Saturday, March 19, 2005
Mom just went down for a nap.
While we were in the bathroom checking and adding to her paper underwear padding she asked if someone was hiding in the house. Strange question.
I wondered if this might be an indication of further dementia. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"Are you hiding a man in the house?"
Her tone wasn't indignant so I joked. I walked to the bathroom door, opened it and said in a stage whisper, "She's on her way to bed, you can come out in a minute."
We both laughed. Then, I asked her why she thought I might be hiding someone.
"I've heard you talking when I've been napping, lately."
I realized that I have been talking a lot, lately, when she's been napping: First on the phone, sorting through possible Handymen in response to my ad (although the Mr. Everything who appeared yesterday came through the recommendation of an acquaintance, not through my ad), and second, talking out loud to myself. Anxiety, I guess, in part about taxes and how I am, again, this year, having trouble controlling my anxiety in this area, which surprises me (I hope this is the last year this happens) and just general talking out loud, mostly to imaginary people about my journey with my mother.
I mentioned all this to her. She said, "Well, if you ever want to invite any men over, you don't have to hide them."
I laughed. "Mom, I don't think you have to worry about that. Male companionship would be way too much trouble for me right now. I don't need yet another person who'd be expecting me to care for them. I'm pretty much maxed out in that area, right now. Nothing appeals to me less than the possibility of having yet another being hanging around who's expecting caregiving from me."
"I know what you mean," she said.
After she settled down I thought about why I'd been talking out loud to myself so much lately and realized that it's because I haven't been writing much in this journal, so, I guess I'd better get started again, or my mother will spend needless moments of her precious Up Time searching through the house for men I might be hiding.
I wondered if this might be an indication of further dementia. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"Are you hiding a man in the house?"
Her tone wasn't indignant so I joked. I walked to the bathroom door, opened it and said in a stage whisper, "She's on her way to bed, you can come out in a minute."
We both laughed. Then, I asked her why she thought I might be hiding someone.
"I've heard you talking when I've been napping, lately."
I realized that I have been talking a lot, lately, when she's been napping: First on the phone, sorting through possible Handymen in response to my ad (although the Mr. Everything who appeared yesterday came through the recommendation of an acquaintance, not through my ad), and second, talking out loud to myself. Anxiety, I guess, in part about taxes and how I am, again, this year, having trouble controlling my anxiety in this area, which surprises me (I hope this is the last year this happens) and just general talking out loud, mostly to imaginary people about my journey with my mother.
I mentioned all this to her. She said, "Well, if you ever want to invite any men over, you don't have to hide them."
I laughed. "Mom, I don't think you have to worry about that. Male companionship would be way too much trouble for me right now. I don't need yet another person who'd be expecting me to care for them. I'm pretty much maxed out in that area, right now. Nothing appeals to me less than the possibility of having yet another being hanging around who's expecting caregiving from me."
"I know what you mean," she said.
After she settled down I thought about why I'd been talking out loud to myself so much lately and realized that it's because I haven't been writing much in this journal, so, I guess I'd better get started again, or my mother will spend needless moments of her precious Up Time searching through the house for men I might be hiding.
He's My Handyman.
Yes. I've found my Handyman. My best guess, although it's hard to know without asking, which I didn't think to do, is that he's in his late 20's, maybe early 30's. He's certified in electrical and welding, his father owns and operates a landscape business in the area, he's had experience landscaping on this particular type of land and throughout Northern Arizona since he was a child, he's highly motivated, others speak very, very well of his work and his work ethic. He loves our property and is relieved that I want to keep quite a bit of it wild with very light maintenance while making it very accessible to people. He is also experienced in professional caregiving so he understands exactly what is needed to allow our outside property to become very accessible to my mother. He's primed to look over the inside of our home from the point of view of someone who is old and doesn't get around very well but believes she can go anywhere without a problem. He's local, an extended family man. His parents and many of his extended family live here. He and his wife are at the expanding end of creating a family; they already have a small daughter and another on the way. He has a critical mind, a well trained eye and a gentle, positive spirit. When I offered the tour I've been giving all week to potential Handymen I've been researching and interviewing he not only assented, he insisted on a complete tour. He's incredibly honest about how far his experience extends and how much further he wishes to extend it. He is not only willing but enthusiastic about working side-by-side with me on the yard. His request for monetary remuneration is more than fair. Yesterday, when surveying the inside of the house to see what needs to be fixed, he climbed our step ladder and fixed the light in our laundry closet after asking me if it was "all right, I fix do this now, $5.00." While he was fixing it he showed me what was wrong with it and how to fix it if we have the problem again (several months ago I accidentally ripped the on/off chain out of the socket). I gave him $10.00, out of respect for his initiative, knowledge and all the time he insisted on spending looking everything over. He knows and appreciates old appliances, of which our house is full. His attitude is: If it works, is safe and is easy to maintain, don't replace it. When he arrived and stepped out of his truck he took a deep breath, moved in a full, discerning circle, and announced, "I like this property." He mentioned that he is part of a network of people in landscaping and construction maintenance and was willing to refer work to his colleagues if he feels a task is beyond his knowledge, experience or time. He believes that if there is work to be done the "privilege" should be shared in order to strengthen the outcome and the entire community. He also believes, as do I, in salvaging as much "yard junk" as possible. He spends his off hours, for instance, using his welding skills to create functional, beautiful items out of scrap metal. I'm going to let him have all the scrap metal the previous house owner left scattered all over the property. He respectfully asked if, instead of junking our yard trash, if he knows people who can use it, could he distribute instead of dump it. Absolutely. Absolutely. He has excellent ideas about recycling flora cuttings and is thrilled that I'm composting. When he spotted our wash he immediately scanned its path, noted the development of vegetation spreading from the wash throughout the yard and advised me to "keep it as natural as possible", which has been my intention. He applauded that I don't vacuum the leaves in the fall but leave them to protect and nourish the soil in winter and mulch them, incrementally, with the compost when necessary. He noted, by tracks and spoor, the variety of wild animals that visit our property and approved my desire to continue to encourage their access. He also noticed the ants around our property and said exactly the same thing MPS and I noted this weekend, that the ants were "busy cleaning the property". So, it looks like we're set from the point of view of property maintenance.
