tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56435840559523135152024-02-19T06:01:33.012-06:00Finding the FunnyJoin me on my new blog page, "Becoming the Meems!"
carolynlackey.comCarolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.comBlogger289125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-68700280356181308342017-07-09T23:50:00.001-05:002017-07-09T23:50:47.978-05:00Visitation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIqcxQAgcVJiz8IAJ-RPXRplMzD_DTtFMEhgWpbz45bxLKRnS4VJILEJKN8dOelCAJyFlsMVcW4lUf8fxhyphenhyphenfRMmTxad9lVJCzZe4tWzSg4i78cluS1ZhrQPsaXHkuUIn5vxl2PDVlW9MR/s1600/FullSizeRender%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1141" data-original-width="1600" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpIqcxQAgcVJiz8IAJ-RPXRplMzD_DTtFMEhgWpbz45bxLKRnS4VJILEJKN8dOelCAJyFlsMVcW4lUf8fxhyphenhyphenfRMmTxad9lVJCzZe4tWzSg4i78cluS1ZhrQPsaXHkuUIn5vxl2PDVlW9MR/s320/FullSizeRender%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Meems had a very special visitor this weekend. Our friend, Laura Ard, flew down from DC to spend time with her. Laura lived next door to me in the dorm my freshman year at Baylor. Back in the 1900's. I cannot even begin to tell you how much fun we had that year. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There was that one night when we froze all of "Popnoe's" panties in the kitchenette freezer. I still have a picture of Deborah holding up that icy blob of undies. The look on her face was priceless. The thought of her going to class commando was more than we could bear. We laughed until our jaws and bellies ached. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then, there were the Mr. Pibb "incidents." Sneaking down the hall in the middle of the night to stack empty Mr. Pibb cans (yes, we collected them) in front of sleeping girls' doors was one of our favorite madcap adventures. Waking to the sound of crashing cans and startled squeals was deeply satisfying. The popcorn parties and creative pranks were top notch. Our grades? Not so much. And, it was all so worth it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of the sweetest relationships that bloomed out of that crazy year was that between my mother and Laura. Laura's parents and relatives lived far away. Mom loved adopting Baylor girls in need of home-cooked meals. Long after Laura and I graduated from Baylor, their friendship continued.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To say that Meems was fascinated by Laura is a vast understatement. Laura is a world traveler. She is a smart business woman. She has a beautiful, impeccable wardrobe. AND, she loves gardening. She and Mom could talk for hours on the phone. I was so grateful to Laura because I don't particularly enjoy talking on the phone. The only catch was that after their heart-to-hearts, Mom would then call me and tell me every single tiny thing that she and Laura had discussed. Through Mom, I kept up with my globe-trotting partner in crime. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After Baylor, Laura lived in London and New York City and San Francisco. Once she settled down in DC, Mom began to go visit her. At least 2 weeks prior to her pilgrimage to Laura's, she would begin laying out her travel wardrobe </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">complete with shoes and accessories </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">on one of the guest beds. You see, Meems and Laura were both meticulous planners. "On Tuesday, we're going to go to Wolftrap! Laura got us seats in the very best section! I'm going to wear my yellow Chico's outfit with my new white sandals and the earrings I bought on sale last summer at Dillards! Do you think that will be cute enough, or should I wear my new Sharon Young outfit with the matching button covers?!" It was Laura who accompanied my mother to her baby brother's funeral in Maryland because I was unable to attend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">When Leonard has lunch with Meems on Mondays and Fridays, they (meaning Leonard) make their "weekly telephone calls." Laura is on the list of about 10 people. Because she works for the World Bank, there is no telling where in the world she will be when her telephone rings. As much as possible, she will answer. "Laura! It's Helen and Leonard making our weekly phone calls!" "Hello, Leonard. I'm in Vietnam. It's 2:30 in the morning. How are you?" "I'm fine! Miss Helen! Say 'hello' to your friend, Laura! She's talking to us all the way from VIETNAM!" If, for whatever reason, Laura doesn't receive her weekly call, I'll soon get a text from her. "R ur mom and Leonard ok? didn't get my call."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This past Thursday when Laura bent down to greet Meems she asked, "Helen, do you know who I am?" Mom's face lit up and she replied, "Laura." Laura beamed and said, "I'm so happy you remember me!" Mom looked up at her smiling and quipped, "Carolyn told me you were coming." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">For the next two days, Laura spent many hours by Meems' side reminding her of all of the fun times that they have had together over the years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"I'm so glad you came." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Meems </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">As usual, Leonard came to have lunch with Mom on Friday. Laura joined them. He was thrilled to get to see her. "Miss Helen, are you enjoying your visitation with your dear friend, Laura?!" he asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Meems quickly set him straight. "It's not a visitation. That's just for when you die. This is a visit."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I love the relationship that they've shared. Two peas in a pod. Two fashionistas. Two lovers of art. Two women who can name every plant in an arboretum. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Laura, I'm so grateful that you made the trip to "visitate" Meems. Your loyalty. I have no words. Only you and I can know how much that meant to her. Come back soon, dear friend.</span></div>
Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-65996733727300329212017-06-27T15:55:00.002-05:002017-06-27T17:19:27.150-05:00Fuh-Lease-La-Dee-Da!<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On Sunday, I popped over to see Meems before church. She was parked in front of the TV in the common room of Aberdeen House. Her eyes were wide open and as I drew closer to her, a sweet smile of recognition lit up her face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Mom, we're going to do something fun this afternoon!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I decided that I would give her a heads up about the Christmas celebration so that she would have something to look forward to. Again, she smiled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"We're going to have gingerbread pancakes! It's going to be CHRISTMAS!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"But, I haven't finished my shopping yet..." she whispered.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"It's all taken care of!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Do you have my transportation scheduled?" (She knew that she would need the van to transport her in her wheelchair to my house.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Nope! We're comin' to you!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Big, bright smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I leaned in to give her a hug.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"You're a good, good daughter." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Day made.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That afternoon, Bryce (middle child), Kelly (niece) and I snuck into Meems' room and set out Christmas. Her Christmas wreath decorated with her favorite ornaments from her legendary big, fat Christmas tree that required sturdy guy wires attached to two walls was hung on her door. Then, we unpacked her favorite Santa, her beloved Feliz Navidad hat, and a present for each attendee to open. (Each attendee provided his/her own gift from his/her own closet.) I had stuffed each gift into a gift sack. If you know me well, you know that gift sacks give me a twitch. Only for Pretend Christmas would I not meticulously wrap each gift. Twitch. Twitch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When Alan arrived with Meems' best friend Leonard in tow, it was time for the Reindeer Games to begin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Leonard was "all in" for the 6/25 Christmas Celebration. He was all "Meeeery Christmas!" and "A tie! Miss Helen got me something I can really use - a beautiful tie! Why I'm going to wear it next Sunday! Thank you so much!" The tie came out of his very own closet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We served "silver dollar" gingerbread pancakes dipped in orange marmalade syrup. I called it "intinction." Mom's gift (a Corsicana fruitcake she's been reminding me about since early March) was passed around. Meems and Leo were the only ones that partook of the fruitcake. We are only one or two generations away from Fruit Cake Extinction.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Then, came the carolers! Our dear friend, Nanette, and her daughter, Mary, started singing just outside Meems' door. They strolled in wearing Christmas caroler attire. Tears came to my eyes. They are sweet, sweet friends who "get it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I learned something during our little celebration. I know that this sounds cliche, but Christmas CAN be any day of the year. Sitting snuggly in Meems' small room with some of our loved ones...opening fake gifts...singing a few Christmas carols...munching on snack-sized gingerbread pancakes... It felt like the most wonderful time of the year. You wanna hear something funny? Not funny "ha ha." Just funny. During the time that we spent celebrating, Meems was awake and aware and responding appropriately to the situation. She didn't question the fact that we were eating gingerbread pancakes in June, but she was right there "with us" the whole time. Bless. Her. Heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That morning at church, Leonard told me that he thought it was a good idea to have a 6/25 Christmas for Meems so that she could enjoy it while she was still "in the land of the living." Then, he asked, "Are we going to celebrate New Year's Eve next week?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We will celebrate any holiday that looms ahead in Mimi Land, Leonard. And you, my friend, will make the celebration all the more fun. I can hear it now..."Happppppy New Year!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Merry Christmas, friends.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxTKD5MLrdlnqDuYxQvHy34fI0blQwozHoVkFin_qPILfnf79mH7hVLuSCXGXwwfHtLB2koVaDk8GzOhYjWdmz1JfJx_srWHd6_tzV553jTlDCAo-yuqDzAHNdxNCLzGAHPGpDXAJJnVGt/s1600/19437408_10154916713207983_4690935855170285897_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="629" data-original-width="960" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxTKD5MLrdlnqDuYxQvHy34fI0blQwozHoVkFin_qPILfnf79mH7hVLuSCXGXwwfHtLB2koVaDk8GzOhYjWdmz1JfJx_srWHd6_tzV553jTlDCAo-yuqDzAHNdxNCLzGAHPGpDXAJJnVGt/s320/19437408_10154916713207983_4690935855170285897_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-17153144743723079462017-06-24T11:59:00.000-05:002017-06-24T11:59:23.275-05:00We Need a Little Christmas.<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We need a little Christmas right this very minute. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A couple of weeks ago before the Grand Silence began, Meems was feeling unsettled about all of her Christmas preparations.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"What do the boys want for Christmas?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"What do you want for Christmas?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"What should I get Alan for Christmas?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Have you scheduled my ride for gingerbread pancakes?"</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWyTrcuosMg_j8UaMWCuYkZLBLvQJNu0ser9g-Kawn3UWE9gkE481Pd500rlwD7tWTQe_dikhs9YTmzGdXk2Qx-1F2lSjIOADUcKYdkR06KoyUIpM7ldSD-ehQwTQD_MnyECMbE-00nMl6/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="693" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWyTrcuosMg_j8UaMWCuYkZLBLvQJNu0ser9g-Kawn3UWE9gkE481Pd500rlwD7tWTQe_dikhs9YTmzGdXk2Qx-1F2lSjIOADUcKYdkR06KoyUIpM7ldSD-ehQwTQD_MnyECMbE-00nMl6/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="138" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Have you addressed my Christmas cards?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Read the questions above aloud in your quietest, teeniest, tiniest voice 20 times. Do it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now, you've experienced the urgency of the off-season Christmastide that exists in Mimi Land.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This very morning as I ended my visit, I told her that I would be back this afternoon with some fruitcake. "I love you, Mom." I could tell that she was trying to respond. I leaned in expecting to hear a sweet, tender "I love you, too." Instead, she asked, "Is that (the fruitcake) my Christmas present?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As the process of packing up for Heaven progresses with Meems' awareness and wakefulness slowly diminishing, we have decided to have a little Christmas in June. We can have it again in July, August, September, October, November, and December if time and memory allow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tomorrow, Alan is going to whip up a batch of our traditional Christmas morning gingerbread pancakes. I will make the orange marmalade syrup this afternoon. And, wrap the gifts. Yes, wrap the gifts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But first, I need to head up to the attic to retrieve Mom's Christmas wreath. If I was a king-sized, super-duper, A1 daughter, I would also bring down a tree, lights, and ornaments. Sigh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here's the plan: Tomorrow at 2PM, we are going to have Christmas "morning" at 219 Aberdeen House at Wedgewood South. There will be music and presents and pancakes and love overflowing. The Corsicana fruitcake that Alan and Bryce ordered online will be tucked into a Christmas gift sack. Even though Mom has already enjoyed a few slices, she'll be thoroughly surprised and delighted when she opens it. The good news is that if she opens it again in July, August, September, October, November, and December, this week's fruitcake will still be "fresh."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Who knows? Some Christmas carolers may come by to serenade her with "Away in a Manger" in 3 part harmony. It could happen. It could be you. Fun times. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here's a shout-out to Joel Allard in San Antonio, TX: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Hey, Joel! Thanks so much for sharing your gingerbread pancake recipe with Southern Living magazine! Your pancakes have graced our Christmas morning breakfast table for yeeeeeears. I think of you fondly as I slather a steaming stack with butter and watch the golden brown cascade of orange marmalade syrup trickle down over the layers onto my plate. Dem's good pancakes!</span></div>
