All seems "fine" in Becket. Peg back to her usual routine: get up, sleep, get up, empty catheter bag, sleep, get up, eat and take pills and watch the weather channel, sleep, get up, see what time it is, sleep, get up, eat, watch the Italian channel, sleep, get up, make a mess on the desk, cut up a few important and irreplaceable things, sleep, get up, eat, sleep. The routine punctuated only by the odd foray to Tina the Hairdresser's, the bank, a doctor's appointment--or the arrival of the Porchlight nurse, physio therapist, occupational therapist, Lynette the foot person, or--this last Saturday night for instance, five gay men bringing dinner.
Peg, with Terri and Bonnie's help, contributed devilled eggs. Which have always struck me as a summer picnic food, but my mother has never let the season, event or even menu interfere with what she feels like eating at the moment or hasn't "had for a while" or "would taste good". Hence, over the years, we have had numerous mother-daughter conversations along these lines:
"I thought I'd do Daddy a nice lamb stew for dinner tomorrow. He loves it."
"I'll help you. Want me to make that lime cheese salad?"
"What! No!"
"What are you going to have with the stew then?"
"Carrots! Leeks! Parsnip puree mashed potatoes! Or, I don't know, maybe parslied new little red ones or---"
"I feel like the lime salad."
"A nasty cottage cheese and jello salad does not go with lamb stew, Mother, all the gravy and--"
"I haven't had it in ages."
So end of the day I let her make the salad or whatever because I finally realized that my father would eat whatever was put in front of him whether it "went" with anything or not, he'd pile stuff on his fork willy-nilly and afterwards tell me or Peg or indeed any hostess what a marvellous dinner it was. And he meant it. So I stopped worrying about whether he liked Wishbone Italian Dressing running through his pancakes or not. And became, I have to say, a much happier person for it. Although of course it still pisses me off, if I let it. Which I tend to.
Another thing about Peg's eating habits, while we're on the subject, is I've noticed the older she gets, the more her table manners have deteriorated. Not that they were ever faultless to begin with. Though she brought me up to have excellent ones and in fact frequently encouraged me to dip into Emily Post and Tiffany's Table Manners For Teenagers. I notice however that she's never waited to start eating until everyone else has his plate or is seated: no, if her food's there, she's digging right in. Plus she smells every bite before it goes in. Surreptitously, of course, but you can see it if you're looking for it. And she pushes her food around her plate as if it were some artist's palette and she's trying to mix the right shade --cutting and mashing stuff and adding more butter here, salt there, moving bits into little piles, all so that she "comes out even", meaning she has to have one little bite of meat left to go with the last little bite of potatoes, the last little bite of corn, the last little bite of cranberry sauce…it's a good thing she's such a genius in the writing and acting department because I tell you. It's difficult to watch. And remain silent.
And of course, having made deviled eggs last Saturday to go with Chicken fricassee or some Italian recipe one of the guy's was making for their main course, the BIG QUESTION worth two frantic phone calls was: WHERE IS HER DEVILLED EGG SERVING DISH, the brown ceramic one that has little egg-shaped indentations around it? The answer, which I could indeed provide, being "fuck knows", because I unloaded it with a lot of other ugly crap either at the tag sale last summer, or Goodwill, but who's whereabouts I had to act equally puzzled over, suggesting search areas like the top shelf in the bar? Bottom drawer of the sideboard that sticks? And finally said if it isn't on top of the freezer in the laundry room where I last saw it then gee I don't know where it is. Sadly.
It's all the games I now have to play that are so exhausting.
And guess what, Peg has a brand new $59.00 mattress topper with waterproof covering, which she just loves. Seems the Easter Bunny, aka the UPS man had dumped it outside the front door and left, Bonnie found it waiting when she arrived.
Monday, March 30, 2015
Thursday, March 26, 2015
TROUBLE A' TMILL
First, I see the purchase of a mattress on Amazon for $59, which I query. This is a house that has eleven beds, most of them single. I couldn't think why a mattress was needed.
Seems the visiting nurse from Porchlight asked Peg how she'd slept, Peg said not very well, it was always "so lumpy". The nurse suggested to Outside Bob--his day inside at the helm--that he might want to consider buying a mattress topper, and one which was also waterproof. He mentioned this to Bonnie the next morning and they ordered one from Amazon. Neither thought to check with me. Had they done so, I would have said there is a nearly new mattress topper on the bed up in Odd's old office and that a waterproof cover could be had from TJ's say, for $5.99. On top of which, speaking of toppers, Peg not only sleeps in her clothes including at least 2 sweaters and a heavy fleece jacket--even if the thermostat's at 78--and by morning it's all bunched up underneath her. She also sleeps on a leopard fleece blanket which is not tucked in and forms itself into a ball all night long. My point being: the existing mattress is fine, plus already has a waterproof "nappie" on it.
