Wednesday, January 5, 2005
Exceptionally slooooow day for Mom, today.
Although I was in her room for her wake-up call around 1130, it took a good half hour of conversation, joking and help from The Little Girl for her to offer me her hand for blood sugar testing. Yet another hour passed while she arose, bathed, dressed and I placed breakfast in front of her. She's been surprisingly active during our two snow days. She enjoys looking at the snow up here, which is a different experience than the one branded into her brain in childhood: Iowa snow...flat white on flat land. We've spent a good portion of the last few days discussing how snow is more "interesting" falling on young, craggy, boulder bedecked mountains dressed in evergreen. Despite her dislike of cold winter climates, I think seasons do her good, particularly mild seasonal venues, such as this place.
I went out in it yesterday, of course, twice: Once to get supplies in the middle of the stormy period (nothing quite as exhilarating for me as being surrounded by a storm) and once after the storm to do "yard work". I know, sounds crazy, but we're still having problems with our pyracantha canes bowing over the driveway. Not that I expected visitors but I had such refreshing memories of cutting them back during our last legitimate snow experience that yesterday I couldn't resist. We have an especially provocative snow-yard with all its wildness and the rocky wash that sings along the western side of our property, adding an inspirational touch to the snow scenarios when one is outside.
By yesterday night, when I joyously plowed the garbage cans out to the curb, we'd had about a foot of snow. We have a street light just opposite our property, the lone light on our entire street. It's one of those pink shadow chasers and its peculiar light applies glistening magic to snow cover. Yesterday I couldn't keep myself inside for any length of time. Today I'm firmly inside. The snow isn't disappearing as fast as usual, which normally would have me out in it, but our temperature at this elevation hasn't risen above freezing. When I went out this morning to upright the recycling bin that had blown over in the night I noticed that beneath the snow the entire landscape is gripped in ice. My ass noticed this as well, twice. We're supposed to get one more clear day, which is good. We're just about out of paper underwear so I've got to make an almost-emergency run to Costco tomorrow. Then, rain is predicted for four days, which will probably apply to this elevation, as well, considering the temperature predictions.
Day before yesterday she went through a Driving Miss Daisy fit. One of the movie channel franchises played it three times throughout the day. She caught it halfway through the first run, had me look it up to see if there were any repeats, which there were: One in the early evening and one at 2245. She watched both, staying up until Hoke fed the last piece of "Thanksgiving Pie" to Miss Daisy. Although Mom had a lot to say through all three showings, some of her comments made a particular impression on me (not necessarily in chronological order):
Later.
I went out in it yesterday, of course, twice: Once to get supplies in the middle of the stormy period (nothing quite as exhilarating for me as being surrounded by a storm) and once after the storm to do "yard work". I know, sounds crazy, but we're still having problems with our pyracantha canes bowing over the driveway. Not that I expected visitors but I had such refreshing memories of cutting them back during our last legitimate snow experience that yesterday I couldn't resist. We have an especially provocative snow-yard with all its wildness and the rocky wash that sings along the western side of our property, adding an inspirational touch to the snow scenarios when one is outside.
By yesterday night, when I joyously plowed the garbage cans out to the curb, we'd had about a foot of snow. We have a street light just opposite our property, the lone light on our entire street. It's one of those pink shadow chasers and its peculiar light applies glistening magic to snow cover. Yesterday I couldn't keep myself inside for any length of time. Today I'm firmly inside. The snow isn't disappearing as fast as usual, which normally would have me out in it, but our temperature at this elevation hasn't risen above freezing. When I went out this morning to upright the recycling bin that had blown over in the night I noticed that beneath the snow the entire landscape is gripped in ice. My ass noticed this as well, twice. We're supposed to get one more clear day, which is good. We're just about out of paper underwear so I've got to make an almost-emergency run to Costco tomorrow. Then, rain is predicted for four days, which will probably apply to this elevation, as well, considering the temperature predictions.
Day before yesterday she went through a Driving Miss Daisy fit. One of the movie channel franchises played it three times throughout the day. She caught it halfway through the first run, had me look it up to see if there were any repeats, which there were: One in the early evening and one at 2245. She watched both, staying up until Hoke fed the last piece of "Thanksgiving Pie" to Miss Daisy. Although Mom had a lot to say through all three showings, some of her comments made a particular impression on me (not necessarily in chronological order):
- During the Thanksgiving Pie Scene:
"Will it bother you if you ever have to feed me?"
"No. I've already done that and it doesn't bother me at all."
"You have?!? Well, I hope you never have to again, but you might."
This stuck with me because I was impressed that she, as we all do, has fears about her future and needs assurance that her loved ones will stay close to her regardless of what happens, thus, 'it' won't be as bad as she might fear. - When Miss Daisy drives herself into a ditch at the beginning of the movie:
"I'm lucky I didn't do anything that bad before I stopped driving."
She did worse. She took out half the side of our pre-fabricated house in Mesa, including the utility room and its door. I didn't remind her of this. What's the point? She's glad she doesn't drive, now. So am I. During the road trip: - During the many scenes wherein Miss Daisy slows her eventual acceptance of social change by cloaking herself in her stubbornness:
"I'm not that stubborn!"
"Okay. I'll remember that."
"Don't forget to remind me, too!" - Several times when scenes feature Miss Daisy with her son and/or daughter-in-law:
"Too bad her family couldn't live with her. None of them knew what they were missing." Looking directly at me: "I'm lucky to have you."
Every time she made the last statement: "We're both lucky." - When Miss Daisy has her first major memory slip, freaks and is put in a nursing home:
"Will you stay with me if that ever happens to me?"
"I don't think it'll happen to you, Mom, you aren't bothered by your memory lapses and neither am I. But, yes, I'll stay with you until it no longer makes any sense to you for me to stay with you."
"Well, the only occasion I imagine when that would apply would be when I die."
"Then I'll stay with you until you die."
"Remember our road trips? Those were great!"
"Think you're up for another one or two, Mom?"
"Probably not, but I'll think about it."
"How about flying?"
"If we have to fly, it's probably too far."
"Just for a visit?"
"How about if 'they' visit us?"
She's obviously just about had it with travel. This surprised me but I guess it shouldn't. A few months ago when she was fantasizing about teaching in Martelle, either Martelle wasn't in Iowa or we were. Either way, Martelle was always, "just a ways up the road". She hasn't, by the way, mentioned teaching in Martelle since I finally figured out she was agitating herself with this particular bit of fantastic personal reality and decided to stop the agitation by laying out objective reality for her.
Later.
