Visitation

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.  

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. 

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.

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.

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. 

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 complete with shoes and accessories 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.

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."

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."  

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.

"I'm so glad you came." 

-Meems 

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.

Meems quickly set him straight.  "It's not a visitation.  That's just for when you die.  This is a visit."

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.  

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.

Fuh-Lease-La-Dee-Da!

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.

"Mom, we're going to do something fun this afternoon!"

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.

"We're going to have gingerbread pancakes!  It's going to be CHRISTMAS!"

"But, I haven't finished my shopping yet..." she whispered.

"It's all taken care of!"

"Do you have my transportation scheduled?"   (She knew that she would need the van to transport her in her wheelchair to my house.)

"Nope!  We're comin' to you!"

Big, bright smile.

I leaned in to give her a hug.

"You're a good, good daughter."  

Day made.

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.

When Alan arrived with Meems' best friend Leonard in tow, it was time for the Reindeer Games to begin.

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.  

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.

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."

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.

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?"

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!"

Merry Christmas, friends.

Ninety-One-Derful

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.

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.

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.

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.  

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.

Meems was in rare form last night.  She was very talkative and confused which made her rather entertaining.  

Last night, she was all...

"Tell Leonard to crawl under the table and come sit by us."

"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."]

"No, Mom.  Dobo's not coming.  He's dead, remember?"

"Good because I was going to get really mad if he came with whiskey to Leonard's party."  [Leonard is a teetotaler.]

At one point she regaled the lady next to her with the story of the man-eating catfish.  I blamed my niece, Kelly, for that because she ordered fried catfish for dinner.

Today she was all...

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!"

The handwritten list?  It was a list of the 12 people who called to wish him a happy birthday.

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.  

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.

My niece, Kelly, wrote the sweet post below...

Meems and Leo Go to a Weddin'

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.

"I'd be too nervous to be playing Bingo if I was about to get married!"

"Mom, the wedding isn't until Friday."

"Oh."

Forty-eight seconds later:

"She needs to go get ready for the wedding!"

And, so on...and, so on...

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.

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." 

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.

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'!

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.   Several of the women had chosen aisle seats so that they could see April's smiling face as she walked down the aisle.  Wheelchairs lined the back row.   Seriously, people.  My heart almost burst at the sight of those smiling, softly wrinkled faces.

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.

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.

Postscript:  Mom asked me at least 3 times during the wedding if we were at Bryce Canyon.  

Those are not Meems' earrings.  She did
not know whose they were or who put
them on her.

She can't finish 1/2 of a grilled cheese
sandwich, but she can polish off a cupcake
after eatin' a turkey dinner.

The real-life groom actually looked
delightfully happy to be gettin' hitched!

Meems, April and Leonard

The Curious Case of Helen Kinzbach

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.  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.

Helen Cute-as-a-Button 1926.

It occurred to me that The Curious Case of Benjamin Button 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!"

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?!"

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.  

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.  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.  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.

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.

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.

Helen Cute-as-a-Button 2016.

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).

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.  

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.  

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.

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.

Amen.

I love hearing your stories!  Keep 'em coming on the Finding the Funny Facebook page or down below in the comments section!!!

  

"I'm Almost 100"

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."

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:  The Purfict Dotter]    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  Southern Sideboards, 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.]

The recipe comes with not one, but two icing choices.
I.  Don't.  Know.  I guess Edna couldn't decide.

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.

So, on Monday, January 8, 2017, Alan, Leonard, Granddaughter Kelly and I gathered with Meems and her Wedgewood South Assisted Living buddies in the dining room to have a cake party during lunch.  The "Chocolate Cake, White" was a hit!  Mom barely touched her Shepherd's Pie but licked her cake plate clean.

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."

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." 

How old are you now?

How old are you now?

Toooooo-day is your biiiiirth-daaaay!

How old are you now?

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. 

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.

I am ninety-one.

I am ninety-one.

I'm almost one hundred.

But now, I'm ninety-one.

We were stunned by her clever reply after the hour of sparse responses.  We laughed and praised her quick wit.

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!

She is ninety-one.

She is ninety-one.

She re - mem - bered Mrs. Hig - gins.

And, impressed us a ton!

Happy Birthday, Meems.  You make Mrs. Higgins and me proud.

"Well."

"Well," Meems said softly.  Just "well."

I called from Florida where Alan and I were attending a wedding to relay the news that one of her BFFs from Waco passed away.

The conversation began with idle chat.

Me:  "Hey!  What have you been up to today?"

Meems:  "Nothing.  We don't have exercise class on Saturday."

Me:  "Did you have a good breakfast?"

