I really don’t think I was a difficult child. I don’t remember that I was. I recall being a compliant, timid, rather fearful child but I suspect that came from the unpredictable atmosphere of our home. I don’t remember getting into trouble very much. I mean there was the occasional fight with a friend. I stole an Oscar Meyer Weenie Mobile charm once. Okay, and I made a boy cry by saying mean things about his mother. I didn’t know his mother. But I could imagine.
Regardless, as compared with my peer group I don’t think I was really all that bad.
Somehow it seems like I’m being punished for being a bad child. What other explanation can there be for having to deal with my mother?
For weeks my mother has badgered me about taking her to the doctor. When I asked why she needed to go she didn’t have a definitive answer. She just thought she should. Now, I understand the value in an annual physical exam but since she had just been to the doctor four months ago, I wasn’t sure why she needed to go again.
She really, really likes going to the doctor. Why she really, really likes this, I am not sure. But she does. Except she doesn’t like going to the doctor here in Colorado as much as she liked going to the doctor in Michigan. When I asked why, she said the doctor in Michigan held her hand. Um, okay. Now if my doctor were to hold my hand I’d probably miss everything being said because I’d be thinking, “Why the hell are you holding my hand???!!” But, hey, we all have our quirks.
I am not really sure why illness is so important to my mother but I suspect it always has been. When we were growing up, no one in my family was allowed to get sick. Except my mother. No one was allowed to show emotion either but that is a different therapy session altogether. She was frequently in bed and ill, even if it wasn’t readily apparent what she had. We weren’t deemed sick unless we vomited or had a fever. Preferably both. Even then my mother was so inconvenienced by it that we considered just going to school with a bucket and a wet cloth.
Somehow being ill has served a purpose in her life. Recently she has been telling me that the doctor here doesn’t do blood work often enough. Without a reasonable cause I can’t imagine why anyone would need a blood draw more than once a year but my mother maintains that she needs her blood tested every two or three months. To look for what? She doesn’t know. She just thinks it should happen.
Nothing weird about that.
Anyway, after several conversations, phone calls, emails and unrelenting demands to see the doctor I agreed to take her. I called her to tell her what time I’d pick her up for her appointment and she told me she was sick. Eureka! A trip to the doctor when you are actually ill! To me it seemed like quite a boon!
When I arrived at her apartment, however, she informed me that she was too sick to go to the doctor. Yep, that is what she said. Too sick to go to the doctor.
And that was that.
I called the doctor’s office to inform them that I was cancelling my mother’s appointment because she was too sick to go to the doctor. We’d have to make another appointment. Let’s hope she isn’t too well next time. Fortunately the receptionist laughed with me, at the absurdity of the situation.
So, I’d like to just say, for the record, that I’m really very sorry to whateverhisnamewas for making him cry. I’m sure his mother wasn’t all those things I said she was. I think I got her confused with MY mother. And if he could just forgive me now I’d sure appreciate it.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Random Acts of Kindness
A few weeks ago I wrote of my encounter with an ugly spirited man. I was disheartened by the man’s lack of grace and his need to verbally attack me. But, in the last two weeks I have been remind that there are many simple examples of grace and kindness and I have been abundantly blessed by several ‘Good Samaritans.’
For whatever reason, these stories all revolve around vehicles. Which is interesting, sort of, because if I had my way I’d never drive anywhere. I don’t, however, live in a community that is conducive to non-motorized mobility so I have to drive.
Recently Anna and I inherited a Ford Ranger that had originally been owned by Charles and then driven by Steve. But, because it is big and sturdy and 4-wheel drive and Anna is getting her license soon, Steve wanted Anna and me to drive it. We decided to ‘pimp’ our ride and make it a little more girly so we bought a flowered steering wheel cover and cute floor mats. It was a bit too unkempt inside for our taste so I splurged twenty-bucks and went to the Auto Spa to have it cleaned inside and out. While waiting for the young man who was cleaning the interior to finish the job, I noticed him pulling the door handles of the closed truck. The doors were locked. It was amusing to watch other employees attempt to open the doors and then walk away chuckling to themselves. Eventually a manager came in and said ‘his guy’ had locked the keys in the truck and did I have a spare key? No. I didn’t. He asked if he could give me a ride to my house to get a key. I explained that I only had one key. The one locked in the truck.
After profuse apologies the only thing he could think to do was call a locksmith. But that would take time. He offered to take me somewhere if I needed him to. I said I could wait. Anna was with me and we weren’t in any hurry. We watched as various employees of the Auto Spa tried a number of creative, albeit unsuccessful, attempts to unlock the truck. A few minutes later, though, I watched in wonderment as a man who had also gotten his car cleaned, lifted his teeny-tiny little daughter into the bed of the truck. There is a little sliding window in the rear of the cab and he instructed his daughter to climb through the window and push the power lock button. She followed instructions perfectly and the truck was unlocked! He got in his car and almost drove away before I could run out to thank him. I gushed and gushed over the little girl proclaiming her ‘hero’ of the situation and she blushed proudly. They drove away and the cleaning crew finished my truck and threw in cleaning the tires for free! Not that I really felt the need to have clean tires. But the gesture was kind and thoughtful. The man could have just driven away with his daughter without helping. He didn’t. He took the few extra moments to help and as a consequence the Auto Spa didn’t have to pay for a locksmith and I didn’t have to sit around waiting for an hour. The gesture was small but uplifting.
Take that Ugly Van Man!
Meanwhile Parker has been having constant car problems. Besides mechanical difficulties of an unknown origin, he slid on a patch of ice in a recent snowstorm and slammed into a curb causing damages that cost him a considerable sum of money to repair. For most of this year his car has been in repair mode and as a college student he is often living on a shoestring. Last week a man from our church walked up to Parker and handed him $100 toward his car repair. Just like that. Parker didn’t ask. In fact, Parker hadn’t even really mentioned the repairs. The incident on ice had occurred just as he was getting to church one Sunday morning and he arrived a bit rattled but other than that he hadn’t made a big deal of it. He was surprised at the gift and told me later that he planned to pay the man back. I told him that he certainly could offer to do so but that I suspected the man would rather Parker ‘pay it forward’ by doing something kind for someone else. The best payback would be to tell the man how he had ‘paid it forward’ and that his kindness had inspired Parker’s kindness.