I told them to cancel the order.
Nine thousand emails later, with everyone explaining WHY they did what they did or FEEL the way they do about mattress toppers, newly-purchased or otherwise, the long and short of it is the mattress topper with waterproof cover are due to arrive today and Bonnie will either meet UPS at the door and refuse to accept it--or she won't.
Nothing is easy, is it.
We then had a staff issue--well, they did, I didn't--about WHO was allowed to be the one in charge who could say when Peg's leg looked swollen enough to warrent a Lasix pill. I then wrote an email back stating that it didn't MATTER who saw it first, whoever did do so was to: a) ring Porchlight nurse ; or B) the doctor; or C) if critical, an ambulance. Jesus H.
This was followed by noses out of joint because Terri got breakfast bacon and eggs for Peg instead of Bonnie doing it, and then sat with Peg while she ate it. Terri always remains in the morning a few extra hours on her own time, and also arrives two hours early, not charging then either--because she cares about Peg. But Bonnie cares about Peg, too. So. Another email goes off to all four staff saying I don't care who fixes Peg's breakfast, just as long as she gets fed and takes her pills. Suddenly it's like being school monitor on a field trip. Thin skins, petty jealousies, and egos abound.
Meanwhile, Oslo the Owl observes it all silently from her perch on the bird feeder but does fuck all to help me besides eat the occasional squirrel.
Seems the visiting nurse from Porchlight asked Peg how she'd slept, Peg said not very well, it was always "so lumpy". The nurse suggested to Outside Bob--his day inside at the helm--that he might want to consider buying a mattress topper, and one which was also waterproof. He mentioned this to Bonnie the next morning and they ordered one from Amazon. Neither thought to check with me. Had they done so, I would have said there is a nearly new mattress topper on the bed up in Odd's old office and that a waterproof cover could be had from TJ's say, for $5.99. On top of which, speaking of toppers, Peg not only sleeps in her clothes including at least 2 sweaters and a heavy fleece jacket--even if the thermostat's at 78--and by morning it's all bunched up underneath her. She also sleeps on a leopard fleece blanket which is not tucked in and forms itself into a ball all night long. My point being: the existing mattress is fine, plus already has a waterproof "nappie" on it.
I told them to cancel the order.
Nine thousand emails later, with everyone explaining WHY they did what they did or FEEL the way they do about mattress toppers, newly-purchased or otherwise, the long and short of it is the mattress topper with waterproof cover are due to arrive today and Bonnie will either meet UPS at the door and refuse to accept it--or she won't.
Nothing is easy, is it.
We then had a staff issue--well, they did, I didn't--about WHO was allowed to be the one in charge who could say when Peg's leg looked swollen enough to warrent a Lasix pill. I then wrote an email back stating that it didn't MATTER who saw it first, whoever did do so was to: a) ring Porchlight nurse ; or B) the doctor; or C) if critical, an ambulance. Jesus H.
This was followed by noses out of joint because Terri got breakfast bacon and eggs for Peg instead of Bonnie doing it, and then sat with Peg while she ate it. Terri always remains in the morning a few extra hours on her own time, and also arrives two hours early, not charging then either--because she cares about Peg. But Bonnie cares about Peg, too. So. Another email goes off to all four staff saying I don't care who fixes Peg's breakfast, just as long as she gets fed and takes her pills. Suddenly it's like being school monitor on a field trip. Thin skins, petty jealousies, and egos abound.
Meanwhile, Oslo the Owl observes it all silently from her perch on the bird feeder but does fuck all to help me besides eat the occasional squirrel.
Saturday, March 21, 2015
BACK ON COURSE
A tearful good-bye in Becket. Don't know how long Peg's lasted but I needed Kleenex until about Huntington on Rte 20 E. towards the Pike. Terri was there for Peg however, as was Bonnie, plus Oslo the Owl flew in, after three days gone a-hunting, to wave goodbye from atop the satellite dish.
I can report a safe and smooth 11 PM Virgin Airways flight from Boston, three seats to myself, thanks to an especially kind Virgin guy at check-in. Flight preceded by a much needed and much appreciated lobster roll and glass of pinot grigio at Logan's branch of Durgen Park, major seafood restaurant which has been a feature of Boston for donkey's years. Lobster roll preceeded by a turkey sandwich from Starbucks I took one bite of and pitched in the bin. Revolting.
