Mom & Me Five Archive

Carol D. O'Dell Author, Mothering Mother Kunati Publishing April 2007 release ISBN-13: 978-1-60164-003-1 Carol O'Dell dot com

    Everything remains copacetic. Mom remained undisturbed as I activated the evaporative cooler from the back and brought in a fan to throw cooler air into her bedroom, which must be maintained at a particular warm temperature and level of humidity or I get complaints and bloody noses. She was snoring. I don't know whether she was dreaming.
    She had an ice cream bar last night [Carol O'Dell's mother, by the way, was an ice cream bar addict, too, with a sweet tooth comparable to my mother's], so I imagine she's a bit sugary this morning, although we haven't yet reached the 12 hour sleep mark. I'll check in on her again at 1400.

"The wife, the mother, the son, whoever they were, were probably not writers; that was not their calling. They were not asked to do this task." --3rd para, pg 62
    There are many, most, probably, caregivers who are also not called to the task of recording their lives. Thus, I am always grateful for someone who is compelled to do so, as, believe me, it takes compulsion to continue to think and write about intense needs caregiving. My reluctance to read caregiving books has nothing to do with any innate unworthiness with which I view them. It's practical, see: If I have time and the "space" to read, I don't usually want to be reading about caregiving (although sometimes I want to read about aging and medicine).

"Caregivers" --pg 62
    It is always a treat to read a thoughtful, articulate writer's take on caregiving. O'Dell's is not to be missed. If you're not inclined to read the entire book, look up the passage while browsing at the bookstore or library.

Throughout --the entire book
    I marked the passage of time, possible actual years, actual ages, etc. So far, without review, I think I've deduced:

• That O'Dell's mother was with them for about two years.
• The mother ranged in age from late 80's to early 90's.
• O'Dell traversed her late 30's through her early 40's.
• The years are the early 21st century.
• Her mother had been vaguely incapacitated living on her own and had needed much attention in all areas of her life prior to the O'Dell's embracing her as immediate family.
• Her mother seemed to be in fairly late stage everything when they combined lives. She also seemed to share anemia (probably iron deficiency) with my mother; possibly CRF; doesn't sound like she's diabetic, though.
• The daughter reluctantly becomes medical advocate on mother's behalf...with an ornery attitude similar to mine. I was especially keen on, and surprised by her descriptions of and rumination on hospice care: Detailed in Part IV.

"Her eyes are fixed on Mother's rolling vein..." --2nd para, pg 77
    My mother's veins also roll with age. I prostrate myself before techs who are experienced with experienced veins.

"...but there are so many things no one can do but me." --last para, pg 80
    Thank you, Ms. O'Dell, for confirming this, underlining it with convictive illustrations. Sorry, well-meaning caregiver counselors, but there is a time for related hands on care, and when that time arrives, it is necessary and to be respected.

"Shirley" --pg 81-83
    Especially the following: I enjoy her company, which is quite a compliment since lately most people irritate me.. --pg 83
    I find the same thing. I am always pleasantly surprised when I find myself appreciating someone's company. I also had an experienced geriatric FNP toward whom I had such feelings. Her manner continues to exert influence over my approach to my mother.

"...but some days I need her to be in it." --3rd para, pg 93
    The utility of equipment assist is often judged on the caregiver's, not the care recipient's needs. In the end, my decisions about this can be trusted to be for the greater good.

"She keeps trying to find the other me." --last para, pg 96
    My mother isn't doing this. Yet. She is completely comfortable and flexible with whomever she considers me on any particular day. I've even found that I don't necessarily have to be consciously aware of who I am to her in order to "play along", if it seems provocative to do so.

"Fantasies" --pg 98
    Every writer-caregiver I know has rich fantasy lives, both awake and asleep. I sometimes wonder if this is an unconscious attempt to make up for social deprivation, except that I have a very high tolerance, some would even call it a preference, for social deprivation.

"Mother needs containing." --4th para, pg 99
    Astute observation. Perhaps this is part of the problem with the nursing home industry. It can barely offer unobtrusive, familiar containment.
    In any case, O'Dell's experience highlights the need for advanced, compassionate, comfortable containment.

"I'll tell them Mother's failing to thrive." --1st para, pg 100
    Blatant reminder that I still need to finish a post on "failing to thrive".

"Well Enough" --pg 102
    A wise vignette about quality caregiving.

"First Fears" --pg 108
    This vignette reminded me that I once considered that the display of Alzheimer's-like symptoms might be related to character and personality, and real, though confused, perceptions of past treatment. My maternal grandmother and my Aunt Jean were worry worts. My mother never has been. Perhaps her lack of worry somehow prevents her dementia from accomplishing certain depths.
    As well, my mother never had aggressive, defensive feelings toward any of us that she didn't immediately expel. My maternal aunt had a past of resentment toward, well, who knows what but definitely discharged toward her husband, the only person with whom she became dementedly violent. My maternal grandmother would become super charged, especially in her own homes, but never escalated to violence, even though she ended up in a fetal position before she died, so she was pretty far gone. My mother has never exhibited violence, or much agitation, for that matter, in her demented state.

"I've been ignoring Mother though my care has not decreased." --3rd para, pg 109
    This is the first sentence of a vignette entitled "Happiness". How appropriate.

"I won't. You won't let me go home. Mother's expecting me!" --5th para, pg 113
    My maternal grandmother and aunt experienced this "go" and "mother" syndrome. My mother has a much less stubborn version of it wherein I am sometimes "mother" (although I'm never sure whose mother I am), and we are always expecting "them".

"I understand why people recoil from the elderly...but for now, I allow this world of my mother to define me." --pg 115-116
    Says it all.

"Empty Beds" --pg 120
    My mother sometimes insists that I slept with her "last night". I always assure her I would never sleep with her, although I have slept in her room, which is hard enough. Her temperature preference is in direct contrast to mine and, usually, when I am sleeping in her room, it's because she's having temporary trouble getting around and I want to be alerted when she moves. I've found, though, that I become so exhausted during these periods that I often sleep through her stepping over me, which is dangerous, in itself.
    At any rate, my inability to actually sleep with my mother in the same bed feels more like an intrusion of my privacy than hers. She is not, thank the gods, adamant about it.