Ugly Van Man, who?
Yet another event occurred today that was an act of pure kindness. I took the truck in to get new brakes. I thought it would be a quick errand. It ended up being a much bigger project with much more repair work. While in the garage the mechanic was showing me all the things wrong and all the parts that were worn and needed to be fixed. I had no idea what he was saying but I shook my head and pretended to know what he was talking about. When he finished I jokingly said, “Are you just telling me all this stuff needs to be fixed because I’m a woman? Because I know about cars. I’ve poured Coke on the battery posts before.” He didn’t exactly know I was joking and assured me he wasn’t taking advantage of me. I went back into the waiting area and an older man who had also been in the garage came in and told me that he had listened to what they were telling me and he believed that they were being honest with me. Apparently nobody got that I was joking. I told the mechanics to go ahead and do the work even though the cost had gone up by $500! I asked how long it would take because my one hour estimate had been totally unrealistic and I needed to get Anna at school in a few minutes. They said it would take a couple of hours. The same man immediately stepped up and said he would give me a ride to get Anna. I declined because the school wasn’t close by but he said he was retired, didn’t have anything else on his agenda for the day and would be happy to help me. And it would, indeed help me. So, I said yes.
As we drove I thanked him and he told me the story of his neighbor who is a very busy professional but who always makes time for kind gestures toward others. He said he wanted to be like that man ‘when he grew up’ and looked for opportunities to extend kindness whenever he could. Yes, Anna thought it a bit peculiar when I showed up at school with a strange man in a strange car. And yes, Parker did call me later to ensure I wasn’t tied up in the back of a windowless van but I assured both of them that felt perfectly safe and would not have accepted a ride if I’d had even a moment of concern.
I hadn’t really lost my faith in humanity after the Ugly Van Man incident but I did feel discouraged by his rudeness. The events of the past couple of weeks have reminded that there are kind souls everywhere and there is much to recommend the idea that our kindness not only encourages others but is forwarded and encourages others which is forwarded and encourages others….
Mother Teresa said, “God loves the world through us.”
She was right.
For whatever reason, these stories all revolve around vehicles. Which is interesting, sort of, because if I had my way I’d never drive anywhere. I don’t, however, live in a community that is conducive to non-motorized mobility so I have to drive.
Recently Anna and I inherited a Ford Ranger that had originally been owned by Charles and then driven by Steve. But, because it is big and sturdy and 4-wheel drive and Anna is getting her license soon, Steve wanted Anna and me to drive it. We decided to ‘pimp’ our ride and make it a little more girly so we bought a flowered steering wheel cover and cute floor mats. It was a bit too unkempt inside for our taste so I splurged twenty-bucks and went to the Auto Spa to have it cleaned inside and out. While waiting for the young man who was cleaning the interior to finish the job, I noticed him pulling the door handles of the closed truck. The doors were locked. It was amusing to watch other employees attempt to open the doors and then walk away chuckling to themselves. Eventually a manager came in and said ‘his guy’ had locked the keys in the truck and did I have a spare key? No. I didn’t. He asked if he could give me a ride to my house to get a key. I explained that I only had one key. The one locked in the truck.
After profuse apologies the only thing he could think to do was call a locksmith. But that would take time. He offered to take me somewhere if I needed him to. I said I could wait. Anna was with me and we weren’t in any hurry. We watched as various employees of the Auto Spa tried a number of creative, albeit unsuccessful, attempts to unlock the truck. A few minutes later, though, I watched in wonderment as a man who had also gotten his car cleaned, lifted his teeny-tiny little daughter into the bed of the truck. There is a little sliding window in the rear of the cab and he instructed his daughter to climb through the window and push the power lock button. She followed instructions perfectly and the truck was unlocked! He got in his car and almost drove away before I could run out to thank him. I gushed and gushed over the little girl proclaiming her ‘hero’ of the situation and she blushed proudly. They drove away and the cleaning crew finished my truck and threw in cleaning the tires for free! Not that I really felt the need to have clean tires. But the gesture was kind and thoughtful. The man could have just driven away with his daughter without helping. He didn’t. He took the few extra moments to help and as a consequence the Auto Spa didn’t have to pay for a locksmith and I didn’t have to sit around waiting for an hour. The gesture was small but uplifting.
Take that Ugly Van Man!
Meanwhile Parker has been having constant car problems. Besides mechanical difficulties of an unknown origin, he slid on a patch of ice in a recent snowstorm and slammed into a curb causing damages that cost him a considerable sum of money to repair. For most of this year his car has been in repair mode and as a college student he is often living on a shoestring. Last week a man from our church walked up to Parker and handed him $100 toward his car repair. Just like that. Parker didn’t ask. In fact, Parker hadn’t even really mentioned the repairs. The incident on ice had occurred just as he was getting to church one Sunday morning and he arrived a bit rattled but other than that he hadn’t made a big deal of it. He was surprised at the gift and told me later that he planned to pay the man back. I told him that he certainly could offer to do so but that I suspected the man would rather Parker ‘pay it forward’ by doing something kind for someone else. The best payback would be to tell the man how he had ‘paid it forward’ and that his kindness had inspired Parker’s kindness.
Ugly Van Man, who?
Yet another event occurred today that was an act of pure kindness. I took the truck in to get new brakes. I thought it would be a quick errand. It ended up being a much bigger project with much more repair work. While in the garage the mechanic was showing me all the things wrong and all the parts that were worn and needed to be fixed. I had no idea what he was saying but I shook my head and pretended to know what he was talking about. When he finished I jokingly said, “Are you just telling me all this stuff needs to be fixed because I’m a woman? Because I know about cars. I’ve poured Coke on the battery posts before.” He didn’t exactly know I was joking and assured me he wasn’t taking advantage of me. I went back into the waiting area and an older man who had also been in the garage came in and told me that he had listened to what they were telling me and he believed that they were being honest with me. Apparently nobody got that I was joking. I told the mechanics to go ahead and do the work even though the cost had gone up by $500! I asked how long it would take because my one hour estimate had been totally unrealistic and I needed to get Anna at school in a few minutes. They said it would take a couple of hours. The same man immediately stepped up and said he would give me a ride to get Anna. I declined because the school wasn’t close by but he said he was retired, didn’t have anything else on his agenda for the day and would be happy to help me. And it would, indeed help me. So, I said yes.
