family

Laughter

May 21, 2015February 16, 2017 Sally1 Comment

Karl placed 2nd in Class C tennis doubles at sectionals. SECOND!

A great finish for my soccer-playing boy and his soccer-playing partner.

Last week, we had spent a sunshiny day on a Pennsylvania mountain for round one of sectionals. That was the day both Karl and I forgot sunscreen, but I had the luxury of sitting in the shade while he and his partner bobbed and weaved on a full sun court, easily winning all three matches. He was sun-burned, but moving on.

Sectional finals took place on indoor courts. He and Michael won their first match there less easily. Their opponents played in cargo shorts and won the first game. You can’t judge a tennis player by their shorts.

Karl and Michael won the match, though, and advanced to the championship.

Wow, I thought. Could he and Michael possibly be sectional champions?

The first serve by the kid in the backwards hat put a crack in that dream. Whoosh! I barely saw the ball.

Karl started laughing.

Fifteen-love.

The server switched sides. Karl stepped forward, while Michael moved into position to receive the next serve. The dance of doubles tennis.

Whoosh! Michael just shook his head.

Thirty-love.

11165210_10153255409336043_2143988857645962201_n — Karl at the tennis center

Karl was better prepared for the next serve. He changed where he stood and crouched in readiness.

Whoosh! The first serve hit the net. The second serve lobbed over for an easy return. After a few back-and-forths, the server got his racket on the ball and smashed it into a far corner.

Forty-love.

Michael was ready for his next serve. When it came directly at him, he put up his racket defensively. The ball bounced back to the opponents’ side and they had a short volley which ended in a point for Karl and Michael.

Forty-fifteen.

One more serve at Karl. Once again he was crouched and ready. Once more the gold sphere flew.

Game.

I watched Karl as they changed sides of the net. He was smiling and laughing. Part of him was enjoying this crazy game of tennis where he ultimately lost the match 6-1, 6-1.

As I told my father about it the next day, he said, “It’s a good thing he can laugh about it.”

Yes, it was. I had watched other players angrily whack their rackets into the padded walls in frustration. I watched them scowl and get angry. I wondered if any of them knew who John McEnroe was — masterful at tennis, but also masterful at the tennis tantrum.

Last night Karl said, “Somebody at school asked me why we lost so badly. I told him that he hadn’t seen that kid’s serve. No matter where I stood, he got it past me.”

And Karl was still laughing about it.

Laughter is sometimes the closest thing we have to grace.

Thankful for my son.

family

A Sweet Tradition

January 1, 2015February 17, 2017 Sally1 Comment

Yesterday we decorated Christmas cookies.

I know, I know — it was New Year’s Eve. With the busyness of the holidays, though, this is not the first year we’ve decorated the cookies after Christmas. As long as it gets done sometime during the season, it counts. Heck, we’re having our New Year’s party on January 3. Close enough, I say.

Traditions can be like the gossamer strands of memories. Tenuous. Fragile.

If we don’t cradle them gently, we lose something precious.

My brother, Stewart, was faithful about birthday phone calls. A tradition. I missed his last call and never called him back. He passed away less than two weeks later. Maybe in 2015 I can pick up where he left off and make those birthday phone calls.

Food and tradition walk hand-in-hand.

I was thrilled when Owen and Emily brought Chex mix to the nursing home at Thanksgiving. Party mix (as we call it) is a staple around the house from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. My mother made batch after batch after batch during the holidays to share with others. I love the smell of it baking in the oven.

My brother, Peter, has continued the spritz cookie tradition — making them and sharing them with us every year at Christmas. I get my cookie press out sometimes; it’s fun to squeeze out camels and Christmas trees and stars. But Peter is the one who has best carried on this tradition.

We make the Christmas cookies. Every person becomes an artist with the various colored glazes, little brushes, and toothpicks to coax the colors into position.

I remember decorating cookies with my brothers and sister. The oddly shaped kitchen table would be covered with cookies and sprinkles and icing.

Years ago my mother neatly wrote out the recipe for me years ago. It’s a sweet tradition that I’m happy to carry on. I told my children yesterday that they need to do this with their children. For their sake, here’s the recipe.