After Carol bathes her mother: "I can never thank you enough," she says, nodding off to sleep before I pull the cover all the way up." --7th para, pg 130
    The one time my mother has been moved to thank me, in what seemed like an eerily all-encompassing way, for what I do for her, was, also, right after a bath. The intimacy, I think. I think it expands one's outlook and makes us, even the demented among us, aware of the web of relationships within which, and by which, we exist.

"I'm not mad at him. Yes I am. I'm mad at everyone." --2nd para, pg 133
    So am I.

"I go back to the kitchen and lift the chicken pieces out of the boiler..." --3rd para, pg 142
    I note in the margin: "Recipe for Chicken Stew"; it's surprisingly complete, and sounds delicious. My mother likes "stewy things".

"I hope when her eyes are closed she sees herself young, long-legged, and just beginning to live." --5th para, pg 143
    I noted, "movie: After Life". And, I sobbed. This is what I wish for my mother. This is what I wish for me.

"Duped" --last para, pg 145
    Noted in margin: "laughed". And I did. Out loud. Even at the end.

"I wonder what she or he will be like and why you never run into a funeral home cosmetologist." --3rd para, pg 147
    I knew one. He came by the trade through family, although his father was a funeral director. I asked him, among many other questions, why he decided to study this aspect of mortuary science. He said because he's always believed that the quality of final touch is important to the individual dignity of each of the dead and he wanted to make sure as many people as possible were dignified in those final touchings.
    I thought of him when, later to meeting him, a lover of mine died and I heard, first hand, about what needed to be done to his body in preparation for Visitation. I was fascinated, and grateful, for men like my acquaintance.

Noted in upper margin --pg 150
    "My own experience of my mother's death may be affected by having read this; how???"

While redecorating her mother's now vacant add-on apartment: "I wish I had done that before but it wouldn't have been her room, it would have been mine." --7th para, pg 150
    Mom and I have both been lucky in that this home was allowed to become both our homes, filled with familiar stuff belonging to both of us. She often "remembers" that we've had this house much longer than we have: Since before my father died in 1985. Mom insisted on buying it in 1997. I used to cringe when she'd say, "Do you remember why it was your dad bought this house?" Usually, a question like that means she's looking for an opportunity to express her dislike of something. One time, before answering (which answer, that she chose and bought it, always seems to stop her from trashing the house; I used to think this was because I distracted her from it), I asked her why she wanted to know.
    To my astonishment, she said, in complete innocence, "I just wonder who I need to thank for finding this house."
    Now that I know, I let the conversation play out all the way, especially since it traditionally ends with me saying, "See, you have yourself to thank for this little slice of heaven!"
    She always beams. She loves knowing she's responsible for felicity.

"It must feel good to her. It feels good to me." --2nd para, pg 159
    Good salute to the mutual pleasure of bathing, massaging, etc.

"I don't want her to feel alone." --10th para, pg 162
    Funny, somehow I expect my mother, in her final moments, to pull inward, telling me she wants to "be left alone". I wonder if I will perceive something different when this woman, the beloved one here with me, dies.

"Although Daddy has been gone for nearly seventeen years, I've kept him alive. Talking about him is as easy as getting dressed each day." --2nd para, pg 173
    I feel the same toward my father. I am learning to feel this way toward "our family", as well.

"I feel like I'm supposed to do something now, or be something that she was somehow keeping me from." --2nd para, pg 176
    I don't think I'll suffer this. I've come through that gauntlet swinging.

"I hear Mother all the time and quote her daily." --5th para, pg 180
    I do this now and didn't realize it until the woman who has become our shared barber told my mother, a month or so ago, "Your daughter really loves you! You're all she talks about! She's proud of you!"
    Suddenly, I realized, Hey, that's true! And I was pleased that it's visible in polite, and impolite, society.

"Part V" --pg 165
    I am especially grateful for this section. I often wonder what the part of the journey will be like when I will be getting used to journeying on alone. I'm not dreading it. I have an open curiosity about it. I sense mine will be different than Ms. O'Dell's, simply because of the heightened level of one-on-one involvement between my mother and me in which distractions are to a minimum, in contrast to Ms. O'Dell's life.
    I am not afraid to look forward to that period, but I'm not looking forward to it, yet.

    The book, by the way, has a bibliography, an appendix and a very helpful index. Maybe it's because I'm a fellow caregiver, but I didn't, as one cover blurb mentions, identify any "martyrdom", not even "a touch of..." it in the book.
    I think this is being published at a critical time. I think it will have an impact, but what impact, I'm not sure. As I told Ms. O'Dell when I thanked her for permission to use direct quotes, "At the moment, since most of us [caregiving journalists] don't know much about others of us, our writing is surprisingly pure. For awhile, most of us think we're one of only a few. Then, the view widens and our view of our task becomes perplexingly complex. I am grateful for the narratives that float to the surface. I am grateful to you, Carol."
    I stand by this.
    Would I not have read the book but for the serendipitous circumstances surrounding it's entrance into my life? I probably would not have become aware of it. I'm glad I have. It's a good one, drenched in reality. I am pleased I own an autographed first edition. It honors me.

