Not so much a fall from grace as a fall BY Grace

Maybe I was born clumsy. Maybe clumsiness is a result of childhood polio. Maybe things just like to trip me. Whatever. I fall down a lot. Usually I get up and feel like a fool. But Thursday, June 14...

Thursday, June 14 was moving day for Mama. Since her stroke in April, she has been first in the hospital and then in the step-down ward. The whole while I worked to get her into an assisted living facility. When I got word that a space had come available in a VERY nice place, my daughters and my friends sprang into action to help me get her comfortably moved in. I hired a local moving company and we got her apartment moved into and unpacked in a day.

The minute she was discharged from the step-down ward, I was there to take her to her home. She was delighted to have her own space again and pleased with the way her little unit looked. She should be-it is "purty", as she says. My house, on the other hand, was a disaster. What a mess! So I went home, pooped, and decided to tidy up my room so I would at least have a nice place to sleep. The movers had moved Dave's desk and office stuff into what had been Mama's room and that had opened up a lot of space, so I started to do a little rearranging. That's when my bed collapsed. That's when I tried to uncollapse it. That's when I got in my own way, fell down, and broke my left arm.

I seem to have a pattern of falling to the left. I have fallen and broken my left arm and left collar bone in the past. Not that I am complaining-better the left than the right- but it seems faintly sinister somehow.

Splint, sling, pain, dopiness from the pain pills, (did I mention pain?) and my home in chaos, but do I get any sympathy whatsoever from my nearest and dearest? PUH-LEEZE! My brother suggested that our parents should have named me Grace. That's the closest to soft, murmuring noises anyone made about my arm.

So that was my June 14.

In the meantime, while I am learning the frustrations of one-handedness, Mama is adjusting to her new environment in fits and starts, with an emphasis on FITS! The first time Dave visited her in her new digs, she pulled out all the stops on the guilt front. She was busting his chops, he knew she was busting his chops, and she knew he knew and still it was awful. ''Why did you do this to me, David? Why did you put me in this jail? I have a room at your house. I want to go home to your house." Knowing it was 80% manipulation, acting, and punishment did not prevent the experience from being heart-wrenching.

After her initial pleased reaction to her new home, she has been determinedly glum. It has been noticed. I have been fielding calls from the facility every couple of days. The Director told me that in the eight years she has been running the place, she has never dealt with anyone like Mama. Imagine my surprise!

The concerns of the facility are many and varied.

• They are worried because she is not eating- she apparently has no appetite. (This is a recurring tactic of Mother's for attention. Her little kitchenette is well-stocked. Believe me, she eats).
• She has been snookering them about taking her pills- they've found two of her hiding places so far. (I explained how to ensure that she actually takes her medications. I refrained from suggesting cramming a funnel down her throat and just pouring them into her).
• They wondered if she has always been child-like and stubborn. (They are experiencing for the first time Mama's "simple" act). The Director really wanted to ask me if she is retarded, I could tell. The answer is no, she is not, but she had a mentally impaired sister and can imitate her perfectly.

Today the cable guy came to hook up her box so she can watch the Western channel. I went to be there while he did the installation so she wouldn't get spooked by a strange man in her room. The handsome young man was wearing shorts and Mama teased him mercilessly about his naked legs. I think he was glad I was there, because he was getting spooked by the strange woman in the room. While I was there, three people, in rapid succession, popped their heads into the room and asked me, "Kate, will you stop by and see me before you leave?"

So I did. I met with the Director, the Nurse, and the Aide behind locked doors. I felt like a parent summoned to the Principal's office about a kid about to be sent to alternative school.

Here's what they told me.

Mama asked for a toaster, which she was told she cannot have for fire safety reasons. Mama does not like being told "no". Mama likes having her own way. Mama always finds a way to punish those who thwart her- in this case, she carried a piece of white bread into the Director's office and started yelling "TOAST! TOAST! I WANT TOAST!" Sadly, the Director was speaking to a prospective client at the time.

Even though she seldom eats anything, she does show up for meals. She has had to be relocated from one table to another. Ms. Lucy, one of her new table-mates, is more than a little bitter about that, as she let me know in no uncertain terms today. It seems Mama came to dinner one night in her robe and slippers. Unfortunately, her robe was open and she was only wearing underwear underneath. When the Aide tried to get her to go back to her apartment to dress appropriately, she made a scene in the dining room, refused to leave, and refused to zip up her robe. Ms. Lucy, who at 80+ is one sharp cookie, apparently finds Mama unspeakably gauche.

It may be behavior like that that lead the Director to ask me "Has she ever been evaluated by a psychiatrist? Has she ever taken psychotropic drugs?" I mentioned a drug her doctor prescribed for her and it turned out it was missing from her list of meds. The Nurse left the room to call Mama's doctor for a new prescription. I have never seen a woman move that fast.