No sign of the eclipse, though we landed at the exact same moment apparently, Brit time. But, being Britain, a large dense cloud cover hung over Heathrow. Anyway I didn't even know about it, plus wouldn't have been over excited anyway, I was much more interested in the new Dreamliner plane which has all sorts of good new features including touch screen TV and touch screen windows that darken or lighten on demand, a new stylish kind of air vent, and better loos, although sinks still not big enough: in order to spit when you brush your teeth, you're still pressing your head against the mirror or towel dispenser. "Dear Richard…"
Don't know about the food, had one small bottle of water, that's it. Only bad part was I think US Customs nicked my navy cashmere sweater. It was on top, in the bottom zippered part of my suitcase, but not there when I unpacked. I brought back a lot of Norwegian pewter this time so I suppose they were checking out all the metal. Next time I put mousetraps in.
We had a Happy Homecoming meal at the Anchor last night, all very cosy, and today Mabel and I had a long walk through the reed beds together. Kevin the electrician arrived at 8 this morning to finally put a light in the coat cupboard I've been swearing over the lack of for five years. I think I am more excited about this light that about Den's book coming out.
I can report a safe and smooth 11 PM Virgin Airways flight from Boston, three seats to myself, thanks to an especially kind Virgin guy at check-in. Flight preceded by a much needed and much appreciated lobster roll and glass of pinot grigio at Logan's branch of Durgen Park, major seafood restaurant which has been a feature of Boston for donkey's years. Lobster roll preceeded by a turkey sandwich from Starbucks I took one bite of and pitched in the bin. Revolting.
No sign of the eclipse, though we landed at the exact same moment apparently, Brit time. But, being Britain, a large dense cloud cover hung over Heathrow. Anyway I didn't even know about it, plus wouldn't have been over excited anyway, I was much more interested in the new Dreamliner plane which has all sorts of good new features including touch screen TV and touch screen windows that darken or lighten on demand, a new stylish kind of air vent, and better loos, although sinks still not big enough: in order to spit when you brush your teeth, you're still pressing your head against the mirror or towel dispenser. "Dear Richard…"
Don't know about the food, had one small bottle of water, that's it. Only bad part was I think US Customs nicked my navy cashmere sweater. It was on top, in the bottom zippered part of my suitcase, but not there when I unpacked. I brought back a lot of Norwegian pewter this time so I suppose they were checking out all the metal. Next time I put mousetraps in.
We had a Happy Homecoming meal at the Anchor last night, all very cosy, and today Mabel and I had a long walk through the reed beds together. Kevin the electrician arrived at 8 this morning to finally put a light in the coat cupboard I've been swearing over the lack of for five years. I think I am more excited about this light that about Den's book coming out.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
FINAL CHORES
- Met with the Boundary Guy, here. His idea. Advised me for a good hour on how to market the house and property when the time comes. Good stuff. Have it all sorted now in my mind and a surveyor friend of his has now measured out 2 lots, a 4 acre and a 5, and prepared a map which arrived today, which I have now filed.
- Took some Treasury Bonds which had matured to the Berkshire Bank, Williams St., to have them stamped and filled out by the bank manager, who was so busy talking that she forgot to sign them, which I didn't see till I got home, so had to trot all the way back there and got stopped for speeding on the way home. I put on an English accent and apologized a million times and got off with a warning.
- Changed electricity providers, saving $287 per month here.
- Spent a good hour trying to send DK's memoirs Key Changes to a reviewer in London, only to discover I had not transferred the right file in the rush to leave England the other week so had to go through it all, chapter by chapter, putting in the revisions we've made since, then sent it to the wrong Kevin. Instead of zinging its way to our PR guy it went to Kevin the big deal banker son-in-law of an elderly woman in Walberswick.
- Sent a case of Villa Maria to Tim, the guy who prepared the Press release for DK's TV themes album (I hope).
- Dealt with the U of Oregon, home of Peg's archive, who have been successful in getting a grant to enhance and digitize all Peg's TV shows from the 1950s. They have this idea of doing a big deal symposium on the early days of TV as well, and asked if I thought Peg would be up for going out there to answer questions, tell stories and so on. They're happy to pay for me and for Alex to go as well. The hitch is that it will coincide with Peg's 100th birthday, which is a year and a half from now. During which time a great deal can happen. (Alex already packed).
- Sent a heads-up to our financial guy at USB in Springfield. There's an issue here that has, er, arisen, which might be worrying but can't go into at the moment. I asked that he please advise me if a request comes in from Peg to send her an unusually large amount of money.
- Found a home, I think, for my great grandmother's wedding dress which I found in the trunk I had Outside Bob bring down from at the attic, along with my grandmother's baby shoes (which have heels! I knew I took after her.)
- Filled a collage picture frame for Peg that she's been trying to do since Christmas to send to her journalist fan in Minneapolis, James Lileks. She had cut all the photos too small and not a straight line to be found. I fixed it all and now I am Golden Girl. I think she even likes me better than she likes Terri or Dominick tonight. Still, the night is young.