Added at 1813:  I forgot to mention whether I'd recommend it. Yes, I would, especially to caregivers whose care recipients are in the waiting part of the "active dying phase" (because you'll have more time to read) and those who have relatives who are embracing the extended family's Ancient Ones into an already extended care household. I would also recommend it to those who have "enjoyed" (as, it is debatable how enjoyable these kinds of relationships are) contentious relationships with parents and are curious about what the future holds in regard to their already challenged feelings toward their parents becoming befuddled by intense needs caregiving for the parent. Ms. O'Dell is very forthcoming in what the challenges were to her relationship with her mother, how she thinks her mother achieved peace in regard to her own life and how Ms. O'Dell achieved peace in regard to her relationship with her mother.
    As well, the light but firm touch regarding how the rest of the family adapted is intriguing, especially the parts in which family members begin to form unique, two-way relationships with a seemingly oblivious old woman. It's a good lesson for anyone who is concerned about how the introduction of an Ancient One is going to impact family.
    There is a running issue throughout the book as well, rotating around O'Dell's mother exacting a childhood promise from her (only, adopted) daughter that O'Dell would take care of her in old age. I've often speculated that my mother looked to me when shopping for a family companion because I am single and, in addition "the single daughter". This is a position which is proudly hailed in my mother's ancestry, but of ambivalent distinction. Now, when I think about it, it is obvious that Mom thought that we'd be taking care of each other. She's right...but there's so much more. I can't remembering bristling when I first had this thought. But, by that time, I was long past any consideration of where her life ends and mine begins. The thing is, me being her (only) single daughter probably also has an effect on the closeness my mother and I have enjoyed throughout our lives, and, as well, the continually evolving dynamics of or relationship. I'm happy with this effect.
    I have mixed-givings about the "My Daughter/Son's Wife, Whomever, Will Take Care of Me in My Old Age" school. I'm not sure I see this as an intractable problem. I think this would be less an issue if society recognized that this is a point of common law. I recently read that 80% of all elderly needing care are taken care of by family members. 80%! Yes, we need to be excited about the plight of elder care live-in facilities. We need to be even more excited about, and support in tangible ways, the 45 million caregivers already engaged. I hope this book raises awareness of what the rank-and-file are choosing over and above what society is planning to do with our elderly, with us, eventually.

...Mothering Mother. Her signature handwriting (I used to "do" handwriting analysis) on the cover page of her book is startlingly like that of MFS who sent me the book (she mentioned to me she hadn't read it). Carol O'Dell is also a Gemini. As a skeptical but enchanted astrological observer, Gemini blesses my life in the following ways:

• All three of my sisters are Gemini;
• My maternal grandmother is a Gemini;
• and shares her birthday with the-niece-who-I-know-the-best, MPNC.
• My Tropical Campanus midheaven is at 0° Gemini, which "means" that my sisters are intimately involved with the way I involve myself in "the outside world" and with my "reputation" in that world.
• My watery moodiness is a startling compliment to Gemini's airy moodiness;

    Thus, I have a feeling one of the reasons MFS and O'Dell managed informal table time is because they experienced an affinity for one another. I certainly feel a sisterly affinity with her book.

Carol D. O'Dell Author, Mothering Mother Kunati Publishing April 2007 release ISBN-13: 978-1-60164-003-1 http://www.caroldodell.com

    I wrote Ms. O'Dell seeking permission to reproduce small quotes from her book as I write about it. She enthusiastically assented. When I responded to her, I was a little over half my way through her book. I thanked her and said, "...the extremely thoughtful organization and vignette style, with which I remain impressed, and the tight writing: Sort of a Spicy Chicken Soup, no, Stew for the Ironic [Caregiving] Soul. Ah! I like that! I'll probably use that when I do a final write on your book." Good description. Even better, though, is to compare it to a very specific, skeptical, hopeful prayer book, filled with meditations on the experience of caring for an aging parent. The specificity of her experience (and, thus, meditations) are:

• Caregiver female; Late 30's/early 40's crossover during caregiving time period;
• Mother in late 80's when their living-together-again adventure commences...dies in early 90's;
• Caregiver also full time family caregiver with husband and three (I believe) teenage daughters;
• Mother has Parkinson's;
• Mother has always been a mover and pusher, sometimes thoughtless and hurtful;
• Relationship complicated by daughter being adopted at age of four;
• Moving Mother In requires, as well, a move from one state to another and one house to another;
• Caregiving stint lasts about two years;
• Full time, ever escalating intense needs caregiving is required and applied;
• Mother has a dynamic dementia which worsens previous to death;
• No extended family available to help with caregiving tasks except those in the home, who depend upon caregiver's caregiving to them, as well as to her mother.

    I wasn't sure, on beginning the book, how much I would have to say...at that point I wasn't even sure I'd mention the book in my journal. The coincidences in its arrival, though, were too uncanny to be ignored and I always make an effort to immediately read any books MFS sends me. An important part of our life-long relationship is based upon our book taste affinities. I, however, feel no pressure to like any books with which she gifts me. So, I hadn't made up my mind about this book.
    Then, I began highlighting here and there as I read. When I finished the book I had written notes in a couple of places. This, I decided, is how I'll organize what I write about the book, since I like it well enough, very well, in fact, to talk about it.
    I will denote quotes by Ms. O'Dell in this typeface.
    It should be understood that the copyright to all Carol O'Dell's material published here remains in her possession.
    Titles for subject blocks will be presented in this typeface and may or may not be direct quotes from Ms. O'Dell. If they are, such will be so noted with "quotation marks".
    I will probably publish, then bring back to draft, this post a couple of times before it's done...and I may divide it into more than one post. I have no accurate memory of what, how much or why I highlighted certain passages, nor of the skimpy notes I made. So, this will be a serendipitous journey. I publish, right now, in order to check the positioning of the book's logo and see if the tabling flowed to the left.

    Okay. All that above looks the way I want it to look.
    If any of you casually (or seriously) collect business cards, Carol O'Dell's is a treasure. It features a reproduction of the book cover, which is eye catchingly bold.