Both the Director and the Nurse seemed almost relieved to learn that mother was missing a medication. Up until that revelation, I had the distinct impression that they felt I had pulled a fast one on them. Mama technically meets all the criteria for assisted living, but hers is definitely a unique personality, and I suspect that if they had known what her personality is like, they might not have accepted her.

Hey, I wasn't trying to fox anyone. Maybe in the future they should include a personality test in their screening process. And they had plenty of opportunity to visit her in the step-down ward to evaluate her before they accepted her. Now that they have her, they think that getting her back on her missing med will calm her down and mitigate some of her acting out. Boy, I hope they are right. I left the meeting marvelling at how adept Mama is at creating problems.

I went back to Mama's apartment and explained to her that, except in case if fire, she cannot leave her rooms unless she is dressed in street clothes. I told her she cannot yell at people, no matter how upset she may be. I reminded her how important it is for her to be cooperative and to take her pills and not play games with her medications.

She looked at my sling and asked "How's your arm?

As soon as it heals, I may beat her over the head with it.

Mama has been in the place one week and one day, and she is already in danger of being expelled. Jeez. I hope the drug helps. Wednesday I take her back to the doctor. I am going to ask him to increase her dosage. Or add Thorazine.

If Mama won't take it, I will.

(It took me 2 1/2 hours to type this with one hand. Forgive any errors).

Perpetual wrongness

TV, advertising, and even the NEWS help to perpetuate wrongness. Why is that, I wonder.... aside from the fact that this is America which plays fast and loose with information and education all the time.

Words are misused, mispronounced, and generally mistreated by the public media, which is a shame, because most folks get their information almost totally from the public media. There is no respect or love for language anymore. It is a "whatever" sort of world now. Sigh.

Let me share with you a couple of the things the media is driving me nuts with right now. (I heard you say "short drive"! )

My friends, you have heard me say this before, but the word is DISSECT. Look it up, that's the way it is spelled. The two esses are there to tell you that the word has a short "i" sound. It is pronounced "dis-sect", which means to take apart. The word is NOT dye-sect. If there were such a word, it would be spelled "disect" and would mean, like bisect, to cut in halves. If you doubt me, I direct you attention to the words "dessert" and "desert". Every time I hear a supposedly educated person say "dye-sect", it irritates me so much I'd like to give them their just desserts and desert them in a desert.

Okay, yes, I used to teach biology, so it may seem a bit parochial for me to be complaining about a "scientific" word, but it has entered the common vernacular and wrong is wrong! Where is Edwin Newman when we need him? (I guess, at 88, he has given up on correcting people. Too bad, he was good at it).

There is an ad showing a woman signing up for a variable rate loan, and as soon as she does, she has a monkey on her back. Only it isn't a monkey, it is a young chimpanzee. How can it be that in the 21st century there are still people who don't know that chimps are apes and not monkeys? [What am I saying??!! There are still people who think Darwin said we were descended from monkeys... wonder if those people can distinguish us from gorillas?]

And don't get me started on the use of statistics. "Two out of every ten women will face cancer", they say... which is bad accounting on two points. They don't report the age range- most women will be 70 or older when they develop cancer- and they don't report the logical reverse to that stat, which is that eight out of every ten women will NOT face cancer. Granted, a 20% chance of getting cancer is nothing to sniff at, but it's also nothing to panic about. I despise agencies that play with statistics to frighten people, usually to frighten them away from their money.

I could go on, and probably will, but those are the examples that are pushing my buttons right now.

Although I also think it is terribly wrong that the guys who play the cavemen in the Geico commercials will NOT be playing them in the new TV series. What kind of a screwed up world is this, anyway?

He may be a caveman, but he can say "dissect" properly. Can you?

Get me the HAL outta here!

Norton Security is one of the most intrusive and obnoxious computer applications in the world and I hate it. Having Norton on your computer is like trying to work around the Handicapper General.

For those of you who don't know, the Handicapper General was a Kurt Vonnegut character whose job it was to make everyone equal-which made everyone equally mediocre (or dead).

Tired of mediocrity and fearing death, I decided to jettison Norton and return to the McAfee fold. I had McAfee on my old computer but Norton came bundled with the new one, and hey, I'd paid for it... HOWEVER, with 304 days still left on my Norton subscription, I had had enough and tried to uninstall it.

Notice the use of the word "tried".

Tried for over an hour.

I began to feel like Dave dealing with HAL.

For those of you who don't know, Dave was an astronaut in the movie "2001: A Space Odyssey", one of the longest, dullest movies ever made.

Actor Kier Dullea as Dave

Dave was on a spaceship controlled by a master computer named HAL. HAL had a nervous breakdown and started killing everyone.

Dave, beginning the shut-down of HAL

H-A-L, by the way, is a play on I-B-M; one letter back from each of the letters in IBM gives you HAL. Why I know this sort of stuff is beyond me. Why I keep making references I then feel compelled to explain may be a function of age.

Norton was killing me, and, like HAL, it died hard, but, unlike Dave, who became some sort of space embryo, I emerged full-grown and triumphant. I solved the last (I hope) Norton related problem just moments ago when I got the theoretically uninstalled Norton firewall to release the email account it was holding hostage.