As we drove I thanked him and he told me the story of his neighbor who is a very busy professional but who always makes time for kind gestures toward others. He said he wanted to be like that man ‘when he grew up’ and looked for opportunities to extend kindness whenever he could. Yes, Anna thought it a bit peculiar when I showed up at school with a strange man in a strange car. And yes, Parker did call me later to ensure I wasn’t tied up in the back of a windowless van but I assured both of them that felt perfectly safe and would not have accepted a ride if I’d had even a moment of concern.
I hadn’t really lost my faith in humanity after the Ugly Van Man incident but I did feel discouraged by his rudeness. The events of the past couple of weeks have reminded that there are kind souls everywhere and there is much to recommend the idea that our kindness not only encourages others but is forwarded and encourages others which is forwarded and encourages others….
Mother Teresa said, “God loves the world through us.”
She was right.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
365 Days of Possibility
Okay, so it seems a little cliché to write a blog entry on January 1. But, I’ve never been one to shy away from a good cliché so, here goes.
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how I live my life and about how I can be sure that the life I’m living is a meaningful one. In recent years I have rather smugly said that I don’t make New Year’s resolutions because New Year’s resolutions seem rather doomed to failure. Why create personal failure on purpose? But, I think for most of us those failures come as a result of creating New Year’s resolutions that don’t really make us better people. I’m not saying that a resolution to lose weight or eat better or exercise more is a bad thing, I just don’t think those resolutions are necessarily things that project us toward betterment of our relationships or of improving the world in which we live. Sure, better health can help us with more energy and more confidence but the motivation seems lacking when it is all about doing something just for ourselves.
So, I don’t make New Year’s resolutions to lose weight because I’ll probably have failed at that resolution by January 3rd or 4th.
But I realize that whether I call them New Year’s resolutions or not, I do tend to view the beginning of a new year as something of a blank canvas upon which to paint a prettier life picture.
A while back I was on a walk and thinking about my life which in any given day can seem like the most wonderful gift full of freedom and joy in one minute and aimleslessness and lack of purpose in the next. I recognize that if I could rewind my life and play it back I wouldn’t change anything so my restlesslessness about not having enough life purpose seems moot. But, I have many days, regardless, that feel like they are filled with activity but not activity that really matters.
Years ago I gave up a good career to stay home with my children. I knew there was tremendous potential for a lucrative career but I wanted to be intimately connected with my children and something in me knew that the years would fly by more quickly than I wanted them to and I intended to spend as much time as I could in the company of the people I loved. So, I gave up the income and the prestige and the potential and chose instead to invest heavily in the lives of my children. I wouldn’t change a thing. I have amazingly close relationships with my kids and I think I can take at least a little bit of credit for the wonderful people they are and will continue to become.
Now that the job of raising them is almost over I have new horizons for which to aim. But the horizon gets a bit blurry at times. I still have to finish the job of raising my kids. When that is done, what will I do with the rest of my life? How will I live so as to make this world better? I’m not sure of the answers to those questions just yet. I remember reading Jimmy Carter’s book A Remarkable Mother and being inspired by Lillian’s decision to volunteer with the Peace Corp at age 68. Am I a prospective Peace Corp volunteer? I don’t know. I do know that I feel like there is plenty of time for me to do whatever it is I’m supposed to do, even in the last third of my life.
All of this is to say, I won’t be making any New Year’s Resolutions to lose weight in 2011. And I don’t know that I’ll look at January 1, 2012 and know exactly what my life’s purpose is. But I do think I’ll resolve to be more aware in 2011. More aware of how my day-to-day life influences those around me. How my day-to-day life makes my small influence in the world better rather than worse. I am sure there will be days that feel meaningless but in the larger scheme I hope I end 2011 with a greater sense of having done what I could.
Some people will live lives of grand influence. Some will live lives of smaller influence. I’m open to whatever God directs but I know that without a degree of intentionality in how I live my days and without developing a discipline of paying attention to the purpose of my life, it will slip by quickly and quietly and opportunities will be lost.
We all have a purpose. If we fill our days with meaningless activity we will miss our purpose.
So…here’s to 2011 and meaningful days.
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how I live my life and about how I can be sure that the life I’m living is a meaningful one. In recent years I have rather smugly said that I don’t make New Year’s resolutions because New Year’s resolutions seem rather doomed to failure. Why create personal failure on purpose? But, I think for most of us those failures come as a result of creating New Year’s resolutions that don’t really make us better people. I’m not saying that a resolution to lose weight or eat better or exercise more is a bad thing, I just don’t think those resolutions are necessarily things that project us toward betterment of our relationships or of improving the world in which we live. Sure, better health can help us with more energy and more confidence but the motivation seems lacking when it is all about doing something just for ourselves.
So, I don’t make New Year’s resolutions to lose weight because I’ll probably have failed at that resolution by January 3rd or 4th.
But I realize that whether I call them New Year’s resolutions or not, I do tend to view the beginning of a new year as something of a blank canvas upon which to paint a prettier life picture.
A while back I was on a walk and thinking about my life which in any given day can seem like the most wonderful gift full of freedom and joy in one minute and aimleslessness and lack of purpose in the next. I recognize that if I could rewind my life and play it back I wouldn’t change anything so my restlesslessness about not having enough life purpose seems moot. But, I have many days, regardless, that feel like they are filled with activity but not activity that really matters.