"They can just wait." --2nd to last para, page 25
    Frankly, I'm surprised I didn't highlight until this late in the book.
    This appears in a passage in which Ms. O'Dell is describing how physically slow her mother has become, especially in regard to parking lot traffic. She doesn't take it well. I imagine most don't, but, funny, I've become an avocational observer of others tending to Ancient Ones in public and haven't noticed any overt embarrassment, but, then, I'm not embarrassed; I actually relish stopping traffic for my mother. This is a quirk of past fate, though. I became enamored, at an early age, of the British and Australian sailors who frequented downtown (then) Agana, now Hagatna, Guam when they docked. They were bold with the indigenous, wild traffic on Marine Drive. Without hesitation, they'd nudge themselves between moving vehicles, hold up their hands and pass themselves or pass others. I can't imagine why I idolized this behavior, but I remember cataloguing it as a personal future accomplishment. Thus, caring for my mother helped me achieve this goal. I make a big splash out of the process...often directing my mother as though I'm holding long-lensed flashlights and directing planes down runways. She always stops and giggles when I do this, primarily because our family shares a private airport joke in which Mom is the pivot. I boldly go where caregivers swarm ahead of me, into the safety zone, catching the eye of every sitting driver, playing The Knightess in Shining Armor. I developed the outlandish behavior in order to communicate with Phoenix metroplex traffic, which is particularly aggressive, especially in the summer and even more especially in parking lots.
    Further, I revel in her slowing down. In supermarkets (which she rarely frequents, anymore, but I have hopes) she continues to stubbornly adventure into unremembered aisles and have a great time. She continues to exhibit a lack of concern when she and I get separated. "I don't worry about it," she says. "I just sit down and know you'll find me."
    I probably exhibit more anxiety than she does. It's important to note, here, that she carries no purse, no personal belongings of any sort except basic identification, obviously so, thus she is not a target, except for passers-by with whom she invariably strikes up lucid conversations.
    She and I, both, retain pleasant memories of "going to the store", although we've had 'our visits', believe me, often involving shit, sometimes involving sudden loss of muscular strength and will. My mother, though, continues to believe that she has been "to the store" "only last week". I like this aspect of her dementia.

"I have this theory:"
    Ms. O'Dell expounds, here, on her theory on what happens when people age; and why. I remember highlighting this because it struck me that her theories and mine are different. I wonder if all elder caregivers create whimsical explanations for aging and dying. My feeling is that the professionals who care for care recipients should pay more attention to caregiver reverie about aging and their own parent's aging.
    I now understand something: we are what we are; the only way we can add to ourselves is by experiencing something powerful enough to alter our belief system. If Mother were naturally trusting, she would continue to trust. But since fear has become so entwined, it's now a part of her concentrated self and must play itself out to the end. --last paragraph, page 27
    In regard to this, I affirm what she says. My mother is naturally trusting, and does, indeed, continue to trust. She is also proactive and this has, happily, played in service of "her end". She realized, long before she needed caregiving, that she needed companionship of a stable variety on which she could count through the rest of her life. This is not uncommon for people to realize. What is uncommon is for someone to reverse her previous positions on elder care and solicit companionship from a family member. This is what my mother did. Her proactivity ensured that her aging would not divorce her world from that of her family. Of course, I could have refused. I considered it. At the time my mother asked me, I had no personal druthers about nursing homes, assisted living facilities, etc., was unconcerned that my mother might utilize these facilities, had vague, gauzy day-dreamettes about what it would be like visiting my mother at her "facility". At the time our journey commenced, my mother was still bounded to the gills with financial protection, should facility care become necessary and desired. I think both of us assumed that at least part of our journey would be distanced by some sort of live-in facility. All that reversed itself later, as our bond developed. My mother has a stoic streak (not martyrdom) and would, in fact, be a good candidate for facility care from this perspective. She can, and will, handle anything thrown her way. She clearly voiced her preferences, though, as time went on. Keeping her at home, her home, as it turns out, which is always, fundamentally, my home, didn't sort itself out as an exacted promise, it developed as a commitment to my mother, my acceptance of my ultimate vulnerability and our shared journey. I approach her final days with anticipation, and wonder what new theories they will provoke.
    My father played out his fears in his death; right up to the end, as I understand. I'm sorry I missed his last days, although I have a unique and thorough understanding of his life which has allowed the question of cross-forgiveness to be moot between us.

"I realize that maybe it's Mother--she's losing her social skills." --2nd paragraph, pg 32
    I'd noticed my mother's world becoming much cozier over the last several years, but I hadn't thought of it, until now, as "losing...social skills", although this is certainly what happens, rather like muscular atrophy. My mother was superficially social, though, and deeply family oriented. As well, her dementia keeps her occupied with frequent visitors. I don't use this as an excuse, but it comes in handy for someone (me) who isn't company oriented.

"Too bad I can't get her a tiara out of the glove compartment." --5th paragraph, pg 33
    I was astonished that someone else had these thoughts about their mother, noticing the queenishness to the point of considering tiaras. I actually bought my mother one and used it for awhile. Her hair won't take it, now, but her attitude remains tiara-ed.

"Mother presses a dollar a whole dollar, into the woman's hand."
    My mother, too, has a tipping quirk. She continues to remember her stint waitressing through school, when "a nickel was a good tip". I took over the tipping, along with all cash handling, pretty early on. I also decided to make this into a lesson for her, so I always discuss the issue of tipping. She has, since, become somewhat more generous in her tipping considerations. She was scandalized, in fact, when we received intransigently horrible service at one restaurant so I refused to tip; then had a rather large problem corrected at another restaurant, including "free" dessert, and left a profuse tip. She still has her standards.
    To catch them all up here, one of the hilarious frequent interludes is her mother's propensity for handing service people "$25". Toward the end of the book these repetitions had me "laughing", which I noted in the margin.

"As hard as this is, I'm not in a hurry to get to the dying part." --2nd para, pg 38
    Neither am I. I seem to, in fact, look for excuses for my mother to have to live a little longer; and I inform her of them, exact pacts from her.

"I'm not sure why I feel embarrassment for what my mother says or does, but I do. Control issues, no doubt." --last sentence, pg 41 - 1st sentence, pg 42
    This is one of the highlighted passages that led me to write, earlier, about Ms. O'Dell's control issues in contrast with mine.

"For years she could out-work me, out-walk me and out-talk me. Now she can't even out-eat me." --9th para, pg 42
    I highlighted this because I remember being intrigued by the idea of competition with one's mother being a factor in caring for one's mother. I don't remember ever comparing myself to my mother (I'm sure I did sub and unconsciously) or feeling as though I was in competition with her.

