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….

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!

Martini the Monk Cat

I recently met Al, a resident at the retirement village where my mother lives. Al is pleasant, if a little vague. I’m never quite certain he’s attending to the conversation at hand. He does seem focused when he tells me I’m pretty but at other times I’m not sure he is completely engaged. His vagueness isn’t so bad, really. The biggest problem with Al is that regardless of the clarity of his conversation, once he starts talking there doesn’t seem to be an off button. Recently, Al told me the story of his cat, Martini. He was entirely present in this conversation. I admit, I was equally as enthralled.

Al has a companion cat whom he loves. I haven’t actually seen Martini myself. Not that Al hasn’t invited me to his apartment to see Martini. He has. But, I have been warned by staff members that Al invites everyone to his room to see Martini and it doesn’t take long before he is also showing off his vibrating bed and inviting whomever is present; other residents, staff, visitors, to try out the bed with him. Somebody really ought to be monitoring the Viagra use in that place! Anyway, I have declined invitations to meet Martini personally but that hasn’t kept Al from telling me all about Martini’s interesting, if just a little suspect, life.

According to Al, Martini is a Himalayan. He is also the smartest cat alive. Apparently Martini has a keen sensibility regarding human nature and, upon meeting someone, will sit across the room and size up the individual. Before he engages in any interaction, Martini observes to see just what he is dealing with. If he likes you, he’ll allow you to pet him. If he doesn’t, he keeps his distance. Now, as a cat person, I’ve got to say, that just doesn’t sound all that unusual. Nor overly intelligent.

But, Martini also knows how to communicate what he needs and wants through some sort of telepathic mind meld or something. Al says that Martini never makes a sound. Never meows. Never chirps. Never trills. I live in a house with three cats and the idea of a silent cat is rather foreign to me. At least one of them is always chirping, hissing, growling, meowing or purring. They are a noisy bunch! But not Martini. He merely looks deeply into your eyes and communicates. Now, that type of limbic communication is fascinating in its own right but what I found even more interesting is why Martini never vocalizes.

Martini was raised in a monestary.

Well sure. Martini was raised by monks. I mean, who would he talk to?

After my mother and I heard Al’s story of Martini the Monk cat she thought about it for a moment and then asked me why I thought the monks had given Martini up to live with Al.

Personally, I thought the answer was pretty obvious. Martini must have been excommunicated because he broke his vow of silence. Overheard chirping at a bird, Martini was banished from the monastery and sent to be the companion of a slightly loopy, hormonally charged man with a walker and a vibrating bed.

Woe to the monk cat who dares to go astray…

The Little PhD Student Who Could

I hiked my first 14er last week. I’ve been wanting to hike one for some time now but, like most things, moving from desire to action took a while. With a little help from my friend who has hiked a couple of 14,000 foot peaks I was able to do it!

We started hiking while it was raining. I admit the idea of hiking for several hours in the rain did not appeal to me but there I was and if the rain had plans to stick around all day who was I to argue? I figured we’d just make the best of it. As it turned out, it only rained for a few minutes of our hike and then some sun and cloud cover made for the perfect hiking day.

The hike started out easy enough. The trail was on relatively level ground with a few ups and downs but nothing difficult. My friend Tambra and I hiked along and visited and periodically took in the beautiful scenery. Our teenaged companions trucked ahead of us and Ginger the Hiking Dog redoubled her steps by checking in on both groups.

Eventually the terrain started to change and the trail sloped upward rather dramatically. The slight elevation gain we had experienced earlier in the hike began turning into a much more strenuous incline. It was at this point that I broke off from my hiking companions and turned my thoughts inward. Something inside of me clicked. I began channeling my inner mountain goat.

Each step of the climb became more focused. Each resting spot more savored. I became very intentional that my rests allow for adequate re-vivification but not extend too long so that my motivation waned. With each step I became more focused and more inward. And with each step I got closer and closer to the most challenging part of the climb to the summit.

In order to reach the top of Mt. Bierstadt, the hiker must scale a boulder field for about a quarter of a mile. As I grew closer to the boulder field I realized how much the process of completing a PhD mirrored the experience of climbing the mountain. Perhaps it was the thin mountain air that lent itself to my slightly hokey analogy but hokey or not, the motivational effect was profound.

When I first began a doctoral program I was eager, optimistic and full of anticipation. I’d never completed a PhD before, obviously, and knew little of what to expect. I finished coursework with the relative ease I’d always experienced in school and had no idea of what was coming next. As I entered the second phase of the process, writing my dissertation proposal, I found myself much more isolated and the climb to the next step much more arduous. I remain in this step of the process. I find the isolation disconcerting at times and my periods of rest are far too long and disruptive. I know, as I push myself along this path, that the boulder field of my doctoral progress awaits me.