Years ago I gave up a good career to stay home with my children. I knew there was tremendous potential for a lucrative career but I wanted to be intimately connected with my children and something in me knew that the years would fly by more quickly than I wanted them to and I intended to spend as much time as I could in the company of the people I loved. So, I gave up the income and the prestige and the potential and chose instead to invest heavily in the lives of my children. I wouldn’t change a thing. I have amazingly close relationships with my kids and I think I can take at least a little bit of credit for the wonderful people they are and will continue to become.
Now that the job of raising them is almost over I have new horizons for which to aim. But the horizon gets a bit blurry at times. I still have to finish the job of raising my kids. When that is done, what will I do with the rest of my life? How will I live so as to make this world better? I’m not sure of the answers to those questions just yet. I remember reading Jimmy Carter’s book A Remarkable Mother and being inspired by Lillian’s decision to volunteer with the Peace Corp at age 68. Am I a prospective Peace Corp volunteer? I don’t know. I do know that I feel like there is plenty of time for me to do whatever it is I’m supposed to do, even in the last third of my life.
All of this is to say, I won’t be making any New Year’s Resolutions to lose weight in 2011. And I don’t know that I’ll look at January 1, 2012 and know exactly what my life’s purpose is. But I do think I’ll resolve to be more aware in 2011. More aware of how my day-to-day life influences those around me. How my day-to-day life makes my small influence in the world better rather than worse. I am sure there will be days that feel meaningless but in the larger scheme I hope I end 2011 with a greater sense of having done what I could.
Some people will live lives of grand influence. Some will live lives of smaller influence. I’m open to whatever God directs but I know that without a degree of intentionality in how I live my days and without developing a discipline of paying attention to the purpose of my life, it will slip by quickly and quietly and opportunities will be lost.
We all have a purpose. If we fill our days with meaningless activity we will miss our purpose.
So…here’s to 2011 and meaningful days.
Friday, December 17, 2010
It's A Wonderful Life...
Yesterday was one of my favorite days of the year. The day my children and I go to the mall to see Santa. We’ve done it every year and the funny thing is that I, being rather frugal (okay cheap) never bought the ‘photo’ with Santa until Charles turned 18. For some reason I thought that year would be the last time that he’d go along with it all. Turns out, I was wrong. Our tradition is going strong and this year at ages 22, 20 and 15 they all sat on Santa’s lap, told him what they wanted for Christmas and got their picture taken.
And my soul is happy.
As a homeschooling family years ago, we’d choose a date that we thought would net the smallest crowds for setting out to shop for daddy, see Santa and go out for lunch. As the kids grew older and situations changed we’d always reserve one day for our annual outing. Now we adjust around work schedules, college finals and high school but we nevertheless always find a day to spend together. And we always go out for lunch, shop for Steve and see Santa.
A couple of years ago we went to Target to shop for Steve. He is a little nerdy at times. But hey, who doesn’t love a nerd? He likes little gadgets and quirky flashlights and things. Our favorite one to mock him over is the little ‘over the ear’ flashlight that looks like it wants to be a Bluetooth headset when it grows up. Anyway, somehow we ended up in the isle with all sorts of just the types of gadgets the kids mercilessly tease Steve for liking. There was much hooting and laughing as they found the geekiest items possible, each choosing one they thought they could get the most mileage out of. Regaling Steve with the stories of the party we had in the isle at Target was almost as much fun as the actual party in the isle at Target!
So, yesterday we made our annual trip. We had to wait for Parker to finish his last final exam and Anna had to skip a couple of periods of school but we made it to the mall and stopped to see how long we’d have to wait to see Santa. We were told Santa was on a break. If the dude can fly around the whole world in one night does he really need a potty break? Regardless, he was on a break and would be back at 2:15. But, I was told we could get an express pass which would allow us to get in line at 2:00. That seemed odd to me. Couldn’t I stand in line whenever I wanted? Whatever. I got the pass and we headed off to the food court for lunch. Boys to Panda Express. Girls to Paradise Café. We ate our lunch, told stories, laughed and had a wonderful time. When we finished we headed out to see our guy, Santa!
When we got to Santa’s village the line was short and we were greeted by a cute young man in Lederhosen. Charles had been complaining earlier that he didn’t like his current job and I suggested that he apply for a job as one of Santa’s helpers and he too could wear Lederhosen. He didn’t find me helpful. But as we were standing in line one of the helpers came up and told me that I needed to go to the elf desk and get an express pass. I said I already had one. He asked for what time. I handed it to him and said 2:00. He looked at it and said we were late. So, I told him we were having lunch at 2:00 and then I added, “You’re a cocky little elf, aren’t you?”
Being somewhat used to unpredictable and inappropriate things coming out of my mouth, my children began to laugh. Elf man didn’t seem all that amused but he did smile and pretended to find me funny. He walked away and the kids began to make up scenarios in which we never get to the front of the line to see Santa because the Lederhosen police always find a way to let others go in front of us as punishment for my bad behavior.
In reality, the wait to see Santa was relatively short. When we reached the front I asked the cocky little elf if he realized I was only joking. He assured me he knew I was joking and that what I said was far and away much less offensive than what some parents had said to him who were not joking! That made me feel sorry for him so I asked him if I could have my picture taken with him. We posed for the photo and I invited his Lederhosen look-alike to pose with us. He then asked if the photo would show up on Facebook. I said yes and asked if he wanted to sign a waiver. He said no and he was pretty sure he was already all over Facebook. In Lederhosen. That made me feel sorry for him all over again. I was hoping his photo was with small children and not a lot of cougars who have a thing for young men in Bavarian dress.
It seemed a humbling job.
Anyway, the kids went in to sit on Santa’s lap and Santa was a jokester and told Charles a political joke. We had some fun banter with Old St. Nick and then went on our merry way. We did a little shopping before ending our day of fun.
I love that my children make that day together a priority. I love that they cheerfully oblige me by sitting on Santa’s lap. I love that when one of Charles’s friends asked him what he was doing that day he told him he was going to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap. I love his friend’s response even more! “Dude, really?” I love the photo that results from our outing and I love the memories made each year. I love the laughter. I love the relationships. I love my children. That one day per year is the best gift I can ever hope to have.