"I have to treat her like a two-year-old, not giving in to her fickle emotions, her present-day likes and dislikes, or moods that change on a whim. When I revert back to letting her be the mother, we both regret it." --3rd para, pg 48
    This is one of the primary reasons why I am glad I was not a mother before caring for my mother. When my mother appears to exhibit what Ms. O'Dell labels two-year-old behavior, I don't think of it as such. I think of it as my mother's behavior at whatever age she happens to be at that time. I think this allows for flexibility of outlook, although it is also true that, because of lack of experience, I am not inclined to look at my mother's behavior through a mother's eyes.

"She sounds like a scolded little kid. I feel bad about the reprimand, but when she's wrong and she wants to get out of it, she does her little girl thing. I hate to admit it, but this one's in my own bag of manipulative tricks, and Philip hates it." --last sentence, pg 48, through 1st para, pg 49
    My mother is particularly non-manipulative. So are her daughters. We have our tricks, but they are more pleasant for everyone involved and we don't flinch or fight back when we're caught. We're smooth. We learned this from my mother. When I read about such interactions, above, I thank all the gods having anything to do with motherhood for my mother.

"Lessons" --pgs 51-52
    Interesting muse about how slow is the process of taking out (no pun intended; probably not appropriate) an Ancient One; and what is the value of making the effort to making sure Ancients mix with society.

"High Heels" --pgs 52-54
    Contains a consideration of elderly beauty, while constrasting this with elderly physical reality.

"She has the strongest will of anyone I know, and I'm of the belief that will has a substantial say-so when it comes to longevity." --5th para, pg 56
    How many times have I heralded my mother's will in these journals? I wonder if will becomes stronger as we age, whether we want it to or not...a "natural" adaptation to extend a life-span, in nature's inimitable "Just for fun, let's see how far we can take this one," way. Ms. O'Dell mentioning this caused me to reflect on all the caregivers for parents who have extolled the sturdiness of an Ancient One's will.

"What would you do if I were your Mother?" --7th para, pg 57
    A physician actually told me, unsolicited, what he would do if it were his mother, in the case of an elective bone marrow biopsy; then, later, denied what I had noted.

    I have some "software ready for installation", which includes a rebooting. I'm going to check on Mom and see if she has intentions of "sleeping in" today. She was up until almost 0200 this morning, so she may. I may be back in a Part 2 shortly...then again...

...Mothering Mother. As I was finishing the book, I recalled a poem I first read when I was in junior high:

    This Is Just to Say
    by William Carlos Williams

      I have eaten
      the plums
      that were in
      the icebox

      and which
      you were probably
      saving
      for breakfast

      Forgive me
      they were delicious
      so sweet
      and so cold

William Carlos Williams, "This is Just to Say" from The Collected Poems of William Carlos Williams, Volume I, 1909-1939, edited by Christopher MacGowan. Copyright © 1938, 1944, 1945 by New Directions Publishing Corporation.

    I found the poem in an anthology in our school library. I was so thrilled with it I looked my best friend up in the library and insisted that she read it.
    As we sat silently side by side at a formica table contemplating the poem, she whispered the following joke to me: "What do you get when you run a bird over with a lawn mower? Shredded Tweet."
    We both exploded into laughter and were excused from the library for the rest of the period. Her reaction to the poem, her in-exchange offer and being kicked out of the library for laughing strengthened our frienship beyond measure. Somehow, as I close this book, I feel as though I've just spent yet another intimate session in the library with Cynthia, sharing thought provoking poems, silence, horribly funny jokes, laughter and a touch of scandal.
    More...
    ...later.

    I sometimes know the day of the month, although often, when I think I know it, I'm a day or two behind. I always know the month, and the year. I also have a sense of connection throughout my days so that I know if I'm awakening from a nap into "today" or if I've slipped past the date line and "today" is "tomorrow". I mention this because Mom's been especially tired, today, probably winding down from the visit, about which she continues to talk. She's taking her second nap as I type. It's been a long one and I haven't interfered. I know she's rousing because The Little Girl has exited her bedroom, which she does when Mom becomes restless in bed just before arising. The Little Girl isn't in the hall, though, just outside of Mom's bedroom. She's in the meatloaf position in the foyer, half way between Mom and me. So she's expected Mom to take awhile to rouse. When Mom arises, I'm expecting her to think it's tomorrow morning, even though the digital clock clearly says "8:12", it's dark out and I think Mom is aware of the season, now. We'll have a light hearted argument about what day of the week it is and what hour of the day, thus, what we should be doing. She won't believe me. We may end up having breakfast tonight for dinner, although I'm hoping we'll have chicken quesedillas.
    I managed to take care of most errands, the important ones, anyway, that require business office access, today. I've got a few early things to do tomorrow morning, but I think it will be a laid back weekend.
    Costco is no longer selling the Convair Millenia Advantage, or any other truly portable evaporative cooler. That's okay. Despite a hot weekend in the valley, it's been nice here, inside and out. Haven't gotten Mom out, yet. We've had a spate of very windy days. She looks out the living room psuedo cathedral windows, watches the top of our bird shit tree flail for a minute or so, shivers and says, "No thanks. You can go out. I'll watch from in here."
    Life has been good, busy, yes, but easy, syrupy. We aren't getting in each other's way, either. It's nice.
    Later.

