoys more than shopping.

Well, okay. That's not entirely true. We all know she likes collecting men  But just after collecting men, she likes shopping.  And if she can collect men who will take her shopping...all the better.

Of course she likes her wine too...I'm not sure of the exact order of things, but shopping ranks right up there as something my mother enjoys most in life. Wine. Men. And shopping.

She particularly likes to go shopping at Christmastime. My mother firmly adheres into the notion that Christmas is about the buying and giving of stuff. Every December she calls me and whines that she doesn't get to go shopping and wants to buy presents. And I, who dislikes shopping and holiday crowds, tell her how cold it is and how frenzied the stores are, and negotiate the purchase of gift cards on her behalf, which can be opened on Christmas morning so that she feels she's given a gift and I've avoided having to take her shopping in December. It was a system that was working just fine until Steve entered into the mix. He's such a little Christmas elf.

Every year Steve suggests we take Mommie Dearest shopping, just for the pure joy of getting out in the hustle and bustle with her. Every year I say no. The words pure, joy, and shopping with my mother cannot be formed into a single sentence. This year when he started saying we should take her shopping I responded only slightly less adamantly than I would have if he said we should vacation in North Korea.

NO.

So he tried an different tactic by appealing to Anna's sense of compassion and, less jaded than I, she agreed. They went yesterday, Bob Crachit and Fred, and loaded little Tiny Tim and her walker into the car and took her out into the Christmas decorations, lights, and music. It even snowed all storybook and perfectlike.

Scrooge stayed home and worked.

(Source: Google Images)

They didn't take her out for long or to very many places. She doesn't have the stamina for much. They took her to a Charming Charlie store loaded with costume jewelry, purses, and scarves where she got so excited she developed a  headache, heart palpitations, and lightheadedness.  She had to sit down for a while. Three times. Fortunately she didn't have a stroke. That would have put a damper on the whole storybook outting. Nevertheless, she was thrilled and her Christmas was made. He joy was complete.

All it took was a kind-hearted man and his daughter to put in the effort to take an elderly woman out to do what she loves best. Or second best. Maybe third. Regardless, they lived out the meaning of Christmas. And giving. And sacrifice. They personified what this Christmas business is all about. I can see that now and I've considered what they did.

I'm prepared. Next year when Mommie Dearest calls me complaining that she can't go Christmas shopping I'm pretty sure I know what my answer will be.

Bah Humbug.

I'm gonna need a few more ghostly visits for that one.

Shopping and Smooching

Mommie Dearest turned 85 years-old last week. It was an accomplishment worth celebrating. I mean, for a woman who has had cancer, a bunch of joints replaced, almost every non-vital organ removed, and an entire summer of near death experiences, getting to 85 is a pretty big deal.

Her circle of friends just sort of shrugged though. Eight-five, schmaety-five. She's relatively young compared to the people she lives with.  But to her it felt like a milestone. 

Every month her retirement community throws a fancy birthday dinner which she invited me to attend. I could have gone, but the idea was challenging to say the least. I understand that if I've inherited her genes of longevity I may live and eat among older people one day. For right now, though, I have a bit of trouble eating mushy, tasteless food in a setting that, while decorated in lovely, homey fashion, largely consists of smells and sights that do little to provoke a hearty appetite. 

Not entirely altruistically, I suggested taking her out to lunch instead. She happily accepted my invitation since she enjoys getting away from her retirement home and out in the 'real world.' Anna and I took her to Red Robin, not because of the elegant, fine dining, but because I knew she'd get a free ice-cream sundae, the staff would sing to her, and Parker would be her waiter. All those things would make her happy.

Mommie Dearest isn't a big eater but she found a cup of French onion soup on the menu and that struck her fancy. She ordered an obligatory side salad also. She was able to finish the soup but after a bite or two of salad declared herself far too full to finish. Of course this meant she had to have a 'to-go' box as she couldn't just leave it. What this really means is that the next time I'm at her apartment I'll toss the salad in the trash after it has become fuzzy and colorful.

Not surprisingly though, when her ice cream sundae arrived she smiled coyly through the birthday song and then dug in. Without offering to share a single bite, she finished the entire dish and never missed a beat.

"Never eat more than you can lift." Miss Piggy

Parker suggested that for her 86th birthday, they do keg stands together. She has no idea what a keg stand is (I admit I'm not entirely sure either) even after he explained it to her. She said she wasn't sure how well she could do one...but she was pretty good at smooching. 

Because somehow those two things must relate.

Mommie Dearest may be 85 but I'm pretty sure she still thinks of herself like this.

 

Which can't be all bad, I guess.

Her two favorite things these days seem to be smooching and shopping. I don't really want to be around for either but the least painful seemed to be shopping. I offered to take her to Target after lunch. 

Her excitement was palpable as she boarded the ride-on cart and threatened the very lives of  shoppers throughout the entire store. A small boy and his father walked by and as she whizzed past them I very seriously told the boy to run for his life. Somehow the fact that I was joking escaped them and they both looked at me as though I was the crazy one. We never saw them again. I suspect dad whisked the child off to safer establishments.

Mommie Dearest immediately made a beeline for the clothing department where she scoured the sale racks. At one point she said, "Look, jeans are 50% off!"  I reminded her she doesn't wear jeans.

Details.

By the time we finished the shopping trip, Anna had started to look like a jonesing drug addict and I was thinking of deliberately walking in front of the moving electric cart. 

My mother, however, was nothing short of ecstatic. True, I hadn't found her a smooching partner but I had provided her with the joy of finding sale items to enhance her appearance while she man hunts. 

In fact, Mommie Dearest was so happy she forgot to mention how bad my hair looked or how much weight she thinks I've gained. 

I guess if it brings her that much joy I can take her again. 

For her next 85th birthday.