In the Parking Lot

March 21, 2017 Sally8 Comments

I never know what I’m going to see in the parking lot at the local grocery store.

In the village of Cooperstown, there is one — yes, only one — grocery store.

I go there often. My father’s refrigerator is small, and we go through perishables fairly quickly. I started keeping a chart of how often I go to the grocery because I felt like I was going every day. It turns out that out of 50 days, I only went 36 times.

I never know what I’m going to see there. Once, I saw Mrs. Claus pushing a shopping cart up the parking lot hill to her car.

Yesterday, I stood behind an elderly man at the check-out. He paid for his groceries and handed his change back to the cashier.

“I think I owe you this,” he said. She shook her head in protest and smiled at him.

As he headed for the door, he turned and said to her, “See you tomorrow.”

Another person who goes to the store nearly every day.

As soon as he was out of sight, she put the loose change he had just given her into the container at the checkout for the this month’s charity — I think it’s Muscular Dystrophy.

“I tell my boyfriend that I have a sugar-daddy,” she said to me. “He gives me quarters every day.”

We both laughed, and she told me how he comes in every day and goes through her line.

“Once he brought me a poem,” she said. “It was strange and I didn’t understand it.”

Poetry can be like that.

I thought about my father and the way he focuses on young women who smile and are friendly. With him, I get irritated about the whole thing. It’s a fixation that bothers me, but I know that it shouldn’t.

The man at the grocery store didn’t bother me in the least. I could see how lonely he was. And old. And slightly confused.

I paid for my groceries and headed out to the parking lot. The man was standing in the middle of it, a look of consternation on his face.

“I can’t find my car,” he said, and I could hear the panic in his voice.

“What kind of car do you have?” I asked him.

“It’s a blue Ford, but I can’t find it anywhere,” he said, one hand on his cart, the other fumbling with his keys.

“Well, let’s see,” I said, and I began to look around.

With minimal effort, I found a blue Taurus and pointed to it. “Is that your car?” I asked.

A huge smile broke out on his face. “Yes! Yes, that’s it,” he said. “Thank you so much.”

I watched him push his little cart to the car and was grateful I could help.

As I drove home, I hoped he could remember where he left his house.

I’ll have to ask the cashier about it when I see her today.

Remembering Birthdays

February 23, 2017 Sally9 Comments

Three years ago for my birthday I was in the wilds of the Texas hill country, without cell coverage and with minimal wifi. Laity Lodge is great that way because it allows guests to make real connections.

But it was my birthday and I don’t think anyone there knew.

Not that it mattered, of course.

I called my husband on a land-line and talked with him and the kids. It was enough.

He told me that my brother Stewart had called and wanted me to call him back.

When I got home, I put off that call.

My brother died from a heart attack 11 days after my birthday.

When did I last hear his voice? I don’t know.

In my mind I can still hear him, though. I remember what my name sounded like when he said it. I remember his laugh.

My mother forgot my name altogether. I used to remind her.

“I’m Sally,” I would say, and she would repeat back, “That’s right. You’re Sally.”

I used to use photographs to help her remember the names of family members, naming each person as we touched them in the picture. She eventually couldn’t do that either.

I don’t remember the last time she said my name.

And I have more trouble remembering her voice — maybe because it turned dry and creaky. She didn’t sound the way I wanted to remember her.

This year for my birthday, I heard from all my children — most with a phone call or FaceTime. Mary, Laurel, Bud and I went to see La La Land and then went out to dinner. It was very nice.

My morning started with a birthday card in my coffee maker (from Laurel) and birthday stickers on the newspaper (from my brother).

I was curious to see what my father would say about the birthday stickers. I knew he wouldn’t remember my birthday without some sort of reminder.

“Oh! I see we have stickers on the newspaper this morning,” he said as he sat down at the kitchen table.

He peered at them closely. “It says, ‘Happy Birthday,'” he read. “I don’t think it’s my birthday though.”

“No, Dad,” I answered, giving him his pills and his juice. “It’s my birthday.”

“Oh,” he said. “I guess that makes sense.”

And that was it.

No birthday wishes.

It wasn’t a slur against me. It doesn’t really matter.

But it did.

It does.

Because it means I’ve lost another little piece of him.

We lost my mother in dribs and drabs, an expression she used to use.

Now we’re losing my father the same way.

It’s almost certain that next year he won’t remember my birthday either. Dementia tends to only go in one direction.

I just hope he still remembers my name.

dementia · elderly · family · poetry · Writing

The Grandmother’s New Pants

January 24, 2017 Sally3 Comments

A friend who is helping care for an elderly relative told me about one evening when she went to visit her aunt and she found her wearing no pants. It reminded me of a poem I had written when my mother did something similar.

Here’s my poem:

My mother had no pants on
When she came down the stairs.
The funny thing about it was
It seemed she didn’t care.

The Emperor’s New Clothes became
The Grandmother’s New Pants –
Invisible clothes or missing –
I took another glance.

My children both politely
Turned their backs to her.
Modesty would dictate
Their behavior be demure.

“Mom, you need some pants on!”
“I know,” was all she said.
She settled in the kitchen,
Looking to be fed.

“Go put some pants on now,”
I commanded best I could.
“I will,” she said, but sat there,
So I didn’t think she would.

My father finally got her
To get up and find some pants.
I thought (but didn’t do)
A little happy dance.

Sometimes I let my toddlers
Run around with legs quite bare.
A child in only diapers
Would never get a stare.

But a grannie wearing panties,
Well, that’s a different sight.
Embarrassing for all involved —
It simply isn’t right.