...as many as I can get in. That's why I'm up so early, despite going to bed early this morning. I can't remember how much these evaporative coolers cost. I'm hoping they will still carry them at Costco, which is where we purchased the original. They are designed to cool "300 sq ft". When aimed down a hall and pulling air from a shady back yard, coupled with a window a/c in the living room, they are incredibly efficient. However, this recent repair, which can be done at home and requires a cheap part, shows me that having two would not be out of the way. When both are working, we might be more comfortable, on dry hot days, using evaporative cooling from both ends of the house, and it would cut our energy bill. In the meantime, before getting the part, the pump is lagging, but the house is remaining comfortable.
    Reading Mothering Mother has evoked an awareness of (shared) history regarding my life with my mother. I wince, now, at certain vignettes when I realize that Carol spent only a fraction of her mother's last years with her. I think this length of time, alone, accounts for a difference in our perspectives. As well, I haven't yet noted more than one comment about menopause, and that was reference to a specific hot foot symptom. In retrospect, I believe my own journey through menopause had a huge effect on how my journey with my mother has gone. Once that was fairly well under control, lots of stuff evened out. Had my journey with my mother, though, ended while I was peri-menopausal but unaware of it, I might not have this retro-perspective. It is ironic to me that my mother's and maternal grandmother's menopause-s [Hmmm...is that correct?] were barely notable and less mentioned. My mother, now, believes she has not yet gone through menopause and finds it astonishing that I am on the (much relieved) other end. Before menopause began I somehow had the notion that my experience would follow in my mother's footsteps. It did not. My father's genetics came through, to which I owe more than half a share. Family history on that side tells tales of extremely trying symptom-filled years, including at least one stay for one relative in the state looney bin. Further, mania during this period is common. Although it took me awhile to realize it, it was imperative to the quality of our shared journey that I control my menopause. So, I did. Almost successfully. The St. John's Wort, I think is the final brush up while I'm weaning myself off Black Cohosh. Those little herbs have been a godsend for me. I further believe that many caregivers, caught up awares or unawares in a peri-menopausal stage, think that caregiving to an elderly relative is causing stresses that are actually caused by hormonal fluctuations.
    I love being on the other side of menopause and knowing my mother as intimately as I do. This is one of the peculiarities and blessings of our situation: That she called me into it early in her elder years, so I was there through everything. I'm getting the sense from other writing caregivers that it's much easier to live with it all when you get it as a part of an already balanced, mutually kind, resourceful, long actively nurturing relationship. However, I understand, absolutely, how that could be hard to do with someone with whom one has been locked in an early domineering, abusive relationship. I am occasionally popping in on a fascinating story at Daily Strength of a woman who is caring for her mother-in-law who is sociopathic, always has been, probably always will be, and hates her daughter-in-law. Her's is a perplexing story. She's found the necessity for developing a highly evolved detachment to the situation, with the help of therapy sessions. I highly suspect this situation will be resolved through moving the MIL into a facility. It's a volatile one, all right! In the meantime, every time I read a new journal entry about her situation, I am reminded of "Caine" in the Kung Fu series and am prompted to think, "You, SunshineShady, no longah grasshoppah..."
    Relationships. It seems to boil down to relationships. I mentioned this to a very good, very long term friend of mine here in Prescott. She has six (I think) children. She and I were talking, one afternoon, about caregiving, in general. She and her husband moved her mother into their home for the last years of her life. The conversational turn began when I mentioned something about making sure to get my mother's tabloids.
    Nervous laughter from my friend. "My mother always wanted me to get her some of those. I never did. I used to tell her they were silly and she was above them."
    I laughed. "Boy, I'd never get in the house with that attitude!"
    Her voice softened. "That's the one thing I regret," she said, "not letting her have her magazines. It was so petty of me."
    That's when we started talking about the influence of relationships on child-parent caregiving. I mused to her that, although my survey is by no means scientific, I'm noticing that the quality of the fundamental relationship between the two (or more) people involved and its level of perceived intransigence probably accounts a lot for the quality of the caregiving. "I've noticed," I said, "that the more contentious and distant is one's relationship with one's parent, the more unresolved issues between the two, the more likely the parent is going to spend some time, always at the end of life, in a facility."
    My friend expressed interest. "Maybe I ought to address the subject of relationships with my children, see if there are any unresolved issues or feelings and see if we can't resolve them."
    I've since thought this is one of the most open-minded approaches to the possible need for "Ancient One" care and the desire to receive it "within the bosom of family". Good idea to see if your family is interested and, if ambivalent, why so. I'm not sure I would have the courage to do such a thing.
    I've since asked her about her progress. Although she is not forthcoming with details, she tells me, "...it's been interesting..." and "...nothing that's surprised me, so far..."
    This seems optimistic.
    My mother and I never did this. Never thought of it. We did, however, remain in unusually close touch throughout my adult life, shared interests and reveled in each other's adventures. We even had some adventures of our own. I'm sure we had "issues", but, because we kept up communication, they ironed themselves out, mostly. There were a few that needed work after we took up housekeeping together: One in particular, involved her mild tendency to belittle people socially, primarily those to whom she is closest. I confronted her on it, but she was less demented, then, and we are used to correcting one other's relationship foibles, usually immediately. This is a relationship that is built up over time...as is a destructive sociopathic relationship, or a vaguely abusive (relative to the time), tyrannical parent-child relationship history. So, I've discovered, are smaller relationship sins, like an inability to drop manipulative behavior; the inability to believe in the dynamics of relationship.
    It's hard. I guess I should hit the trail. I'd better make a list.
    Later.

...in our portable room evaporative cooler. The fan belt is loose, thus the pump is doing a poor job of pumping water up to the top of the pad. I think I've cleaned out the line. The belt is just loose so power has dropped. I should get a replacement with instructions sometime next week. For some reason, though, while the Phoenix metroplex is experiencing some near record heat, it's not been too bad here. Better than tolerable, with the front room a/c during the day and half cooling power from the evaporative cooler. It's been very dry, lately, so is cools significantly from sundown on. It's during this time that our increased elevation just from downtown Prescott drops the temperature. I guess the thing is, we don't have an urban heat island effect up here, thank the gods.
    Everyone comments on how "nice" this house is, how nice its lay on its land is. The electrician fell in love with the property immediately. Everyone does. There is something peculiarly beta about this place, right here.
    I've been tardy in visiting...forgive me. It's been busy here. I'm surprised I've found time to write here, but I've sought time to write here to the exclusion of other things, lately.
    The second to the last part of Carol O'Dell's book is a description of her mother's death. I'm looking forward to this. I have imagined my mother's death and its effect on me, my mother and everyone I know. Mom has only vaguely imagined her death. Although I possess books, about which I've intro-written here, about death, aging and death, etc., I haven't read them. I've scanned them all, though. It's a matter of time clashing with timelessness...
    Maybe I can get a short nap in before Mom awakens from her's...
    ...maybe not, though, considering how much caffeine is sloshing through me...
    ...later...