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-10912551537340350542017-06-21T08:19:00.001-05:002017-06-21T13:54:12.397-05:00Hey There, Jody<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwpMsqyet7iEOVv5XHEh-5fFH8b1y6mixi0aU0O1AiwPWjr8R6BRvTL-gV5v6gsItzHLvzW_a79iEYSg-i7r9cg4fpaVoglRZJpHe_iRf8sF3VjU-yiboV8XUjvXwLquX1zZStgXMTkzK/s1600/IMG_2558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwpMsqyet7iEOVv5XHEh-5fFH8b1y6mixi0aU0O1AiwPWjr8R6BRvTL-gV5v6gsItzHLvzW_a79iEYSg-i7r9cg4fpaVoglRZJpHe_iRf8sF3VjU-yiboV8XUjvXwLquX1zZStgXMTkzK/s320/IMG_2558.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Meems and "Jody"</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Something surprising occurred last week. Meems lost Kelly. Kelly is no longer.</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Kelly - granddaughter, niece, and daughter of my sister, Kathy - has visited Meems on average once a week since moving to Lubbock two years ago.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Meems' dimming mind "tagged" her with the words "Kelly," "granddaughter," "nursing school," and "nurses make good money."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Over time the progression of losing Kelly went something like this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"When do you graduate from nursing school?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"September of 2017, Mimi!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">..........</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"When do you graduate from nursing school?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"In September of this year, Mimi!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">..........</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"When do you graduate from nursing school?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"In September, Mimi!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">..........</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Are you my nurse?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"No, Mimi, I'm your granddaughter, Kelly."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">..........</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Then, last week:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Mom, do you know who this pretty girl is?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She slowly raised her head off of her chest and gave Kelly a prolonged thoughtful look.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Jody?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"No, Mimi. I'm Kelly, your granddaughter."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Kelly?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Yes, Mom. That's Kathy's daughter, Kelly. She's your granddaughter."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Oh."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A few minutes later:</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Mimi, do you remember my name?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Jody."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Since then, it's been Jody. Mom remembers me. She remembers my son, Bryce. She remembers my husband, Alan. But, she has lost her beloved granddaughter. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In exchange, she gained a new friend. Jody. We're just goin' with it.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Jody. Jody. Jody.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-68939212476152408842017-06-16T16:09:00.001-05:002017-06-16T16:09:06.948-05:00What It Is Is<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtUo-SrDOeR_J21dztMOuZnI31cFbh9IDKu-UyVsCXM3uI-1myYsgsJmXJpzX3xh6gn66bnCFaWBKlFIbkT847_6hLz0A5QK_3e7muaM77Qfde5HE5WxHoFZU1PxlFBtJmuYKao-itrwFu/s1600/IMG_0919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtUo-SrDOeR_J21dztMOuZnI31cFbh9IDKu-UyVsCXM3uI-1myYsgsJmXJpzX3xh6gn66bnCFaWBKlFIbkT847_6hLz0A5QK_3e7muaM77Qfde5HE5WxHoFZU1PxlFBtJmuYKao-itrwFu/s320/IMG_0919.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">A year ago at the Naturalizer Store buying</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">$30 shoes. They cost way more than that, </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">but, I knew that she'd enjoy it more if they</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">were all on "sale." She bought 3 pairs.</span></div>
</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After the outpouring to love from my blog and fb friends, I realized that I need to explain Meems' situation a bit further. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What it is is that she is not on the verge of dying. End of life care for elderly people is quite common. Also, it is a bit different than for those who have a fatal diagnosis. Mom qualified for Hospice because she has vascular dementia. Without that, she would not have qualified. "Failure to thrive" is no longer accepted by Medicare as a diagnosis to qualify for Hospice.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdJW4Ze4Sd9WytTfp9elqpGgyWYqtfvs5l1UYoWrvJ_bvNy92U1TS11r2wDAggg0Rmpf9uRqcKy4CYN_6Gu1DylLfpPKFLIn4Zp9U8Ltk0ovHTO5Q-Dve3GcI1m5ugq5kdjAOs0cgJk5b/s1600/IMG_8326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1487" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLdJW4Ze4Sd9WytTfp9elqpGgyWYqtfvs5l1UYoWrvJ_bvNy92U1TS11r2wDAggg0Rmpf9uRqcKy4CYN_6Gu1DylLfpPKFLIn4Zp9U8Ltk0ovHTO5Q-Dve3GcI1m5ugq5kdjAOs0cgJk5b/s200/IMG_8326.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yesterday. Helen Van Winkle.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The intense leg pain, weight loss, and extreme sleepiness are what prompted me to reach out for help. Trips to the doctor or ER are really tiring for her. I knew that if I took her to the ER there was a good chance that she would have been admitted to the hospital due to her impaired mental capacity. During Meems' last ER visit which resulted in a week-long hospital stay, a nurse mentioned to me that doctors don't like to release elderly patients who can't wake up nor those who fret about not wanting to get pregnant. Meems checked both of those boxes during her stay.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This seems to be a common problem with people taking care of aging parents. To ER, or not to ER. Oh, the stories we could share.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While Missy Meems is, indeed, receiving "end of life" care, she is not actively dying. "Actively dying." I made that up. It's a descriptive oxymoron. She does not have diabetes or heart problems or any of the many diseases that plague her peers. Hip pain, weight loss, and sleepiness are not fatal diagnoses. She has definitely gone "downhill" over the past couple of weeks. She will either rally, or she won't. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of the Hospice people told me that they cared for one elderly lady for seven years. Meems only needs care until she gets her picture on the Smuckers jar. Nine good years. Nine sweet, egg-eatin' years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span></div>
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-88496861958549706972017-06-14T13:40:00.001-05:002017-06-14T16:39:12.915-05:00The Man Who Was, and Then He Wasn't<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6S0XRO8bY8HmgH5o5yKA8r6XcDZ9yZqp0XYBvpmQo8u832_ubP7jblSsTD9CqRVVcy3CASMpbZsPCB2yT5FnG5SD8lpLTdS9w0HcBtAjdcSg7oYOE6uSGzX9f_hKzyUgi_2PJu48bZUDg/s1600/JPEG+image-9EA56A0D373B-1+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6S0XRO8bY8HmgH5o5yKA8r6XcDZ9yZqp0XYBvpmQo8u832_ubP7jblSsTD9CqRVVcy3CASMpbZsPCB2yT5FnG5SD8lpLTdS9w0HcBtAjdcSg7oYOE6uSGzX9f_hKzyUgi_2PJu48bZUDg/s200/JPEG+image-9EA56A0D373B-1+2.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Yesterday was an emotional day for me. Ninety-one-year-old Meems has been experiencing pain in her legs and hips. She's been sleeping deeply for the past 4 or 5 days with occasional wakeful moments. She's lost 8 pounds in 2 weeks. And then, a few days ago she STOPPED EATING EGGS. When my little mother stops ordering 2 eggs "over easy" for breakfast every morning, great change is a-brewing. We Kinzbachs are lovers of eggs - boiled, scrambled, poached, and most definitely "over easy."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But, that pain though.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After a tearful conversation with Shirley, our doctor's right-hand woman, Hospice care seemed to be the logical choice. Think of Hospice care like little angels hovering over a waning human sprinkling peace and comfort upon his or her head. While Meems' plan is to live to be 100 years old so that she can see her picture on a Smucker's jar, my plan is that she will get there in a pain-free, bedsore-free, egg eatin' manner. I want it to RAIN peace and comfort all UP in he-yah.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgKU4PnHbmXFt-8g8lyxP8hgm4m0Fn3OSmzEWFrMQ3vqAOyxyQA-jqgv_IdOGRmlJky2BNwcPa5lrpGZTUCj1LRyb6vUVyGEqRYJW1cNAXKqYlc7HzrF2lNBYzcGktwC-PYxsk_aKUaSq/s1600/IMG_2553.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgKU4PnHbmXFt-8g8lyxP8hgm4m0Fn3OSmzEWFrMQ3vqAOyxyQA-jqgv_IdOGRmlJky2BNwcPa5lrpGZTUCj1LRyb6vUVyGEqRYJW1cNAXKqYlc7HzrF2lNBYzcGktwC-PYxsk_aKUaSq/s320/IMG_2553.png" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There was a man in the Old Testament named Enoch. He was the great-great-great-great-grandson of good old Adam and Eve. I can never remember his name. I refer to him as the-man-who-was-and-then-he-wasn't. Even Siri can't remember his name. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>Altogether, Enoch lived a total of 365 years. Enoch walked faithfully with God; then he was no more because God took him away. Gen 5:22</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-size: 14px;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That's the man I'm talkin' about. He lived a full, LONG life. Then, poof he was gone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That's exactly what I want for my little mother. A quiet, simple, joyful journey. No hospital. No rehab. No IVs. No catheters. She will simply sleep. She will be. And, then she won't.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Her eyes now slowly, partially open like sluggish turtle eyes. This morning, when she roused enough to get a good look at me, she smiled weakly and softly murmured, "Carolyn." I thought about the joy I felt the first time each of my sons was able to say, "Mama." There's something about being called by name - verification, acknowledgment, a meeting of the minds. I "see" you. (So, so sorry that I can never remember yours. I love you, AND I can't think of your name.) </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Meems has rallied from her death bed 4 times since she moved to Lubbock in 2010. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Alan has made his "she's lived a long full life you don't want her to hurt" speech 4 times. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">During each episode, I've cried like Ricky Shroeder in </span><i style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SU7NGJw0kR8" target="_blank">The Champ</a></i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> Brain surgery, a mastectomy, a badly broken hip, and pneumonia have all been unable to take her down. She's a tough lady.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So many of you, dear friends, have traveled this road before me. Some of you are still fresh in your grief. A familiar song. The smell of hot pancakes. A </span><i style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">Murder She Wrote</i><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> rerun. Your tears are at the ready in the corners of your eyes. Somehow knowing that you're familiar with this journey brings me comfort. I can't see you, yet I know that you are with me.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">All is well for now. I'm just thinking of Hospice as really good home health care. I try not to let words like "palliative" and "comfortable" get me distressed or distracted. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She will be. And, then she won't. Angels and men rejoice.</span></div>
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-52664042971287915352017-05-21T17:21:00.002-05:002017-05-21T17:22:55.039-05:00In Which Aunt Ruby Goes to the Hospital<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Here's a funny story that I've been wanting to tell you for quite some time. First, I needed to nail down some of the particulars, and then, get permission from the original story teller, my precious cousin, Janet. The maternal branches of my family tree are filled with lavish love, quick humor, and generous laughter. This story comes from one of those beloved branches. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My childhood memories of Aunt Ruby are those of her laughter that I thought sounded like bubbles and her total devotion to my Uncle Jimmy. Her eyes sparkled when she talked about his accomplishments large or small. After he went to heaven, </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Aunt Ruby was not a happy camper. The love of her life for 50-plus years was no longer by her side. Her one desire was to fly away to be with him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The dreaded move to assisted living didn't make the situation any better despite the fact that Janet visited her every day and occasionally took her on little expeditions about town. Ruby was miserable and</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> did not hesitate to call Janet numerous times night and day to express her unhappiness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On this particular night, Janet's phone rang at 7:00. Expecting to hear Ruby's voice on the other end of the line, she snapped to attention when one Ruby's caregivers began to speak. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Ms. Williams?" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Yes?!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"You may want to come down to Tanglewood (the assisted living facility). Some firemen and police officers are here talking to your mother."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Janet's mind began to race. There was no mention of a stroke or heart attack or resuscitation. The firemen and police officers were "talking" to her mother. What the heck?!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Your mother told someone (another elderly resident) that she was going to kill herself."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At this time in her life, "I want to die!" was Ruby-speak for "I am unhappy about _______________." [Fill in the blank with a myriad of possibilities.] "You NEVER come to see me." "You NEVER call me." "I miss Jimmy." "I want to die" tearfully voiced to the Tanglewood caregivers didn't raise the death wish red flag, but the words "I'm going to kill myself" spoken casually to a fellow octogenarian rang the 911 gong long and loud. For Pete's sake, how on earth was a wheelchair bound 85-year-old with no access to medications, weapons, sharp knives, or long pieces of rope going to commit Harry Carry in a single-story assisted living facility? She would have to roll herself down to the front desk at Tanglewood and schedule a ride to Handy Dan to pick up some rope or something really sharp. That plan would have, indeed, served as a true red flag.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Janet asked to speak to one of the "first responders." A kindly fireman admitted that at that moment Ruby seemed fine. She was sitting on the sofa in the lobby just laughing and talking and didn't even remember why cute firemen and policemen had come to visit her. He said that they would love to "call it a night," but, they were required to take Ruby to the hospital to be formally evaluated. Janet envisioned her little smiling mother being shoved into the back of a squad car and driven to some sort of psychiatric facility. She made the drive to Tanglewood in a record-breaking 7 minutes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">No amount of begging or shedding of tears could convince either the firemen nor policemen to let Ruby just put on her jammies and be tucked into bed. Maybe the resident that reported the alleged suicide proclamation misheard what Ruby said! I daresay that if asked to repeat the conversation the "reporter" would have asked, "Who's Ruby?" Isn't "mishearing" and "misremembering" common amongst the elderly residents in an assisted living facility? No dice. Rules were rules. They were duty bound to haul giggling Ruby in. Eventually, Janet struck a plea bargain. She promised that she would immediately take her mom to the ER to be evaluated. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So, off went mother and daughter to the ER. At 8:00-ish on a school night. Janet was a third-grade teacher who sorely needed her sleep. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Where are we going, Janet?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"To the hospital?!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Why?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Because you said you wanted to kill yourself!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"I said that?! Well, that's a sin! I would never do that!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"I know that. But, the firemen and policemen don't." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"But, I feel fine! Why do I need to see a doctor?!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Because you said you were going to kill yourself!"</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For the full technicolor-surround-sound experience, repeat the above chorus for the next few hours in a relatively public place akin to an ER waiting room teeming with bored strangers starving for some form of entertainment. Then, you will need to change the decibel range to simulate the way the conversation changed once Ruby and Janet were situated in a curtained ER cubbyhole with "roommates" packed closely on either side. Ruby's voice stayed the same volume and Janet's dropped to a desperate stage whisper in an effort to avoid broadcasting her mom's alleged death wish. <span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b>"BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF!"</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">During the empty hours they sat idly in the ER, Ruby remained calm and happy. Janet's blood pressure rose substantially. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><b>"BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF!" </b></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF!" </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF!" </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Well, Janet, you know I would never do that because it's a sin."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">"</span>But Mom,<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><i style="font-size: x-large;">They </i>don't know that</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A very kind female doctor came in and visited with Ruby. The doctor and Janet carried on a nonverbal conversation with eyes and eyebrows. Ruby was summarily dismissed from the hospital.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The kicker</span>. At 11:30 when a very exhausted Janet was helping ever-so-chipper Ruby out of the car at Tanglewood, Ruby sweetly said, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"I sure enjoyed getting to spend time with you this evening, honey."</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Janet's first reaction was to roll her eyes. Then, she realized something. Her sweet mother had no idea what all the ruckus had been about. She simply knew that she loved spending time with her daughter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Now, Janet has a hilarious story to tell and a tender memory of An Evening With Mom in the ER Because A Fellow Tanglewood Resident Thought She Heard Mom Say That She Was Going to Kill Herself. Priceless.</span><br />