I hope the cocky Lederhosen clad elf man/boy’s mother is as blessed as I.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
God Bless Us Everyone...Even You Ugly Van Man
I had an interesting experience today. Not one I have ever had before and I can honestly say it is not one I’d like to have again! If I believed in karma, I’d have to assume I’ve been doing some bad stuff! As it was, I think I was just a normal human with a lot on my mind who made an error and encountered someone who seemed to be having a bad day.
Or maybe a bad life.
I spent an inordinate amount of time on the telephone this morning getting quite a run around regarding my mother’s Medicare and Supplemental insurance. I’ll spare the boring details but it was a somewhat maddening experience and I felt a little like I was in a cycle from which I couldn’t escape. My mother’s well being was hanging in the balance and given her cognitive abilities these days I simply couldn’t ask her to take care of her own business. So…I cycled.
I finally got the phone number of someone whom I was assured could help me. I called the woman and left a message asking her to call me at her earliest convenience. I then proceeded to go to my mother’s apartment to pick her up for an appointment. What I found, when I got to her apartment, however, was a very disoriented and ill little old woman. Once again she had failed to take her medications the previous day. She often forgets to take the evening dose which renders her feeling ill the next day but she had not taken a single pill yesterday and she was really unwell today. I began the process of attempting to get her to take her pills, making her toast to get food in her stomach, cancelling her appointment and getting someone from building maintenance to clean the carpet upon which she had vomited.
My attempts were not very successful and it seemed her heart was racing and she was having trouble catching her breath. I contacted the nurse where she lives to see if she would come to my mom’s apartment to assess the seriousness of the situation. Eventually the nurse, Juanita, was more successful than I in getting medication and some food in my mother. I went to the store to get some things she could easily swallow. Once I dropped those things off and felt confident my mom would be okay I left to go pick Anna up at school.
I noticed my fuel light was on telling me it was time to put gas in my car. I was going to make a left turn into the gas station and my phone began to ring. Ordinarily I would ignore my phone while driving but, because I was waiting for the woman to call me back regarding Medicare and I didn’t want to miss it, I checked my phone. I was very distracted as I almost pulled in front of an oncoming car. I stopped and waited for other cars to pass and a young man in an ugly old van behind me honked impatiently. Undaunted by his impatience I waited until I thought it was safe but then the light turned so I waited longer. This did not endear me to Ugly Van Man. Nor did it endear me to the woman on the corner waiting to cross the street with a small child and another in a stroller. Because it was a beautiful, sunny, warm day I had my window down and she began to yell at me for blocking the crosswalk. I was sorry that I blocked it but Ugly Van Man was right on my rear bumper making it impossible for me to back up.
The light turned green and I proceeded to make the left turn and go into the gas station. The man in the van (it had curtains, this should have been a tip off) followed me and when I pulled up to the gas pump he pulled up beside me and yelled out his window, “You are a stupid, fucking, bitch, aren’t you?”
I am guessing this was a rhetorical question as he didn't wait for my answer.
He drove away and I got out and put fuel in my car. As I left the station I noticed the same, rather distinctive, van parked in the parking lot. I drove to a parking spot a couple of isles over and searched frantically for a piece of paper. I couldn’t find anything that didn’t have my name or address on it and I thought it would be a bad idea to write this man with a rather ugly temper a note on paper revealing my identity. I’m brave but not that brave. And contrary to what he thought, I am not stupid!
Eventually I found a blank envelope and I jotted a quick note to the impatient man with the ugly van. I said that I realized I had made an error in judgment at the light and had inconvenienced him. I added that I hope when he made a mistake that others would be less harsh in criticizing him. I concluded by suggesting that we could all work toward making the world a better place by being kinder and less judgmental. And certainly less vile...but I didn't add that part.
Just as I finished the note and was about to exit my car to go put it on his windshield, I looked up and noticed that the van was moving! Darn it! I followed him for a good bit, hoping for the opportunity to address him or give him my hastily crafted note but he kept turning in directions that took me in the exact opposite direction that I needed to go. And it was getting late.
I abandoned my mission to try and kindly admonish Ugly Van Man and went on my way. But, because I couldn’t address him, I opted to address anyone who might read this blog.
I don’t claim that my driving skills today were stellar. I don’t claim that what I did should not have evoked some frustration on the part of others. But really, following me to be insulting? Not only does that go beyond lacking class…it certainly doesn’t do anything to make this world a better place. So he had to wait an extra 120 seconds to make the left turn. In the grand scheme of things, does that really matter?
The incidents of my day didn’t constitute a crisis, merely a distraction. I don’t advocate driving while distracted but there are times when it is difficult to avoid. How did yelling obscenities at me help Ugly Van Man? Did it really make him feel better to behave in such a vitriolic manner? No, I didn’t take his hateful words to heart. I didn’t internalize his nasty message. But I did think it was terribly sad that he was so selfish that he couldn’t just let my error pass. I’m willing to bet he has made a mistake before too.
Kindness really isn’t so hard. Overlooking the faults of others just isn’t that difficult. If I am going to criticize you for your mistakes then I need to acknowledge that I make them too. We can all try to be just a little kinder. Can’t we?
Grace and peace to you, Ugly Van Man.
Or maybe a bad life.
I spent an inordinate amount of time on the telephone this morning getting quite a run around regarding my mother’s Medicare and Supplemental insurance. I’ll spare the boring details but it was a somewhat maddening experience and I felt a little like I was in a cycle from which I couldn’t escape. My mother’s well being was hanging in the balance and given her cognitive abilities these days I simply couldn’t ask her to take care of her own business. So…I cycled.
I finally got the phone number of someone whom I was assured could help me. I called the woman and left a message asking her to call me at her earliest convenience. I then proceeded to go to my mother’s apartment to pick her up for an appointment. What I found, when I got to her apartment, however, was a very disoriented and ill little old woman. Once again she had failed to take her medications the previous day. She often forgets to take the evening dose which renders her feeling ill the next day but she had not taken a single pill yesterday and she was really unwell today. I began the process of attempting to get her to take her pills, making her toast to get food in her stomach, cancelling her appointment and getting someone from building maintenance to clean the carpet upon which she had vomited.
