Red Nose

The Love Is Listed

The hot humid weather reasserted itself earlier this week, with the predictable effect on my already-lousy sleeping habits. Last night, though, the weather broke. I was watching the TeeVee when I heard the spatters of raindrops on the back door. I suppose it rained most of the night, and then it rained again this morning, and then, Boom!

Bright blue sky, warm sun, dry air. Bonus!

I love that! And because it's Friday, I also love:

• Salted almonds.
• Rocking with Mom on the front porch of her group home.
• This joke: Two ladies were discussing the lunch they were eating at a fancy restaurant. One says: "This food is just awful! No taste at all!" And the other lady says: "Yes! And such small portions!"
• Jon Stewart's crack about Dennis Kucinich and his hottie wife: "Dude must be swingin' some pipe!"
• Brewster Rockit
• Old, comfy, too-big, really thick sweatshirts.
• Ken Burns' new series, The War. It's engrossing. I've learned a lot about that horrible conflict, and I thought I knew quite a bit.
• Peace roses.
• Tea rose essential oil.
• Van Morrison.
• Eating breakfast with Joe.
• White chocolate. (Have I already mentioned that?)
• Ice-cold ginger ale.
• Falling asleep and staying asleep.
• NasaCort. Thankya, thankya, thankya!
• Finishing up a project that's been nagging at me.
• The big ol' harvest moon.
• Feeling like I've coming out of a tunnel and that there are possibilities ahead.

Tell someone -- or more than one someone -- that you love them this weekend.

Listen Up, SonnyeBoy

Things are better today. I'm beginning to think that perhaps Mom is just going through that good old seven-step process. Right now she's in denial, partly anger -- I think if we just hold tight, stick together, and treat her as kindly as we can, she'll make to acceptance.

I sure hope so, anyway.

All of your comments helped; really they did. Sometimes you can't help but question yourself, even when your deepest feeling says you're doing the right thing. But Diane's comment on my entry yesterday got me thinking.

"What would you want your son to do if your marbles were there but the body was starting to go?" she asked.

It's easier to articulate what I don't want him to do.

I don't want him to have to make the kinds of decisions we're making right now. I don't want him to have to spend his money to take care of us. I don't want him to have to ride this emotional roller coaster because it's anything but a thrill ride. I don't want him to have to put me in a nursing home or assisted living. I want to go there myself, on my own accord, because I know it's the right thing to do.

And so that all of this will be possible, Joe and I have made some decisions of our own.

First, I'm signing us up for long-term care insurance when the company open enrollment period comes around. I'm still young enough that the premium won't be onerous, and having it will ensure that SonnyeBoy won't have to pay for us or figure out how to get us approved for Medicaid.

Second, I'm planning that my 75th birthday present -- at the latest -- will be a move into a retirement community with an increasing care option. If God is love and life is beautiful, we'll start out in independent living. When our needs increase, it's a short scooter ride into assisted living. From there, it's a brief wheelchair push into the skilled nursing home.

Third, I'm going to write this all down and give a copy to SonnyeBoy. I'm going to tell him to make me read it when I get cantankerous and bitchy, and to refuse delivery when I try to guilt him into anything else.

I want him to be able to live his life as fully as he can, without having me dragging at his spirit. I want him to look forward to seeing us; to visit us because he wants to and not out of obligation or because we've whined at him about how lonesome we are. When we die, I want him to remember us with love and laughter, not resentment and relief.

I'm hopeful that, when the time comes, we'll be able to choose a place that's close to the water or in the woods. Quite frankly, if the place where Mom is living is still operating at the same level that it is now, I'd move right in there. I'm awed by the setting; the services are plentiful and the staff is caring.

Plus, the Olney Ale House is really close.

Well, Damn.

I really thought Mom was getting settled; I really thought she had accepted her new home.

Not so much.

She said to me, "Don't sell my house. I want to go home. I have to get out of here. I told the physical therapist that I wanted to learn to walk without this walker, and she said I could."

And I had to look her in the eye and say, "You must realize that if you move back to Leisure World, you must be able to live independently. You have to be able to bathe yourself, dress yourself, manage your medications, and cook for yourself, stay alone at night. You have to be able to do that, because we cannot do it for you. We wish we could, but we can't. It's not just about being able to walk."

She didn't answer me.

Today she said the same thing to my older sister and my brother; they told her the same basic thing. She says she hates the food; it gives her diarrhea. She has suffered from diarrhea and/or constipation for last last 10 years. She doesn't eat enough of the damn food to have it give her diarrhea. And if she wasn't having diarrhea, she'd be constipated. I don't think Mom knows what a normal bowel movement is anymore.

Enough of that. Sorry.

She says she doesn't like any of the other residents; they're all too old. She's the oldest one there. Not only that, she makes zero effort to make friends or participate (the dance notwithstanding). She says she's all alone there; well, she was all alone in Leisure World, except for the nosy neighbor who she absolutely hated and even hid from.

