Monday, February 9, 2015 

Someone, somewhere must have been praying for me. I was in a better mood today as I worked with mom. Was not feeling chipper this morning and tried to stay in bed. Never works. So I walked Val and then went for my annual physical. My doctor and his wife cared for his own father for a while. After his wife could bear caregiving no longer, his sister took her father in. She swore she would never put him in a nursing home. This lasted a mere six weeks. As my physician knows what I am going through, he said that caregiving will probably rob me of years of life. I am more than prepared for that eventuality. I certainly don’t want to live as long as my mother has, unless I could be completely independent.

Caregiving is so difficult—in case you do not get the picture by now. Nancy’s job is even worse, since her husband can no longer communicate with her, except by grunting or shouting. He can’t even point as his arms are atrophying and his hands are in fists. So I offer each day’s difficulties for her and Eric. It’s the least and perhaps also the most I can do right now, besides being a phone call away.

Prepared a quiche dough à la Julia Child, as I used to years ago. Decided to make a shrimp quiche. The dough was perfect and so was the finished product. It browned beautifully. Was not enamored of the supermarket gruyère that I used. Other than that, it was so much fun to prepare and eat. Mom enjoyed it, too. Made a spring green salad with my special vinaigrette. Am ready to take the afternoon off, unless some editing work comes in.

I love to cook. Hence, my wonderful stove. But I always give pause before I start. I must prepare like a surgeon, because mom invariably calls me into the bathroom, necessitating my scrubbing for minutes before I return to the kitchen. She always seems to know when I am cooking. As I said, I love cooking, and mom knows how to put a crimp in my style. She always did. Did I tell you about the time I had called her from my little cottage in Princeton. I had rented a small apartment from Esther, a wonderful Quaker woman. She lived amid a mass of flowering trees. One day, I was determined to sit on the deck, take in the beauty, and relax. But that ended. Mom called. I told her my plan, and the conversation went like this:

It’s such a gorgeous day. I am going to sit on the hammock and do absolutely nothing but enjoy the sky.

You should wash your windows.

I will do no such thing! 

Of course, after I hung up, I washed the windows. So I called her back.

Well, I washed the windows.

Why would you do that on a day like this? You should relax. 

Life with my mother has always been more than frustrating. Always! And now, I have reached the pinnacle.