My attempts were not very successful and it seemed her heart was racing and she was having trouble catching her breath. I contacted the nurse where she lives to see if she would come to my mom’s apartment to assess the seriousness of the situation. Eventually the nurse, Juanita, was more successful than I in getting medication and some food in my mother. I went to the store to get some things she could easily swallow. Once I dropped those things off and felt confident my mom would be okay I left to go pick Anna up at school.
I noticed my fuel light was on telling me it was time to put gas in my car. I was going to make a left turn into the gas station and my phone began to ring. Ordinarily I would ignore my phone while driving but, because I was waiting for the woman to call me back regarding Medicare and I didn’t want to miss it, I checked my phone. I was very distracted as I almost pulled in front of an oncoming car. I stopped and waited for other cars to pass and a young man in an ugly old van behind me honked impatiently. Undaunted by his impatience I waited until I thought it was safe but then the light turned so I waited longer. This did not endear me to Ugly Van Man. Nor did it endear me to the woman on the corner waiting to cross the street with a small child and another in a stroller. Because it was a beautiful, sunny, warm day I had my window down and she began to yell at me for blocking the crosswalk. I was sorry that I blocked it but Ugly Van Man was right on my rear bumper making it impossible for me to back up.
The light turned green and I proceeded to make the left turn and go into the gas station. The man in the van (it had curtains, this should have been a tip off) followed me and when I pulled up to the gas pump he pulled up beside me and yelled out his window, “You are a stupid, fucking, bitch, aren’t you?”
I am guessing this was a rhetorical question as he didn't wait for my answer.
He drove away and I got out and put fuel in my car. As I left the station I noticed the same, rather distinctive, van parked in the parking lot. I drove to a parking spot a couple of isles over and searched frantically for a piece of paper. I couldn’t find anything that didn’t have my name or address on it and I thought it would be a bad idea to write this man with a rather ugly temper a note on paper revealing my identity. I’m brave but not that brave. And contrary to what he thought, I am not stupid!
Eventually I found a blank envelope and I jotted a quick note to the impatient man with the ugly van. I said that I realized I had made an error in judgment at the light and had inconvenienced him. I added that I hope when he made a mistake that others would be less harsh in criticizing him. I concluded by suggesting that we could all work toward making the world a better place by being kinder and less judgmental. And certainly less vile...but I didn't add that part.
Just as I finished the note and was about to exit my car to go put it on his windshield, I looked up and noticed that the van was moving! Darn it! I followed him for a good bit, hoping for the opportunity to address him or give him my hastily crafted note but he kept turning in directions that took me in the exact opposite direction that I needed to go. And it was getting late.
I abandoned my mission to try and kindly admonish Ugly Van Man and went on my way. But, because I couldn’t address him, I opted to address anyone who might read this blog.
I don’t claim that my driving skills today were stellar. I don’t claim that what I did should not have evoked some frustration on the part of others. But really, following me to be insulting? Not only does that go beyond lacking class…it certainly doesn’t do anything to make this world a better place. So he had to wait an extra 120 seconds to make the left turn. In the grand scheme of things, does that really matter?
The incidents of my day didn’t constitute a crisis, merely a distraction. I don’t advocate driving while distracted but there are times when it is difficult to avoid. How did yelling obscenities at me help Ugly Van Man? Did it really make him feel better to behave in such a vitriolic manner? No, I didn’t take his hateful words to heart. I didn’t internalize his nasty message. But I did think it was terribly sad that he was so selfish that he couldn’t just let my error pass. I’m willing to bet he has made a mistake before too.
Kindness really isn’t so hard. Overlooking the faults of others just isn’t that difficult. If I am going to criticize you for your mistakes then I need to acknowledge that I make them too. We can all try to be just a little kinder. Can’t we?
Grace and peace to you, Ugly Van Man.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Just Another Manic Monday...
Sometimes I have the sensation that I’m experiencing one of those weird, out of body moments. Not that I have died; just that sanity seems to be eluding me, no matter how hard I try to at least meet it half-way. Such was the case when my friend Shelly and I made a trip to visit our mothers at their retirement community.
Feeling off schedule and a bit restless about my dissertation proposal, I had set some achievable goals for myself in the hopes of breaking a long stretch of little progress. It was one of those ever-optimistic Mondays when all new things are begun; diets, exercise programs, writing plans. But, before I’d been able to settle into work, Shelly called. She had been providing day care for a number of children but on this particular Monday she had only two children to care for and thought it would be fun to take the children, and lunch, to visit our mothers.
I had a momentary hesitation but decided that the proposal could wait one more day. Afterall, which was more important, bringing joy to the elderly or feeling like a hamster in a wheel, cranking away at a paper that never seems to have a conclusion? Turns out…the paper might have been the better choice.
Shelly had some food already prepared so I volunteered to make dessert and we set a time that she would pick me up and we’d be off. I whipped up a batch of brownies and told my dissertation we’d start anew on Tuesday.
This was the same Monday that I received the infamous, “What day is it?” phone call from my mother. Perhaps the phone call should have been a sign, one of those ‘turn back now’ moments so apparent to the reader of a novel but hidden from the naïve protagonist headed straight into a trap.
Thinking it would appease her a bit, I told her of the plans to bring lunch and come for a visit. That most certainly did not fix the fact that it wasn’t Tuesday but sure, she thought a visit would be nice.
Shelly and I arrived with lunch and toddlers and our mothers were at the front door waiting for us. The mothers have lived in the same retirement community for a couple of months and have spoken almost daily. They have dinner together and go on outings together and by appearance, anyway, one would think they are best friends. It seems more likely that they are just perpetually new friends. Upon meeting at the entrance to the building they greeted one another and then Shelly’s mom, Nancy, informed my mother that she was meeting Shelly for lunch, that her friend Sue was coming over and that they would be meeting Sue’s mom as well. My mother informed Nancy that she was, in fact, Sue’s mother. A later recounting of the story…several times…brought gales of laughter from Nancy. Nancy is the poster child for ‘dementia can be fun!’