...to install a new ceiling fan + lights fixture and rewire our utility closet so I have access to the light through a switch. I expect the latter to take longer than the former, although you never know.
    I can't seem to get going this morning. I have a little chest congestion. Things are blooming out there, and I continue to bend over dirt and flowering plants in our yard, although I'm getting discouraged by the pack rats. So, the congestion could be from almost anything.
    I expect I'll be assembling the last of the peach pies today. Mom has decided we should bake it, not freeze it, which is fine. If she wants another piece or two, we can always freeze the bulk of the baked pie in individual slices. I'll be using 3.5 lbs of peaches this time, so I'll be increasing the sugar and the quick cooking tapioca, and probably the nutmeg and almond extract. The crust baked perfectly on the first; firm but so flaky it practically melted in your mouth. I think the second crust may be a little on the wet side, so it might be a bit tough, but we'll see. I must remember to check the pie at about 15 minutes intervals to catch the advance browning of the fluting and stop it with aluminum foil. I'd like to scatter walnuts in the filling. Mom isn't so sure about that. I'm sure she'll be up when I assemble and bake the pie. I wonder whether it will have walnuts.
    I should be taking the evaporative cooler apart and testing the motor and pump belt. I don't have it in me, though, this morning, and probably won't if at least half the pad is cooling the air. This is the unit's third summer. I imagine the pump motor and/or the belt could use replacement. Today's Friday, so it would behoove me to do this today. But, I probably won't. I should probably get Mom up about 11:00. It'll be easy. That way, just before the electrician comes, she'll have a legitimate choice about whether to supervise or nap. Today I have no druthers. My only concern is having time to empty the utility closet shelves onto the table after breakfast.
    I've been slowly increasing her lisinopril dosage to four 10 mg tablets a day. This was suggested by the doctor. It took me awhile to figure out that, instead of giving her two pills at once, which zonks her, I can give her 1.5 in the morning, one at dinner, and 1.5 just before she retires. We accomplished the full schedule about a week ago. She's a little hazy but it's hard to tell whether that's because of the lisinopril or the advancing heat. Anyway, this reminds me, I need to update the med schedule. That gives me a reason to wander over to The Dailies.
    Maybe I can get in a cat nap before she awakens. Or a second cup of coffee. Probably the latter.
    Later.

...don't forget to talk about the peach pie!
    Even...
    ...later.

...and no vague desire to do anything else, including reading. It's not easy for me to read caregiver books, the genre of which Mothering Mother is a prime, and good, example. Perhaps it was simply a bad introduction to The Literature, perhaps it's me, but I hate being told how to do what I'm doing if I haven't been observed doing it. I continue to contend, as well, that I am much better off having not been motherized previous to joining my mother.
    However poorly read I am in the genre of caregiving books, I have to admit it's a burgeoning industry. At latest count, Amazon delivers 557 listings alone for the "books" category when you search "caregiving"+"elderly". I arranged the list in order of best reviewed. I then searched out item number 278 as the beginning of the second half...just to see how many of the listings were more than pamphlets, readily available, etc. Item number 278, at the time of this posting, is Engaging Theories in Family Communication: Multiple Perspectives, an erudite, well reviewed book about family communication dynamics. Looks very interesting and scholarly.
    Over the last three months I've stumbled across two online journalizing caregivers who are actively seeking publication of their caregiving material and continuing to actively give care to the recipients about which they have written. One is an excellent writer. Another is technically rough but has some very interesting perspectives to offer. Both expect to be published soon; describe their intended books in much the same way, although they are offering strikingly different experiences and voices; feel they have something to offer to the genre (and, they may be right, I'm not that familiar with the genre); each considers that she has a noteworthy bead on the truth and a polished but no-holds-barred way of telling it.
    Over the last couple of years I've known several online caregiver journalists who have mentioned the possibility of their caregiver material being published. Because I'm picky about the journals I regularly visit, they are all excellent writers with well developed senses of style and, in many cases, previous publishing experience; they often, as well, say interesting things in unique ways.
    I've lightly considered the possibilities of publishing, always when someone suggests it to me, although I did not begin thinking I wasn't being published. Online, free publication was, for a long time, enough for me. Truth is, though, I see the market is already well covered, more are elbowing into it every day and, although I like to think I have something unique to say, I'm not sure I have enough, anymore, considering the material that's out there.
    That having been said, I'm very much enjoying Carol D. O'Dell's book. I'm on page 74. The vignettes are well organized, thoughtful, provocative, sometimes inspired, always easy to read...and I couldn't help but come to the conclusion, after beginning this particular caregiver book, each and every journey is so incredibly different. Do you remember the lesson I enclosed in a previous post discussing that the older we become, the more diverse our peer group becomes, thus the aged live in the most diverse peer group of all? There are commonalities of experience, some of which are being addressed in books in which caregivers talk about caring for someone afflicted with Alzheimer's and/or Parkinson's and or one of many other neurological illnesses. There is also a lot of frank writing about care recipients who are either sociopathic or socially neurotic, at least. Not much frank writing about caring for the easy going, like my mother, probably because the easy going experiences are directly the result, I think, of two things: An easy going environment with low conflict and an easy going relationship between caregiver and care recipient...well, there's frank talk out there, but it's not as dramatic.
    I can't say, at this point, and may not ever be able to say whether this book extends the genre, helps redefine it, or anything about it's possible place in the genre, since I don't read much of the genre. What I can say is that I'm highlighting a word here, a phrase here, a heading here, that have turned my head and often evoked recollections of something I've written in my journals. I am, as usual, astonished at the volatility of the relationship between the mother and daughter and, as well, the volatility of the mother's command of the household. I can say immediately, too, that the control issue O'Dell dealt with in regard to caring for her mother is exactly the opposite of the control issue I dealt with; although our solutions were not opposing solutions. She went in assuming full control and found herself having to inch backward. I went in refusing to want to control anything and found myself having to inch forward to almost full control. I have to agree with her that the way I approached it was much less stressful than the way she approached it, even though my strategy was a thoughtless accident (as was O'Dell's). It has certainly been easy on my mother's and my relationship. It's easy to see that the same is not true of O'Dell's strategy.
    Anyway, I'll be writing more about the book as I go. I'm in a bit of a panic to read it and go on to finishing another library book due on the 25th. I may end up renewing that one, and I've got three others in the wings, all of which are reading-out-loud books...and another making its way to the wings, for research purposes only, though...just a section of that one will be accessed...
    ...I'm finally settling down.
    Later.

