Tuesday, June 17, 2014 

Bad night. I awoke at 2:36 and could not get back to sleep. A bit too warm. But I walked the pups with Betty and I am at my desk now. I probably should have gotten up to work on this current assignment in the middle of the night because Mom is in the kitchen now calling me every few minutes.

Sandy? Where is she? Sandy!

What mom?

Sandy! What is that bottle doing there? It looks like milk.

It was a milk bottle, mom. I am washing it out. It’s filled with water now.

Oh, I see.

Put the light out. You don’t need it.

OK, mom. But then you’ll sit here in the dark.

That’s alright.

And where is Rob? (another favorite and oft repeated question)

He’s upstairs. I have to work, mom.

Oh, I see.

 

The only time I really have for work is when mom is asleep or when she is watching television late at night. She wants company, but I cannot give her the company she wants, sadly enough. I sit here feeling guilty, but if I don’t work, then the roof won’t be repaired, the skylight won’t be replaced, the all-house fan won’t be installed, the basement stairs won’t be replaced, the bathroom ceiling won’t be fixed… (The list is long, but not depressing. I am making dents in the work needed to be done. But mom no longer understands that I need to earn a living for her to have a comfortable place to lay her head.)

Back to my work. Well, not for long. The pups need to go out again. I was going onto the side porch without shoes, of course. The tile floor feels good against my bare feet, and I sometimes like to go “earthing” in the yard.

Mom stopped me. You’re not going out there barefoot.

Yes, I am, mom. It’s summertime. It’s hot out there.

Ooh, you can’t go out barefoot. You’ll get sick.

When I brought the dogs back in, mom asked me what the temperature was.

It’s going to be 90 degrees (a bit of an exaggeration).

Oh yeah?

Should I put on my snowshoes and my winter coat.

You can go out bare-assed! 

My mom! There she was. Buried in dementia, but vestiges of her are still alive somewhere deep inside. I relish those moments and wish they would last. But in her next breath, I am dashed.

Where’s Rob? I haven’t seen him all morning.

Mom, he already made you toast and coffee this morning.

Oh yeah? I didn’t see him. Where is he? Still asleep upstairs?

No mom. He’s in the basement getting his blueberries.

What’s he doing down there? He shouldn’t be in the basement.

Well… 

Rob came upstairs, his blueberries in a bowl.

There he is. I didn’t see him all morning.

Sigh…

Now, back to work. Oops, mom wants to go back to her room. But she first needs the sun. Coaxing her was tough. She wanted to go back to her room. She didn’t recall having sat outside the day before.

Oh, I can’t go out dressed like this.

It’s my yard, mom. It’s private

Ooh no.

Yes, mom. You’ll be fine.

She’s sitting out there now with her legs exposed to the sun and a glass of ice water in her hands. Head under the umbrella. She likes the heat. Can’t get enough of it.

I like the purple flowers, but you don’t need all of these. Get rid of them.

You mean my garden, mom? The yellow and pink and red flowers aren’t in yet. They’re just budding now.

You don’t need them.

Would you have me pour concrete over it?

Yes! It’s too much. 

So much for my horticultural efforts. I might add that I have a cousin who thinks the way my mother does. My cousin hates dirt and would like to see all country roads covered in concrete. Another cousin did just that to her yard. No dirt. Concrete. No flowers. Nothing. Just hot, reflective concrete. Sigh, again!