We had planned to have lunch in the large, sunny atrium but it was decorated for an upcoming event so we chose to move our little party to a small community room. We settled in and had gotten everyone served when a resident walked in, took one look at the two little boys with us and exclaimed, “Oh, you brought the triplets!” Shelly and I exchanged perplexed glances and counted children. Nope, she had only brought two. Before she could respond, however, the woman wandered off. A few minutes later another resident came in and asked Shelly where the third one was. Eventually we were able to put together the pieces of the puzzle. The atrium was decorated for a memorial service and the woman who had died was frequently visited by a woman who must have looked a lot like Shelly and had triplets. Our impromptu party on the day of the memorial service was causing confusion over who was who. Not that confusion of that sort was particularly unusual there anyway.
Upon hearing that a memorial service was on the day’s agenda, Nancy began to make plans for everyone to attend. My mother said she didn’t know the dead woman. That didn’t seem to matter to Nancy and she insisted that Shelly and I and the ‘triplets’ attend. No matter how much any of us said we would not be attending the memorial service, Nancy was adamant that we would all be attending.
The conversation over lunch essentially covered three rotating topics. One, our mandatory attendance at the memorial service. Two, a recent newspaper article about a boy who had been hit by a school bus and lost his legs, complete with Nancy recounting the grisly details of his legs being crushed. And three, the story of Nancy’s inability to remember my mother when they met at the front door earlier.
My mother seemed to be having a miserable time. But, it was Monday, damnit. What could I expect.
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over we circled around the three topics. Nancy insisted that my mother would attend the memorial service. My mother insisted she would not. Nancy insisted that my mother would attend the memorial service. My mother insisted she would not.
In attempt to escape the conversational loop I got out the calendar of events and started asking Nancy which events she’d like to attend. We signed her up for shopping trips and scenic rides and I carefully wrote out each event on a slip of paper in an effort to help her remember. This provided a bit of reprieve from the boy's crushed legs and the upcoming memorial service.
Once we had completed that exercise, my mother quietly muttered, “I guess I’d better go this afternoon.” Her statement caught Nancy’s attention and she exclaimed, “What is happening this afternoon?” An hour and a half of bickering about attending the memorial service and when my mother finally conceded to attending, Nancy couldn’t remember what was taking place.
I didn't think my mother really meant what she said about the service so I walked her back to her apartment so she could rest. As soon as we were out of earshot of the others she wheeled around, glared at me, and snarled, “Don’t you ever bring those little kids over here again.”
I was taken aback by her viscous chastisement although I’m not sure why. Verbal attacks are a way of life with her. Regardless, I wasn’t sure where her disapproval of the children had come from. They were very well behaved amid the revolving conversation, memory loss and general mayhem she and Nancy had caused.
At her apartment, I gave her a hug and said goodbye. Given her general surliness I was sure she’d take a nap as soon as I left. My next stop was Nancy’s apartment where Shelly had gone to say goodbye to her mother. I arrived amid a frantic search for an appropriate sympathy card to take to the memorial service. Unable to find one, Nancy settled on a cheerful birthday card. She’d just cross out the Happy Birthday salutation.
Oh. My. Gosh.
We made our way to the lobby and as we passed by the atrium I noticed a smattering of people gathering for the memorial service. As much as I should not have been surprised by her caustic remark about the children, I should also not have been surprised by my mother having taken a front row seat at the memorial service she had insisted she would not attend.
The words to Manic Monday suddenly came to mind….
Feeling off schedule and a bit restless about my dissertation proposal, I had set some achievable goals for myself in the hopes of breaking a long stretch of little progress. It was one of those ever-optimistic Mondays when all new things are begun; diets, exercise programs, writing plans. But, before I’d been able to settle into work, Shelly called. She had been providing day care for a number of children but on this particular Monday she had only two children to care for and thought it would be fun to take the children, and lunch, to visit our mothers.
I had a momentary hesitation but decided that the proposal could wait one more day. Afterall, which was more important, bringing joy to the elderly or feeling like a hamster in a wheel, cranking away at a paper that never seems to have a conclusion? Turns out…the paper might have been the better choice.
Shelly had some food already prepared so I volunteered to make dessert and we set a time that she would pick me up and we’d be off. I whipped up a batch of brownies and told my dissertation we’d start anew on Tuesday.
This was the same Monday that I received the infamous, “What day is it?” phone call from my mother. Perhaps the phone call should have been a sign, one of those ‘turn back now’ moments so apparent to the reader of a novel but hidden from the naïve protagonist headed straight into a trap.
Thinking it would appease her a bit, I told her of the plans to bring lunch and come for a visit. That most certainly did not fix the fact that it wasn’t Tuesday but sure, she thought a visit would be nice.
Shelly and I arrived with lunch and toddlers and our mothers were at the front door waiting for us. The mothers have lived in the same retirement community for a couple of months and have spoken almost daily. They have dinner together and go on outings together and by appearance, anyway, one would think they are best friends. It seems more likely that they are just perpetually new friends. Upon meeting at the entrance to the building they greeted one another and then Shelly’s mom, Nancy, informed my mother that she was meeting Shelly for lunch, that her friend Sue was coming over and that they would be meeting Sue’s mom as well. My mother informed Nancy that she was, in fact, Sue’s mother. A later recounting of the story…several times…brought gales of laughter from Nancy. Nancy is the poster child for ‘dementia can be fun!’
We had planned to have lunch in the large, sunny atrium but it was decorated for an upcoming event so we chose to move our little party to a small community room. We settled in and had gotten everyone served when a resident walked in, took one look at the two little boys with us and exclaimed, “Oh, you brought the triplets!” Shelly and I exchanged perplexed glances and counted children. Nope, she had only brought two. Before she could respond, however, the woman wandered off. A few minutes later another resident came in and asked Shelly where the third one was. Eventually we were able to put together the pieces of the puzzle. The atrium was decorated for a memorial service and the woman who had died was frequently visited by a woman who must have looked a lot like Shelly and had triplets. Our impromptu party on the day of the memorial service was causing confusion over who was who. Not that confusion of that sort was particularly unusual there anyway.