So, help me, Lord, to understand
What is it I should do
When my mother comes down pantless
And doesn’t seem to have a clue.

It took some work for me to find the poem for my friend. I’ve started and stopped a number of blogs under various names.

Once I went through and started systematically deleting everything I had ever written — a self-inflicted devastation.

A lot of my writing is lost forever.

Meh.

Honestly, who cares? They’re just words.

I console myself with that fact that far more important words — words written by Jesus Himself in the dirt (John 8) — are forever gone.

Yesterday, on a forum, someone asked this question: “…what are the favorite blog posts you have written? Perhaps not the ones that have generated the most traffic, though it could be that, but the ones that reveal you.”

Believe it or not, I thought of this little poem. Actually, I thought of a few little poems I’ve written. I still can’t find one of them.

But when words and life are hard, poetry — dumb little rhyming poems — give a structure and a lightness to my thoughts.

Does that happen to anyone else?

dementia · Faith · family

If You Say So

January 2, 2017January 2, 2017 Sally5 Comments

The following is an edited version of a post first published on January 2, 2012. I wrote it when my mother was still living at home and I was trying to help my father with her.

My sister and I can carry on conversations using just things my mother says.

For instance, my mother often says, “If you say so.”

Making the sandwich #1 This is usually in response to something she doesn’t believe to be true. Like, she’ll be preparing a meal for, say, 150 people. (150 is her favorite number.) I’ll say to her, “Mom, there are only going to be five of us for lunch today — You, me, Dad, Mary and Laurel.”

She’ll look at me with a look that says, I don’t believe a word of that. But out of her mouth will come the words, “If you say so.”

It’s a phony acquiescence. She’ll continue right on making 150 sandwiches.

Or, she’ll be getting ready for church, and I’ll say, “Mom, today is Tuesday. There’s nothing going on at the church today.”

She’ll answer, “If you say so,” and then continue getting ready for church.

She started saying it as a cover for her memory loss. It was easier than arguing.

The reason I wanted to start off the new year with those words, though, is because they tie in so beautifully with something else I’ve been thinking about. I’ve been thinking about how the earthly life of Christ was book-ended with two statements of yielding.

First, when the angel told Mary she was going to have a baby, she responded with,

Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.

Luke 1:38

I’m quite sure there must be a translation out there that translates her words as, “If you say so,” not in an I-really-don’t-believe-a-word-of-it way, but in the way I would like to be able to say them to God. A yielding.

When Jesus was praying in Gethsemane before his death, he said these words,

Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but Yours, be done.

Luke 22:42

Can’t you just hear the “if you say so” in there?

“Father, take this cup away from me, but, if you say so, I’ll do it.”

When God asks me to go through something, I’d like to be able to say, “Okay, God, if You say so.”

I want 2012 (and now 2017) to be an “If You Say So” kind of year, a year of yielding to the Father’s will. I want to be like Mary and Jesus, who, facing trials and uncertainty, still trust God’s overarching plan.

However, I want to be sincere in my words — not like my mother just saying words to smooth things over.

If you say so.…

Simple words from a person with Alzheimer’s.

Words also to live by.

Alzheimer's · dementia · family

Orange Ice Dessert

July 22, 2011January 3, 2025 Sally9 Comments

The other day I walked into the kitchen at lunch to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table with some hot dog buns, a jar of marmalade, a brick of cream cheese, and some leftover chili. She was making sandwiches.

The process was as follows:

Open the hot dog bun.
Spread a thin layer of cream cheese on it.
Add a thick layer of orange marmalade.
Spoon cold chili on top of the marmalade.
Close the bun.
Put it on a serving platter.
Repeat.

“What are you doing?” I asked. A dumb question, I know, but sometimes things just pop out of mouth when I’m astonished.

“Making lunch for the boys,” she replied, remaining steadily on task.

“Elinor, what are adding now?” my father asked. She was at the chili step.

She glared up at him. “I’m adding hamburger!” she fairly shouted. How dare he question her! “This is my hamburger and I want to add it!”

My father and I looked at each other and decided not to question this process any further. There were, after all, only four hot dog buns, so the sandwich factory was self-limiting. Just in case, however, I made sure other bread products were safely put away.

She sat down and ate two of her own sandwiches for lunch that day, but there were no other takers. My father made himself a bologna sandwich. He’s become quite self-sufficient in the kitchen.

My mother used to be a wonderful cook. I need to remind myself of that as I throw away the concoctions she now makes. However, the heat wave affecting many of us this week reminded me of my mother’s wonderful summertime dessert called Orange Ice Dessert. It is cool and refreshing. One of my brothers has a July birthday and this was what he usually had instead of a cake. Here is the recipe exactly how she had it written

Orange Ice Dessert

6 oranges (3 cups juice)

1 lemon (1/4 cup juice)

1 cup sugar

1/2 pint whipping cream

1/2 cup chopped pecans (or more if desired)

1/2 cup sugar

Mix orange juice, lemon juice and sugar well. Pour into a deep freezing pan (loaf type). Whip cream. Add sugar and pecans. Mix well. Spoon whipped cream mixture on top of juice mixture and freeze.

Additional comments: Wonderful make-ahead summer dessert — very refreshing.

My kids don’t like nuts, so we don’t put the nuts in. Or we make two pans, one with nuts and one without.

I may run out this morning and get some orange juice so I can make this. Then I can add a picture. And enjoy one of my favorite summertime treats.

Either that, or some hot dog buns and chili so I can try her other recipe. Or not.

Bon Appetit!