- Inadvertantly let Terri's 14 year old beagle, Heidi, out, when I opened the door to bring in firewood, and had to go chasing her all around the property, Terri running after me in a T shirt and slippers, hysterical. No sign of Heidi. Finally went in and grabbed a handful of chicken and spent another 20 minutes outside sliding around on the ice-encrusted snow, yelling "Chicken! Chicken!" but pleased to report Heidi now back safe and sound (and tied up).
By my favorite part of the day by far is discovering that the cord on the hair dryer I bought a year ago is NOT eighteen inches long after all: it pulls out, and retracts. For one solid year I have been drying my hair squashed up against the bathroom tiles, practically sitting on the laundry hamper under the towel rail in order to do this, while ranting and raving about stupid hairdryer designers who put 18 inch cords on their appliances.
That's it.
- Took some Treasury Bonds which had matured to the Berkshire Bank, Williams St., to have them stamped and filled out by the bank manager, who was so busy talking that she forgot to sign them, which I didn't see till I got home, so had to trot all the way back there and got stopped for speeding on the way home. I put on an English accent and apologized a million times and got off with a warning.
- Changed electricity providers, saving $287 per month here.
- Spent a good hour trying to send DK's memoirs Key Changes to a reviewer in London, only to discover I had not transferred the right file in the rush to leave England the other week so had to go through it all, chapter by chapter, putting in the revisions we've made since, then sent it to the wrong Kevin. Instead of zinging its way to our PR guy it went to Kevin the big deal banker son-in-law of an elderly woman in Walberswick.
- Sent a case of Villa Maria to Tim, the guy who prepared the Press release for DK's TV themes album (I hope).
- Dealt with the U of Oregon, home of Peg's archive, who have been successful in getting a grant to enhance and digitize all Peg's TV shows from the 1950s. They have this idea of doing a big deal symposium on the early days of TV as well, and asked if I thought Peg would be up for going out there to answer questions, tell stories and so on. They're happy to pay for me and for Alex to go as well. The hitch is that it will coincide with Peg's 100th birthday, which is a year and a half from now. During which time a great deal can happen. (Alex already packed).
- Sent a heads-up to our financial guy at USB in Springfield. There's an issue here that has, er, arisen, which might be worrying but can't go into at the moment. I asked that he please advise me if a request comes in from Peg to send her an unusually large amount of money.
- Found a home, I think, for my great grandmother's wedding dress which I found in the trunk I had Outside Bob bring down from at the attic, along with my grandmother's baby shoes (which have heels! I knew I took after her.)
- Filled a collage picture frame for Peg that she's been trying to do since Christmas to send to her journalist fan in Minneapolis, James Lileks. She had cut all the photos too small and not a straight line to be found. I fixed it all and now I am Golden Girl. I think she even likes me better than she likes Terri or Dominick tonight. Still, the night is young.
- Inadvertantly let Terri's 14 year old beagle, Heidi, out, when I opened the door to bring in firewood, and had to go chasing her all around the property, Terri running after me in a T shirt and slippers, hysterical. No sign of Heidi. Finally went in and grabbed a handful of chicken and spent another 20 minutes outside sliding around on the ice-encrusted snow, yelling "Chicken! Chicken!" but pleased to report Heidi now back safe and sound (and tied up).
That's it.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
WEIRD THINGS HAPPENING
The first being that Peg, when she's awake, is watching non-stop soccer. I have come 3,000 miles to (still) have a stupid football game blaring out of a TV, the difference being Peg is watching it on her new RAI Italia Channel, so I get top volume commentary and crowd noise in Italian.
The second weird thing is AOL. For the past week or so, in fact even since I got here, it has kept making appearances when I haven't asked for it. Such as one or two tabs already open when I go to log in, sometimes more. An irritation at best. However. You know how with AOL it gives you your location when you log on? Well it does, right under your username. Pittsfield, MA, or Southwold, England and so on. I notice that many of these uninvited AOL tabs say "Weston, CT", which is too weird for words, since I haven't been there since mid August. Thoughts? Gremlins? Or?
The third weird thing is that I have been in the States almost two weeks now and have had no inclination whatsoever to buy a doughnut, oatmeal raisin cookie, or pecan sticky bun. The idea in fact seems to appall me. This is worrying. Normally I'm salivating in anticipation by about Iceland.
__________________
Peg managed to stand up without help from bed today and got off the toilet by herself. I'm sure her physical strength will return the longer she's in her own home--also with the rehab and physio the VNA (Visiting Nurses) will provide here for about six weeks.
I can't say the same however for her mind. Maybe it'll improve but...she still asked what she was supposed to do when she woke up this morning (the answer being :"Get up! Get out of bed! Greet the day! Have bacon and eggs!")