Meems:  "Yes."

Me:  "What did you have?"

Meems:  "I don't remember."

Me:  "I have some sad news.  Rachel passed away last night."

Meems:  "Well."

Me:  "She was such a great friend."

Meems:  "Well.  [pause]  She'd been sick."

I have no idea why W.E. is posing behind Meem's
TV which was pushed up against that wall.  "Here,
let's move the TV out and you stand BEHIND IT!"

Meems has a multitude of long time friends.  She's a lover of all people.  People tend to return the favor.  Three of her BFFs in Waco were Lee & W.E. Nelson, and Rachel. (Rachel's the lady in the middle of the middle picture.)  Together they celebrated birthdays, New Years Eves, St. Patrick's Days, Fourth of Julys, and any other days that Meems could find a reason to celebrate.  

Lee passed away several years ago.  W.E. soon followed.  Meems moved to Raider Ranch in Lubbock, and Rachel moved to a place in Austin to be near her daughter.

Faithfully, Meems (with the help of her Lubbock BFF, Leonard) called to check on Rachel once a week.  I would get the reports.  "Rachel is doing fine.  She said to tell you 'hi!'"  "Rachel has been sick lately."  "Rachel has congenital [sic] heart failure but said she's OK."  "We haven't been able to reach Rachel on the telephone this week."

I had to compose myself before I made the call to Meems.  I didn't really know Rachel that well because she and Meems became friends after I was married and had moved away.  But, I knew all that Rachel had done for my mother over the years.  

When Rachel cooked a birthday dinner, she made it a birthday feast.  "She had baked chicken, rice, carrots, peas, green beans, a green salad, cole slaw, cake and 2 kinds of ice cream!" Meems would brag.  If Meems had a runny nose, Rachel brought a meal and felt her forehead for fever.  Like Meems, Rachel loved extravagantly. 

I'm not sure how much Meems actually remembers about Rachel.  Her mind is in the process of simplification.  Breakfast.  Check.  Excercise.  Check.  Lunch.  Check.  Afternoon snack.  Check.  Dinner.  Check.  Church on Sunday.  Check.  A dwindling loop of memories plays during our time together.  "I'm SO glad I got that long term health care policy!"  "The preacher that married your daddy and me said I was the prettiest bride he'd ever seen!"  "I used to date a guy who played in a dance band with Tex Beneke."  She added the detail that he was a Filipino sometime this year.  I highly doubt that detail.  It's more likely that his name was Phil Ipino.

Meems is pretty matter of fact about life and death.  It is what it is.  Some people die too young.  Some people live a long, good life.  Either way.  The only time she fears death is when she learns that I'm heading to some beach destination.  "Don't get in the water!!!  Sharks EAT people!"  Either way.  

As a woman of faith, she knows beyond a shadow of a shadow of doubt that there is a New Jerusalem.  When she sees Lee, W.E., and Rachel there, her face will light up and she'll do that funny sideways clap she does - the one where her fingers point in a bit towards her elbows as she awkwardly smacks her palms together.

Rev. 21:1-2  Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth.  The first heaven and the first earth had passed away.  There was no more sea.  I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem.  It was coming down out of heaven from God.  It was made ready like a bride is made ready for her husband.

Thank you, Rachel, Lee, and W.E. for loving my mother like a sister.  She says that she's going to live to be 100 so that she can see her picture on the Smuckers Jar during the Today Show, so it will be a minute til you hear her clapping.  But, boy, will she be clapping!

Happy Birthday, Jonakan!

Brrrrrrring, brrrrrrrrrrg!

"Hey, Mom!

"I got my haircut today.  Can you come take my picture?"  

(Her voice is tiny.  She couldn't scream out loud if she tried.  I know because from time to time we'll tease her and ask her to scream as loud as she can.  You'd have trouble hearing her in the next room.)

It was early July.  I knew exactly why she wanted me to come take her picture.  One of her latest obsessions has been her Christmas cards.  Yes, she wanted me to come take her CHRISTMAS picture.

It was boiling hot that day.  She was wearing a summer top.  Out we trundled to the courtyard of her memory care unit.  Sitting in the blistering sun, she let me drape different scarves around her neck - red, fuschia & turquoise - to simulate winter attire.  

"I'm hot."

"Mom, it's July."

"I know.  I'm hot."

I got the cutest picture of her!  I told her that it was so cute we could use it for her obituary.

"I'm going to live until I'm 100."

"Yeah, I'll probably be taking at least 11 more Christmas pictures of you.  We might come up with an even cuter one."

"That's right. Heh.  Heh." 

Boom.  Christmas cards!

