Wednesday, June 20, 2007
I'm feeling a flurry of posts coming on.
I hope I find some time to work on them while I'm feeling writing and publishing friendly. I hope this flurry of energy involves finishing drafts. They cover so many months that I'm afraid I'll temporarily miss some.
Mom so enjoyed yesterday that she talked about it all evening, interspersed with silent reveries and pleasurable grins. I'm not sure which experience was more enjoyable for me; the actual experience or watching and listening to her digest it. She had no confusion with who was there, and who wasn't. At points, as I was rubbing her legs down (always a period of free-form thought, for her, which could be considered sharper because of her dementia but it's exactly the same state you and I experience while being massaged and is always a little touched by light-headedness), she'd confirm with me that, "...now, Linda wasn't here, was she..." and (bless her queenish little heart), "...now, this wasn't my birthday celebration, was it..." (although I hope her birthday celebration and any visits that take place during that time are at least as felicitous as yesterday's get together).
When reminded that she will shortly turn 90, she thought about this and announced that she was actually turning 89, her birthday was in 1918. I'm not sure where she got that, but I think it was just a minor blip. I hope so. Spouting her birthday is crucial to many business interactions. I think, too, she's a little daunted by "90", even though her parents saw themselves well into that decade.
Mom and O[ur]P[rescott]F[riend] had an involved conversation about how her short, casually curled, shagged hair made her look younger. I quickly adjusted my vision and had to agree...it makes her look as though her energy is available to her. It is, usually, but in a slightly different, hmmm...way, I guess, than with Those of Us Who are Younger. Funny, I have a memory of trying to explain that we had to change hair styles because the spray and heavy duty setting and styling lotions had begun to irritate her scalp something fierce. OPF waved away my explanation...wasn't necessary. The results speak for themselves.
Mr. Man was, once again, as usual, a hit. He loved his way into everyone's hearts. This pleased Mom. She like to be master of inviting pets and children. When she learned further, though, that The Little Girl was repeating her typical sociopathic interactions, she was surprisingly astonished and regretful. She even said at one point, "Maybe we should consider getting rid of that cat." I won't allow this, though, and she knows it. The Little Girl is a reflection of my own somewhat sociopathic personality. She guards my (and our) sense of privacy. But, she is, sadly, treacherous, with company. Even I find myself shocked and her behavior into scolding her "in public", which she hates. She's a touchy cat, but lovable within her pack, and expresses something of Mom's and my ticklishness and clubbishness, here.
We're going to try to engineer a weekend get together in either late June or July (the details are still hazy), the overweening project to be going through the contents of the shed, the supervisory position to be occupied by Mom. She and I are both excited about this and so, to, are our friends. So, by the time Mom's birthday rolls around, we will have experienced at least two weekends of heightened social activity. Social exercise works as well as (or, sometimes better than) physical activity. But, not too much. Mom can get easily confused, now, if visits are packed in tightly, and she'll take out her worries in her dreams, which means almost constantly occupying The Dead Zone for a number of days.
Just prior to the visit, tantalized by the smell of a 6 lb crate of peaches, I decided to make from-scratch peach pies. I'll record the experience, because it yielded an amazing peach pie and will be yielding one more today, over at the food section of this site. When it's written, I'll link back to here. It won't be one of those "quick 'n easy" recipes. This is serious pie making, folks, but pies are easy to make. To give you a quick taste, much to my surprise and delight, the filling tasted like European tarts, which I love (typically glazed fruit that hasn't been cooked, or cooked too long, in additional sugar). I left the peelings on the peaches. The flavor was deep and pure peach. The crust was almost perfect. I'm going to adjust a few things, bake it with ripe peaches, this time (although the crate was fragrant, it was full of premature peaches, although this seemed to make no difference to the sweetness of the pie). At that point, I'll report back in the final recipe, prepared to delineate all it's stages and surprises.
At the moment, since I have some quiet time, I have some reading to do. Mothering Mother is intriguing enough to hold my oft divided and snagged interest. That's a point (perhaps a crucial point) in its favor. Don't have much of an opinion yet, though.