And then last night when I got her up from her nap on the loveseat in front of the fire she was speaking almost total nonsense, kept trying to think of some word, but couldn't describe it, said something about Norway and blankets.....it reminded me of the time I woke her up from a pre dinner nap back in Fairfield, I must have been about 10. I had to shake her a bit, after which she sat up, opened her eyes, looked at me, smiled, and I said "Mama, it's dinner time. We've been calling you. Come have dinner!" (My grandmother lived with us and cooked).
Peg nodded and said, "Have you ordered the gondola?"
"What?" I said, pausing at the door.
"The gondola! How else will we get there?"
At which point Peg stood up and went to the phone. "I'll call down to the concierge," she says, and a few other worrying phrases, by which time I was close to hysterics and thinking my mother had lost her mind and so started to shake her, sobbing "We're not in Venice, Mama, we're in Connecticut! Mama! Don't do this, please don't DO this!"
Meaning, Peg's confusion upon awakening is actually nothing too new and you'd think I'd be used to it. Nope!
The second weird thing is AOL. For the past week or so, in fact even since I got here, it has kept making appearances when I haven't asked for it. Such as one or two tabs already open when I go to log in, sometimes more. An irritation at best. However. You know how with AOL it gives you your location when you log on? Well it does, right under your username. Pittsfield, MA, or Southwold, England and so on. I notice that many of these uninvited AOL tabs say "Weston, CT", which is too weird for words, since I haven't been there since mid August. Thoughts? Gremlins? Or?
The third weird thing is that I have been in the States almost two weeks now and have had no inclination whatsoever to buy a doughnut, oatmeal raisin cookie, or pecan sticky bun. The idea in fact seems to appall me. This is worrying. Normally I'm salivating in anticipation by about Iceland.
__________________
Peg managed to stand up without help from bed today and got off the toilet by herself. I'm sure her physical strength will return the longer she's in her own home--also with the rehab and physio the VNA (Visiting Nurses) will provide here for about six weeks.
I can't say the same however for her mind. Maybe it'll improve but...she still asked what she was supposed to do when she woke up this morning (the answer being :"Get up! Get out of bed! Greet the day! Have bacon and eggs!")
And then last night when I got her up from her nap on the loveseat in front of the fire she was speaking almost total nonsense, kept trying to think of some word, but couldn't describe it, said something about Norway and blankets.....it reminded me of the time I woke her up from a pre dinner nap back in Fairfield, I must have been about 10. I had to shake her a bit, after which she sat up, opened her eyes, looked at me, smiled, and I said "Mama, it's dinner time. We've been calling you. Come have dinner!" (My grandmother lived with us and cooked).
Peg nodded and said, "Have you ordered the gondola?"
"What?" I said, pausing at the door.
"The gondola! How else will we get there?"
At which point Peg stood up and went to the phone. "I'll call down to the concierge," she says, and a few other worrying phrases, by which time I was close to hysterics and thinking my mother had lost her mind and so started to shake her, sobbing "We're not in Venice, Mama, we're in Connecticut! Mama! Don't do this, please don't DO this!"
Meaning, Peg's confusion upon awakening is actually nothing too new and you'd think I'd be used to it. Nope!
Saturday, March 14, 2015
ANOTHER POPCORN DINNER
Peg kipping on one of the loveseats in the den in front of the fire. I make a fire every day, mostly because I want to use up the firewood on the porch. It's so bone-dry and seasoned you almost don't need kindling or newspapers to light it. One less thing to move, eventually.
She woke for a few moments just now to pull at the blanket covering her and ask what it was called but before I could tell her she'd dozed off again. It's like that now.
I had a fretful and fairly sleepless night worrying she would need me and I was all the way upstairs and wouldn't hear her call out. I left the doors open so I'd hear better. But the doors open meant the light from there hall spilled in, ditto heat, so off went the quilt and on with the eye mask, but then my nose stuffed up and I had to open the window. Seemed to be an owl convention going on. I turned on my noise machine (rain and fountain apps) but again worried I wouldn't hear Peg so turned them off again.
At 6:30am I gave up and, fed up, got up and went to put on my Becket robe, a black watch tartan flannel full length pullover turtleneck job--but it wasn't in the closet. I'd put it in the wash when I left last August. Clearly someone had put it back in the wrong place, or, as I became convinced, having looked in every closet and cupboard in the house--stolen it. Though why anyone would do this, I don't know. While tearing through Peg's closet, she awoke, and when I went in she was sitting on the edge of her bed.
"What are you doing in there?"
"Someone's stolen my robe! My robe, my favorite robe is gone, Mother! Gone!"
We discussed where I had looked for it i.e. everywhere and how it was nowhere to be found.
"What should I do?" Peg asked, after a bit.