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-7457320710878312832017-05-17T15:20:00.000-05:002017-05-17T15:20:44.307-05:00Picture Day<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Just roll with it" became my mantra that day. The only remedy for the situation was just rollin' with it. It started about a month ago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"When are you going to take my Christmas picture?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Um, Mom, it's only April. We have lots of time before we even have to think about Christmas!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Two-minute reverie with eyes half-closed, then...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"When are you going to take my Christmas picture?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And so on. And so on. And so on.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Finally, I decided to give her a concrete, set-in-stone answer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"How about next Tuesday?!" (It was just a random day pulled out of my weary brain.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Next Tuesday What's today?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Thursday. Picture day is next Tuesday at 3PM!" (Random time. I resist the temptation of telling her how many "sleeps" there are until Picture Day.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Good."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Reverie...reverie...reverie...then...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Will you bring me something red to wear?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This Christmas card picture has been a nagging item on my Spring/Summer to do list for the past several years. Come the warmth and green of Spring, Meems directs the whole of her being towards checking "<a href="http://carolynelackey.blogspot.com/search?q=blessed" target="_blank">Christmas card</a>" off of her very short list of to-dos.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, on National Christmas Card Picture Day (which happened to fall on a Tuesday this year), I gathered up some colorful pashminas and headed over to see Mom.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKSJH4fusWSTM_0gmSFWvfihSvm11U84eRF3rCVSzHtFds7PCDtr9cfl3Kw4e1K8sSfBtNAaFRfCz-pKeXbTZVq3n8gelA0xxQ2DGuO4DgBtjq_aVQmgH0sqd0iDeZ6GTQM53JcHK_TwHP/s1600/imagejpeg_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKSJH4fusWSTM_0gmSFWvfihSvm11U84eRF3rCVSzHtFds7PCDtr9cfl3Kw4e1K8sSfBtNAaFRfCz-pKeXbTZVq3n8gelA0xxQ2DGuO4DgBtjq_aVQmgH0sqd0iDeZ6GTQM53JcHK_TwHP/s320/imagejpeg_0.jpg" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She was dressed in a Springy blue ensemble that wasn't Christmasy at all. Instead of struggling to change her clothes, I decided that I would just cover her up with a classic Chico's black and white giraffe print jacket. The boat neck top that she was wearing kept trying to peek out of the jacket, so I cinched up her collar with a purple pashmina.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Shouldn't I be wearing red?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Mom, it's a proven fact that purple is way more flattering than red. It brings out the pink of your sweet cheeks!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Oh."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With the scarf and jacket carefully arranged, I then went in search of a Christmasy background. Seeing none, I wheeled Meems outside in hopes of getting, at the very least, a green background. A lot of squinting and clamoring began. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"I'm hot."</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7BBk3n8ItZcCtZhXrsauKevMU1Lzl7bwkgj_AJhx67h0awhsCDyqrrgA_3ezwTl9yxqPabY9KOnJKIdkWSklL6AvWMAD_csZSV7nAe-ooYBydxT8dcabA3EdbhFLTfYmNPUqYy_2uprl/s1600/FullSizeRender%255B7%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7BBk3n8ItZcCtZhXrsauKevMU1Lzl7bwkgj_AJhx67h0awhsCDyqrrgA_3ezwTl9yxqPabY9KOnJKIdkWSklL6AvWMAD_csZSV7nAe-ooYBydxT8dcabA3EdbhFLTfYmNPUqYy_2uprl/s320/FullSizeRender%255B7%255D.jpg" width="193" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Hang on, Mom! I've almost got it!" (Not true. The shot was just not working on any level.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"I'm hot."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I quickly rolled her back into the building where the temperature was about 3 degrees cooler - the place of "I'm cold." The assisted living center is undergoing renovations, so there was absolutely no picturesque background to be found. Before declaring total defeat, I backed her wheelchair up to a blank wall and began snapping away. It was then that I realized that the object of the game was to pacify Mom so that she wouldn't fret about being behind on her yuletide preparations. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Oh, that was a cute one! Open your eyes really big and smile with your teeth! Got it!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Meems was pacified. I told her that I may get Kelly, my niece, to do another photo shoot because she's a way better photographer than me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"OK."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And, not another word since. Day by day I'm learning how to help my motherchild cope with dementia. Explaining and re-explaining doesn't help. I have blocked the words "I JUST TOLD YOU..." and "DON'T YOU REMEMBER..." from the love language that I speak to my mother. At the ripe old age of 60, I myself experience those phrases more and more often. Help me, Jesus! If I'm repeating a question, that means the information no longer exists on my "hard drive." Roll with it, people! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Her parting words to me that afternoon were "Be watching the sales so you can get yourself something nice for Christmas." Yes, I have a persistent twitch in my left eye.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Funny thing. If I do buy my gift on sale tomorrow, I will be totally surprised when I unwrap it Christmas morning. "I love it! A blouse! And, such Springy colors!"</span><br />
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-35993002669847559212017-04-20T21:22:00.002-05:002017-05-05T11:46:19.580-05:00Ninety-One-Derful<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Our beloved friend, Leonard, turned 91 yesterday. He would say it this way: "I'm 91 today, April the 19th, in the year 2 thousand and 17. I was born at 3:00 AM on Monday, April the 19th, in the year nineteen twenty-six in Roanoke, Virginia. They said that I was in a hurry to get here because I wouldn't wait until sunup." Leonard has been Mom's best friend since she moved here in 2010. They met at Raider Ranch. We started giving Leonard rides to church. Pretty soon, he was joining us for holidays. Now he is a full-fledged member of the Lackey family. He gives a beautiful blessing at every meal we share together.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisl7FKFBzQ5ceVyB_2Hrt8-Lhb07A0zaAI559rLS9_HOkXGuUCGFjA_zshRYZ3K674i2DGHQ5x7DrlMclqG1kYo_B0psbO5XEthmx7sJs3-SVb0s22cc0o9bVlKssfyDOhe1Jq52qN4T75/s1600/FullSizeRender%255B6%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisl7FKFBzQ5ceVyB_2Hrt8-Lhb07A0zaAI559rLS9_HOkXGuUCGFjA_zshRYZ3K674i2DGHQ5x7DrlMclqG1kYo_B0psbO5XEthmx7sJs3-SVb0s22cc0o9bVlKssfyDOhe1Jq52qN4T75/s320/FullSizeRender%255B6%255D.jpg" width="193" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">For his birthday, we told him to pick a restaurant - sometimes it's Red Lobster, yesterday it was Cheddars. He likes fish. They have some sort of trout dish at Cheddars that suits his palate. Wherever we go to eat, he always asks, "Do they have trout? Do they have catfish? Do they have pork chops?" Plan D is usually chicken fingers. For his joyous birthday celebrations, Alan tells Leonard that he can invite some friends. This is a risky move because Leonard considers everyone he has ever met a friend. Seriously, you cannot take the man ANYWHERE in town without hearing someone calling out from across a room, "Leonard!" Alan and I just look at each other and grin shaking our heads. The man no longer drives and is legally blind. He lives in a retirement community. But, somehow, he has developed an ever-growing circle of friends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When the guest list swelled to 14 yesterday, I looked at Alan with wide eyes. "You still gonna pick up the bill?!" "Yup. It's Leonard's birthday. But, if someone pushed money into my hand, I might not resist." I knew that was not true. He ALWAYS grabs the check first at these shindigs. Due to the mature ages of most of the invited guests, it was highly probable that someone would back out at the last minute due to "feelin' poorly." We ended up with a party of 10.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Leonard came into the restaurant carrying a wrinkled plastic grocery sack that bulged with what I thought was "information." Leonard LOVES information. He gets about 10 extra bulletins at church on Sundays to mail to his friends in Baltimore so that they can keep up with what he's doing. When we pick him up on Sundays, he generally has a sack of information for us that might include a program from the symphony or the monthly menu and activity calendar from his independent living facility or a flier that he picked up somewhere along the way. He is so sweet to keep us informed of his daily activities. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The bulging bag did not hold information, it was full of BIRTHDAY CARDS. Thirty to be exact. They had all been opened and enjoyed. He simply wanted to "share the love" with us. When we sat down at the table, he passed down a handwritten list to me so I could "read it later." As I started to slip it into my purse, my mother-in-law clarified that he wanted me to read the list aloud to all of the birthday party attendees later in the evening.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Meems was in rare form last night. She was very talkative and confused which made her rather entertaining. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Last night, she was all...</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Tell Leonard to crawl under the table and come sit by us."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Did Dobo bring whiskey to the party?" [Let me explain. Dobo was my dad's nickname. Let's just say that he had a "taste for the drink." While whiskey wasn't his drink of choice, it would not be unusual for him to come "prepared."]</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"No, Mom. Dobo's not coming. He's dead, remember?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Good because I was going to get really mad if he came with whiskey to Leonard's party." [Leonard is a teetotaler.]</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At one point she regaled the lady next to her with the story of <a href="http://carolynelackey.blogspot.com/search?q=man-eating+catfish" target="_blank">the man-eating catfish</a>. I blamed my niece, Kelly, for that because she ordered fried catfish for dinner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Here is the best part of the story. The birthday cards. Leonard received several more cards at dinner. At the end of the meal, he beckoned for Alan to come around to his side of the table. "Would you read all of my cards aloud for me?" "You mean the ones that are unopened." "Yes. And all of the ones in the bag." You know how the elderly treasure those long poems and sayings on the fronts of birthday cards? Leonard is no exception. I would have said something like, "Why don't I hold them up and tell who each card is from?" Not Alan. He is a true blue friend of Leonard. He took the stack and read each and every card from the outside to the inside down to the last jot and tittle. ALL THIRTY-FIVE. EVERY WORD. My heart almost burst with love for that man. Leonard sat listening with a sweet smile on his face. After each card was read, he would tell a little bit about the sender. "He's been my best friend for 52 years! He lives in Baltimore! I talk to him twice a week on the telephone!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The handwritten list? It was a list of the 12 people who called to wish him a happy birthday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Instead of cake, we ordered Leonard's absolute favorite dessert. He has the same dessert after every meal he eats be it Thanksgiving dinner or Christmas dinner or baked trout at Cheddars. "One scoop of vanilla ice cream." I should probably give you a heads up. At Cheddars, they do not keep birthday candles on hand. Had I known, I would have come prepared. The manager did bring a couple of chocolate chip cookies and a coupon for chips and salsa to the Birthday Boy - neither of which Leonard will eat. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Happy Birthday 91st birthday, Sweet Leonard. You bring so much joy and laughter and grace and into our family. We cherish your friendship. You are so loved by so many. And, trust me on this, if Dobo had risen from his grave and crashed the party with a jug of Jim Beam, Meems would have beat the tar out of him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My niece, Kelly, wrote the sweet post below...</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-50521652814115002652017-04-17T11:52:00.000-05:002017-04-17T11:52:24.917-05:00Meems and Leo Go to a Weddin'<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The ladies in Aberdeen house at Meem's assisted living facility had been all a-twitter. For several months, they had been anticipating the day. During Bingo last Monday, Meems made several comments about the bride who happened to be "calling" Bingo that day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"I'd be too nervous to be playing Bingo if I was about to get married!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Mom, the wedding isn't until Friday."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Oh."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Forty-eight seconds later:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"She needs to go get ready for the wedding!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And, so on...and, so on...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">One of Aberdeen's beloved caregivers, April, was getting married to her sweetheart, Eric. She loves the ladies of Aberdeen well, and they love her back. One of the more mentally alert ladies gathered cash from each of the other ladies to purchase a Walmart gift certificate for the bride and groom. The assisted living facility is a "cash free," all-inclusive society meaning that most of the purses bear only Kleenex and lipstick. Some of the ladies had to dip into the Bingo quarters they had saved up over the months. (bingo = 3 quarters blackout = 4 quarters) Mom has about $39 in quarters tucked away. Not bad for a legally blind person who has trouble finding the giant numbers on the Bingo cards. The ladies proudly presented a $200 gift certificate to a very surprised bride one day when they were gathered around the dining tables having lunch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As the day of the wedding approached, Leonard called me on several occasions to remind me. "Your mother is going to April's wedding! Are you going?!" "Yes, Leonard, I'm going to meet the transportation van at the wedding." "I didn't get no invitation." (That's a direct quotation. Mother has scolded him about his use of double negatives since the day they met. Leonard was a high school math teacher. Apparently, grammar is low on his list.) "Well, Leonard, maybe April just wanted it to be a 'girl thing.'" "That's probably right." I knew that he would give his right arm to see Miss April's wedding. Last Thursday night at about 9:00PM, he called me. "Am I supposed to go have lunch with your mother tomorrow since they are going to the wedding? I guess they are going to have to leave for the wedding at 1:00 since it starts at 1:30. I'm not sure that I'm supposed to go eat with her." I told him that he could call the facility Friday morning for "clarification." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Friday dawned misty and cool with promises of afternoon sun. At lunchtime, I dropped by Aberdeen to see if Meems was having a "sleepy day" in which case she would not be aware that she was even at a wedding. She was wide awake and finishing up her lunch with Leonard. One of the caregivers happily announced, "Leonard's going to the wedding, too!" His face lit up with a broad smile. "I'm going with your mother to Miss April's wedding!!" My heart sang on his behalf.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The ladies looked like flowers in their nicest pants and cutest blouses. I spied lipstick and earbobs and the air was sweet with perfumes. Lunch had been served early so that they could board the wedding van at 1:00. Last minute trips to the bathroom were made. At 12:30, motorized wheelchairs, old school wheelchairs, and 4-wheeled walkers began to parade towards the main lobby. Excitement filled the air. "The van is here!" They were goin' to a weddin'!