Sunday, June 15, 2014 

It’s 55 degrees and oh so delightful. I awoke this morning to find Valentino prone on his lovely Chippendale dog bed, aka, the couch. Took a photo and crept upstairs trying not to awaken him. Mom was asleep. Lucy and Rob were asleep. It was a wonderful morning. All is well with the world. We are together and the flowers are blooming—well, will eventually bloom. Everything is a little late this year because of the cool temps. I thank God for my blessings. I would have said “wealth,” but that’s debatable in the non-abstract sense. On Monday, I bring Greta Carbo (my Swedish car) in for some major work to the tune of $2500.00. Oh well, beats buying a new car, which I cannot do. And the hailstorm left me in need of a new roof and new gutters. The insurance company won’t cover the skylight, which must then be replaced, and I am sure they won’t cover the entire cost (minus the $500 deductible anyhow). But this, too, is a blessing. I only called the insurance company as a lark to see if there was any roof damage. Oh my! Back to the cup and pencil to raise some money. Fortunately, too, there is hope of a new job coming in this summer.

Speaking of which, I am still finishing that monster reformatting job. I have set a limit of 25 pages per day, but by the time I get in the middle of it, I can’t keep my eyes opened. I have been chalking it up to the high winds and allergies and the tedious read. During my work, mom will invariably call me and then not recall why she called. She’s lonely. I understand, but when I am interrupted mid-sentence, it’s hard for me to respond sweetly. I often wait until I have finished a section or a sentence and then see to her. She will look up confused and fumble mentally. Oh yeah, can you call my Johnny Boy. I never talk to him. Her Johnny Boy is her fallback. If all else fails, she knows where she is looking: to her Johnny Boy.

But then, when I wake up each morning, I give thanks for having had my dad as my dad—the good, the bad, and the ugly. He was a good man, and I miss him terribly. My sister-in-law once said that she was sorry my dad did not outlive my mother. Dad was more fun, always at the ready with a loaf of Italian bread and a laugh. Mom would have preferred being with her sisters than with her grandchildren—so far as we could tell. Her sisters were everything to her. I suppose growing up in a family of 10 (7 girls to 3 boys), the attachments were inevitable. Every weekend, they shopped together. I would love to tally the amount of money they must have spent over a lifetime! But then again, they bought bargains when they could. And buying bargains meant buying simply because they were bargains—whether you needed them or not.

But there is no more Cara Carsons or Minnie Kreps or David’s Chez Boutique (he apparently didn’t study French) or Mademoiselle. These were the prime stores in Bayonne and Jersey City way back when. Of course, we did most of our shopping in the city, aka, Manhattan. I miss it. Not the Manhattan of today, but the Manhattan of yesteryear. Most of the shops I loved are still there: Aquascutum, Berberry, Saks, Lord & Taylor, Bergdorff, and possibly even Worldly Things on Madison. But I practically lived at ??? and Paul ??? when I worked in New York. The former is gone and the latter is a mere shadow of its former self. L&T is not quite up to snuff anymore. Too big a mall image.

And here I am in PA, with mom and Rob and Lucy and Val, shopping online. Mom has no clue what a computer can do or does. Her stores are gone forever. So are her sisters, with the exception of Rose, whom she will probably never see again. I must show mom the flowers today. Must get her outside for a breath of fresh air now that the wind has died down a bit and the threat of rain is gone.

Mom’s cane thumps! She pokes her head into my office.
Hello! I’m going to the bathroom.
So what else is new!

This part of the morning/day is my least favorite. I don the surgical gloves, grab a wipe (and then two, or three, or four, or five) and get to work. Later I will put her in the shower. Mom is now brushing her teeth—a 5-minute process. She will end by brushing her lips, something I never observed her doing when she had all her faculties.

My mother pokes her head into my office.
Sandy, I’m going into the bed again? (The question is always there.)
Goodnight!

Mom is never quite sure anymore what she is supposed to do or where she is supposed to go. She asks where her room is, where the TV is and is always surprised to find it in her room each time. Oh there it is! Today for sure, I will coax her out onto the porch. She has forgotten that she sat out there last summer and admired the flowers. Perhaps she will admire them again this summer. Perhaps today.

Rob is in the kitchen at the laptop, trying to listen to something or other, but mom, who is doing word search puzzles, keeps interrupting. Where did Sandy go? Rob, can you find this word. Is it cold out? I keep telling him to take the laptop out onto the porch, but no. Men can be as difficult as aging mothers.

Later—

Well, we finally led mom out into the yard for a dose of sunshine. She was terrified at first. Strange to imagine that someone would not want to go outside. But she did enjoy the flowers and the view while she was out there. We raised the umbrella on the table. As she sat, I weeded. She was delighted that I finally put some socks on. I did this only to prevent my feet from getting dirty in the garden as I waded through plants.

I walked her nearly to the fence, but she resisted. Mom was upset about Valentino fleeing the yard. I tried to explain that there was a fence around the entire yard. It did not compute.

We had lunch later: I grilled organic hot dogs (a first in many, many years), homemade sauerkraut, homemade potato salad (thanks to Leora Lynn), and organic argula salad. Mom is out there now having ice cream. A nice day, peppered with Where’s Rob? Where’s the white dog? The white dog is always sleeping. Watch the black dog; he’s going to run away. Where’s Rob? I like it out here. Where’s the white dog? Is this Pennsylvania? And a resurrected oldie: How long have you lived here? She asked several times about the neighbors and said she speaks to the woman next door all the time. Of course, she doesn’t. The woman next door is rarely home. I maintain that it’s a safe house. No one is ever home. Occasionally, I see the husband—a very nice man—mowing the lawn. Although, I have seen a younger man riding his mower there, too. Lawn man? Friend? Relative? But mom swears she knows them and talks to them all the time. Actually, mom never spoke with neighbors. Not in NJ and certainly not here, but for my friends who come to visit.

All in all, a glorious day! Delicious picnic lunch! Lovely sky! Warm sun! The porch was perfect. I am grateful and happy. And it’s wonderful to have mom here. Mom, Rob, Lucia, Valentino, and Betty and Barb… All the people and creatures in the world who matter.