What Will You Bleed?

March 11, 2017 Sally1 Comment

The patterns for our personalities are set early on.

My friend, Susan, used to talk about someone she knew who, in the delirium of a high fever, mumbled out Bible verse after Bible verse. When she had been poked, she bled the Bible.

“I want to be the kind of person who does that,” Susan said to me thirty-some years ago.

Years later, when Susan was poked, she bled praise. She suffered a stroke in her 40s and I have never heard her utter a bitter word about it. After seeing Susan last June, I asked another friend, Jennifer Trafton Peterson, to make this custom artwork for her. The words are ones I have heard Susan say many times.

The other day I was wearing a new-to-me shirt and my father noticed.

“That’s a nice shirt,” he said.

“I got it at the thrift store,” I told him.

He grinned, fist-bumped the air, and said, “Hurrah!”

My father has always liked a bargain. It’s the Scotsman in him, I think. My mother had to live with it and work against it.

She was also very frugal, but, at the same time, she wished she could do some of the things that the other doctors’ wives got to do. After he retired, he yielded to her and they went on a trip to Hawaii.

It was life-changing. He still talks about it.

“I’m so glad that I listened to Mom and we made that trip to Hawaii,” he often says.

“Everyone should go to Hawaii. When are you going?” he asks me, when he’s thinking about that trip.

But my father bleeds frugality. As dementia takes hold little by little, I see a deeper austerity emerging. He sometimes wears corduroy pants that are nearly threadbare. “There’s still some wear in these,” he says when I suggest he change.

“How much is that going to cost?” he asks, when I suggest a necessary home repair or appliance replacement, in a can-we-possibly-do-without-that sort of way.

The pattern, I think, was set early on.

My sister’s mother-in-law was a fairly passive woman. In her elderly dementia, she became more and more withdrawn into a unresisting submissiveness. When she was poked, that was what she bled — utter compliance.

My mother — I had to think about her for a while to come up with what she bled — I think she bled marmalade, both sweet and sour, involving food, and serving others. She wanted to help, but she got frustrated with the muddle in her mind.

And I can’t help thinking, What are the patterns being laid in my life? When I am poked, what will I bleed?

family

Behind the Camera

February 27, 2017 Sally3 Comments

“Here’s an old picture of us,” I said, passing Bud a family photo that I found in a pile of stuff. “We’ve got everyone but Philip there.”

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Behind the camera,” I replied.

It’s true. Bud took a lot of the family pictures when we were on vacation. If we didn’t snag a passer-by, he was out of the big group shot. He would appear in the just-a-Zaengle family picture that my brother or brother-in-law would take, but the everyone shot often didn’t include everyone.

Who is in the picture (and who isn’t) — just two of the clues about what year it was taken.

I’m in the center, behind Helen who is holding Laurel. Helen couldn’t possibly do that today because Laurel is now taller than Helen. Laurel’s age, though, tells me that it’s probably 2004.

Mary is wearing her Matt Kenseth Dewalt Tools hat. That tells me that we were in our NASCAR phase — everyone had a driver that they followed. Mary liked Matt Kenseth because she was fascinated with power tools; we had recently completed an addition on our house and she had seen an awful lot of yellow tools lying around.

Philip isn’t there. He must have been at college.

Karl’s cheeks are quite pink. He’s either sunburnt (unlikely, since no one else is), or had just been running around (likely, he’s a little boy). We, as a family, have this pink-cheek thing going on whenever we exercise.

My hair is short and I’m not wearing a jumper. That tells me a lot about me at the time.

But the man behind the camera, had his hair starting turning gray yet? I wish he was there beside me to complete the picture. Time to shuffle through more piles of photos to find out.

family · Life

La La Land

February 26, 2017 Sally4 Comments

Warning: this post may contain spoilers

On the way home from La La Land Mary asked me which song was my favorite. I didn’t have to think about it — “The Audition Song.”

“You’re a storyteller. Tell us a story,” the people behind the desk told Mia. She stood for a moment, collected her thoughts, and then told a story about her aunt jumping into the Seine River.