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2LYWFwCbaYy2-4qtj6tR0d5NmqMRwfPtNrrSgoQB3gPHq2HRfsBzhNQvxZEbJSBkoSlzhIUql44Q8Z8InmodL8qeScpaZmL3mnHkmfuW9EDDQwhEFcB_QmFUQj1Fi2vkUNzLbodqpSVmw/s1600/IMG_2317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2LYWFwCbaYy2-4qtj6tR0d5NmqMRwfPtNrrSgoQB3gPHq2HRfsBzhNQvxZEbJSBkoSlzhIUql44Q8Z8InmodL8qeScpaZmL3mnHkmfuW9EDDQwhEFcB_QmFUQj1Fi2vkUNzLbodqpSVmw/s320/IMG_2317.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The wedding was the second for both the bride and groom. It was held in a tiny chapel nestled in a canyon just outside the Lubbock city limits. By the time I arrived, some of the ladies were all situated in chairs, their walkers stowed in the back of the room. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;"> Several of the women had chosen aisle seats so that they could see April's smiling face as she walked down the aisle.</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;"> Wheelchairs lined the back row. Seriously, people. My heart almost burst at the sight of those smiling, softly wrinkled faces.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The wedding was short and sweet. A friend officiated. "And now, by the power vested in me by the American Association of Wedding Officiants and the State of Texas..." After the kiss, the Ladies of Aberdeen clapped their withered hands heartily. Cupcakes were passed out. Pictures were taken. Congratulations were given. Friday, April 14th, had become a happy memory in the life stories of nine women whose day to day existence is quiet and predictable - except for Bingo days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Congrats to the bride and groom! April, I cannot even begin to thank you enough for including the Ladies of Aberdeen and LEONARD! They were blessed beyond measure to be counted as invited guests to a momentous occasion in the life of someone who treats them with love, dignity, and respect. I wish you and Eric years of joy and happiness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Postscript: Mom asked me at least 3 times during the wedding if we were at Bryce Canyon. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9aCB3PYFoX_QNUtnKdGWJut4_SXZKIOUhyat1ffOR-BpHIfTteh2aY7ifKB5utn55rrBvlghmImpjLP_X1XSSXBW1Mi1_NG3a1Xuazp7jrYdJdnepRqCjyvvhFfsRNtHYPuwC67uCVHIz/s1600/IMG_2316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9aCB3PYFoX_QNUtnKdGWJut4_SXZKIOUhyat1ffOR-BpHIfTteh2aY7ifKB5utn55rrBvlghmImpjLP_X1XSSXBW1Mi1_NG3a1Xuazp7jrYdJdnepRqCjyvvhFfsRNtHYPuwC67uCVHIz/s320/IMG_2316.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Those are not Meems' earrings. She did<br />not know whose they were or who put<br />them on her.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQtxaH9w8lBnLDM6xByjNc3Zk5FMzlWRlx5XEc4lmpMKd0lZBYYnw-Ehe2efnTEsOtpTNuqLc_jJMjj6a8bL4qZI5LfLZ9YK2QsZ5qY4Sb5JI0akyFPR6Xee8ycZu0VxGS1xZtmzb2ePM/s1600/IMG_2325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQtxaH9w8lBnLDM6xByjNc3Zk5FMzlWRlx5XEc4lmpMKd0lZBYYnw-Ehe2efnTEsOtpTNuqLc_jJMjj6a8bL4qZI5LfLZ9YK2QsZ5qY4Sb5JI0akyFPR6Xee8ycZu0VxGS1xZtmzb2ePM/s320/IMG_2325.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She can't finish 1/2 of a grilled cheese<br />sandwich, but she can polish off a cupcake<br />after eatin' a turkey dinner.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvPcc2-KtnJcXxsEMDDxb5vEeZ3vzYpUycX876Oo6fyLr-CYdBXMtQsox7a-gJjeGDln31OEfcfFzQ4DXh2rUVqYjsz5XdgCZHHbA48sNZlUyRS_oAfMfQsSzvg9EBoIhAc8z16cgj-HdL/s1600/IMG_2326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvPcc2-KtnJcXxsEMDDxb5vEeZ3vzYpUycX876Oo6fyLr-CYdBXMtQsox7a-gJjeGDln31OEfcfFzQ4DXh2rUVqYjsz5XdgCZHHbA48sNZlUyRS_oAfMfQsSzvg9EBoIhAc8z16cgj-HdL/s320/IMG_2326.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The real-life groom actually looked<br />delightfully happy to be gettin' hitched!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAmRdcFLKHb_sULHaI0aNpr53a7b8y8eJjqHmWptLv__edUcDP7HgG892XJX1cDqOstM1Z-Ax44gwidt25d3rvYAmG9gB2kQcK7Mhfq1Zqx3dUYdexsOfLGacWPoGcVMmEzmmW6jOfkD0P/s1600/IMG_2318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAmRdcFLKHb_sULHaI0aNpr53a7b8y8eJjqHmWptLv__edUcDP7HgG892XJX1cDqOstM1Z-Ax44gwidt25d3rvYAmG9gB2kQcK7Mhfq1Zqx3dUYdexsOfLGacWPoGcVMmEzmmW6jOfkD0P/s320/IMG_2318.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Meems, April and Leonard</span></td></tr>
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-62404463725730945872017-03-30T20:34:00.002-05:002017-03-30T20:34:53.002-05:00Civic Duty<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Meems was mostly alert on this particular day. I asked her questions I knew that she could answer. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"How are you feeling today?" </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Good. I always feel good." </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Did you have a fun activity this afternoon?" </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"We played Bingo" </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Did you go to Fun and Fitness this morning?" </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Yes. I always go to Fun and Fitness."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Usually, during these days of awareness, she will begin her litany of stories. The list is growing ever shorter.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Did I tell you about the time I fell asleep and spilled coffee in my lap?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Yes, Mom! Oh my goodness! Falling asleep at the breakfast table is hazardous!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She chuckles and smiles. On good days, she chuckles and smiles. On hazy days she simply murmurs "yes."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">On this particular day, she asked me whether or not she voted in the election. First, I needed clarification. When it comes to 90-year-olds with dementia, clarification is recommended. Remember back to when your child asked, "Where do babies come from?" He or she may not be looking for the answer you were dreading giving. Why put it all out there when a simple "a mommy's belly" will suffice? Same difference. So, clarify I did.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Which election?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"The one where we pick the president."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hemmed and hawed around. Last fall, I tried to keep quiet about the upcoming election. I wasn't sure that she had the mental competence to make an informed decision. Also, if I had arranged for her to be transported in the wheelchair accessible van to a polling place, it might have ended up being a day that she couldn't wake up. On those days, she struggles to lift her heavy eyelids to acknowledge your presence before her. Answering simple questions is difficult when your eyes keep rolling up under your eyelids in search of the delicious dream that was interrupted.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Well, Mom, I wasn't sure that you would know exactly who you should vote for..."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Think about it. Does hauling a 91-year-old with dementia to the grocery store and parking her in front of a voter booth constitute voter fraud? I suppose that one of the volunteers would have read the ballot to her and operated the machine for her. When asked who she supported for president, she would most likely ask, "What are my choices?" or randomly say "I fell asleep and spilled coffee in my lap" or, gesturing to me reply, "Ask her. She's my daughter. She takes care of me now."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjAdfAuj7TrNhmbDQNoROYWxfCkqO1CRxFKYKQ7OZI_ZISq1CkcD0Ko1E9UcKg4aThhsdXdpqzSKYo1fMUq94adDGKo-iO7EvBadPcVXT_0vfdrLCEFA4MdiwrzY-ByuNh7sTeoZq78ne/s1600/IMG_1544.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzjAdfAuj7TrNhmbDQNoROYWxfCkqO1CRxFKYKQ7OZI_ZISq1CkcD0Ko1E9UcKg4aThhsdXdpqzSKYo1fMUq94adDGKo-iO7EvBadPcVXT_0vfdrLCEFA4MdiwrzY-ByuNh7sTeoZq78ne/s320/IMG_1544.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Continuing..."Do you remember who was running for president?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"No. I don't remember. But, I do remember that I always vote Republican."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Boom. Touche. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Well, Mom, we'll be voting for president four years from now when you're 95. I'll make sure that you get to go vote Republican if that's what you want to do."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Good. I've never missed a presidential election until this year."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Boom. Daughter Guilt.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She can't remember what she had for lunch and sometimes, she thinks that her granddaughter, Kelly, is her niece. But, she will never forget her civic duty. Twenty-Twenty, Meems is ready for you!</span></div>
Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-67247939822234724962017-03-28T15:35:00.002-05:002017-03-28T15:36:10.519-05:00Conquering Carolyn: Self Assessment<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>I don't make New Year's Resolutions</b> because once I utter the words, "I resolve," I immediately begin the walk of shame down the long road marked "Disappointment and Inadequate." </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>I don't give up anything for Lent</b>. I just don't. God and I have a deal. I won't make a promise so that he doesn't have to watch me break it. And, Jesus well knows that I love Him like no other.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I turned 60 years old on March 3rd. SIXTY. Upon completing a detailed self-assessment, the results were as follows: I am a pudgy, lazy, ever tired underachiever. No, seriously. The perfect day for me is a day when Turner Classic Movies presents my all time favorite movies one after the other, a large portion of leftover lasagne sits in the fridge awaiting my hankering, pajamas...that's all...just pajamas, and I can curl up in my unmade bed and play Spider Solitaire on my iPad while watching Jimmy Stewart, Natalie Wood, and Joan Crawford (bless her heart) do what they did best. See? Even that sentence was pudgy, lazy and underachieving, grammatically speaking. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On March 13th at 8:15 AM, I sat in the waiting room of my doctor's office. On the seat beside me sat my book tote. Inside the tote was a gallon baggie. Inside the baggie? All of my prescription bottles. There were too many to discreetly conceal the bulging gallon baggie in my purse. Overthinking the situation, I opted to put the baggie in the tote to make it look like I was a voracious reader instead of a well-medicated senior citizen. Inside the tote nestled next to my baggie was my calendar in which I had tucked a rather surprisingly long list entitled "Things That Hurt." The list included my left knee, my right elbow, and my left thumb.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When the nurse called my name, I carefully gathered up my purse and my "book" tote, then proceeded to walk in an intentionally smooth manner as if I was trying balance to a large candelabra with candles ablaze on my head. My normal bouncy-quick walk might have made my tote sound like it contained several rather large maracas. Shoulders down, chin up, glide first one foot...then, the other. The only thing that could have made me feel more ancient would have been if one of my adult children had accompanied me so that they could help me remember what all the doctor said. "Momma! She's calling your name! Do you have your gallon size baggie of pills with you?! What about your list of stuff that hurts?!" What goes around. Comes around.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">First came the scales. I don't even bother taking off my shoes anymore. Their combined weight doesn't make that much difference in the big scheme of things anymore. It's not like I'm oh-so-close to reaching my goal weight or anything. Nope. I'm at the a-couple-of-pounds-more-or-less-don't-make-a-hill-o'-beans-difference weight. Only 2-digit numbers matter now. I shrugged, grimaced, stepped up, and didn't ask questions.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The long and short of it. My ailments were all related to the "maturing process." All of a sudden, I need some sort of "My Body and Me" book because I am so far from puberty that the changes in my body relate more to the END of my portion of the circle of life. Phrases like "that might be the start of arthritis," "sometimes stuff just hurts as you age" "whut thuh," and "you've got to be kidding me" were bandied about.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When I was back in the comfort of my car, I said to myself, "Grrrrrrrl, you dun did it now. You dun let your body down. You gave up on yourself. It ain't over yet. You are stronger than this. You are your worst enemy. Enemies are meant to be conquered.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Conquered? That word struck a cord with me. Conquered. It's not related to a goal that can be measured by subtraction or diminishing pant size. It's not about that. It's about something that I heard a speaker say weeks ago. Three words.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">LIVE FULLY ALIVE.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At first, those 3 words convicted me as a person so scattered in my thinking that it feels like I accomplish nothing day in and day out. Then, I realized that the concept was far bigger in the scheme of me. I made it my cause to learn how to live fully alive. In doing so, I realized that I had to CONQUER CAROLYN. And, my friend, she is a worthy opponent with habits that are deeply rooted in her heart. Those roots wrap around her heart and then, wander down to her stomach in search of solace. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On Monday, April 20th, Spring officially began as did my quest to conquer myself. I signed up for Weight Watchers Online for the umpteenth time. I have either walked or done "yoga for seniors" (wait 'til I tell you about that!) for the past 8 days. It is usually between the 10th and 14th days that I "fall off of the wagon" into a big bowl of Bluebell Dutch-not-Milk Chocolate ice cream. You have remained totally unaware of my ditched efforts because I tend to not make public proclamations of my "new me" failures.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Today, I'm proclaiming. It's not about weight. It's really not even primarily about health. It's about living fully alive. I want to feel good in my skin. And, to do so, I must conquer myself.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Don't worry. I'll get back whicha. I've got lots to talk about, for instance, "Yoga for Seniors" in the privacy of my closet. No, you cannot buy a ticket and come watch.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Even when I was thin, I thought I was fat. Pity.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-70551022442025764022017-02-23T20:04:00.000-06:002017-02-23T21:38:36.375-06:00Bacon, Bingo, and Bathroom<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Meems spent the last week in the hospital with pneumonia. I spent the last week in the hospital with Meems. She didn't sleep well at night. Ergo, I didn't get any sleep at night. I began the journey with cute clothes, bright makeup and a chirpy attitude. As the week wore on, everything changed.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On the 3rd morning (approx 8:30AM) as I was shuffling sleepily to the cafeteria to grab a sausage biscuit, I passed a woman who had apparently just walked off the page of a Vogue picturial themed "A Casual Stroll Through New York City in Stilleto Boots." A large Louis Vuitton Damier Ebene Neo Neverfull bag (yup, googled it) was slung over her shoulder, and the cadence of her heels tapping on the floor told me that she was a woman on a mission. I was trundling along in neon pink and green Brooks tennies, an Old Navy red and black buffalo check flannel boyfriend shirt, and wrinkled 2nd day yoga pants that I had slept in the night before. My bed hair was a crazy mess, and yesterday's eye makeup had migrated to just below my lower lids, I had not yet brushed my teeth. After she passed, I waited a few seconds before looking back just to see her walk away. She was that impressive. Sadly, she did not give me even the tiniest backward glance.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Then it dawned on me: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>I had entered the<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Legion of Bedraggled Hospital Bedside Sitters.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Yup, I dressed for comfort and versatility. Daywear had to transition to nightwear by the simple act of removing a bra. I carried a Land's End tote that weighed 25 pounds: deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, 3 novels, houseshoes, IPad, purple purse. My pink and white "fills" were so long, I had trouble navigating the home row on my keyboard. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">One morning, Alan came to "spell" me while I went home to shower. Numbly, I stepped into the empty elevator feeling pretty happy that I didn't have to make small talk with other passengers. With inches to spare a man's hand was thrust between the closing doors. The doors opened, and a fellow Bedraggled Hospital Bedside Sitter invaded my private elevator. We give each other tired smiles and said nothing. One floor down, another BHBS joined us. He was a lively man who said, "Shew-weeee, that couch can give you a sore back!" Our fellow Legionaare laughed and said, "You got the couch?! My wife got the couch! I got the FLOOR!" My people. We shared a laugh. I smiled all the way home.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As I mentioned before, Mom didn't sleep very well in the hospital. Therefore, I came up with a little night time folly for myself.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The Hospital Night Sitter Drinking Game</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZG0tV4XtDk_TC0pfo0fW7TMxPA01-lVkwrMceZKC4PmmY5JeBbC9DL4-14h9WZ9ls1KKwrtB_7VnUL34d4fxLSuMHo7EbztyrqC2ry1Jkolb52RmT8Fk7EkrX1QrUNyV4t4RVwj3Y3kh3/s1600/IMG_2195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZG0tV4XtDk_TC0pfo0fW7TMxPA01-lVkwrMceZKC4PmmY5JeBbC9DL4-14h9WZ9ls1KKwrtB_7VnUL34d4fxLSuMHo7EbztyrqC2ry1Jkolb52RmT8Fk7EkrX1QrUNyV4t4RVwj3Y3kh3/s320/IMG_2195.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Circles and Squares</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When - NOT IF - Meems wakes me up to tell me any of the following -</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"I need to go to the <b><i>bathroom</i></b>" - 1 sip of watered down iced tea</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"I want to play <b><i>Bingo</i></b>" - 1 sip of flat Diet Pepsi</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Is it almost breakfast time" - 3 sips of lukewarm water from the hospital plastic pitcher</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"I want <b><i>bacon</i></b> and eggs" - a slug of a mixed drink - 1 part watered down tea, 1 part flat Diet Pepsi</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Carolyn, can you come here?" "Yes, Mom." "Good. I'm thinking of circles and squares" - 1 slug of whatever she's having</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GzRG8vLlMLIlOA1IgDn0-MmscGeJbrIgmEWqJgwY-c80BRs7h_cFnEq6sTzFsi7BC5QjFiTxgPNrXMnZBfktkqDJbW-545RtUoIK-r2tAE-5U8877NiAdWGJyizpMWr4OBQXAvhxF0lL/s1600/IMG_2200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GzRG8vLlMLIlOA1IgDn0-MmscGeJbrIgmEWqJgwY-c80BRs7h_cFnEq6sTzFsi7BC5QjFiTxgPNrXMnZBfktkqDJbW-545RtUoIK-r2tAE-5U8877NiAdWGJyizpMWr4OBQXAvhxF0lL/s320/IMG_2200.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"B-9! B-9!"</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The night that she was obsessed with playing Bingo was a long one. 1:00AM - "Is it almost time for Bingo?" 1:26AM - "Will you take me to Bingo?" 2:10AM - "Will you help me play Bingo?" 1:24AM - "Bingo is at 2:00." All night long. The next morning, I was praying that she'd go back to thinking of "circles and squares," but Bingo was to be the subject of the day. Alan called me right after I helped her eat breakfast. I told him about the night. "What are you doing now?!" he asked. "I'm making a #%$@ Bingo card on a piece of paper with a Sharpie!" I replied. For markers, I used the $4 in quarters that came back as change when I inserted a five dollar bill in the coke machine. I ain't gonna lie. It felt like I was winning in Vegas when it started raining quarters. And, they sure came in handy as Bingo markers. I called out random numbers and helped her place the quarters. I actually called out numbers that she didn't have on her card from time to time to keep it real. "N-82! N-82!" She fell asleep before she ever got a Bingo.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHW8_zlQdNm54adu9QfPDGW4oWLpxyZEip2lffH5Q16SvQ1eoeGnIK1nWXi-zKlqPCHfgDEkfgfSBb40KqWn8J9A5xcR8-zAMfcQAAwaBkXBMk6o85GauNquohyphenhyphenngm6A1v56BVS91TIRy/s1600/FullSizeRender%255B4%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigHW8_zlQdNm54adu9QfPDGW4oWLpxyZEip2lffH5Q16SvQ1eoeGnIK1nWXi-zKlqPCHfgDEkfgfSBb40KqWn8J9A5xcR8-zAMfcQAAwaBkXBMk6o85GauNquohyphenhyphenngm6A1v56BVS91TIRy/s320/FullSizeRender%255B4%255D.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I can't go to lunch without my shoes</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">One day I came back from my trek home to shower and found Alan feeding my mom her lunch. This picture makes my heart swell with love for my man. He is so, so sweet to my mother. Note the red circle. "She kept saying that she couldn't go to lunch without her shoes on." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That evening, a male nurse and an aide again transferred her from her bed to the hospital Robochair. That ain't no Lazyboy. It's a full on metal and Naugahyde reclining machine. Transferring Meems to the chair requires an intricate ballet of "hold on to me and 'dance'" and the repositioning of tubes and wires. Remember the days when you dressed your kids from head to toe in snow clothes? And then, they said those dreaded words - "I need to go to the bathroom." With Meems situated in the Robochair and her supper tray settled in front of her, after the first bite I hand-fed her she murmured, "I need to go to the bathroom." Bit my tongue clear in half. Bless her heart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When the doctor came by to see her one last time this morning, Meems looked over at him and said, "I don't want to have another baby." No uterus. No problem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She returned home to her beloved Aberdeen* this afternoon. She was so happy to be back with her housemates and the staff! I couldn't have been more thrilled! Tonight, I'll sleep in my own bed in real pajamas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">*********</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I need to give a special shout-out to my niece, Kelly!! She stayed last night at the hospital so that I could go to my Bible Study AND sleep at home!!! God bless you, KKB!!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;">*Her "house" within the assisted living facility is called Aberdeen. The others are Brighton, Cambridge and Dover. [It's kinda like Gryffindor, Slitheryn and Hufflepuff for elderly muggles.]</span><br />
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<br />Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-70429083298199348252017-02-14T16:22:00.002-06:002017-02-14T16:22:31.229-06:00My Funny Valentine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>The other day:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"I made you a bookmark."</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4dgyWPw5sg6D7MkIH5v9m94ExsqvY2BrPUZQTc9O2KTwIrwKyQOtMRfvaBIrsY_dqcjVZUVHFSn22cbnBk8BYABpmJ12-4KNjTDZXUuPSbeAjxyiXNiN_lBaYgt8libJMOq3PA98328p/s1600/IMG_2179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4dgyWPw5sg6D7MkIH5v9m94ExsqvY2BrPUZQTc9O2KTwIrwKyQOtMRfvaBIrsY_dqcjVZUVHFSn22cbnBk8BYABpmJ12-4KNjTDZXUuPSbeAjxyiXNiN_lBaYgt8libJMOq3PA98328p/s320/IMG_2179.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I actually felt a little tinge of "tickled pink" when she told me about the bookmark. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">"It's on my shelf. It's for you."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">When I picked up my gift, I accidentally smudged the somewhat organized glob of glitter glue she added to the bottom of the design.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Mom, I need to leave it here to dry overnight! </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">I'll get it tomorrow when I come see you!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">One minute and 42 seconds later.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">"Don't forget to take home your bookmark."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Re-explained the wet glitter glue issue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">"OK."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">Two minutes and 17.5 seconds later.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">"Don't forget to take home your bookmark."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">"OK."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Today:</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">"I want you to have the Valentine that's on </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; text-align: justify;">my door."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">She "made" it the day she made the bookmark. A group of middle school students came and did crafts with the residents. She had a LOT of help making it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRHOctobWbF4x4d3cQtEiFRtioYl83V_UAwHEVFPcfKrtD1zaY4EJ8p04eqVlpddJF-okjEUqhSAYWKDRnCWzhX8bMeri08cX8tWfYDVW2UENuf9RoItYeiBq7_k6sSaTyPqAL2N6nYO_K/s1600/IMG_2181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRHOctobWbF4x4d3cQtEiFRtioYl83V_UAwHEVFPcfKrtD1zaY4EJ8p04eqVlpddJF-okjEUqhSAYWKDRnCWzhX8bMeri08cX8tWfYDVW2UENuf9RoItYeiBq7_k6sSaTyPqAL2N6nYO_K/s320/IMG_2181.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">"Mom, are you sure you want me to have it?! It's got your name on it!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">"Yes. It's YOUR Valentine from me."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">"That's SO SWEET! Thank you, Mom!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">"I want YOU to have a Valentine." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">And so, I do. The bookmark made me smile. The door sign with her name on it brought huge wet tears to my eyes. I will treasure it always.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">A lovely lady came to play songs for them on the piano prior to their Valentine's party this afternoon. One of the caregivers referred to her as a "piano-ist." Worked for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">While she was banging out oldie goldies on the out-of-tune piano, Mom leaned over to me and said loudly, "I can't believe that they didn't invite ALL of the <i>parents </i>to this. This is really nice. They must not have sent out invitations. You knew about the party because you're here every day."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">It's officially official. I'm the parent now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">Happy Valentine's Day!</span></div>
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<br />Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-77226820600863369442017-02-09T09:34:00.000-06:002017-02-10T09:06:34.204-06:00It's Not the Same<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>I wrote this last fall. Virginia did not come to our home for Thanksgiving. Her niece came to Texas for a visit! And, the Keebler lady passed away just after Christmas. She is lonely no more!</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This world filled with billions of people can be a lonely place for the elderly. As the pace of walking slows and physical activity diminishes, some of them get left behind. They just can't keep up. The clock ticks slowly. Blaring TVs fill the silence. It breaks my heart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Meems, who dozes in her wheelchair most of the day, once told me that she gets lonely when I'm not there. She is surrounded by loving caregivers and plays Bingo aplenty. But, according to her, "it's not the same." Pangs of guilt rack my body when I think about how I only visited her once or twice a week before this last broken hip. I kept trying to excuse my lack of vigilance with the explanation that the long drive across town to the facility she lived in at the time. "It's 20 minutes away, so coming and going takes FORTY minutes! Then, when you add in a 20 minute visit, that's AN HOUR PER VISIT!" I rounded up the commute time to 20 minutes. From 15 minutes. In Lubbock. On the loop. With no traffic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The truth: I didn't enjoy being in her environment. She lived in a memory care facility. Though it was bright and cheery, it was also...well...depressing. Surrounded by people with Alzheimers and severe dementia, Meems began to retreat inside of herself. She once told me that most of the people in her unit were "half crazy." Never mind the fact that she often asked me to bring her some cash so that she could pay for her meals at the "restaurant." "I need a twenty, a couple of tens and some ones for tipping." She made a point of reminding me that Obama was the president and that the year was 2015. Those are a couple of questions on the dementia test. "I'm not crazy."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So, this last broken hip was actually a blessing in disguise. The long hospital stay and even longer recovery at a rehab facility made it necessary to give up her room in the memory care unit. (It's a long-term healthcare policy "thang.") A room came available at a sister facility (same owners, same good "vibe") 5 minutes from my house. Hobbled by her inability to walk unassisted, she was no longer considered an "escape risk." (Well, she never really was an escape risk because she can't run very fast.) She now lives amongst your average octogenarians as well as some nonagenarions.* Some have minds as sharp as tacks. Others can't find their rooms after supper. The residents talk more at the supper table than those in memory care. The alert assist the not-so-alert. "Helen, you dropped a meatball in your lap." Meems is beginning to perk up. She is telling her stories to all who will listen. Most of them are true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The ladies in her unit have elevated me to sainthood simply because I pop in to see Meems every day. Sometimes I'm there for an hour. Sometimes I do a "drive by" and just run in for a hug. They have labeled me a "good daughter." When I hear that, I feel like an imposter because my good-daughtering kicked in late in the game. Mom is 90 years old. It has taken me this long to "get it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The lady who lives across the hall from Mom has no children. Her only living relatives are an elderly sister that lives in a tiny town about 40 minutes away and can no longer drive "into town" and a niece who lives in Idaho. I invited her to Thanksgiving at our house. Her face lit up. She's thinking about it. "I need to see what my family is going to do." Always hopeful. Another has an only child that rarely visits. She naps on the couch in her room all day out of boredom. "Come by and visit me sometime when you are here visiting your mom!" she says, "I've got some chocolate chip cookies and chocolate milk in my room!" I've had the cookies - Keebler Chips Deluxe, Soft and Chewy, stored in a mini-fridge - but usually pass on the chocolate milk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have to remind myself not to sit in judgment of the adult children I've never met. Maybe they pop in the mornings. I'm an afternoon visitor. Maybe they are dealing with health problems. Maybe both of their legs are broken. I give them a lot of grace because until Mom broke her hip again last January, I was amongst their ranks. I delegated caregiving to the paid caregivers. Now I know. Meems is right. It's not the same.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I need to run call my mother-in-law. She lives in a wonderful independent living facility across town (11-minute drive) that pulses with activity. She's made lots of friends and is flourishing. But, it's not the same. It's just not the same.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">*I googled "What are people in their 90s called." Nonagenarians. I think that in the greek translation it means "are you still here!? Because, you're "non" supposed to be." If you reach the age of 100 you are dubbed "Centenarian." Centenarian sounds like a honor kind of like Valedictorian.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Here's the best part. I'm about to turn 60. Wait for it...wait for it...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I will soon be a SEXAGENARIAN. Hope springs eternal.</span></div>
