A Grandson

On Easter this year, I asked my son Daniel if he would come with me to visit my Mom, his grandma. I wasn't sure how he would react. Sometimes the young can be rather cruel. He said sure, he'd love to, and had been thinking about Grandma and about visiting her soon. Knowing how meaning to and doing it are often two different things, I was glad I had asked...and even more glad he had accepted.

We went over Easter Sunday in the afternoon, a beautiful spring day - warm, sunny, trees budding and birds singing. We found Mom with her new SHORT haircut (you can blame me - I asked the beauty shop to do it for ease of care) and it was a shock at first, but then I looked at her with more objective eyes and found it flattering. Mom has a wonderfully shaped face, and a very engaging stare; she always has a slightly amused glint in her eye and around her mouth, and is very ready to share a laugh. There are times when she's just as ready to shed a tear if Dad's memory bubbles to the surface, which happens still all too easily to this day with no reminders from anyone. There is no doubt she will miss him to the day she dies.

We had an amazing visit with her on the patio, everyone enjoying the weather. We talked about memories, but also about what was going on in our lives today. She has a new roommate, a much quieter and pleasant lady, who by coincidence has the same first name of Harriet! Daniel told her all about the work he has been doing, and his continued love of music and what he hopes to do with his passion for it. He has come a long way from the little boy that lived with Grandpa and Grandma while he, Eva, and I got back on our feet again in the mid 1980's. At that time, he would often play alone at their place, making airplanes out of old pieces of wood in Grandpa's 'plunder pile', or climbing up on top of the old chicken coop and gazing around the pastures, trees, and off into the distance, just hanging out. I understood that, having done much the same when I was growing up - solitude in such a place does amazing, inutterable things for your soul...

"Bad in the Kitchen, but good in the bedroom..."

I never met my Great Aunt Maud, Great Uncle Dick's first wife. She may have been a saint for all I know. But knowing my Mom like I do, I've never known her to say something without grounds. Whatever the truth, I thought it was fascinating to learn more about Uncle Dick's earlier life, and here's what Mom recently told us during a visit with her...

Maud, Uncle Dick's first wife, was a dance hall girl and a horrible housekeeper. "You'd come into the kitchen and there wasn't a spot...that wasn't covered by mounds of dirty dishes, pots, and pans!" She was a snob, thinking she was better than others. Mom said that her cousin Rita - one of their 6 daughters - talked back to her mother right and left, didn't let her get away with anything, and Mom rather liked that!

When Mom said "There wasn't a spot...", there was a pregnant pause, which Betty and I took to be the end of the statement, meaning she kept a spotless house, then she suddenly finished the sentence, and I began laughing and laughing, Betty joining in, and then Mom...I explained to Mom I thought you were saying the house was clean...! Evidently, she was known for being quite the opposite. Then Betty said (forgive me Betty, it's too good a line to pass by), "Bad in the Kitchen, but good in the bedroom...!"

Almost Home

I viewed an amazing documentary tonight. It was a window into one retirement home complex, over the course of one year...

Mom in Winter

Tonight, my sister Betty and I visited our mother on her birthday. Once again, Mom talked about getting her driver's license back and driving again. We don't say anything much, but I think about it later. I used to think it was sad. I don't anymore. It just means my Mom has hope, and has plans, and I think that's a good thing...


Happy 84th Birthday, Mom

Not for Sissies

GROWING OLD
by Matthew Arnold

What is it to grow old?
Is it to lose the glory of the form,
The lustre of the eye?
Is it for beauty to forego her wreath?
Yes, but not for this alone.

Is it to feel our strength—
Not our bloom only, but our strength—decay?
Is it to feel each limb
Grow stiffer, every function less exact,
Each nerve more weakly strung?

Yes, this, and more! but not,
Ah, 'tis not what in youth we dreamed 'twould be!
'Tis not to have our life
Mellowed and softened as with sunset-glow,
A golden day's decline!

'Tis not to see the world
As from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes,
And heart profoundly stirred;
And weep, and feel the fulness of the past,
The years that are no more!

It is to spend long days
And not once feel that we were ever young.
It is to add, immured
In the hot prison of the present, month
To month with weary pain.

It is to suffer this,
And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel:
Deep in our hidden heart
Festers the dull remembrance of a change,
But no emotion—none.

It is—last stage of all—
When we are frozen up within, and quite
The phantom of ourselves,
To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost
Which blamed the living man.

Tribute to a Mother

We take the miraculous as commonplace because it happens every day. And then you find yourself cutting the first piece of hospital chicken for your mother, and you realize that you cannot even begin to repay the debt.

An amazing story of tribute, James Lileks remembers his mother in the days after her passing...