In her audition she sang,

Here’s to the ones who dream
Foolish as they may seem
Here’s to the hearts that break
Here’s to the mess we make

I should have been forewarned by the lyrics that broken hearts were ahead.

I left La La Land feeling dissatisfied with the story.

Later, largely due to discussion about the movie over at the Rabbit Room, I realized that my problem was that I had been Hallmark-ized. The only ending I could consider happy was the one where the right guy and the right girl end up together.

Had that been its ending, La La Land would have fallen into the same category as so many of the movies I choose to watch. A feel-good moment soon forgotten. Hallmark movies that are simply background noise because I don’t need to pay attention to know what is going to happen. La La Land would have been, in so many ways, the same-old-same-old — good music, nice story, satisfying ending.

Like my father’s nightly bowl of vanilla ice cream.

A sweet way to end the day.

But La La Land left me unsettled.

The truth is the stories I love most leave me unsettled.

Fiddler on the Roof, Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Big Sky, A River Runs Through It, A Tale of Two Cities.

None have syrupy happy endings.

They all leave me with something to ponder. They take a long time to absorb.

I fear that I have gotten used to a jiggly jello diet — stuff that slides down easily and digests easily. I don’t know how to handle more substantial foodstuff.

On the way home from La La Land, Mary and I also talked about upcoming movies and what we’d like to see next. The ripples from the pebbles of La La Land may need to subside before I’m ready for another.

family · photography

Before and After

February 24, 2017April 21, 2017 Sally4 Comments

Babies look like babies when they’re little.

It’s nice to see how they turn out.

Baby Philip

Adult Philip (with Amanda and Henry)

Baby Owen

Adult Owen (with Emily)

Baby Sam

Sam and Mom -- 1990 — Sam and Mom — 1990

Adult Sam (with Donna)

Baby Helen

Adult Helen

Baby Karl

Almost-adult Karl

Baby Mary

Teenage Mary

Baby Laurel

Laurel learning to sit alone — baby Laurel

Teenage Laurel

dementia · family

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.

family

A Good Match

February 22, 2017 Sally18 Comments

Mom and Dad, through the years —

While dating

Newlyweds

Going to meet the Queen

Promotion
Aviary Photo_130755155501395352

1982

Last trip together

At home

At the nursing home

Going for a walk

Dinner time

The Last Good-bye

family

The Bathroom

February 21, 2017 Sally13 Comments

She was waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom this morning.

No, no — not one of my children, although, as you can imagine that has happened to me more times than I care to remember.

Every mother quickly learns that the bathroom is a refuge.

Every child learns just as quickly that if he (or she) waits long enough outside the door, Mom will eventually emerge.

And she can hear you if you talk to her through the door.

If a sibling is being mean and Mom is in the bathroom, a note under the door will sometimes expedite her emergence.

But she may not be terrible happy about it.

Bathroom = Sanctuary

I imagine, if Quasimodo hadn’t had Notre Dame to carry Esmeralda into as he rescued her from the gibbet, if he hadn’t had that great cathedral to escape to, he would have found a bathroom.

I no longer have to use the bathroom as a hideout from my children, though.

Yes, young moms, your children will one day learn to leave you alone in there.

Or they will be so busy with their lives that they won’t care one whit if you’re in the bathroom, the bedroom, or any other room in the house. As long as they are fed and the wi-fi is working, the natives will not be restless.

Now I have a cat that waits outside the bathroom for me.

Yes, a cat.

She follows me around the house. Down the hall. Into the kitchen. Into the living room. Up and down the stairs — not on quiet little cat feet, like the fog, but thumpity-thumpity, like an angry rabbit.

She loves the bedroom where she can hide under the bed and pounce on my feet as I walk around it, straightening the sheets and blankets. I think she especially loves that she can still surprise me

I draw the line at the bathroom.

Her litter box is just around the corner. She likes to supervise my cleaning of it, patting her paws on the scooper as I sift the litter and, um, the other stuff.