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-79492437441271455442017-02-08T08:44:00.003-06:002017-02-13T17:16:38.300-06:00The Curious Case of Helen Kinzbach<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>The Curious Case of Benjamin Button</i>. I hadn't thought about that film much since it came out in 2008 until now. Benjamin was born a baby in an old man's body. At the age of 7, he was the size of a small child but looked like a bald, bespectacled 80-year-old man. Throughout his life, his body grew younger and younger while his mind became older and older. By the end of the story, he was an infant. It was then that he died.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVxIrE64SX57EhKb6bbVsGNjKd-XFSfxYl21e-S3WzNZSOk2ouSGt6acEpMbKaSSOMIqWeR6PXbWbdvxNuCMaW9WHXh5ClRCBpb6xNMEEeBmdOY73h34IVLIrgrB1Sygnw1FIbh4dVH0xs/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVxIrE64SX57EhKb6bbVsGNjKd-XFSfxYl21e-S3WzNZSOk2ouSGt6acEpMbKaSSOMIqWeR6PXbWbdvxNuCMaW9WHXh5ClRCBpb6xNMEEeBmdOY73h34IVLIrgrB1Sygnw1FIbh4dVH0xs/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="202" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Helen Cute-as-a-Button 1926.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It occurred to me that <i>The Curious Case of Benjamin Button</i> film should be included as an essential element in the School of Dealing with Aging Parents. We are born without the ability to feed ourselves. We have no bladder or bowel control. Our babbling makes absolutely no sense. But, we are wrapped in such adorable, giggling packages that people stop to smile at us as we ride in the seats of grocery carts. "Isn't hers just precious! Oh, look! I see 2 toofies!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At the end of life, the same exact process begins. Same exact. But, because the person is wrapped in a wrinkly, withered body that sometimes smells a bit odd, no one stops a 95-year-old's wheelchair in the grocery store and kneels and exclaims, "Oh, he's just precious! I see 3 toofies! He looks just like YOU! Mmmmm! Don't you just love that old man smell?!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Nope. We overlook the aged as they return to "childlike behaviors." Demanding meals at 8:00, noon, and 5:00, they seem unyielding. My mother's 90-year-old friend, Leonard, doesn't like Mexican food. He migrated to Texas from Baltimore when he was in his 80's. The love of Mexican food wasn't expected of a Marylander. In Texas, we are hard-wired to salivate when we smell a pan of piping hot, cheesy enchiladas. Leonard orders from the child's menu at Mexican restaurants. While we inhale our tacos and burritos, he happily feasts on chicken nuggets and French fries. I don't know if this is a new behavior for him that can be attributed to the aging process or if he has always been a bit of a picky eater, but Leonard doesn't really like complex dishes like casseroles. He likes to have the chicken separate from the rice which is separate from the broccoli. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I raised 3 sons. I well remember spooning tiny portions of individual items into the sections of their plastic Sesame Street dinner plates. The boys were well into their twenties before they officially enjoyed eating "mixed up" or "foreign" foods. <strike>They still don't exactly devour my Thanksgiving dressing or green bean casserole, but they politely enjoy portions of each on that special day every year.</strike> Update: My youngest son reported that he LOVES my Thanksgiving dressing. He further told me that one of his brothers also loves it. Good to know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Nowadays as I sit watching my mother scoop at peas on her plate and coming up with an empty spoon, it reminds me of watching a toddler learn how to operate an eating utensil. An upside-down fork yields little to no harvest of green beans. I find myself micromanaging the process just like I did so long ago for my little boys. "Here, Mom," I say taking the fork from her small wrinkled hand, "let me cut that chicken up for you so it will be easier to eat." I cut the chicken and stab the first bite. Sometimes, I gently transfer the fork back to her hand so that she can feed herself. Other times, I almost make "choo choo" noises as I hold the bite up to her lips. Either way - she doesn't complain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There were times in my life with Meems that she drove me absolutely cuh-ray-zee. There were times when she made me mad. There were times when she wasn't happy with me either. She needed a lot of attention, and I was impatient and pretty focused on my own happiness. When Meems turned 80, I took myself by the shoulders and said to myself, "Self, Meems is 80-years-old now. All bets are off when it comes to the words that she says and the things that she does. From now on, you are going to give her pure, godly GRACE. GRACE, I tell ya!" That little self-talk was life changing.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Helen Cute-as-a-Button 2016.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So, as Mom's dementia makes her more childlike, and her sleep pattern shifts back to that of a newborn, I think of her as my child...so much so that just the other day when I was making an appointment for her I told the receptionist that I was Helen Kinzbach's mother. My "child" needs 24-hour care. She cannot be left alone - ever. She likes to have her meals served at regular times with snacks in between. She will happily tell you that her bedtime is 7:00. No more staying up until 1:00 AM on a school night to finish sewing my homecoming dress. Her needs are simple and few: roll her to the meal table, roll her to bingo, roll her to "Fun 'n' Fitness," roll her to Laughter Yoga (yes, it's a real thing).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Someday I'm going to invent a wheelchair that has a little movie screen suspended over the head of the elderly passenger. A loop of a lifetime of photos and videos would play 24/7. The display would communicate to the world the true identity of the aged, seemingly "used up" traveler. Pictures of babes in arms, weddings, homemade homecoming dresses, adventurous travels, and lifelong occupations would scroll across the screen intermingled with videos of high board swan dives, grandbabies being rocked to sleep, and flowerbed tours. The stories would be told. Hidden identities would be revealed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There was a man with advanced Alzheimer's in the memory care unit Mom lived in before moving to Wedgewood South. He couldn't feed himself. His loud words were garbled. He sat slumped in his wheelchair. On the outside, he didn't seem so great. But, great he was. He was a war hero from the Greatest Generation. I can't remember his rank, but it was something like a general with some stars. He was a big deal. The adult diapers he wore belied his history of bravery and leadership. He had returned to the situation into which he had been born - total helplessness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The Curious Case of Helen Kinzbach is a sweet tale about a childlike 91-year-old woman who could swim a mile when she was in her 60's and explored nature while carrying her own camping gear in a heavy backpack until she was in her 70's and worked in her flower beds in sweltering Central Texas summer heat during her early 80's. That little wheelchair-bound lady over in the corner sleeping with her head slumped down to her chest once lived fully alive.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Kneel and speak. Ask questions. Listen. Honor these senior citizens. And, give them lots and lots of grace. We will ALL need to be given grace in the years to come.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Amen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>I love hearing your stories! Keep 'em coming on the Finding the Funny Facebook page or down below in the comments section!!!</b></span><br />
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<br />Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-29201781650598213792017-02-02T18:15:00.000-06:002017-02-02T18:15:06.463-06:00Showin' Up<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are days when Meems is alert and chatty. There are days when her eyelids are so heavy she cannot lift them for more than a few seconds. She actually fell asleep one morning while she was drinking coffee. The Sleepy Coffee Spill story is now a part of her limited catalog of "And To Think" stories. "And to think, I fell asleep while I was drinking hot coffee at breakfast!" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We call these days Sleepy Days. They are becoming more and more frequent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">During my Sleepy Day visits, I enjoy sitting quietly by her side drinking in her sweet softness and the peace that surrounds her. My heart almost bursts with love for this woman. My mother. Momma. Mimi. Meems. During those moments of stillness, I slip down a rabbit hole of fascination. What is it about this tiny sleeping woman with Kleenex billowing from her left sleeve? Why am I so attached to this particular human being out of all the human beings on Planet Earth? Shared genetics do not necessarily produce the deep feeling of love that I feel as I watch her slow, deep breaths.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">During one recent Sleepy Day visit, I had an epiphany. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She was the little church lady that attended Sunday School and sang in the choir every Sunday. She never taught a single Sunday School lesson. She never sang an offertory solo. She was just THERE.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">band concerts, drill team performances, piano recitals, dance recitals, PTA programs, parades.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She wasn't just THERE. She was THERE taking pictures.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">funerals, weddings, Methodist Missions banquets, pot luck dinners, ice cream socials.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She was THERE.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">If Helen Kinzbach ever brought you a warm loaf of Mimi Bread (so named by my sons) when you were ill or sad or appreciated or just because you always bragged on her bread, please step forward and place a dollar on the table. Let's see...how many dollars are piled up there? Tens of tens of tens. Her love of Jesus was deeply kneaded </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">by her tiny hands </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">into the individual yeasty fibers of each loaf.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She was THERE with crusty, tender, warm, sweet bread.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I was pregnant with our second child when our firstborn was a just learning to walk. Morning sickness turned into bouts of nausea throughout the day. The mere mention of vomit would send me running in search of my little plastic trash can. On one particular day as I was piddling around in the kitchen while Jonathan was sitting in his high chair playing with his food, I thought I heard the sound of water hitting the floor. I turned towards the sound. My eyes opened wide and my jaw dropped in disbelief. It wasn't a leaking pipe. It was a leaking diaper. My precious son smiling with a circle of Cheerio balanced between his front teeth had exploded. I can hardly type the words to tell you about the volume and odor of... Ugh. I'm making myself gag right now. Mothers of the World, you get the idea.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I raced to the bathroom and ran warm water into the tub. Then, I gulped in a deep breath and held it as I ran to the kitchen to extricate Jonathan from the obliterated high chair. Tears were running down my cheeks. Oh, misery, thy name is Diarrhea! I held Jonathan away from my body like a dead cat as I ran towards the bathroom. I stripped off his clothes and diaper and rolled them up into a bath towel gagging and crying all the while.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Once I got him bathed, powdered and in fresh clothes, I carried him to my bedroom. I placed him on the bed and crawled up next to him crying. I felt so overwhelmed. I could not face the mess in the kitchen nor the bathroom. Life was just too much for me all in the span of about 10 minutes of one day with one poopy toddler. So, what did I do? I picked up the phone and called Mom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">She came. The journey from Waco to my house in Mesquite took about 2 hours. She arrived with a packed bag in 2 hours and 15 minutes. I was still crying and gagging. And, kinda hungry. Mom took charge. She cleaned up every glop of poop and washed the poopy clothes. Soon the piney freshness of clean floated throughout my tiny house. Then, she brought me a sandwich </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">and a glass of sweet tea</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> on a tray with a carefully folded napkin and a bloom of azalea plucked from my flowerbed and tucked into a tiny vase.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">On that Sleepy Day sitting there gazing at my mother, I felt a huge lump rise up in my throat. That petite, wrinkled bundle of slumber seems like no one special to the casual observer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Oh, she's special, my friend. She lived a lifetime of <b>showing up</b>.<b> </b>She honored people and God by <b>showing up</b>. And, I had the privilege of watching her legacy of <b>showing up</b> unfold. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Thanks, Sleepy One, for being there for me and mine, your church family, and your friends. Your warm loaves of bread, your willingness to serve, and your STRONG STOMACH will be my beacons as I journey forward in life. Well, not so much the strong stomach.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Postscript: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Look at the picture above. See the 5 plates on the wall? If you're thinking that there must have been 6 plates hanging there, you would be right. Last fall, one of the plates fell and broke into several pieces. A caregiver gave my mother the cross for Christmas and placed it where the plate once hung. A younger me would have twitched at the mere site of the skewed symmetry. Today's me kinda loves it. Everything on that wall screams "Helen Kinzbach!" Gardening. Fine china. Jesus.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Remind me someday to tell you about the framed embroidery in the picture that reads, "I'd rather be in my garden." It's a sweet, sweet story.</span></div>
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-71295137311237403072017-01-21T14:18:00.002-06:002017-01-21T21:11:36.742-06:00Trump's Bum and a Sack for Leftovers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Mom, are you watching the inaugural parade?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Just because she was sitting a few feet from the TV that happened to be blaring the parade didn't necessarily mean that she was <i>watching </i>the parade if you know what I mean.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Yes. But, they haven't shown any pictures of the president with his pants pulled down."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That is exactly what she said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"No, they have not shown any pictures of President Trump with his pants pulled down."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That, by the way, was exactly my response. I just go with it. Just GO with it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Well. I don't think that we should have elected a man that pulls his pants down in public and shows his bottom."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Yeah. That's probably right. Showing your bottom in public is a bad idea."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"He pulled down his pants and had a paper sack tied around his backside."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">What thuh?! </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">hesitant, nay...afraid,</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> to ask the question, but I just couldn't stand the suspense.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Why did he have a paper sack tied around his backside?!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"For leftovers."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">What? Who is this woman? I. Just. Where did she get this idea? She's been telling me about Trump "mooning" for a while now. The paper sack is new. It's a nice little addition to the story.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Every time I visit, I do a little something to gauge her mental status. The Trump's Bum with a Leftover Sack conspiracy has me thrown for a loop. I ask questions. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Mom, what are your grandson's names?" Check. "Who's your favorite daughter?" She answers, "You're my favorite <i>living</i> daughter." Well done, Grasshopper.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Yesterday, during the Mr. Pants Down Parade, I came up with an idea to further investigate her mental status. I deliberately put my feet on the arm of her pretty little loveseat. Slowly, her head turned from the TV. She looked at my tennis shoes for a minute then said, "Are those your feet on my couch?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Lest you worry that she thought that they were Donald Trump's feet, you need to know that my mom had some hard and fast rules in her home. We were to never sit on a bed because it ruins the bedspread. We were to NEVER put our feet on the furniture. Feet belong on the floor at all times.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Are your feet on my couch?" roughly translates "Git yer stinkin' feet offa my couch, ya moron!" Yup. That's my mom. I quickly put my feet on the floor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As for you, President Trump, keep your pants on. Little Miss Moral Compass is watching you.</span>Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-90529119670597939362017-01-13T11:10:00.002-06:002017-01-13T11:10:54.779-06:00"I'm Almost 100"<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On Monday, January 9, 2017, Helen Katheryn Williams Kinzbach celebrated her 91st birthday. Since mid-summer she has been reminding us that she wanted Alan's White Chocolate Cake with White Chocolate Icing for her birthday. "That can be my present."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Background: During the 3rd month of our marriage, Alan decided to surprise me by making my birthday cake all by himself. Bless his heart. He made up some excuse to run over to my mom's house to help her with something knowing that I wouldn't ask to join him because I wouldn't want to get involved in whatever hair-brained project she had roped him into. [My blog confession about being a bad daughter can be found here: <a href="http://carolynelackey.