Her other obsession has been sending a birthday card to her grandson, Jonathan.  In May, she started asking me about sending him a card.  "When are 'we' going to get a birthday card for Jonathan?"  Each of the one hundred times she asked me she said that she didn't want to "forget" his birthday.

Today, at lunch, I brought out a birthday card for her to sign for Jonathan.

"Mom, come sign Jonathan's birthday card, and I'll put it in the mail tomorrow!"

She slowly walked over to the counter to sign the card.  The card for Jonathan.  Her grandson.

"Can I sign Jonakan's card?!"  We don't know why Leonard pronounces Jonathan with a "k."  It actually sounds kind of cool.  Jonakan Skywalker.  We've known Leonard for about 5 years.  Jonakan KNOWS who Leonard is.  Leonard signed his full name.  Ohhhhh.  THAT Leonard.

Then, Nana signed.

Later this afternoon, I noticed how Mom signed the card.  It wasn't until I wrote the note on the left side of the card that I saw Nana's signature.  She is also Jonathan's grandmother.  I attribute the "+" to the fact that she is a retired math teacher.

I just this minute I noticed that I wrote "The Nana" instead of "Then Nana."  Lawdy Mercy, I needs me a keeper.

Over lunch, Mom asked me if I had done the return address labels for her Christmas cards yet.  I told her that I would have them ready on October 2nd (because I'm kind of sassy like that).  She doesn't like for me to print out the address labels until the week before Thanksgiving (she sends her cards the day after Thanksgiving...) because if "we" print them to soon, someone might die.  Instead of "Joe and Jane Doe," "we" would have to reprint it to read "Jane Doe."  Poor Jane.  When you're 89 the timing of printing address labels is very, very tricky. 

Happy 28th Birthday, Jonakan!

Aunt Mom

Meems "Makes" an Easter Wreath

A couple of weeks ago, I dropped into Meems' new assisted living facility to see how she was doing.  I was happy to find her in the dining area of her little unit seated at a table with other women.  They were busy as bees with paint brushes swooshing away.  I hugged Meems and she beamed up at me, "We're making something!"  The aide chimed in, "They're making wreaths for Easter."

Meems had painted 3 or 4 coffee filters a Robin's egg blue.  The other ladies were painstakingly painting every square inch of their coffee filters with Springtime colors.  My little mother's filters had a few broad strokes in the very middle leaving a lot of white space exposed.  I sat down, picked up a brush and got busy helping her fill them all in.  My mom, the art teacher.  The art teacher that encouraged her students to fill up every square inch of large pieces of manilla paper with their pictures.  I chided her for "doggin'" it.  She just shot me a big smile.  "I know," she murmured.

After we thoroughly covered a few coffee filters, Mom pushed back from the table and said, "I'm done."  So, we were done.

...................

Last week when I stopped by for a visit, Meems made a special point to take me down to her room to show me something.  "I made this!" she grinned.  "You did!?" I asked feigning utter amazement.  "Yes, I did!" she confirmed.  "I helped you paint a few of those coffee filters, remember?" said I.  "You did?!" said she.  Her grin grew bigger.

"So, did you guys put the coffee filters onto the wreath the day after you painted them?" I queried.  Without missing a beat, she said, "I don't remember that.  I just remember that I made the wreath!"  Then, she proceeded to show me all of the details that had been added.  Pointing to the candies and little plastic eggs she said, "Isn't all that cute!  I don't know what it all is, but it sure is cute!"

I was reminded of my childhood and the many mudpies I pressed up in the back flower beds that Mom pretended to taste.  "Oh, it's just delicious!  Will you please share the recipe with me?!"  My heart panged with the reminder that our roles had reversed.

"Mom, that is such a precious wreath!  It's way cuter than the one I have on MY door at home!  I can't believe you made that!!"  I wanted to hug the necks of the aides who had the patience to sit with the ladies painting all those coffee filters.  Anyone who is kind and loving to my mother during my absense is my friend for life.  Period.  The end.

 As I was leaving, I spied this box of hats and sunglasses in the living room.  If you look closely, you'll see a Happy Birthday banner in the box along with a pair of binoculars.  When the aides take the ladies outside for fresh air, they give each lady a cute sun hat and a pair of sunglasses.  Does my heart good.  Apparently, a birthday was celebrated out on the porch that day.

..................

A new guy moved in a few weeks ago.  I know this because Meems has told me 342 times.  "A man named Ivan moved in!  He's really nice, BUT, he's married."  BUT, he's married.  Oh, boy.

