Sunday, August 3, 2014

Mom went to bed extra early yesterday: 7:00 pm. I was remorseful, thinking maybe she was upset because of the fuss I made over the mess she made of herself and the bathroom. She was there while I cleaned and cleaned. And on some level, I think she knows she is no longer capable of taking care of things properly. I am not sure about this, of course, but I cannot help think that the vestiges of this woman that peek through from time to time also collect information and process it on some level. Some primitive, primary level. She knows. She knows she has failed. She knows she can no longer do what she did before. But she cannot do anything about it. I think at times she becomes disheartened when she realizes she is no longer capable of, well, doing anything on her own.

I briefly watched an historic reenactment on television on the execution of William Wallace (Scotland, 1305). He was murdered and quartered, and his wife was hung in a cage outside, where she was publicly humiliated until she died—which I hope was blessedly quickly. I could not watch the rest of the program. Too grueling. And I wonder how grueling it is for mom to “watch” her life and be unable to do what she could always do before. She still asks me each time to close the bathroom door while she is in there. So I am mindul and respectful of her modesty. As she already threw away the soiled diaper by the time I showed up, I know she was aware of her “mistake” and most likely dismayed by it. Breaks my heart and should give me pause not to clean up so vigorously while she is still in the bathroom. It teaches nothing. It only disheartens.

Later—

After a lovely session at Hearthstone, where Mike and I lead the community in prayer and in song on the first Sunday of each month, I returned home determined to finish cooking the foods I picked up at the Rodale gardens. Can’t waste organic goodies. And I also needed to grill the bratwurst I defrosted for some mindless reason.

First thing was to deal with the bratwursts. Five of them from The German Butcher. Handmade, of course. The plan was to grill them. But the roofers had dismantled my grill and I had to reattach it to the house gas. It took me a while to do it, but two desperate phone calls to friends later and with some muscle, I did it—all the while it rained. I was determined. Nothing could stop me. Not even my mother calling, Sandy! I have to go to the bathroom. Nothing, not even Valentino worrying at the growth on Lucy’s back. It went something like this:

Sandy! What are you doing?

I am trying to fix the grill. Can you wait?

No, I can’t. I have to go.

Sheesh!

[Telephone rings]

Hello, Betty. What’s up? [I take the phone with me into the bathroom.]

I have an idea about how to get Valentino to stop licking Lucy’s growth.

Oh? Val, stop it. Stop it now! No! No! No!

What if we put gauze on it.

Won’t stay. Can’t tape anything. Too much hair. Mom, don’t touch that. It’s dirty.

Well, I also have these gauze stretchy things that you can put over wounds. Let me see if I can find one. I’ll be right over.

Mom you need a new diaper. Wait here.

Eventually I went out again and fiddled with the grill, growing more and more determined to get it working again. I refused to sacrifice perfectly good brats for a nonworking grill! I opened the door to the bottom of the grill where the propane tank usually sits. Mine being attached to the house gas is usually empty, with the exception of a few grill utensils and the mat on which they sat. But, I was in for yet another surprise. We had had a visitor—either a mouse or a chipmunk. Not a pleasant sight. I salvaged with I could. All stainless pieces made it into the dishwasher for a very hot bath. The rest was pitched. Back to the grill. Strength was what was called for! My anger was now peaking, if mom calls me once more or if Val goes after Lucy’s back, it won’t be pretty.

Sandy!

WHAT!!!!!!! I AM FIXING THE GRILL!
Sandy! Where are you?

JUST A MINUTE. I AM WORKING ON SOMETHING! VAL, LEAVE LUCY ALONE, DAMMIT!

I have to go to the bathroom again.

JUST A DAMNED MINUTE!

[After the ablutions] Will you sleep with me?

NO!

Then tell Rose to sleep with me. Where is she?

SHE’S IN A DAMNED NURSING HOME!

No she isn’t.

YES SHE IS!

Well, who put here there? She should be here with me.

THAT’S ALL I NEED. YOUR DEMANDING SISTER! I’D SOONER KILL MYSELF OR HER!

This was not a perfect day. No siree. Not after church. Not after an hour of prayer at Hearthstone. No resolve in the world could have stopped me from shouting in anger.

Eventually, however, I got to work in the kitchen. I put together an organic Swiss chard soup for Rob and made a bratwurst stew, half of which I shared with Barb and Jerry. Pups have now been walked. Kitchen is cleaned. Mom is in bed. And I am beat! I treated myself to a lemon coconut water. Tomorrow, I will try a blueberry/spinach/coconut water breakfast drink (grâce à Barb). At least the blueberries sound appetizing. But I did buy a blueberry kefir at the Giant. A happier substitute perhaps.

Am looking forward to a good night’s sleep and to waking to a new dawn, a new day, a new life for me. Nina Simone, take it away!!!!!!!!