On a different note: Again, last night, my mother arose after a couple of hours of tossing and turning to question me, yet again about who had died in her immediate family. "Has anyone told Mother about James' death?" she asked, after she'd shuffled into the living room and seated herself on the couch.
"Well, Mom, I imagine they are probably aware of each other's deaths because their both dead."
Yet again the shock hit her anew, so I pulled out the list of family deaths and we reviewed them. She's begun to wonder why she continues to forget that everyone but her has died. "Maybe it's because I don't want to remember," she said.
"It could be that, Mom," I said, "and there could be other reasons, too. Your memory is pretty creative anyway, now, and, anyway, it is our memory that keeps people alive. Their influence is critical to you, you know. And, anyway, I'm here to remind you."
After I'd finished reading through the deaths and elaborating on how each member died she said, "I want a copy of that."
"We've got one, right here," I said, waving the notebook in the air. "I've got all that information on the computer, too."
She insisted, though, that she needs her own copy. I suggested that I make a card (like a greeting card) on the computer with the information which she can keep by her bedside and to which she can refer whenever necessary. She likes that idea. I'll be doing that sometime this weekend.
I don't think she feels guilty about having outlived everyone so much as continually surprised. As well, she has an increasingly hard time remembering that she is 87 and, in the natural course of life, anyone of her generation who is 87 is bound to have outlived most, if not all, of their born-into family members. "It just doesn't seem possible," she says, each time we review this information. I understand what she means and, often, I agree, in my own way. At these times I am especially pleased that I am here with her and she is living out the rest of her life side-by-side with family, as she is deeply family oriented. I believe it is this hip-to-hip connection with family that keeps her stable within the vortex of her tricky orientation and allows her the desire to awaken each morning (or, afternoon, depending on her need for sleep).
I awoke to melting snow, this morning. This entire weekend will be bracketed by rain and snow. Good time to huddle and snug, use the oven and enjoy the last of winter before the final internal layers of my mother's hibernation liquefy and nourish the soil of yet another fertile spring.
On a different note: Again, last night, my mother arose after a couple of hours of tossing and turning to question me, yet again about who had died in her immediate family. "Has anyone told Mother about James' death?" she asked, after she'd shuffled into the living room and seated herself on the couch.
"Well, Mom, I imagine they are probably aware of each other's deaths because their both dead."
Yet again the shock hit her anew, so I pulled out the list of family deaths and we reviewed them. She's begun to wonder why she continues to forget that everyone but her has died. "Maybe it's because I don't want to remember," she said.
"It could be that, Mom," I said, "and there could be other reasons, too. Your memory is pretty creative anyway, now, and, anyway, it is our memory that keeps people alive. Their influence is critical to you, you know. And, anyway, I'm here to remind you."
After I'd finished reading through the deaths and elaborating on how each member died she said, "I want a copy of that."
"We've got one, right here," I said, waving the notebook in the air. "I've got all that information on the computer, too."
She insisted, though, that she needs her own copy. I suggested that I make a card (like a greeting card) on the computer with the information which she can keep by her bedside and to which she can refer whenever necessary. She likes that idea. I'll be doing that sometime this weekend.
I don't think she feels guilty about having outlived everyone so much as continually surprised. As well, she has an increasingly hard time remembering that she is 87 and, in the natural course of life, anyone of her generation who is 87 is bound to have outlived most, if not all, of their born-into family members. "It just doesn't seem possible," she says, each time we review this information. I understand what she means and, often, I agree, in my own way. At these times I am especially pleased that I am here with her and she is living out the rest of her life side-by-side with family, as she is deeply family oriented. I believe it is this hip-to-hip connection with family that keeps her stable within the vortex of her tricky orientation and allows her the desire to awaken each morning (or, afternoon, depending on her need for sleep).
I awoke to melting snow, this morning. This entire weekend will be bracketed by rain and snow. Good time to huddle and snug, use the oven and enjoy the last of winter before the final internal layers of my mother's hibernation liquefy and nourish the soil of yet another fertile spring.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Thumbs up.
Even and especially my compassion cricked thumb. I'll probably report again on a regular basis in some more days. I'm not taking a vacation from caregiving. I'm taking a vacation from reporting on it. Feels good to be out of the habit. I'm sure it will soon feel good to reinhabit my space here. In the meantime, know that we're doing fine, feeling well, very busy, taxes aren't in yet but should be completed and sent by the close of business Monday. Stats are being taken sometimes. The weather is delightfully rickety. It's that time of year. More rain this weekend...ahhh, yes!
Later.
Later.