Upon hearing that a memorial service was on the day’s agenda, Nancy began to make plans for everyone to attend. My mother said she didn’t know the dead woman. That didn’t seem to matter to Nancy and she insisted that Shelly and I and the ‘triplets’ attend. No matter how much any of us said we would not be attending the memorial service, Nancy was adamant that we would all be attending.
The conversation over lunch essentially covered three rotating topics. One, our mandatory attendance at the memorial service. Two, a recent newspaper article about a boy who had been hit by a school bus and lost his legs, complete with Nancy recounting the grisly details of his legs being crushed. And three, the story of Nancy’s inability to remember my mother when they met at the front door earlier.
My mother seemed to be having a miserable time. But, it was Monday, damnit. What could I expect.
Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over we circled around the three topics. Nancy insisted that my mother would attend the memorial service. My mother insisted she would not. Nancy insisted that my mother would attend the memorial service. My mother insisted she would not.
In attempt to escape the conversational loop I got out the calendar of events and started asking Nancy which events she’d like to attend. We signed her up for shopping trips and scenic rides and I carefully wrote out each event on a slip of paper in an effort to help her remember. This provided a bit of reprieve from the boy's crushed legs and the upcoming memorial service.
Once we had completed that exercise, my mother quietly muttered, “I guess I’d better go this afternoon.” Her statement caught Nancy’s attention and she exclaimed, “What is happening this afternoon?” An hour and a half of bickering about attending the memorial service and when my mother finally conceded to attending, Nancy couldn’t remember what was taking place.
I didn't think my mother really meant what she said about the service so I walked her back to her apartment so she could rest. As soon as we were out of earshot of the others she wheeled around, glared at me, and snarled, “Don’t you ever bring those little kids over here again.”
I was taken aback by her viscous chastisement although I’m not sure why. Verbal attacks are a way of life with her. Regardless, I wasn’t sure where her disapproval of the children had come from. They were very well behaved amid the revolving conversation, memory loss and general mayhem she and Nancy had caused.
At her apartment, I gave her a hug and said goodbye. Given her general surliness I was sure she’d take a nap as soon as I left. My next stop was Nancy’s apartment where Shelly had gone to say goodbye to her mother. I arrived amid a frantic search for an appropriate sympathy card to take to the memorial service. Unable to find one, Nancy settled on a cheerful birthday card. She’d just cross out the Happy Birthday salutation.
Oh. My. Gosh.
We made our way to the lobby and as we passed by the atrium I noticed a smattering of people gathering for the memorial service. As much as I should not have been surprised by her caustic remark about the children, I should also not have been surprised by my mother having taken a front row seat at the memorial service she had insisted she would not attend.
The words to Manic Monday suddenly came to mind….
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
I'm Only Human...Really!
This really happened to me. Sometimes having my mother nearby is a source of bemusement. Such is the case with this story.
My mother called and left a message on my phone asking me what day it was. It was Monday but she was just sure when she awoke it was Tuesday. I had committed to taking her to a nail appointment on Tuesday and she got up and dressed for the ‘outing’ to get her nails done. Her neighbor stopped by, as she does every morning, and in the course of their conversation informed my mother that it was Monday, not Tuesday.
Hence the call to me for verification.
I returned my mother’s call and told her that it was, in fact, Monday.
“It is?” she questioned.
I affirmed that it was Monday. She went on to question my answer and became irate with me and said she had gotten up and was all ready for me to pick her up for her nail appointment.
There was little to respond with so I simply said, “okay.” This seemed to agitate her even more and she insisted that she was ready for the nail appointment. Now!
I reminded her that just because she wanted it to be Tuesday didn’t mean that it was really Tuesday! She became increasingly angry with me and ended the conversation with, “Well, I’m in my nice clothes now and I’m NOT changing.”
So there.
That ought to teach me to tell her it is Monday when she wants it to be Tuesday!
I’m certain a number of different emotions played into her response to me. Pride, disappointment and embarrassment come to mind first. I tried to laugh it off for her sake. I figured if we made a joke out of it she could more easily let it go. She wasn’t all that responsive to the humor but at least it put an end to her tirade.
I know she can’t help it when she gets confused but there is something comical about her anger at me. Sure, I like to think of myself as a Goddess now and then. But control of the earth’s rotation is just slightly out of my realm.
But if it snows when she doesn’t want it to…I’m in BIG trouble!
My mother called and left a message on my phone asking me what day it was. It was Monday but she was just sure when she awoke it was Tuesday. I had committed to taking her to a nail appointment on Tuesday and she got up and dressed for the ‘outing’ to get her nails done. Her neighbor stopped by, as she does every morning, and in the course of their conversation informed my mother that it was Monday, not Tuesday.
Hence the call to me for verification.
I returned my mother’s call and told her that it was, in fact, Monday.
“It is?” she questioned.
I affirmed that it was Monday. She went on to question my answer and became irate with me and said she had gotten up and was all ready for me to pick her up for her nail appointment.
There was little to respond with so I simply said, “okay.” This seemed to agitate her even more and she insisted that she was ready for the nail appointment. Now!
I reminded her that just because she wanted it to be Tuesday didn’t mean that it was really Tuesday! She became increasingly angry with me and ended the conversation with, “Well, I’m in my nice clothes now and I’m NOT changing.”
So there.
That ought to teach me to tell her it is Monday when she wants it to be Tuesday!
I’m certain a number of different emotions played into her response to me. Pride, disappointment and embarrassment come to mind first. I tried to laugh it off for her sake. I figured if we made a joke out of it she could more easily let it go. She wasn’t all that responsive to the humor but at least it put an end to her tirade.
I know she can’t help it when she gets confused but there is something comical about her anger at me. Sure, I like to think of myself as a Goddess now and then. But control of the earth’s rotation is just slightly out of my realm.
But if it snows when she doesn’t want it to…I’m in BIG trouble!
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