Three Cousins Chat

Trishymouse says:
hey you guys - how is everyone?
bettyboop says:
doing good here too
Trishymouse says:
I'd be better if it was 70 outside
bettyboop says:
me too, its very cold out here
dellee@zianet.com says:
Well it has been that here for most of the winter. Really had a mild one here this year. ad a few 40 and 50 degree days but mostly short sleeve. I was out raking today to get some pine needles out of the yard.
dellee@zianet.com says:
Well i Betty got both of you. How neat.
bettyboop says:
yes Kool
bettyboop says:
We visited Mom last Thursday night
dellee@zianet.com says:
How is your Mom doing?
Trishymouse says:
Mom was shakey when she woke up at first, but as the visit progressed she was more and more coherent except for saying Laverne Wood was holding the Olympics...I think she meant to say something about hosting a party or something...a memory...
dellee@zianet.com says:
It eally blew my mind when Mom thought 2 weeks ago that grandma was still alive.
dellee@zianet.com says:
She was with grandma when she died.
Trishymouse says:
Did she tell you anything about that?
dellee@zianet.com says:
Yes she use to talk about it a lot. Grandmas diabetes had gotten out of control so why Mom returned her to the nursing home. Mom was with her and I guess grandma had a bad head ache. SAnd had gotten real bad with the diabetis. Grandma went into a convulsion and Mom held her head and hands as she died.
Trishymouse says:
Was Grandma conscious at the time?
Trishymouse says:
Did she say anything before?
dellee@zianet.com says:
Up until she went into the convulsion yes.
dellee@zianet.com says:
I think she was telling Mom about the headache. Mom always sort of blamed the nursing home as Grandma had the headache for several days I guess but noone seemed to do anything about it.
Trishymouse says:
I don't blame her. That's definitely a sign of something. Nowadays they'd probably scan her and there are meds available today that might help that weren't available in 1974...but at least she went fast...
dellee@zianet.com says:
Mom always felt if they had had the Dr. at her and find out why her head hurt so bad they maybe could have done something.
Trishymouse says:
Could have been another stroke, or as you said related to diabetes...
dellee@zianet.com says:
Yes I am sure that is what it was. I know a friend in Bemidji also had strokes and then when he had the final one that killed him he too went into convulsions.
Trishymouse says:
I don't know about you, but when looking at our Mom, it's like the clock is winding down, her body is slowly stopping. When I mentioned that to Mom and Thursday, she motioned like she was winding, and said, "Wind it back up then!" We laughed and said, that would be nice...
Trishymouse says:
Poor brain goes kafooey
dellee@zianet.com says:
Yes Mom too. Slowly things are working less and less. e mind gets foggier and foggier and legs are getting so weak. I have a call in to talk to the Dr. but he won't be in til next week.
Trishymouse says:
We've at least been able to make her as comfortable as possible. All her dental work has been caught up so no more pain or discomfort there. She has good reading glasses - and this pair have NOT been lost, knock on wood!

Struggling to Stay "Here"

Our Mom is about the same as yours, i.e., sometimes totally 'here', and other times the mind wanders. I can tell that Mom is working hard at keeping things straight sometimes. She has said more than once getting old stinks. I believe her...

When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. It's quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Assn. for Mental Health.

A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent poem.

And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet:

Crabby Old Woman

What do you see, nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking,
When you're looking at me?

A crabby old woman,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit,
With faraway eyes.

Who dribbles her food,
And makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice,
"I do wish you'd try!"

Who seems not to notice,
The things that you do,
And forever is losing,
A stocking or shoe

Who, resisting or not
Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding,
The long day to fill?

Is that what you're thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse,
You're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am,
As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding,
As I eat at your will.


I'm a small child of ten,
With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters,
Who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen,
With wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now,
A lover she'll meet.

A bride soon at twenty,
My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows,
That I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now,
I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide,
And a secure happy home.

A woman of thirty,
My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other,
With ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons,
Have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me,
To see I don't mourn.

At fifty once more,
Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children,
My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me,
My husband is dead,
I look at the future,
I shudder with dread.

For my young are all rearing,
Young of their own,
And I think of the years,
And the love that I've known.

I'm now an old woman,
And nature is cruel,
'Tis jest to make old age,
Look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles,
Grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone,
Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass,
A young girl still dwells,
And now and again,
My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys,
I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living,
Life over again.

I think of the years,
All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact,
That nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people,
Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman;
Look closer - see ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an old person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!

The 'Not So Golden Years'

I just read an article in a local paper where they compare TV shows about professions, as well as the institutions they involve, and how it stacks up to the actual real life jobs.

It got me thinking - when are TV executives going to do a real life drama about nursing homes, or even about aging in general?

Oh sure, there was the old show THE GOLDEN GIRLS, and bless them, they touched nicely on some topics, but I'd like something more visceral, more real, more deep. I don't mean it couldn't have some humour here and there, but I'd like it to touch on the hard stuff, the uncomfortable stuff - the 'activites of daily living' that must be faced, grace or no grace. I'd love to have the show have great writing, and be cast well. I'm not asking for much, am I?!