Aviary Photo_130645991662410873 — A well-worn oft-used recipe card

Christmas Cookies

3/4 Cup Oleo (that means margarine, kids, but I use butter)
1 1/2 Cups Sugar
2 Eggs
2 tsp Vanilla
4 Cups Sifted Flour (yes, I really do sift the flour for this recipe. Twice.)
2 tsp Baking Powder
1 tsp Salt

Mix together. (First four ingredients first, then add dry ingredients after sifting them together.) Roll to 1/8″ and cut shapes. (You don’t really have to measure the thickness.) Bake on lightly greased cookie sheet at 400 for 7 minutes. Ice with confectioner’s sugar and water (in lots of different colors).

And it’s okay if they don’t get made until after Christmas.

family

Leaving Time-Warner

August 12, 2014February 25, 2022 Sally2 Comments

Well, we did it. We disconnected our cable and transferred our phone and internet to a smaller local provider.

Truth be told, our internet now is better than it was with Time-Warner.

I called last night to switch my email address, which I had been getting as part of the Time-Warner bundle, to a Premium Email account. I wanted to keep my old email address, plain and simple.

A week ago I participated in a Customer Service chat to find out how it was done and then I saved the text of the chat. Here’s the important part:

Martin Williams: Please call Customer Service on phone and with a representative who will process your request to change your service to Premium Mail.

Martin Williams: When the automated attendant answers simple say “I want to cancel my service”.

Martin Williams: When you reach the representative, tell him that you wish to change your service to Premium Mail plan.

I followed Martin’s instructions to the word. I said “I want to cancel my service” multiple times, but it seemed to be a hard thing for the automated attendant to understand. Finally, I was connected with a representative.

He asked my reason for leaving.

“It costs too much,” I told him.

“Oh, so you cannot afford our services,” he replied.

“No, I can afford your services. I just don’t want to pay that much,” I said.

“I will say that you are leaving because you cannot afford our services,” he repeated. I think he had a box he wanted to check.

“No. It’s too expensive and I think that Time-Warner is taking over the world,” I told him.

He laughed. “I will say that you cannot afford our services,” he said again.

“You can say that,” I told him, “if it will make you happy, but that’s not why we are leaving. I would just like to switch our account to Premium Mail.”

“I can set you up with dial-up service,” he said, “for $14.95 a month.”

“I don’t want dial-up service. We have a different internet provider. I just want Premium Mail.”

“Oh. I see. I see. And what is your reason for leaving?”

“Time-Warner keeps raising our rates. It’s rather ridiculous.”

My husband was waving his hands at me. “Tell them that their service was terrible, too,” he said, but I didn’t get a chance.

“So you cannot afford our services,” the representative was saying again, like some sort of bad mantra.

“Go ahead and say that. It’s not true, but I want to get set up with Premium Email,” I said.

Sometimes, when Maggie, our dog, is learning a new trick, she runs through all her old tricks hoping one of them will earn her the proffered treat. I suddenly felt a kinship with her. The treat I wanted was Premium Email. I would say he wanted me to say to get that treat.

“So you cannot afford our services?” he asked again.

“Nope. Can you set me up with Premium Email?”

“Yes, I would be happy to assist you with that,” he said.

And he did.

family

Woodchucks

July 1, 2014October 14, 2023 Sally5 Comments

(October 14, 2023 — This post was originally published in 2014. For whatever reason, I had made it private some years ago. Now it’s back.)

Henry David Thoreau wrote, “My enemies are worms, cool days, and most of all woodchucks.”

I’ve been known to perform worm rescues when I see them squirming on the sidewalk.

I rather like cool days. (Cool, not cold.)

But woodchucks — yes. I’m thinking about declaring war on woodchucks.

Yesterday, Helen and I were talking in my parents’ kitchen when we both started looking around.

“Did you hear that?” Helen asked.

It sounded like someone was coming in through the side door. We heard it a couple more times, but could find no explanation for the noise. I shrugged it off as a quirk of a very old house.

Later, I was sitting on their sun porch and heard a different odd noise, like the furnace kicking on with a rattle of the metal air vents. The heat yesterday was not from my father’s furnace, I knew that. After a few more clanks and rumbles, I decided to investigate.

I was halfway down the cellar stairs when a massive woodchuck, pretty much the King Kong of woodchucks, ran across the dirt floor at the bottom of the stairs and disappeared into the shadows.

Once my heart started beating again, I went back upstairs to find a flashlight. Crazy, I know, but I wondered where it could have gone. Suffice it to say that, upon further investigation and based on the noises I heard, there was more than one woodchuck in the basement.