While hiking I began to visualize the ways in which the climb to the top of a 14,000 foot peak could help me finish my goal and graduate. Already through the level ground and about half-way up the middle climb, I saw the middle section of the hike as analogous with the middle section of my doctoral process. On the hike, I reached a patch of snow that marked the beginning of the boulder field. I stopped walking, took a rest, and celebrated both completing that section of the hike and my future successful defense of my dissertation proposal. The patch of snow represented that defense and I basked in the coolness while anticipating the grueling climb over huge boulders that awaited me.

When I felt ready, I stopped at the bottom of the boulder field and looked up. All I could see were the massive rocks in front of me. I couldn’t see the summit nor how far I had to climb to reach it. But, I knew the top…the end of the climb…awaited me. I climbed over a rock. I climbed over another rock. For the remainder of the hike I was no longer walking but literally clambering my way over obstacles until I finally reached the summit. In my visualization I saw the boulder field as the final leg of my dissertation process.

I reached the top of the summit and took in the beauty surrounding me. For as far as I could see there were mountain ranges, one after another growing dimmer in the distance. I understand why lyricists have written about the glory of God being evident from this view. And then, after taking in the splendor of being, literally, on top of the world, I envisioned my future graduation and final completion of my PhD.

I believe in the power of visualization as a motivator. That day on the mountain I knew I could finish what I started both in climbing a 14,000 foot peak and in completing my doctoral dissertation. When I started the hike I simply wanted to accomplish hiking to the top of a 14er but when I completed the hike I felt a renewed sense of my ability to do whatever I set my mind to! Thank you Mt. Bierstadt!

Status Update

Status has always been a big deal to my mother. I guess it must be a lifelong concern because even at 81 she is playing her status cards at every opportunity.

Last weekend the ‘Village’ had a style show. I didn’t plan to attend with my mom but she was looking forward to going. One of my favorite residents, Phil, laughingly told me he was going to attend, but he would be on the second story overlooking the atrium, prepared to spit or catcall, depending on what seemed most inappropriate. He also told the coordinator of the style show to have plenty of duct tape handy. I love Phil.

Anyway, my mom was prepared to attend the style show but at the last minute she was asked to be a model. The store sponsoring the show was Coldwater Creek and my mother was asked to model something from their ‘junior’ department. Okay, so I’ve been in a Coldwater Creek store before and I’m sure they have perfectly nice clothing but I always think I’m simply not old enough to wear those fashions. I’m having trouble envisioning a junior department. Regardless, my mom was asked to participate. Initially she declined the invitation because she can’t walk very well without support of her walker or something to stabilize her balance. She was told, however, that a suitable escort would be found so that she could leave her walker behind. In no time she was donning a pair of red Capri pants and strutting through the atrium with a handsome stud on her arm. She suddenly achieved celebrity status!

Someone from the ‘Village’ staff took photos of her and gave my mom copies. She showed the photos to pretty much everyone in the place. All were impressed. I think she was the only model who merited a hunky guy as an escort, which improved her position considerably.

In addition to being a fashion model, she has started volunteering in the marketing office at the ‘Village.’ She invited a friend to volunteer with her a few days ago but apparently found the other woman’s inability to follow directions frustrating and finally concluding that the other resident simply hadn’t ever worked a day in her life. The first time my mom volunteered she was given a free meal ticket. After working the second time she asked for her free meal ticket and was told that the marketing budget didn’t allow for a meal ticket every time she worked. She was miffed about that and said she didn’t plan to volunteer anymore.

Perhaps we need to review the meaning of the word volunteer. Regardless, I’m sure the status she gets from ‘working’ there will have her back in volunteer mode soon. Not without complaining and griping about the lack of compensation, I am sure, but she’ll be working nonetheless.

Being in a relationship also seems to enhance one’s status in her living environment. I thought a romance was in the works a couple of weeks ago. She seemed to have her sights set on a particular man. She found a way to sit by him, boss him around, receive gifts from him and in general make sure he knew all about her. I thought for sure love was in the air. I expected a visit from Captain Stubing and Julie at any moment. But, it seemed to have ended as quickly as it started. I asked about him the other day and her response was, “Oh, he gets on my nerves.” “Why,” I asked. “He slobbers when he talks,” came her impatient response.

Clearly a deal breaker….status or no status.

She's Having Trouble Getting Acquainted?

The adventure continues…

Things are actually going along much better than I thought they would! Mommie Dearest has now been officially in her apartment for two weeks and, all-in-all, I think it is going great! She, of course, has a different opinion.