I'll probably be back...
...later.
Mom so enjoyed yesterday that she talked about it all evening, interspersed with silent reveries and pleasurable grins. I'm not sure which experience was more enjoyable for me; the actual experience or watching and listening to her digest it. She had no confusion with who was there, and who wasn't. At points, as I was rubbing her legs down (always a period of free-form thought, for her, which could be considered sharper because of her dementia but it's exactly the same state you and I experience while being massaged and is always a little touched by light-headedness), she'd confirm with me that, "...now, Linda wasn't here, was she..." and (bless her queenish little heart), "...now, this wasn't my birthday celebration, was it..." (although I hope her birthday celebration and any visits that take place during that time are at least as felicitous as yesterday's get together).
When reminded that she will shortly turn 90, she thought about this and announced that she was actually turning 89, her birthday was in 1918. I'm not sure where she got that, but I think it was just a minor blip. I hope so. Spouting her birthday is crucial to many business interactions. I think, too, she's a little daunted by "90", even though her parents saw themselves well into that decade.
Mom and O[ur]P[rescott]F[riend] had an involved conversation about how her short, casually curled, shagged hair made her look younger. I quickly adjusted my vision and had to agree...it makes her look as though her energy is available to her. It is, usually, but in a slightly different, hmmm...way, I guess, than with Those of Us Who are Younger. Funny, I have a memory of trying to explain that we had to change hair styles because the spray and heavy duty setting and styling lotions had begun to irritate her scalp something fierce. OPF waved away my explanation...wasn't necessary. The results speak for themselves.
Mr. Man was, once again, as usual, a hit. He loved his way into everyone's hearts. This pleased Mom. She like to be master of inviting pets and children. When she learned further, though, that The Little Girl was repeating her typical sociopathic interactions, she was surprisingly astonished and regretful. She even said at one point, "Maybe we should consider getting rid of that cat." I won't allow this, though, and she knows it. The Little Girl is a reflection of my own somewhat sociopathic personality. She guards my (and our) sense of privacy. But, she is, sadly, treacherous, with company. Even I find myself shocked and her behavior into scolding her "in public", which she hates. She's a touchy cat, but lovable within her pack, and expresses something of Mom's and my ticklishness and clubbishness, here.
We're going to try to engineer a weekend get together in either late June or July (the details are still hazy), the overweening project to be going through the contents of the shed, the supervisory position to be occupied by Mom. She and I are both excited about this and so, to, are our friends. So, by the time Mom's birthday rolls around, we will have experienced at least two weekends of heightened social activity. Social exercise works as well as (or, sometimes better than) physical activity. But, not too much. Mom can get easily confused, now, if visits are packed in tightly, and she'll take out her worries in her dreams, which means almost constantly occupying The Dead Zone for a number of days.
Just prior to the visit, tantalized by the smell of a 6 lb crate of peaches, I decided to make from-scratch peach pies. I'll record the experience, because it yielded an amazing peach pie and will be yielding one more today, over at the food section of this site. When it's written, I'll link back to here. It won't be one of those "quick 'n easy" recipes. This is serious pie making, folks, but pies are easy to make. To give you a quick taste, much to my surprise and delight, the filling tasted like European tarts, which I love (typically glazed fruit that hasn't been cooked, or cooked too long, in additional sugar). I left the peelings on the peaches. The flavor was deep and pure peach. The crust was almost perfect. I'm going to adjust a few things, bake it with ripe peaches, this time (although the crate was fragrant, it was full of premature peaches, although this seemed to make no difference to the sweetness of the pie). At that point, I'll report back in the final recipe, prepared to delineate all it's stages and surprises.
At the moment, since I have some quiet time, I have some reading to do. Mothering Mother is intriguing enough to hold my oft divided and snagged interest. That's a point (perhaps a crucial point) in its favor. Don't have much of an opinion yet, though.
I'll probably be back...
...later.