“Dad, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” I told my father, and then informed him of the presence of woodchucks in the basement.

“I kind of want to see them,” he said, and went to the top of the cellar stairs. With the door open and the light on below, he stood and watched. Nothing happened. He began sorting through papers while he watched, got sidetracked, and left the door open.

I ran an errand in town and came back 15 minutes later to learn that the woodchuck was now in the living room. I kid you not.

He was hiding behind the woodstove.

It must have been Behemoth’s offspring. This version was considerably smaller.

Still. A woodchuck in the living room?!

With a little teamwork, we got him out from behind the woodstove, but then he raced behind the piano.

We finally got him to scamper out the front door.

Still, I worry about the giant in the basement.

My brother says, “If he got in, he can get out.”

Yeah, but, what if he’s taking up residence there?

Thoreau’s stated enemies — worms, cool days, woodchucks — are in the context of growing beans. Still, I wonder what he would have said about a woodchuck in his house.

family

Other Duties As Assigned

June 21, 2012September 4, 2017 Sally14 Comments

Last night (and the night before) Laurel said to me as she went to bed, “I’m sorry if I come in.” Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night with a bad dream and comes in our room.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “It’s in my job description.”

I probably should have looked the job description over a little more carefully before I signed on. Not that I ever really looked over any job description; I was usually just glad to have a job.

Like when I worked at the Baseball Hall of Fame, I think my job title was “Souvenir Girl” and that pretty much summed it up. I sold souvenirs and tickets. Maybe it specified that I wasn’t supposed to try to charge VIPs, like the time I was going to charge Bowie Kuhn admission, but I honestly never read through it.

But a Mom Job Description — whew! There’s a good one that I’ve seen: The Mom Job Description. (Click to see it.)

I actually think I could do it in five words.

and other duties as assigned

No matter how complete the list, it would still be incredibly incomplete.

I knew I would have sleepless nights. I imagined they would end when my children slept through the night. Not so. It’s not always Laurel waking me up. Sometimes I wake with a particular child on my mind and just pray for them.

Prayer is definitely somewhere in the job description. Under communication — with doctors, teachers, waitresses, and God. Yep.

haircut for Jacob — Jacob getting a haircut a few years ago.

No one told me that when I became a mom, I would have to cut hair. But I have cut the boys’ hair for years. All my boys are now teenagers and beyond. I tell them to get their haircut by somebody who knows what they’re doing. And yet, what did I do the other day? Cut Jacob’s hair. And I still don’t know what I’m doing.

I knew when I became a mom that I would have to prepare meals. I was okay with that because I know how to read recipes. My creativity in the kitchen is pretty limited. But did I ever imagine that I would have to triple or quadruple every recipe every written? And kids think math skills aren’t that important…

And all those years of raising children are really just a warm-up for caring for parents, a job I’m now cowering from. Other duties as assigned.

It doesn’t seem to get any easier.

And I just seem to get tireder.

But Laurel can still wake me up any night of the week.

It’s in my job description.

Alzheimer's · family

Quiet Miracles

May 16, 2012January 16, 2021 Sally18 Comments

I am the world’s biggest fan of quiet, well, one of them anyway. I love quiet and all the sounds of quiet.

It’s quiet in my home right now. I hear the fan from my computer and a few birds singing outside. Mary is in the kitchen pouring a bowl of cereal. It’s quiet.

My father ate a meal at the Manor with my mother the other day. He commented on how quiet it was.

“It was a lovely meal,” he said, “but nobody spoke at all during it.”

“Well, Dad,” I reminded, “they may be hard of hearing or have dementia issues.”

“There may be all sorts of reasons for it,” he agreed, “but it doesn’t change the fact that there was no conversation. It just seemed kind of strange.”

I tried to picture a table full of elderly people, focusing on their food and eating in silence.

Our dinner table is never silent. In fact, it can be a rather raucous affair.

As I thought about the quiet of eating, I remember sitting on our side porch years ago next to a box with Monarch caterpillars and milk weed. We used to tromp through the field and find dozens of the caterpillars, hiding on the bottom sides of leaves. We would gather as many as we could find and bring them home to watch the miracle.

A supply of fresh milkweed would keep them busy for days. If I sat next to the box in the quiet of the day, I could hear the small sounds of caterpillars munching.