She needs a couch so I took her shopping for one. That is a trick. She can’t remember one couch from the other in the time it takes to go from one side of the store to the other. I finally resorted to taking a photo of each couch and writing down the cost and dimensions. It could take months for her to make a decision. In the meantime, without a couch it just doesn't feel like home to her.

There have been a couple of ‘down’ days. One when she forgot to take her medication. Her doctor didn’t seem to think it should affect her but I’m not sure he is right. That will require observation. Another day she was just tired and weepy. She said she didn’t understand why she had two husbands and neither of them stayed alive long enough to take care of her in her old age. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she probably sucked the life right out of them! When her second husband died I told her she could not torture any more men. Lately I’ve been thinking one more could be sacrificed. But, she seems to think all of the men where she is living are too old. My attempts at matchmaking have largely fallen flat. It helps the matchmaking process if those being matched are able to remember one another from one meeting to the next.

Several times she has told me she is having trouble getting acquainted with people. Evidence points to the contrary. When she lived in Michigan she had three friends. She and her three friends forgot they weren’t in junior high, apparently, and would go to the dining room, commandeer ‘their’ table and intimidate others from trying to befriend them or sit with them. They sat at the ‘cool table,’ I guess. Anyway, now that she lives in Colorado she can’t seem to find a ‘cool table’ over which to reign. Recently she has taken to sitting with a group of men who welcome her company and say it is much more fun when she sits with them. Perhaps she can do some of her own matchmaking! Regardless, she tells me…

...she is having trouble getting acquainted.

A few days ago, while having lunch with Mommie Dearest, a woman named Marge told me that my mother seems to be doing great, participating in lots of things and meeting lots of people. This was all happening while my mother was having another conversation with a different woman about how her children had taken her car away and she couldn’t drive anymore and discussing and with yet another woman her hairstyle and the possibility of my mother adopting a similar style. Regardless, she tells me…

…she is having trouble getting acquainted.

Yesterday my siblings and I got an email from Mommie Dearest saying that she was doing volunteer work with the marketing rep at ‘The Village’ stuffing envelopes and affixing address labels in exchange for meal tickets. Today she will be having lunch with prospective residents and telling them all about her experience with moving into Cherry Creek Retirement Village. I’m sure she’ll tell them…

…she is having trouble getting acquainted.

Savoring Summer

June 1 has come and gone. Thus marks the beginning of summer.

I am aware that the ‘official’ start to summer won’t happen for 20 more days but for me summer is now fully up and running. It happens to be my favorite season.

Its favorite status might be a throwback to the years when I was home schooling my children and summer marked a carefree time when the only requirements for the day were getting up in the morning and playing late into the night.

But being my favorite season could go all the way back to my childhood. I loved summer because it meant no school. Even in college, although I worked in the summer, there was a definite marking of time when school was out and summer was in.

Regardless, summer, as with every season, is nature's way of reminding us that time marches on.

In my early adult years I relocated from Michigan to Southern California and that was the first time I noticed that seasonal changes held within them significant reminders to stop and savor life. I was young and not as apt to reflect on how quickly time slips by but the lack of significant difference between an LA summer and an LA winter bothered me. It was then that I realized that the change of seasons is a regular reminder that time never stops. We grow older. Life changes and we can never slow it down. Without intentionally regarding each day as special, one melds right into the other and years pass before we even realize it.

In the years when my children were little the passage of time seemed at warp speed. Granted, the seasons changed; their birthdays and special accomplishments marked the years. I observed them with care but with so much happening there was little time to fully reflect on how fast it was all passing. At least summer afforded us a bit more down time to just relax and enjoy one another.

Throughout the years when I was working I rarely got to fully enjoy the seemingly purposeless days of summer. One season blended into the next without much fanfare.
Last summer I quit my job in early July. I vowed to fully embrace and savor each summer day. But, by the time my siblings and I had cleaned out my mom’s house and I had rested up from too many months of being overwhelmed…summer was coming to a close and I hadn’t embraced or savored.

And here I am again…another summer has arrived and another vow has been made! Maybe this year it is different. Maybe all this recent reflection on aging and the constant reminders of how brief life truly is will actually cause me to pause and savor this most favorite season.

I still have the daily routines to follow and a dissertation to write. But, it is all about to change. I can feel it. Just three short years from now my last baby will be finished with high school. By that time both my boys will have left home for good. The time for me to stop and savor these moments is now. I’ll never get these moments again.

So in honor of June 1, 2010…a day I’ll never live again…I planted sage in my herb garden and put of pot of basil and a tomato plant on my deck to be lovingly tended each day. By having to water and care for these plants I hope I’m reminded to slow down and lovingly tend to the people in my life as well.

Robert Frost said it best: “There’s absolutely no reason for being rushed along with the rush. Everybody should be free to go very slow.”