"About what? It's gone! Gone!"
"No. Now. What am I supposed to do?"
I suddenly realized she meant should she get up, go back to sleep, put her teeth in, empty her catheter, go to the loo--she DIDN'T KNOW.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I can't think." She looked up at me, helplessly. Somehow I managed, just, to forget about my robe for a second.
"Well. It's morning, Mama," I said. "I guess you could go have some breakfast? How would that be?"
She mulled this over, then nodded, put her teeth in, but then couldn't stand up so I had to give her a boost. I think we need to get a hospital bed in there for her. Anyhow, once latched onto her walker, away she went to the kitchen, grabbing two bananas en route through the bar.
I found my robe, finally, in a drawer in the Tulip Room of all places, under the salmon pink sheets that go in there, no idea who put it there but thus clad, I returned to the kitchen, by which time Bonnie had arrived and took over the Pill Taking, Weighing, Blood Sugar and Oxygen Levels and in a far better humor than I would have.
I then reminded Peg for the nine hundredth time that luncheon guests were expected whereupon she began obsessing about her wardrobe so I got her changed and hair and eyebrows and lipstick on, chose jewelry, then took a shower myself, washed hair, and raced down to get lunch going, fire started, table set and was all ready for 12 noon when both sets of guests ring to say they're delayed. They arrived three hours later than planned, in the end, one due to oil trouble with the car and around Auburn and having to find a gas station and the other due to having inadvertently locked the keys and the dog in the car when stopping at a farm stand to buy a pie and maple syrup for me, as requested. So lunch turned into early dinner. They all just left. I don't know when to wake Peg to put her to bed. Decisions are getting me down.
________
OWL NEWS
Oslo was back on her perch today on the bird feeder by Bonnie's desk. I was looking at her, tapping the window to make her turn and give me her kinda sassy one-eyed wink, which she did, and we kept this up for quite some time, which I like to think we both enjoyed in our own way--until suddenly she whipped round, opened her wings, dive-bombed onto a squirrel and flew off with it, just as I was wondering if I should feed her a little something since she never appeared to have much luck catching anything and was in fact about to google owls to see if they ate chicken.
For the record, on the various bird feeders today we had: finches, chickadees, a tufted titmouse, a nuthatch, two doves, a woodpecker and a cardinal. I may have to re-think my hatred of all feathered things that fly. Seriously. I cannot believe I am spending even one second looking at birds eating seeds let alone caring about one species bullying another. This is what Becket does to you.
My friend Amy put this on my Facebook page.
She woke for a few moments just now to pull at the blanket covering her and ask what it was called but before I could tell her she'd dozed off again. It's like that now.
I had a fretful and fairly sleepless night worrying she would need me and I was all the way upstairs and wouldn't hear her call out. I left the doors open so I'd hear better. But the doors open meant the light from there hall spilled in, ditto heat, so off went the quilt and on with the eye mask, but then my nose stuffed up and I had to open the window. Seemed to be an owl convention going on. I turned on my noise machine (rain and fountain apps) but again worried I wouldn't hear Peg so turned them off again.
At 6:30am I gave up and, fed up, got up and went to put on my Becket robe, a black watch tartan flannel full length pullover turtleneck job--but it wasn't in the closet. I'd put it in the wash when I left last August. Clearly someone had put it back in the wrong place, or, as I became convinced, having looked in every closet and cupboard in the house--stolen it. Though why anyone would do this, I don't know. While tearing through Peg's closet, she awoke, and when I went in she was sitting on the edge of her bed.
"What are you doing in there?"
"Someone's stolen my robe! My robe, my favorite robe is gone, Mother! Gone!"
We discussed where I had looked for it i.e. everywhere and how it was nowhere to be found.
"What should I do?" Peg asked, after a bit.
"About what? It's gone! Gone!"
"No. Now. What am I supposed to do?"
I suddenly realized she meant should she get up, go back to sleep, put her teeth in, empty her catheter, go to the loo--she DIDN'T KNOW.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I can't think." She looked up at me, helplessly. Somehow I managed, just, to forget about my robe for a second.
"Well. It's morning, Mama," I said. "I guess you could go have some breakfast? How would that be?"
She mulled this over, then nodded, put her teeth in, but then couldn't stand up so I had to give her a boost. I think we need to get a hospital bed in there for her. Anyhow, once latched onto her walker, away she went to the kitchen, grabbing two bananas en route through the bar.
I found my robe, finally, in a drawer in the Tulip Room of all places, under the salmon pink sheets that go in there, no idea who put it there but thus clad, I returned to the kitchen, by which time Bonnie had arrived and took over the Pill Taking, Weighing, Blood Sugar and Oxygen Levels and in a far better humor than I would have.