But it doesn't sink in. She has more visitors than anyone else there; still, she's miserable.

I was talking to my sister this morning about this and other things, and she said, "You know, I'm really worried about what will happen if we sell the house and she outlives that money. What if she's not sick enough for nursing home? What then?"

And I said, "I guess we'll have to kill her."

RELAX, Y'ALL. I didn't mean it, of course. But I can't bring myself to think about things like that, not when I have to think about how to get her to accept the fact that she is not GOING home, she IS home.

Does this make us horrible kids? That we want our mother to live someplace that is lovely, that has all the services she could ever need, that has people who will ensure that she's clean and comfortable and entertained and medicated and fed? That we are willing to refinance our beach house to pay her way? Do we take her out of there, move all of the furniture back, and let her fend for herself?

Man, this is hard. Especially on a full moon. PMS = Post-menopausal shitstorm. I'll be cheerier tomorrow, I promise.

Au Revoir, Marcel

Marcel Marceau, the famed mime, has died at age 84. I'm guessing he died quietly.

It Is To Lahve...

Meg's on vacation in glorious San Diego, so someone has to keep up the Friday Love List -- might as well be me! But you should do one too. Really, you should.

So, without further ado, I love:

• My new Starbucks! It opened today! It's two steps from my office! So I loaded up my empty Starbuck's card and had a Caffe Vanilla Frappucino.

• The weather -- it has been pretty much perfect all week long. I know we need rain, but I still love it!
• The peacefullness of this week as far as Mom goes. No emergencies, no fear -- a couple little things here and there, but overall it was a peaceful week.
• Lewis Black. He is the Rant Master. I bow before him.
• Joe's stories of Cigar Store shoppers. So far my favorite is The Stoner. The dude came into the shop three times last week, and each time asked, "Um. Like... do you sell rolling papers?" And each time Joe says, "Yes -- easyWider, Risla, and Hemp." And the dude says, "Do you have Zig Zag?" And Joe says, "No -- easyWider, Risla, and Hemp." And the dude spaces out for a minute, and then says, "Gimme two packs of easyWider." (Maybe it's a good thing we quit smoking so much pot.)
• The Funny Times. It is the best compilation of humor out there, especially for fucking liberals like myself.
• Sleeping under blankets.
• The snooze alarm.
• Edy's Slow-Churned ice cream, any flavor.
• These three songs that played in a row on my iPod this evening: Eye Candy, by Chuck Brown; My Guy, by Mary Wells; and Let's Get It On, by Marvin Gaye.
• That fact that it's Friday!

Have a great weekend, full of love.

Save And Save Again

I know better; I really do. But I got caught up in illusion of productivity and speed and Hot Damn, I Am Rolling Right Through This Project even after I had already been bitten earlier in the week by the same peculiar habit of this program.

Evidently, when once bitten, I am not twice shy.

You know what? This sort of thing NEVER HAPPENS when you've just begun the work. Oh no -- it only happens when you are doing the last little bit of the work, and it is 4:30 in the afternoon, and you are looking forward to wrapping the shit up, shutting down, and going home for the evening.

And then, as your thoughts turn to Belgian Ale and Thursday night television, it happens: RUNTIME ERROR -21!

OH NO! NOT RUNTIME ERROR -21!! Why couldn't it have been RUNTIME ERROR 16? Or 256? Or 763,428?

Actually, it doesn't matter which damn runtime error it was, because the online test creation software I was using up and quit. It threw all of my carefully typed questions and correct answers onto the floor and stormed out of the room.

Sigh. Back to the keyboard. And Ctrl-S. Lots and lots of Ctrl-S.

Why Yes, I Am Ready For Some Football, Thanks

I have been very very very tired all day long, all because I stayed up very very very late.

And by very very very late, I mean midnight.

Then again, it might have been all the hollering and screaming I did during Monday Night Football, when my 'Skins beat the Iggles, something very few people thought would happen. Joe and I, however, had a heapin' helpin' of 'tism.

Ha! HaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA! We are TWO and OH! As in TWO games WON and NO-OH games LOST.

Thank you, Jason, for being able to shake off that pick and return to bidniss. Oh, and being able to spot the holes and run through them when your receivers are covered. MWAH!

Thank you, Clint'n, for that lovely front sommy into the end zone. Celebrate it, boyo.

Thank you, Chris, for shaking off those two dropped passes and catching the one that counted -- in the end zone, between two Iggles, at the very end of the half. Loved the way you held up the ball in your own two hands while you lay flat on your back. Oh, and thank you for getting a haircut, although the 'fro did kind of deflect attention away from your snoot.

Thank you, Shaun, for nailing the field goals.

An extra special thank you and a big wet sloppy kiss to LaRon.

LaRon, my sweet defensive studmuffin, how do I love thee for knocking that fourth down pass out of that Philly receiver's hands? (Yes, I could look up his name, but I do. not. care!)