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-purfict-dotter.html" target="_blank">The Purfict Dotter</a>] Anyhoo. Alan spent an entire afternoon - he is a very slow and meticulous baker - making his now famous White Chocolate Cake with White Chocolate Icing. The recipe came from <u>Southern Sideboards</u>, a cookbook that we received as a wedding gift. It's listed in the index as "Chocolate Cake, White." I spent about 30 minutes searching for the "after" pictures taken that March 3rd afternoon by Mom to document the mayhem of ingredients, measuring cups and mixing bowls strewn across the countertops and the numerous open cabinet doors. [To this day, Alan leaves cabinet doors open in the kitchen when he fetches a dinner plate or a sauce pan.]</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The recipe comes with not one, but two icing choices. <br />I. Don't. Know. I guess Edna couldn't decide.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenu8hWCcZMtnCN6yAPaa9Bd17z0anheFbcI85dT5dn9C_DmrooGENFAPD6Q7pxy9hC4s1vuuP9GLD85qI5kE7bjOKmQ9KfrZUhj9_CXx593swofTM0ho0Of6varx26PBnxR-s1MAZzvEr/s1600/IMG_9202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenu8hWCcZMtnCN6yAPaa9Bd17z0anheFbcI85dT5dn9C_DmrooGENFAPD6Q7pxy9hC4s1vuuP9GLD85qI5kE7bjOKmQ9KfrZUhj9_CXx593swofTM0ho0Of6varx26PBnxR-s1MAZzvEr/s320/IMG_9202.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Alan and my mother were so proud of my 23rd birthday cake. They thought that it was delicious. "Best cake ever." I, on the other hand, am not a fan of white chocolate. The cake is dense with chopped pecans and coconut flakes inside and toasted almonds on top. And, truth be told, it's not much to look at. I prefer light, fluffy white cakes with rich milk chocolate buttercream frosting topped with "Happy Birthday, Carolyn" written in elaborate cursive. But, on that particular evening, I smiled and made appropriately appreciative nom-nom noises. When my birthday rolled around the next year, I confessed my love of white cakes with chocolate icing. But, Mom? She's been having "Chocolate Cake, White" on her birthday for years.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So, on Monday, January 8, 2017, Alan, Leonard, Granddaughter Kelly </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">and I gathered with Meems and her Wedgewood South Assisted Living buddies in the dining room to have a cake party during lunch. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;">The "Chocolate Cake, White" was a hit! Mom barely touched her Shepherd's Pie but licked her cake plate clean.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Her pick for dinner that evening was Abuelo's, a local Mexican restaurant, for her favorite meal: one cheese enchilada, a scoop of guacamole and "you get a margarita, and we'll share it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At dinner, Alan thought that we should sing Happy Birthday to Mom one more time. So we all leaned towards her and quietly sang. Leonard, her BFF, always tacks on a verse at the end. He has one volume when it comes to singing - loud. We call it a "joyful noise." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>How old are you now?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>How old are you now?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Toooooo-day is your biiiiirth-daaaay!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>How old are you now?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mom had been rather quiet during dinner. Mostly, she sat there with a faraway look in her eyes. She seemed sleepy tired. She answered most of our questions with "I don't know." "Mom, do you remember any of your teacher's names?" "No." It was as if her brain had already settled in for a long winter's nap. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After Leonard sang the extra verse of the birthday song, I turned to Mom and said, "Mom, Leonard just sang a question to you. Are you going to sing an answer to him?" She sat quietly looking off into the distance at nothing. Then, very softly, almost imperceptibly, she sang.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I am ninety-one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I am ninety-one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I'm almost one hundred.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">But now, I'm ninety-one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We were stunned by her clever reply after the hour of sparse responses. We laughed and praised her quick wit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1kGGc0BZRviAJn9uPwksQvwI0geaIQ_ezzLO6yNA7hPME9vFxCtc6r1UciItDYakZhVD_HdKwaOA20bCcavILVTwbaFcAi9mx3ThC0dsLahe3QFtDyf-m96_MlXlIDW6HrFAVU51XR31B/s1600/2949B94B-88A0-48DB-986A-3F7D4D6E98B1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Times; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1kGGc0BZRviAJn9uPwksQvwI0geaIQ_ezzLO6yNA7hPME9vFxCtc6r1UciItDYakZhVD_HdKwaOA20bCcavILVTwbaFcAi9mx3ThC0dsLahe3QFtDyf-m96_MlXlIDW6HrFAVU51XR31B/s320/2949B94B-88A0-48DB-986A-3F7D4D6E98B1.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As we were leaving the restaurant, we stopped at the entrance to say goodbye to Leonard who was to be driven home by Alan. There were hugs and "happy birthdays." Then, out of the blue mom said, "Mrs. Higgins." "What, Mom?" I asked. "Mrs. Higgins...[long pause]...She was my teacher." I was so proud and happy for her. The answer to the question asked during dinner had finally bubbled up from somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of her memory. Oh, happy day!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She is ninety-one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She is ninety-one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She re - mem - bered Mrs. Hig - gins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And, impressed us a ton!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Happy Birthday, Meems. You make Mrs. Higgins and me proud.</span><br />
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</span>Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-66638540238645167752016-12-22T08:21:00.000-06:002016-12-22T08:21:18.514-06:00Feliz Blah-Blah-Blah<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had hoped that this one detail of Christmas Past had slipped out of Meems' memory forevermore. But, NOOOOOOOOOO. She started asking for it a couple of weeks ago. I tried to bluff. "I'm not sure where that is. You know how it is when you move! Things just get put in weird places!" "Well," she'd reply, "I hope you find it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The conversation would start fresh in a few minutes. "Have you seen my hat?" I'd repeat, "</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I'm not sure where that is. You know how it is when you move! Things just get put in weird places!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Then it would spread from my heart and consume my whole being...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Guilt!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Guilt!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Guilt!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even though I hadn't </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">actually </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">SEEN the hat in a year, I had a pretty good idea where it was. This morning, I lugged a stepladder upstairs and pulled down the 3 remaining boxes of Meems' Christmas treasures. It was in the third and final box. Dang it. Oops! I meant to say, "Praise Jesus!" I brightened at the thought that the old hat had lost its magic powers. It hasn't. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's in perfect shape. So, today I will present the hat to Meems when I go for my daily visit. To the staff of Wedgewood South Assisted Living Center: My apologies. This hat will drive you crazy. This hat will also light up 90 YO Meems' face. She will grin from ear to ear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here it is. The hat. Feliz Blah-Blah-Blah to you, my friend.</span></div>
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-73476747272259764742016-12-15T15:49:00.000-06:002016-12-15T15:49:00.247-06:00Is That My Christmas Tree?<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Meem's assisted living facility is decorated so beautifully for Christmas. Little elves tiptoed in and made magic happen just after Thanksgiving. Magic, I'm tellin' ya. Magic. About once a week during my visits with Meems, we take a Tour de Trees. This is what happens...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Meems: Is that my Christmas tree?<br />["My" means the tree from her house in Waco]<br />Me: Kinda. You have to share it with everyone else.<br />Meems: Good.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ2JuDw_2gid-AM0AmeO2eP-1f7uqCSH03oKmQTjHTVNTtiFPuLxMXzAL1ZyN1Zzu9VB8NyKklfDw61WyLOUA6Ehf8WRRWk7ehiwJ-Y7CXs6hIglfWNwaR-RytWDCXbgYNvSlZACnKTQHh/s1600/IMG_1860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ2JuDw_2gid-AM0AmeO2eP-1f7uqCSH03oKmQTjHTVNTtiFPuLxMXzAL1ZyN1Zzu9VB8NyKklfDw61WyLOUA6Ehf8WRRWk7ehiwJ-Y7CXs6hIglfWNwaR-RytWDCXbgYNvSlZACnKTQHh/s320/IMG_1860.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Meems: Is that my Christmas tree?<br />Me: It sure looks like your tree, but I <br />think that your tree was shorter.<br />Meems: That's right.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohJZ8IY0O7-kzWZD4xzpcoglQNl2N-RH3NJ8f9rT7qStzF4fUJd7l60D5GTke5oWb-QN3FruMbHRMvE3bPnX1fJeOyeZoAgCjmVp5tSb-302BKGMDv4HOorcpWl2uc7kHH3GDwRGBUZEC/s1600/IMG_1861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohJZ8IY0O7-kzWZD4xzpcoglQNl2N-RH3NJ8f9rT7qStzF4fUJd7l60D5GTke5oWb-QN3FruMbHRMvE3bPnX1fJeOyeZoAgCjmVp5tSb-302BKGMDv4HOorcpWl2uc7kHH3GDwRGBUZEC/s320/IMG_1861.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Meems: Is that my Christmas tree?<br />Me: Ummmmm. Maybe.<br />Meems: It sure looks like it.<br />[aforementioned Waco tree was NOT as snowman tree]</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LbetEpOAV4JH9s7jUjuA0K_cKVIaL8TKWz5PA7dmSTsjR89mnLmZFXI-2iqgn43LWWdBmU267Yd2kzodREptiNNeoTyUo-m2Nm-QFH6TcL7PuCZCEuWw7y1nAKFqyT2dA0Pb8SFIo5CR/s1600/IMG_1865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7LbetEpOAV4JH9s7jUjuA0K_cKVIaL8TKWz5PA7dmSTsjR89mnLmZFXI-2iqgn43LWWdBmU267Yd2kzodREptiNNeoTyUo-m2Nm-QFH6TcL7PuCZCEuWw7y1nAKFqyT2dA0Pb8SFIo5CR/s320/IMG_1865.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Meems: Is that my Christmas tree?<br />Me: I don't remember your tree having so <br />many legs sticking out of it.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DzhOfnRqI7ceInoZJusx7VWzG-8Br5eAoMrukazFQp66-QW8AymVbfYrqjVoyGiaAJLs45HIf7dpHPifmof1RPgBPt022EbxEzRihnnK_AUR7cuyc6AW5yzzhyphenhyphenoNlmxb_M_obFjpLrVZ/s1600/IMG_1863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5DzhOfnRqI7ceInoZJusx7VWzG-8Br5eAoMrukazFQp66-QW8AymVbfYrqjVoyGiaAJLs45HIf7dpHPifmof1RPgBPt022EbxEzRihnnK_AUR7cuyc6AW5yzzhyphenhyphenoNlmxb_M_obFjpLrVZ/s320/IMG_1863.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Meems: Is that my Christmas tree?<br />Me: You know, it just might be...<br />Meems: It looks like mine.<br />[The Waco tree did have some blue ornaments...]<br />Me: It sure does look like it might be yours!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">These exchanges remind me of the children's book by P.D. Eastman, </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Are You My Mother?</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">" Some days when Meems is so sleepy she can't keep her eyes open for more than 15 seconds, I want to ask, "Are </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">you </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">my mother?" The mother who worked hard from dawn 'til dark-thirty grading papers, cutting out a pants suit pattern, and raking leaves? Or, when she can't remember the names of any of her friends from Waco? </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Are you my mother?</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> There was a time when she could list everyone she saw at church and what each lady wore and who wore it best. Or, when she doesn't know what time of day it is. </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Are you my mother? </span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">In days gone by, she could guess the time within about 15 minutes by observing the sky and the rumblings in her tummy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When she gives me little love pats while she hugs me, I know. When she tells me that I was the "hardest" baby she gave birth to and that she felt better the second I was born, I know. When her face lights up with a smile. I know. When she tells me that I need to find the store that is selling ladies' boots for $7 and asks me to buy a pair for her and a pair for myself, I know. (There is no Lubbock store selling boots for $7.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wish that the assisted living elves could recreate her Waco Christmas tree with all of its pretty pinks and soft blues and pale greens and the one green pickle ornament. I'd roll her little wheelchair up really close to its boughs, turn on some Bing Crosby Christmas tunes, and let her soak in the beauty of her memories. Yes. That's your Christmas tree. Yes. That's my mother. Magic.</span></div>
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-45133370523378126182016-09-29T10:07:00.003-05:002016-10-27T08:01:04.157-05:00Meems' Hit Parade<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As I mentioned in my last post, I have a Spotify playlist on my phone titled "Mom's Favorites." To keep her brain juicy and active, I will from time to time ask her to name great songs that she remembers. Sometimes she draws a blank. Other times, a random tune pops into her head, and I immediately add it to the list.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Here's a little Casey Kasem countdown for your afternoon entertainment.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Starting with #10...</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">10. You Made Me Love You (I Didn't Want To Do It)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This song reminds me of the story she tells about dating a Filipino after the war. I call him Phil Ipino. He played in a dance band. Her daddy told her that she could marry Phil, but that he (her dad) would have to get a 2nd job to support them. She has told this story all of my life. The main character became a Filipino a couple of years ago. Until then, he was a regular old guy. Hmmm. She dated a Filipino right after WWII in Nachitodoches, TX. I'll bet.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">9. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5Qx4Y_hUuE" target="_blank">Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree</a> (With Anyone Else But Me)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I downloaded the Glenn Miller version with the long big band intro. My favorite part - "No-No-No-No!" I had never really listened to the lyrics before. Now that I've heard the song about 27 times, I have fallen in love with it. It's a song about being separated by war and the fear that your guy will fall in love with some cute, blonde German chick. "You're on your own where there is no phone, and I can't keep tabs on you!" I wonder what present-day lyrics would read. I doubt that there would be mention of sitting under any kind of fruit tree. "No-No-No-No!"</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">8. Mi Mancherai (randomly picked) - Andrea Bocelli</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She wanted a song by that blind guy with the pretty voice.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">7. Edelweiss (</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">From The Sound of Music)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I added this one. She likes show tunes. I love Christopher Plummer.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">6. I Could Have Danced All Night (From My Fair Lady)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I thought that she would recognize it. She didn't. She kept asking me if it was a song from Wicked.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">5. Popular (From Wicked)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She is a huge fan of Wicked. She thinks that this song is HEEEE-larious. I sing "But, not quite as popular as MEEEEEEEEMS!" at the end. She likes that.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">4. My Strongest Suit (From Aida)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She and I saw Elton John's Aida on Broadway years ago. This song has very funny, clever lyrics. Again, she thinks this song is HEEEE-larious.</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Now We're Getting to the Good Stuff...</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">3. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N9HD2fhrE3k" target="_blank"> Always - Deanna Durbin</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Meems sang this at a friend's wedding. That's one life event that is forever forged in her memory.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">2. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzlFaY0s_QI" target="_blank">When the Lights Go On Again</a> - Vera Lynn</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"When the lights go on again all over the world, and the boys are home again all over the world..." Meems sang this at her high school graduation in 1940. Her big brother, Jimmy, was away fighting that war. According to Mom, "ALL the boys were gone." One of her teachers told her that her voice sounded just like Deanna Durbin's which would by today's standards would have been Barbra Streisand or Celine Dion. Another forged memory.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Here it is, folks! </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Meems' numero uno (for no apparent reason) request!</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">1. 76 Six Trombones (From The Music Man)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;">I. Have. No. Idea. I didn't grow up hearing Mom belting out, "Double bell euphoniums and big bassoons! EACH BASSOON! Having his BIG FAT SAY!" But every single time, I get out my phone and ask her for requests from her playlist she murmurs, </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: justify;">"76 Trombones." </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; text-align: justify;">That is, until yesterday when I tried to authenticate this request by videoing her.</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxz8VFE6rkcUi1L2dIqSdGe3Riw7x4kh03LKrCHem7Mvr9QVdrNL6n0A8tDP1krI1cbTDjX_Or6IwL67u_Jpw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyYZ7bGpvmgM1pQd0onHz3SB28F0lRvYoODUTe5PRhnaakt_6P7rrJ4Q3kBnZoEqdkKglDVL9YZDuBGE4f9wA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Actually, 76 Trombones digs down to a memory planted deeply within her cerebrum. My sister. <span style="font-size: x-small;">"Kathy sure loved the silver trombone I bought her." </span>My little blonde-headed sister with a smile that glinted silver with braces chose to play the trombone when she joined the band way back in Junior High. After a couple of years of playing with a rented trombone, Mom decided that Kathy was serious about tromboning. Our little mother saved up her school teacher salary and bought Kathy a silver trombone. They were both so proud of it. I hated that thing. Its belches echoed loudly throughout our tiny house. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">However, I do wish I still had that trombone. I'd take it to Wedgewood South every afternoon and let Meems hold it in her lap. We'd listen to 76 Trombones, and she'd smile and smile. </span></div>
Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-31007791612249083502016-09-21T18:03:00.000-05:002016-10-27T08:05:06.107-05:008:00, 12:00, and 5:00<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVxjdzSzxVfRt3Ve70dCrlVp9WXE2XboKgubW8eogddsDM27yUGOHMLnnhnbvF_3XqSaAqyIJr9oYQzR1pvncOYygs6wiDu4-9hOt44Qbl-1qW5y3-ZU9qKZ_1xH-ByfMGFszZnTbraS5/s1600/FullSizeRender%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVxjdzSzxVfRt3Ve70dCrlVp9WXE2XboKgubW8eogddsDM27yUGOHMLnnhnbvF_3XqSaAqyIJr9oYQzR1pvncOYygs6wiDu4-9hOt44Qbl-1qW5y3-ZU9qKZ_1xH-ByfMGFszZnTbraS5/s640/FullSizeRender%255B1%255D.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">4:10 PM. Nearly Suppertime.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I go by to see Meems every afternoon between 3 and 4. At Wedgewood South, they have special activities at 2 in the afternoon, so I wait until the afternoon lull for my visit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sometimes we sit in the large common area and watch "Deal or No Deal." My "depression child" mother always advises the contestants to take the first lowball deal that is offered. "But Mom! There might be a million bucks in the case he selected! He can't settle for $8500!" "Eighty-five hundred dollars is better than nothing," she murmurs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Other days we go sit out in the shade of the porch so that Mom can feel the breeze on her pink cheeks and hear the birds trilling in the trees. I made a playlist of Mom's favorite tunes on my phone. I won't tell you what her numero uno favorite is. There is a whole other blog coming with that amusing tidbit. We sing. We reminisce.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Before long, Meems reaches over to her left wrist and holds her watch face up close to her eyes. "Is it almost dinnertime?" she'll ask. A quick glance at my watch reveals that she has more than an hour until chow time. "Nope! You've got lots of time to enjoy my presence!" "Well. I don't like to be late. I like to be there early." I tease her by telling her that the commute from the porch to the dinner table is all of about 30 seconds long. "We can leave in 59 minutes and have time to spare!" She quiets for a bit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Two minutes later. "Is it almost dinnertime?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The funny thing is, she's not asking because she's hungry. In fact, the caregivers have to encourage her to "take 3 more bites" before she can have her dessert. It's not about being hungry. It's about predictability. Five minutes after the meal is over, she will not be able to remember what she ate. Not even what she had for dessert. Sometimes when I'm with her at meal time, she'll ask me mid-meal if she's eating breakfast or dinner. The fact that there is a hunk of meat loaf suspended in midair on her fork does not provide the slightest context clue that she might be in the middle of supper.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She does know this. "We eat at 8:00, 12:00 and 5:00." Every time she tells me this as if it's news hot off the press, I feel a twinge of comfort knowing that she still has a bit of a time table in her mind. That simple bit of awareness means that part of my mom is still in there. She can still sing most of the national anthem and she knows what time meals are served. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If she's showing off, she can tell you that they have "Fun and Fitness" in the mornings and a fun activity in the afternoon. I felt especially proud one day when she was able to tell me that she had to be at the "movies" (aka chapel) at 2:00 because they were going to watch a movie about a dolphin with no tail. AND, they got FREE popcorn and a coke at the movie!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I remember when my boys had to learn our home address in kindergarten. I made up a chant. "Fifty SIX oh FIVE Eighty FOURTH..Street." I was so proud when each boy learned that tidbit of useful information. I get that same feeling of pride when Mom remembers the tail-less dolphin and the times for meals. I almost jumped with joy last week when she recited my home phone number for no apparent reason. And, like so long ago with my little boys she felt pretty proud, too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At the end of my visit when I start to say goodbye, I know exactly what she's going to ask. "Will you roll me to the table?" "But, Mom, wouldn't you rather sit by the TV? It's about 50 minutes until supper." "No. I don't like to be late." So, I roll her to the table and lock the wheels of her wheelchair. Slowly, she brings the terry cloth bib Wilshire Place so thoughtfully provides around her neck and gently presses the velcro together. I give her lots of hugs and kisses before asking, "When are you going to see me again?" "Tomorrow!" she replies beaming. "That's right! Tomorrow!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Then, I walk towards the door. I usually take one more look back at her. She's facing a wall. Her tablemates won't be wheeled in for a long while. She's totally content to stare at nothing or simply cat nap. The lump in my throat almost chokes me every time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She's content. She knows what time meals are served. She can call me at home and sing the national anthem to me anytime she pleases. She still enjoys movies, popcorn and Coke. I feel honored to still have time with her here on earth.</span></div>
Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-40503667937638120962016-09-13T17:44:00.002-05:002016-09-29T10:13:58.159-05:00The Purse<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7j9vRlysYImEeo6QbDK8qAPsBvIpD6ARMBmui4o4TyizffqAivNUbIRFhGMVIdGIhRnoI2sbx6RoECCdkYwoEdvHcE8ywqa8ol8xj5Pz4Mxo6mzBkbRMl-ntJmgK3TXnvUTKa1Q5OBSr/s1600/FullSizeRender%255B2%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv7j9vRlysYImEeo6QbDK8qAPsBvIpD6ARMBmui4o4TyizffqAivNUbIRFhGMVIdGIhRnoI2sbx6RoECCdkYwoEdvHcE8ywqa8ol8xj5Pz4Mxo6mzBkbRMl-ntJmgK3TXnvUTKa1Q5OBSr/s320/FullSizeRender%255B2%255D.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Her favorite. "It goes with everything." </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">No matter how many times I've explained to Meems that Wedgewood South is an "all-inclusive resort" that doesn't allow tipping, she just feels better if she has her purse with her at all times. Every now and then, she thinks she's eating in a school cafeteria and feels compelled to give $1.25 to the lunch lady. The purse. It's common for women with dementia to hold on to this last vestige of identity. And, the contents of those purses fascinate me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A toddler fills her purse with small toys and gummy bears and, perhaps, a TV remote. During the twilight years as the mind begins to dim, purses tend to become more and more empty except for the occasional random penny coated with lint, an ancient gum wrapper, or a wadded piece of Kleenex. The tug of the weight of a handbag resting in the crook of an arm provides security and identity to both toddler and senior alike. But for an elderly lady with days upon days filled with the feeling that something is missing, a handbag becomes more of a lovey or a pacifier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">One of the ladies that lives in the "all-inclusive" resort with Meems dresses immaculately. Coordinating blouses and pants, sometimes with a nice jacket, are her trademarks. She wears rather large clip-on earrings that are ornate and colorful. Same earrings every day. I've heard tell that the small purse that she carries daily is totally and completely empty. She regularly takes up her purse and wanders the facility asking "Is this where I live?" and "Can you show me which apartment is mine?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">About a month ago, a broken hip left her wheelchair bound. Her purse, now nestled next to her lap, has become her constant companion like a lap dog. Same neat, matchy-matchy clothing. Same earbobs.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Meems' near empty purse has a hollow echo. I can tell you with 97% absolute certainty what you would find in it on any given day: 2-3 wadded up pieces of Kleenex, her huge plastic dark glasses that she wears over her regular glasses, a tube of coral lipstick, and, in the matching coin purse that came with the bag, quarters. Lots and lots of quarters. If you've already guessed that she likes to sit out on the porch on sunny days, feels undressed without lip color and has a constantly runny nose, you are very astute. I'll bet the quarters have you baffled.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigMovPuWYAvbYLjhip1r_vN4x6-wYryh1zuaxc0nW8pU7QYEhCMb0nwE3ouczWUXFnnu8wcbUnHhXSXQtNh2mDvzvwlIEpajQTKL6CXjvqTEy1ju0720XkTujHfHPYb8jaenSYWTePPP_g/s1600/FullSizeRender%255B4%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigMovPuWYAvbYLjhip1r_vN4x6-wYryh1zuaxc0nW8pU7QYEhCMb0nwE3ouczWUXFnnu8wcbUnHhXSXQtNh2mDvzvwlIEpajQTKL6CXjvqTEy1ju0720XkTujHfHPYb8jaenSYWTePPP_g/s200/FullSizeRender%255B4%255D.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Bingo Winnings</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At Wedgewood South, Bingos and Blackouts are rewarded with quarters. My mother is </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">very good at Bingo. She can't even read the numbers on the cards, and she's good at Bingo. Her coin purse is heavy with her winnings. Every week or two, I put the quarters in a baggie and bring them home for safe keeping. I stack them in 4's so that I can keep a tally of her earnings in my mind at all times. She's up to $15. Really, she's up to about $20. I gave my niece, Kelly, about 20 quarters a while back to use as laundry money. "Mom! You're up to $20 in Bingo winnings!" That always gets a triumphant smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The 3% of uncertainty regarding what else might be in her purse is reserved for any random thing that she happens to absently throw in her bag like a few checkers used to cover the giant numbers on the Bingo cards or a used dinner napkin or a "Happy Fourth of July!" card she received in the mail. It is those unexpected treasures that make my heart smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At the age of 90, if the building catches on fire, Kleenex, king-sized dark glasses, a tube of coral lipstick, a few quarters and a couple of red checkers will be all she needs to navigate the world. Life is easy. Life is simple. I've got her back. My purse, thank goodness, is pretty full.</span></div>
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Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5643584055952313515.post-41796486805378941232016-05-19T10:21:00.001-05:002016-05-19T10:21:34.080-05:00A Soft Place to Fall<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I stop by to check on Meems every day. Most days I find her parked in front of the TV in the common room sleeping. Sometimes, she's asleep in front of a window. Macular degeneration has robbed her of idle pleasures like watching Lifetime movies and working jigsaw puzzles. Sleep makes hours go by.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She can't see who I am until I'm right next to her. I tap her leg gently and lean my face towards hers. Her eyes slowly open, and then, her face slowly blossoms into the most beautiful smile. Melts my heart every time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb93jbbG7Q8Ub55Y4v9DS9eRgZA1df_St3_t8_-dYPjDKnKiuKHSRiGLqsw_PeISLKANC9QfkH2p9RQ4gOn1DTJraI-E3gomDsJ9PYmgaa59RKb36Nph9l4bk7IO5dOTZEWr0LqtrYmPrm/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb93jbbG7Q8Ub55Y4v9DS9eRgZA1df_St3_t8_-dYPjDKnKiuKHSRiGLqsw_PeISLKANC9QfkH2p9RQ4gOn1DTJraI-E3gomDsJ9PYmgaa59RKb36Nph9l4bk7IO5dOTZEWr0LqtrYmPrm/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="240" /></a>"You came to see me, " she'll say. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Yep. I was missing you, so I came by for a hug," I'll say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"I'm glad you're here," she'll say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Me, too," I'll say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These visits with my sweet, tender mother who gives love pats while she hugs have become my soft place to fall. Life is very uncomplicated in her world. My world swirls with emails, phone calls, and people. Her world is quiet and peaceful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I pull her wheelchair up close to my chair so that we can hold hands during my visit or she can pat on me. She tells me a bit about her day. Bingo. Fun and Fitness. Someone came and played the piano. For my mother who once lived life in technicolor, the pace of her new residence is perfect. The clock ticks slowly. Meals are served at 8AM, noon, and 5PM. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"It's almost dinnertime," she'll say. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"It's only 4 o'clock," I'll say.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"I like to get there early," she'll say, "Will you roll me to the table before you leave?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzSXRZfa796epYflaJhDR0EqIBlDyI2vG7UFJEnPgy38cQr2R2P53U8knN9ZTIDcAiS3EP5lX_hEsFmgc_VnmMuzsGH44dSo86oytdlRrtRkly_oLVRNWzLIlDzT1bFTiCMjja68a9gSSG/s1600/IMG_0914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzSXRZfa796epYflaJhDR0EqIBlDyI2vG7UFJEnPgy38cQr2R2P53U8knN9ZTIDcAiS3EP5lX_hEsFmgc_VnmMuzsGH44dSo86oytdlRrtRkly_oLVRNWzLIlDzT1bFTiCMjja68a9gSSG/s320/IMG_0914.JPG" width="240" /></a>Sitting there at her place at the table for an hour is comforting to her. Breaks my heart a little bit every time. But, she is content. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Every day she says, "They take good care of me here." And, that makes me feel content. They brush her hair. They help her apply her favorite coral lipstick. They spritz her with perfume.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Grateful doesn't even begin to describe how I feel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I consider this time with her an undeserved blessing from God. Many of my friends have lost their parents. Some are dealing unpleasant issues involved in caring for aging parents. And, the issues are many. Among my many blessings is the fact that she has aged with a sweet disposition. My dad was a whole different story. His passing was like a huge burden lifted off my shoulders. He was unhappy all day every day and very vocal about his circumstances. I've learned that a good disposition is a gift you give to your children.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Gosh, I'm making myself cry right now. Guess I'd better head over to Meems' for some huggin' and pattin'. Come join me. However, I must give you fair warning. You will leave her presence feeling sleepy and relaxed. Very, very sleepy. Tenderly relaxed.</span></div>
Carolyn Lackeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04894635841640761417noreply@blogger.com2