I then reminded Peg for the nine hundredth time that luncheon guests were expected whereupon she began obsessing about her wardrobe so I got her changed and hair and eyebrows and lipstick on, chose jewelry, then took a shower myself, washed hair, and raced down to get lunch going, fire started, table set and was all ready for 12 noon when both sets of guests ring to say they're delayed. They arrived three hours later than planned, in the end, one due to oil trouble with the car and around Auburn and having to find a gas station and the other due to having inadvertently locked the keys and the dog in the car when stopping at a farm stand to buy a pie and maple syrup for me, as requested. So lunch turned into early dinner. They all just left. I don't know when to wake Peg to put her to bed. Decisions are getting me down.
________
OWL NEWS
Oslo was back on her perch today on the bird feeder by Bonnie's desk. I was looking at her, tapping the window to make her turn and give me her kinda sassy one-eyed wink, which she did, and we kept this up for quite some time, which I like to think we both enjoyed in our own way--until suddenly she whipped round, opened her wings, dive-bombed onto a squirrel and flew off with it, just as I was wondering if I should feed her a little something since she never appeared to have much luck catching anything and was in fact about to google owls to see if they ate chicken.
For the record, on the various bird feeders today we had: finches, chickadees, a tufted titmouse, a nuthatch, two doves, a woodpecker and a cardinal. I may have to re-think my hatred of all feathered things that fly. Seriously. I cannot believe I am spending even one second looking at birds eating seeds let alone caring about one species bullying another. This is what Becket does to you.
My friend Amy put this on my Facebook page.
Friday, March 13, 2015
DECLINE AND FALL
The fall involved me, not the 98 year old. Peg sat calmly at the butcher block making a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich on white toast and watching a movie called "Black Girls Are Beautiful" or something like that, while I slipped on the ice up in the rock garden after filling the bird feeder on the big pine tree and, unable to get my balance, charged on down the hill and landed on my butt. Up until then I was having quite a nice time. I realized I'd never in my life filled a bird feeder before. Peg has four here, and all needed replenishing. I also never knew all bird feeders are different, they all opened different ways. And getting the seed mixture out of bag and down into the feeder neatly, without spillage, appears to be something of an art, and one I have yet to master. Oslo the Owl flew off when I went outside but returned to Perch #3 (lower branch of the big maple) as soon as I brushed the snow off myself and hobbled back up into the porch.
Today I am upset for two reasons. Possibly more. Beginning with Peg telling me to shut up last night when I said goodnight to her. She asked when (her precious) Dominick was arriving today. I said he'd just called to confirm my request to be here at 9am. Her face crumbled and, tears in her eyes, she says:
"Why did he call YOU! I've been waiting all week for him to call!"
I explained he was only answering my email, the one in which I'd proposed staff hours this week. Dominick has been in NY since last Saturday, see, and Peg has been highly peeved by this.
"He only works Wednesdays and Fridays, Mama, you can't expect him to be here every second. Anyhow we can't afford to have him here 24/7."
"YOU SHUT UP!" she says, and rolls over in bed.
Terri spent the night last night, in a room off the living room, to keep an eye on Peg, her first night back from rehab. Peg was fine but Heidi, Terri's beagle, woke Peg at 2 AM by standing next to the bed and howling. (Peg gives it treats all the time, much to Terri's annoyance.)
Then, this morning, in the dining room rubble, I happen upon a picture frame that's been torn apart, contents removed, and suddenly recognize it as something I'd had framed for Daddy for his birthday a year ago: the actual document detailing his release from Falstad concentration camp in Norway in 1942, all in German, and that I had discovered amongst his papers in the attic and taken back to England to have framed for £25.
Peg has pulled off the backing and bent the frame oinher quest to get at the document to photocopy it FOR THE FUCKING BLUE BOOKS, which are no further along than they have ever been. I found the said document, just by chance in the appalling shambles of her desk to find she'd CUT IT UP. Cut down the 8 x 10 document, saved only the central typing, losing the heading and official stamp of the camp and the signature of the whatever he was, the oberstrumenfurherfuckknows. When I challenged her about this (when I could speak), she didn't even know what I was talking about at first. And she has no idea of the damage she's done. None whatsoever. I've been in contact with the curator of the Falstad Museum for a number of years--I'd given them a transcript of an interview I'd done with Odd's about five years ago about what life was like in the camp, and they were desperate for this document, which I said I had and would send a copy as soon as I got to Becket. Peg finally FINALLY offered a million excuses including, my favorite: "It was taking up space!" meaning the frame. Please.
I was in a state for most of the morning. Hard pressed to even hand her the half & half for her banana let alone give a fuck as to whether she took her pills or blood sugar count or blood pressure or pulse. Terri fortunately does all this. And weighs her. But Terri then left.