Karl's caterpillar — Karl drew this caterpillar for me for Mother’s Day

munch…munch…munch

nom…nom…nom

squitch…squitch…crunch

When they had filled their full of milkweed, one by one they found their own private spot and hung upside down. Magically, they chrysalized into beautiful green and gold jewel boxes.

They hung in silence. No more sounds of eating. If they weren’t so beautiful, they would be easy to forget.

Then one day they turned black, and it seemed that hope was gone, but for the slight movement. A twitch here and there. I would wonder if I was seeing things. Slowly, the blackened jewel box would open to reveal a new creature with wet crumpled wings.

The Monarch miracle was one I never tired of witnessing.

It all began with quiet eating. Strength for the journey.

Is that what is happening at the Manor? The quiet eating, the gradual withdrawal into a private world, and then, when hope seems gone, the emergence into a new world.

I think there is a great, unimaginable beauty in shedding this earthly skin for wings.

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!

Alzheimer's · elderly · family

Disorganization

May 4, 2011February 2, 2017 Sally4 Comments

Lest you think I am picking on my mother later in the post, let me start by listing for you just a few of the things on my desk right now that I can see with moving anything.

a pack of gum
a golf ball
headphones
a highlighter pen
two pairs of scissors
“Amistad” DVD
a Webkinz code
a Staples easy-rebate receipt
my cup of coffee
a letter Mary wrote to her Compassion child
Christmas labels
an empty CD case
an SD card
a silk Gerber daisy
folders filled with papers
two 3-ring binders
my laptop
much, much more!

Why should I ever buy an “I Spy” book or an “I Spy” game when I have a desk that looks like this? Can you find all the things I listed?

Yesterday, when I was at my parents’ house, I went in the laundry room to see if anything needed to be washed. The bin above the washer caught my eye. Usually, this was where cleaning rags were kept, but lately other things have been showing up there. The kitchen towels, which used to be kept in a drawer, are almost always in this bin these days. But yesterday, there was even more.

I started taking things out, just to see what all was there. Here is what I found:

rags (expected)
bags – plastic bags from the grocery store and used zip-loc bags (sort of expected, but I have to ask, does anybody else’s mother wash zip-loc bags? Mine has for years.)
several ShamWows (purchased at the state fair after my parents were wowed by that demonstration. Have they ever used them? I don’t know…)
dish towels (expected these days)
paper placemats (spilled upon in several places, but once quite pretty. I threw them away.)
styrofoam cups (Where did these come from? Why are they here?)
a pretty bowl (This does not belong to my parents. Somebody brought them food in it. Usually it is sitting on the counter with the rest of the dishes that don’t belong to them.)
Bounce fabric softener sheets (sort of expected. At least it’s in the laundry room.)
loose kleenex (these are everywhere in the house. Fortunately, they did not go into the washer or dryer. From my experience, kleenex does not wash well.)
a stretched out glove (this would not fit anybody that I know. I threw it away.)
pieces of a broken plate in a plastic bowl (less than half of a stoneware plate, so I threw it away. Even if we had the whole plate, would we have glued it back together? I don’t think so.)

As I was taking all these things out and shaking my head over them, I thought about my desk at home. Any sane, normal person could start pulling things off my desk and saying, “Where did this come from? Why is this here?”

I think the difference is — and this is an important distinction for those of us who wonder if the same thing is happening to us — that this is a fairly new behavior for my mother. When I was in 3rd grade my desk was such a disaster that my teacher, Miss Bliss, dumped it out in the middle of class to my horror and embarrassment. It made an impression on me, but it didn’t fix the problem. My desk in college was cluttered, and my desks in my homes have been cluttered.

And the really weird thing is, I usually know where things are. I know right where to find a paper clip on my desk because I watched the box spill. I just haven’t picked them all up yet. I know there is a check I have to give Bud to sign. It’s in the pile to my left, either underneath or on top of the two library books that don’t have to be returned for two weeks.

My mother has always washed and saved zip-loc bags. That doesn’t worry me. It’s the fact that she no longer puts them in the same place. It’s this new disorganization that concerns me and reminds me that she is no longer in full possession of her faculties. If the person who owns that pretty little blue bowl ever shows up looking for it, I wouldn’t know where to start looking. In the workshop? In the bathroom?

My mother no longer understands where things go. It makes life hard for my father.

Maybe if I get Alzheimer’s, I’ll get neater. My desk will be organized. My husband and children will scratch their heads in wonder because it will look tidy. But I won’t know where anything is.