But, no, I don’t want her in my bathroom.

It’s that sanctuary thing.

So she sticks her paws under the door a few times to let me know she’s out there and then she waits.

Do cats outgrow this sort of behavior?

family

Messy

February 17, 2017 Sally7 Comments

Messy is often the best.

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is decorating cookies. Our Christmas cookies are a basic sugar cookie cut out with cookie cutters. It’s actually my grandmother’s recipe, and the only recipe for which I always sift the flour. The fun is both in choosing which cookies to cut out and then finally decorating them.

But it’s messy and time-consuming.

The best.

The best icing is sometimes the messiest. Drippy, juicy, gloopy drizzle.

Licking fingers is allowed, but not licking brushes.

The best part is spending time together making them.

Or maybe it’s eating them.

Hard to choose which one... — Hard to choose which one…

family · Leaning In · photography

Play Your Game

February 16, 2017 Sally5 Comments

I’m a fan of the synchronized sports shot.

Karl (dark 14) and opposing 14 running for the ball

This is probably one of my favorite pictures of Karl playing soccer because he and the other player are right at the same place in their stride.

I loved watching Karl play soccer.

Tennis was fun, too.

Karl and Michael made a good doubles team. In the picture, they’re sort of synchronized — weight on the left foot, backhand ready.

They did pretty well at tennis — for a couple of soccer players. Against the odds.

I heard their tennis coach give them the same advice over and over that year. “Just play your game,” he told them.

“Their game” was a fairly simple one. Return the ball.

While their opponents were trying to put spin and speed on the ball, not always very successfully, Karl and Michael simply returned the ball. Over. And over. And over.

Sometimes it aggravated their opponents. You could see them thinking, What the heck?! These yahoos don’t know squat about real tennis.

But Michael and Karl knew how to return the ball.

When one of them tried to get fancy, it inevitably failed. Coach would call them over. “Just play your game,” he reminded them.

It worked until they encountered a team whose skill was so superior that neither of them could return the ball. (See “Laughter“)

Coach’s advice was such good advice.

Be you.

Lean in to your strengths.

Don’t worry too much about what others are doing.

Play your game.

family

Disappointment

February 14, 2017February 14, 2017 Sally8 Comments

I wrote this back in November 2013. I had been sorely disappointed with a concert I had gone to with Mary. Too much glitz, not enough real.

To be honest, I had forgotten a lot of the details of that evening until I reread this post.

Spoiler alert: The bottom line is that expectation sometimes leads to disappointment, and disappointment sometimes leads to ice cream — so in the end, it’s all good, right?

From November 2013 —

The fact that Sonic was already closed on the way home was the icing on the cake of disappointments. Or, should I say – the ice cream. I was so sure that a one dollar vanilla cone from Sonic would ease my pain.

Then, when Wendy’s didn’t have a vanilla Frosty milkshake, I was, like, “What do you mean you don’t have it? I’m looking at it on the sign!”

The polite night-shift server at Wendy’s explained. “Nobody ever ordered those, so they took it off the menu.”

“Well, they need to take it off their drive-thru menu as well,” I grumbled to myself.

So I drove across a four lane highway to get to Burger King. Good thing it was 11:17 PM, and nobody else was on the road.

And at least they were open and had a Hershey’s Sundae Pie.

The things we do for our comfort foods.

It wasn’t the ice cream, though, that brought me back to reality. It was riding home in the car with my dear, sweet 13-year old daughter, and thinking how precious it was that I could spend an evening with her.

It was remembering our laughter as we waited in line in the cold and sang Smothers Brothers songs to each other.

It was reflecting on the fact that she didn’t seem disappointed with the evening. My own expectations had probably been too high.

I know people who try not to get excited over upcoming events. “That way I won’t be disappointed,” they say.

Would I trade all the anticipation, all the eagerness, the thrill of imagining what was to come for a blasé attitude?

No, I think I’d rather ride the roller coaster.

And then treat myself to ice cream.