So I then got my mother into the shower, after cranking the laundry room temperature up to about 205 degrees, and emptying her catheter bag. After which Dominick massaged her feet for an hour and I gave her a bowl of soup and then we got her into the car and off we go to her urologist's appointment for a catheter change. Followed by a quick dash to the safety deposit to collect the bonds I'd mistakenly not collected the day before, then, yes, I'm afraid to say, Price Chopper again. Left Peg in the car. Came out, panicked, didn't see a head, thought she'd been stolen, then saw this tiny little doll-size figure with a red scarf over her head, way down in the passenger seat. Nap time.
My second upset today is that after working tirelessly to get Peg's video done for Comic Relief and getting it OUT THERE, and my friend Claire working tirelessly, and my friend Simon, and going through hoops trying to get footage of Peg last week at the nursing home for the intro--it's like, why did I bother? I mean it. Over 500 invites went out, plus Facebook postings, plus postings to fans--and how many people have gotten back to me to say "Wow, isn't she great !"? Four. And how many kind wonderful people have actually managed to donate on her GivingPage? Eight. Eight wonderful terrific people. I am discouraged, saddened, appalled and annoyed.
Today I am upset for two reasons. Possibly more. Beginning with Peg telling me to shut up last night when I said goodnight to her. She asked when (her precious) Dominick was arriving today. I said he'd just called to confirm my request to be here at 9am. Her face crumbled and, tears in her eyes, she says:
"Why did he call YOU! I've been waiting all week for him to call!"
I explained he was only answering my email, the one in which I'd proposed staff hours this week. Dominick has been in NY since last Saturday, see, and Peg has been highly peeved by this.
"He only works Wednesdays and Fridays, Mama, you can't expect him to be here every second. Anyhow we can't afford to have him here 24/7."
"YOU SHUT UP!" she says, and rolls over in bed.
Terri spent the night last night, in a room off the living room, to keep an eye on Peg, her first night back from rehab. Peg was fine but Heidi, Terri's beagle, woke Peg at 2 AM by standing next to the bed and howling. (Peg gives it treats all the time, much to Terri's annoyance.)
Then, this morning, in the dining room rubble, I happen upon a picture frame that's been torn apart, contents removed, and suddenly recognize it as something I'd had framed for Daddy for his birthday a year ago: the actual document detailing his release from Falstad concentration camp in Norway in 1942, all in German, and that I had discovered amongst his papers in the attic and taken back to England to have framed for £25.
Peg has pulled off the backing and bent the frame oinher quest to get at the document to photocopy it FOR THE FUCKING BLUE BOOKS, which are no further along than they have ever been. I found the said document, just by chance in the appalling shambles of her desk to find she'd CUT IT UP. Cut down the 8 x 10 document, saved only the central typing, losing the heading and official stamp of the camp and the signature of the whatever he was, the oberstrumenfurherfuckknows. When I challenged her about this (when I could speak), she didn't even know what I was talking about at first. And she has no idea of the damage she's done. None whatsoever. I've been in contact with the curator of the Falstad Museum for a number of years--I'd given them a transcript of an interview I'd done with Odd's about five years ago about what life was like in the camp, and they were desperate for this document, which I said I had and would send a copy as soon as I got to Becket. Peg finally FINALLY offered a million excuses including, my favorite: "It was taking up space!" meaning the frame. Please.
I was in a state for most of the morning. Hard pressed to even hand her the half & half for her banana let alone give a fuck as to whether she took her pills or blood sugar count or blood pressure or pulse. Terri fortunately does all this. And weighs her. But Terri then left.
So I then got my mother into the shower, after cranking the laundry room temperature up to about 205 degrees, and emptying her catheter bag. After which Dominick massaged her feet for an hour and I gave her a bowl of soup and then we got her into the car and off we go to her urologist's appointment for a catheter change. Followed by a quick dash to the safety deposit to collect the bonds I'd mistakenly not collected the day before, then, yes, I'm afraid to say, Price Chopper again. Left Peg in the car. Came out, panicked, didn't see a head, thought she'd been stolen, then saw this tiny little doll-size figure with a red scarf over her head, way down in the passenger seat. Nap time.
My second upset today is that after working tirelessly to get Peg's video done for Comic Relief and getting it OUT THERE, and my friend Claire working tirelessly, and my friend Simon, and going through hoops trying to get footage of Peg last week at the nursing home for the intro--it's like, why did I bother? I mean it. Over 500 invites went out, plus Facebook postings, plus postings to fans--and how many people have gotten back to me to say "Wow, isn't she great !"? Four. And how many kind wonderful people have actually managed to donate on her GivingPage? Eight. Eight wonderful terrific people. I am discouraged, saddened, appalled and annoyed.
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