Let me count the ways: 20 to 12.

And Joe Gibbs. Dear, dear Joe Gibbs. Thank you for changing your mind and going for it on fourth and 16, even after the penalties, even after the Iggles timeout, even when the field goal was the safe score. I admit it; I thought you were nuts -- it was just a brief, fleeting moment of doubt, honest -- but you believed in Jason and Chris and pulled out a touchdown.

Now -- please will someone smack the shit out of the Monday Night Football commentators?? Just smack 'em, right across their ugly mugs. I mean, I can take the total lack of respect for my team -- even from Tony Kornheiser, who should know better -- and the total homer-ness of Ron Jaworski for the Iggles. After all, the 'Skins were 5-11 last season. Who in their right minds would think that they could not only beat the Iggles, but BEEE-AAAAATTTTT the Iggles? But when Charles Barkley showed up in the booth and the broadcast team proceeded to ignore the football game and ramble on and on and ON about Bill Belichick and the stupid signal stealing scam, I mean PLEASE! CALL THE FREAKIN' GAME!!

Anyway, I'm tired.

The Weather Outside Is Delightful

The weather has turned and become cool and blue and beautiful. There's a blanket on the bed; the A/C is off; the windows are open.

I love this time of year. Of course, next week it could very well be back up in the 90s with matching humidity, but I'll take it while I can. That's DC weather for you -- nothing but a great big tease!

It's a good thing it cooled off, since Saturday was "Move More Furniture Into Mom's Room" day. Yes, her sofa, end tables, pictures, and various tchotkes have now turned her little place into her home.

Yesterday I had lunch with the lovely and talented Debsiobhan, where I discovered that Don Pablo's makes a quite lovely mojito that does not taste the least bit like Scope. Then I returned to Mom's to hang pictures, reroute telephone cords, and generally chat.

Today I felt like walking, so I did. I toddled off down Connecticut Avenue for a mile or so and had lunch at a local burrito joint. It's almost all downhill, so it was easy. I spotted a maintenance gal watering the lawn of a condo building by holding an oscillating sprinkler as if it were a hose and waving it around. Hmm -- brilliant use of watering technology or unclear on the concept of oscillating sprinklers?? I thought about taking a picture, but decided I might get wet. And it's just a tad too cool for wet to be enjoyable.

Unfortunately the prospect of toddling back up the hill made my calves ache, especially since I'm wearing my new Earth shoes. Jumping on a spine-alignment bandwagon or stuck in the 70s? Who cares! They're cute and comfortable, but I decided to be just a little lazy and took the subway back to the office.

Later this week, the new Starbucks that's about four steps away from my building opens, and not a moment too soon. Bring on the lattes! I think I'll just sign over my paycheck and be done with it.

The Interview And A Mother Meme

But first, I saw this meme over at Bev's -- how could I not do it? I mean, it's like an order!

1. What kind of relationship do you     have with your Mom...why?

I have an excellent relationship with my mother; I always have. She can be difficult, no doubt, and she's a pro at wielding the guilt stick, but overall we have a wonderful relationship. She was always there for me when I was a kid; she dried my tears and helped me overcome a lot of pain.

And she let me run away and join the circus, despite her misgivings. How can you not love a woman like that?

2. What is one memory of her that makes you smile...why?

This is my favorite. We were at my Pop's wake. The funeral director came into the room to tell my Mom about a snafu at the cemetery -- my aunt's grave was encroaching on their double plot, which meant that there wasn't enough room for my folks to be buried side-by-side. They needed permission to dig the grave twice as deep, in order for the two to fit.

And my mother said, "After 57 years of marriage, I finally get to be on top."

I'm sure all the guest wondered why we were all roaring with laughter.

3. What is one memory you wish you could forget...why?

Unfortunately, my Pop's funeral was not a continuous laugh riot. When she first saw Pop laid out in his casket, she wept openly, touching his hands and smoothing his hair. It makes me cry every time I think about it.

4. Would you call your mother a saint? Why or Why not?

No, actually, I wouldn't call Mom a saint. She's too earthy for sainthood! But I would call her an amazing woman.

And now, voila! The StoryCorps interview, in its entirety, formatted as a podcast. It's about 35 minutes long, and it might take a minute to load, but there you go.

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Telling Her Story

Yesterday, before we moved over to assisted living, Mom and I participated in the StoryCorps Memory Loss Initiative.

We sat opposite each other, in front of microphones, as I asked her questions about her life and she responded. We talked for about 35 minutes, as Nadja (the StoryCorps recorder girl) recorded us. When we ended, I got all emotional, while Mom was just cool as a cucumber.

"I need some lunch; I'm starving!" she said, as I blotted my eyeballs and snuffled.

Anyway, I snipped out a little piece so you can hear what it was like. I like this one because Mom talks about how she met Pop, and where they went on their first date. Let me know if you'd like to hear more.

It's kinda soft, so turn up your speakers.