Meems says that she's "almost used to" the new assisted living facility.  She quickly adds, "They take really good care of me here!"  We are so blessed that this new place is picking up Meem's BFF Leonard, on Mondays and Fridays so that he can come have lunch with her.  Crafts, birthdays on the porch, sun hats bedecked in flowers and Leonard.  Doesn't get much better than that.

Does my heart good.

Five Good Things

Friday I went to see Meems at Wilshire Place anxious to see if she was settling in nicely.  Her face lit up when she realized that it was her daughter that had entered her room.  #maculardegeneration  "I'm SO GLAD you came to see me," she beamed.  Standing next to her was her best friend, Leonard, who had been picked up at Raider Ranch as promised by the WP director in a "limousine" for his Friday lunch date with Meems.  I couldn't remember the last time I saw Mom so alert and genuinely smiling.  Was it last Christmas?  Her birthday last year?  2013?

In unison she and Leonard asked, "Do you want to eat with us?!"  Tempting as it was, I assured them that my visit would have to be brief.  Piles of laundry and dishes had accumulated at my house during the time I'd spent moving Mom to her new digs.  "Well. They don't have good soup here anyway," Meems said softly.  In three short days of residing at her new assisted living facility, she had determined that all soup possibilities were unacceptable?  I made a mental note to ask the aides if Mom had, indeed, ordered soup for any of the 9 meals she'd eaten since Wednesday lunch.

"You're the second good thing that has happened to me today!" she beamed.  It was then that I noticed that she wearing lipstick.  Lipstick!  In the middle of the day!  Between meals!  "Two good things before noon!?  I'm guessing that the first good thing is about to join you for lunch," I replied grinning at Leonard.  "Yes!  Today is a good day!  Last night I was feeling sad because I missed my friends at Raider Ranch, now two good things have already happened today!"  I wanted to look upward with a Jimmy Stewart wink and say, "Atta boy, Clarence!"

"I can't believe that I'm in such a nice place!  My furniture looks better here than it did at Raider Ranch!  I can't believe I have so much space!"  All of a sudden I found myself fully enjoying this chorus of her never ending song.  This was good news that I could hear over and over again.  "Leonard, can you believe I have this much space?!"

Together the three of us made the short walk to the dining area.  "I'm having half of a sloppy joe for lunch," Mom offered.  "Leonard, what are you having?" I asked.  "Smothered pork chops (pork chops are his favorite) and whatever goes with it.  They're having chocolate cake for dessert.  You sure you don't want to join us?!"  

On the way to the table, Meems leaned over and patted one of her nameless new friends and said with a grin, "You look too young to be here!"  Her friend giggled with delight.  They both seemed oblivious to the fact that "youth" combined with "memory care" was not particularly desireable.  

I sat with Meems and Leonard for a while as they ate.  Mom had smothered pork chops.  Turns out the sloppy joe was her supper selection.  "I was feeling kind of sad last night, now two good things have happened.  Leonard, can you believe I have so much space here?!"

Later that afternoon, I was folding clothes in my kitchen when the phone rang.  "Four good things have happened to me today," the tiny voice said forgoing the obligatory salutation.  "Four?!" I said with exaggerated amazement.  "Yes.  Leonard was one.  You were one.  Then, I met your pretty friend who is tall and her mom.  Her mom LIVES here!"  "You mean, Claudia?" I asked.  "Is that her name?" she replied indicating that her mind was  totally cleared of the many discussions we had had about my friend, Claudia, and her mother who would be Mom's across the hall neighbor at Wilshire Place.  

"Did you count Claudia and her mom as numbers three and four, or did something else good happen?"  "Something else good happened!  Her dad came and sang to us.  He had 3 life-sized dummies that sang with him!  That was the fourth thing!"  I added "man with three life-sized dummies?" and "Claudia's dad?" to my fact-checking list.

"The man was a really good singer AND a ventriloquist.  Most of the ladies slept through his singing, but I didn't because he was a really good singer!"  "And the dummies?" I teased.  She softly chuckled, "Yes, they were good singers, too.  AND, we had ice cream for our snack!  They only had strawberry, but it was good!"  "You are SO lucky!  I had a half of a peanut butter sandwich for lunch, and now I'm folding clothes," I lamented.  "Well," she replied.  That's all. Just "well." 

She didn't know it at the time, but the fifth good thing was coming at 5:30.  Alan was going to stop by after work.  Happy, Happy.  Joy.  Joy.

Five.  Five GOOD things.  And, a bromeliad.  It's a long story.  I need to write a letter to my 89 year old self reminding me to look for 5 simple good things each day.  Simple delights that other people might pass by without noticing.  It's the noticers who are truly happy.

For the record:  Claudia's dad is no longer living.  He was not and never had been a ventriloquist.