    These were the search words that brought someone to my site earlier today. I have an answer: My mother's doctor told me, for my mother, whose ears have a tendency to dirty relatively easily and, being as how her hearing has been challenged since childhood with two ear lancings, are sensitive, as well, once a month, if I remember it. I probably do it about once every six weeks. She finds the procedure uncomfortable but not painful. I usually do it just before she goes down for a nap or night sleep. It's preferable to administer it before night sleep, since she tends to roll both ways when sleeping at night and both ears are encouraged to drain. Now, this is purely chemical lavage: The use of Debrox, which, so far, continues to successfully drain out on its own for my mother. I have not yet had to perform water-bulb lavage. She has had this done (on the page to which the visitor was directed) about a year and a half ago, the second of two, the first having been done maybe two years before the second, but not since, although the doctor checks her ears every time we go.
    A visitor clicked in, yesterday, after having searched "dismemberment dream". Here's where they were directed. That was two and a half years ago. I can't remember when I last experienced a problem with my compassion cricked thumb. That happened looong before the St. John's Wort, though. I'm not sure what happened: Either I became more compassionate (doubtful) or I became less concerned with my compassion status and just did myself through what was necessary, raw. Much more likely the latter. But, at least, I'm not putting my thumb in the way inappropriately, anymore, which is probably a step toward compassion.
    The Mom's up.
    Later.

    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.

    I am more pleasantly social and enjoy my socializing more on St. John's Wort. The difference was noticeable. The friends who visited had mentioned a few weeks ago that I sound "great", which I clearly hadn't the last time we'd been with them in December; although I certainly enjoyed myself last year at Christmas. It was a rather abrupt holiday, though and I was self-satisfactorily abrupt with it.
    Everyone was in good spirits, including Mom. Perhaps that's part of the social trick of St. John's Wort: It drapes everything in gauze. Seemed to work for everyone today, though.
    Mom didn't arise as early as she thought she would, although I called her every half hour from her "break point", which she chose as 0900. She was, though, was up well before noon. Short bath...she was excited to get to company. Eccentric eating, her favorite type, all day, including for supper. Last night she requested that I boil an egg for this morning, but not to bother with the bacon, as she would just have "peach pie [home made, by me, it was delicious and beautiful] and an egg," for breakfast. Her final decision was that the egg "wasn't necessary". I went with it. For lunch she had some baked corn chips and a hearty, garlicky salsa. For dinner she had a roasted chicken croissant sandwich, some more chips and salsa and we finished up the peach pie.
    I suppose I should start taking stats again. Just for the record.

    Although my friends and I spent most of our time while Mom slept wandering around the yard, front and back, once Mom was up we were all stationed in the dinette and living room for most of the visit. The younger of the friends discovered both the stamping kit and card making kit and set about to spend some time designing a couple of cards. My mother looked on with interest and enthusiasm at what could be done with "her" kits; but didnt deign to join, even when encouraged. The episode was like all those evenings when my born in to family was together and my mother would experiment, using us kids and our friends, with new art and creative media she was considering using in the classroom. I would guess that there were at least two projects every three weeks. Somehow the neighborhood would be alerted and friends would stop by for the evening. Truth be told, an assortment of neighborhood kids were usually at our house every night of the week. Our home, although, as most homes, treacherous, to some extent, to it's children, as much more kid friendly than most homes in any area in which we lived, probably because my mother and, ambivalently, my father, loved hosting a kid friendly home and loved kids.
    Mom would explain as much as she knew about that night's medium, provide all the materials and tools necessary/available and we'd have at it. Sometimes she'd join in but mostly she'd observe and supervise, as she would be, directing these activities in the classroom. The similarity between today and these long ago evenings was so strong I even mentioned and described them while company was here. Everyone beamed.

    Mom does do well for an audience...although she was clearly exhausted and tired this evening. I think she took a two hour nap after they left. I admit to having taken a nap, too. The house is ready to close up, though. I am ready for bed.

    I'm reading a book sent to me by one of my sisters, one that was mentioned to me by a reader a couple of weeks prior to my sister sending the book, out of the blue. It took me a day to get into it, but I am, now. My curiosity was piqued because of the title: Mothering Mother. If you're a fairly regular reader, you know how I feel about what the title implies. I will be writing about the book, probably soon...it's not very long or dense and is designed in a series of short vignettes arranged what I imagine may have been intuitively, almost like flash fiction; designed for caregivers: Easy to pick up and put down. I think I've read a little over 60 pages of this short book. I timed myself reading the vignettes: About 1 to 1.5 minutes apiece. Very thoughtfully produced.
    The reader admitted to mentioning the book to me because of the title, my "known" leanings in this area, thus is interested to see what I think of the book. I was waiting for it to arrive at our library when one of my sisters sent it to me, autographed by the author, with whom she talked on her lunch hour during Carol O'Dell's book tour, which happened to alight at the bookstore wherein MFS is employed. I don't know how widely it will sell or how well it will eventually be reviewed by "the critics". From the way I'm reacting to the book and the impressions I'm having, I can't say I'll review the book, although I will write about it when I'm done. It's a first edition, hard cover, autographed copy. My sister and others know how I covet such books. So far so, hmmm...well, it's interesting, and well written.
    Despite today's nap, I'm ready for bed.
    Later.