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.

family · Life

Snow and Coffee

February 13, 2017 Sally4 Comments

The snow started to fall exactly as predicated at 7 AM yesterday morning. It continued all day and was still falling when I went to bed.

The electricity went out at 12:40 this morning. I know because the monitor started beeping telling me that the base was off. I have the base sitting unobtrusively under my father’s night stand so I can hear if he gets up or if he falls.

In the fog of sleep, I couldn’t figure out how to stop the beeping. The landline phone also beeped, telling me that the base was off. At least it gave me a message, but the baby monitor just kept beeping.

I pushed a few buttons on the side — one of them had to work. I sat on the edge of my bed holding the monitor and let the fog in my brain clear. Finally, I turned on the light to find the power button and turn the unit off.

Too awake to fall back asleep, I lay in bed thinking about the problems of no electricity.

❄ — No coffee.

❄ — No water. The well pump runs on electricity.

❄ — No flushing the toilet. I reminded myself that I needed to remind Mary and Laurel about this. No water means no flushing the toilet. Ugh.

❄ — No coffee. My mind came back to this fact indicating the seriousness of this situation.

❄ — No internet. The girls use the internet for their classes, but I could email their teachers on my phone. Or take them to the library, assuming that the library has electricity.

❄ — Where are the candles? It would still be dark when I got up for my morning coffee (dang — no coffee) and quiet time. I would have to use candles to read. I remembered that I had two candlesticks on the hutch in the dining room that we use (very) occasionally for dinners. Matches were in the cupboard by the sink in the kitchen.

❄ — Limit refrigerator usage. My mind was in the kitchen, getting the matches, and I noticed the refrigerator. It’s not as bad as in the summer when the electricity goes out because in February we have the free refrigeration of the snow outside. I could get my half-and-half out, but, darn it all….

❄ — No coffee. Coffee is an essential part of my morning routine.

My last thought as I drifted back to sleep was about calling my brother. He delivers newspapers in town and has gotten coffee for me other times at the convenience store when the electricity has been out.

I woke up at 5:13 AM. The electricity was on. Hallelujah.

I made my coffee and sat down to read.

The phone rang around 6 AM. It was my brother, checking to see if the electricity had come back on. He offered to get me coffee.

I’m not sure how much snow we got. A foot? A little more? It’s still falling.

And it really is quite pretty.

Until it starts to mess with my coffee.

family

Taking Care of Me

February 10, 2017 Sally5 Comments

In the selfishness of my heart, I could picture it — somebody taking care of me.

Fixing all my meals.

Bringing me the foods I like.

Tending to my needs.

Like a cruise ship — without the cruise or all the people.

Being a mom and a caregiver is exhausting at times.

I suppose it doesn’t seem like anything too difficult. How hard is it to fix tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich every day?

Or to do laundry.

Or take out the garbage.

The monotony of it could tend towards boredom. Kathleen Norris, in her must-read book Acedia & Me, said,

Might we consider boredom as not only necessary for our life but also as one of its greatest blessings? A gift, pure and simple, a precious chance to be alone with our thoughts and alone with God?

She reminded me of why I am so suited for this job.

While washing the dishes, most of the time I am quite alone with my thoughts and with God. I am running through the scripture I’m memorizing or praying for family and friends. When a family member joins me to dry the dishes, it is a special delight.

The truth is — a cruise has never appealed to me. All that basking in the sun and eating rich foods and drinking fancy drinks.

Okay, the sun part sounds good.

But the lush extravagance doesn’t.

I’d rather be repotting plants.

Or weeding the myrtle.

Or taking out the garbage.

Yes, I find satisfaction in dragging the big garbage can to the end of the driveway for the garbage man to pick up. Today, I’ll clear a swathe of snow as I do it and walk back to the house in the path cleared by the can. Later, I’ll carry the much lighter can back to the house and put a fresh clean bag in it for the new week.

The other day though, in the grumblings of my heart, I wished someone would take care of me. In a flash I saw it — lying in a bed in a nursing home, having to be turned to prevent bed-sores, having someone spoon the food into my mouth all the while talking with a co-worker about the weekend past or the weekend ahead, having someone choose what I was to wear and dressing me in it.

I shuddered.

Nope.

I take it all back. I don’t want someone to take care of me.

I’m fine, thank you.

And so very thankful to be able-bodied and independent.

family · Grief · photography

Shadow and Light

February 9, 2017 Sally6 Comments

I rotated the ivy the other day. It was reaching for the window and had turned all its leaves to the sun.

Sometimes I think we’re like plants — craving light, seeking light, pursuing light.

The shadows are okay, though. I’m learning to lean in.

I looked through old pictures for shadow shots. This one caught my eye. The shadow tells us something the shot otherwise wouldn’t reveal.

These simply accentuate the beauty of the building, especially its columns.

I liked the shadows from the old bridge.

And the long leg shadows in a late afternoon sun.

I was happily looking through lots of old pictures. Then, I stopped.

In the pictures below, you won’t see the shadows, but I do.

On New Year’s Eve 2004, we played a family game of Scattergories. My brother, Stewart, was there. I could hear his voice, his laugh. He always loved games.

I felt a lump in my throat looking at Stewart’s picture. We’ll never play games with him again.

Then I saw this — my mother and father consulting on Scattergories.

They made a good team.

And had a lot of fun.

That lump in my throat grew.

I miss those days.

But they’re just a shadow now.

Like my ivy, it’s time to turn back to the light.

elderly · family

Earlids

February 8, 2017 Sally4 Comments

I sleep with one ear open.

Owen told me about Krista Tippett and her podcast, On Being. The other day I was listening to an episode called, “Silence and the Presence of Everything.” Gordon Hempton, her guest for that episode, said,

… sight is such an affordable luxury that eyelids evolved. We can close our eyes. OK, that’s enough of that. I’m just going to close my eyes and take a break. But not once in the fossil record do we have any evidence that a species evolved earlids. That would be far too dangerous. Animals must listen to survive.

I immediately thought of my deaf friends, and how lack of hearing must be a real safety issue.

I also thought of how I sleep — listening, listening, always listening.

Listening during sleep begins with motherhood. The new mom can’t help but listen for baby to wake up. In that half-awake/mostly-asleep state (yes, I know that mathematically that doesn’t add up), she must decide whether the noises heard require attention or not.

Now I listen for my father. After he took a bad fall, I put a baby monitor in his room so I could hear him when he gets up at night.

It was helpful when he wandered in the middle of the night — something that (thankfully) has only happened twice. It has helped when he has fallen, another rare occurrence. And it has helped for little things, like his light not working.

But I listen. In my sleep.

My mind filters through what I hear.

Safe. Safe. Safe. All is well.

The other night I jumped out of bed. Mostly asleep had become fully awake. I can’t tell you what I heard, but I knew it was something out of the ordinary. I thought it was a cry of pain. I ran downstairs and found my father sitting up on the edge of his bed with the lamp beside his bed turned on.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He looked at me, confused. “What?” he asked. “What did you say?”

And he put his hand up to monkey with his hearing aid. He forgets to take them out at night, but he doesn’t forget to turn them off.

“Are you okay?” I repeated.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.

I glanced around the room to see if anything was amiss, but it all looked okay.

“Did anything happen?” I asked.

“What? No, everything’s fine,” he said again. “You can go back to bed.”

I looked at the time. 1:38 AM.

I lay in bed listening for a long time. His deep steady breathing told me that he had gone back to sleep. That luxury didn’t come to me immediately.

I never figured out what the sound was — and I probably never will.

Some things remain a mystery.

Like earlids. I can’t even imagine what they would look like.