I could hear McAfee "tsk-tsk"-ing in the background at each Norton attempted end-run; "See, you should have stayed with me and this never would have happened. Oops, the Norton firewall just blocked access to your e-bank." Of course, McAfee was correct, but it was hardly helpful or constructive for it to be disdainfully sniffing while I was plugging (or unplugging) away at Norton disassembly.

Norton at first sneered at my attempts to make it go away. Software contempt is the worst.

BUT I PREVAILED!!! And I didn't have to climb into the computer to do it. But I swear to you, as I finally uninstalled the very last Norton component, I could hear it plaintively lament "Dave... I'm going now, Dave..."

For those of you who don't know... my name's not Dave.

Red lobster... and I ain't talking about the restaurant

Ah, Memorial Day weekend! What a great time! You put white back into your wardrobe (if it ever left); you go buy yet another new grill (it's a guy thing, apparently); and, if weather permits, you putz around the yard, clean up the front porch, and hop into the pool. That first dip of the weekend cools you off, soaks away all your stress- AND BURNS YOU TO A CRISP! Well, maybe not YOU, but I look like a cooked lobster with a weight problem.

No swimming for me for a few days. Just as well. Tomorrow is Mama's 79th birthday and we are bringing her home on a pass to celebrate the occasion. Not that she is in much of a mood to celebrate.

I have been trying to gently let her know that she will not be coming "home" to our home; her health is too precarious and her needs are greater than I can meet. Dave and I have discussed her condition with the doctor, and we are all in accord that the time has come for her to move to assisted living. Note that I did not say "old folks home", "nursing home" or "poor-house".

Dave and I went to investigate one of the two facilities in our town and both of us were massively impressed with it. The facility is beyond beautiful, it's downright posh- CLEAN, open, airy, richly decorated, with lots of natural light and a lovely central courtyard with a well-kept garden.

We were shown three different apartments, all of which were very nice, indeed. The apartments vary in size but feature the same basic staples: a sitting room, a small kitchenette, a commodious bedroom with large walk-in closet and a bathroom designed for the elderly. Rent includes three meals a day, either in the dining-room or in her apartment, housekeeping, laundry, transportation to shopping and/or doctor appointments, a wide range of activities that are entirely discretionary, and, of course, assistance. She will have assistance with her medications and hygiene. There is a nurse on staff as well as a dietitian/nutritionist.

We were both so relieved when we saw how nice it is. There were three or four residents conversing in a communal sitting room when we arrived. We were shown the dining room, communal TV room, beauty parlor, ice-cream parlor, and several meeting/game rooms, as well as the aforementioned courtyard garden. So NOT what we thought assisted living would be like.

There is a waiting list, of course, so we put Mama's name on it. Dave actually expected that we would get a call about a vacancy within a week. Silly man. I knew better. We were told that three units are about to be vacated, one due to relocation, one due to health problems that were beyond the scope of assisted living- and one death. In Dave's mind, that meant the rooms would be available, like, NOW! Kinda lets you know how removed from the real world the business world is.

The plan, I thought, was that we weren't going to tell Mama about the plans to move her until we had some concrete information, and until AFTER her birthday, which I didn't want spoiled. In his infinite wisdom, he "suggested" to her yesterday that assisted living was a possible scenario for her future. Don't ask me why he told her off-schedule. Everything with Dave is on a need-to-know basis, and I never seem to need to know.

She reacted very well, I thought. She has been complaining that she wants her own apartment for some time, so I am sure that a part of her was interested, if not excited, about the idea. Still, Mama doesn't like change, so I didn't expect her to be enthusiastic and was pleasantly surprised that she not only seemed to grasp the necessity of the arrangement, but seemed fairly anticipatory. She especially perked up when she learned she can have her own furniture and things (the apartments are unfurnished) and can decorate anyway she pleases. She can come and go as she pleases as well- no day passes required.

We left her in an upbeat mood. I asked Dave why he had told her before her birthday that she "might not" be coming back to our house, and he said his upcoming travel schedule was the impetus. He didn't want me to have to be the one to prepare her for the move. How thoughtful, I thought- though if the call about the apartment comes while he is gone, I will be HANDLING the move.

So, we went to see her today and the nurse met us in the hall. Seems Mama started the day by packing all her stuff, insisting she was going home, and bursting into tears. She carried on the whole morning about our "putting her in a home" and abandoning her, and snubbed us when we walked in. We tried to cheer her up, reminding her about tomorrow and the party, but she was in a foul mood. "Just shoot me," she kept saying. "I'm ready for the bone-yard". She continued in this mode for some time, but Dave finally got her attention re-directed, and we parted on good terms. She walked us to the door.

She will have a good time at her party tomorrow and then will make a painful scene when the time comes to return to the Life Care Center. Poor old thing, I do feel for her but I wish she would have a little faith in us. When in the past seven years that she has lived here have we ever abandoned, forgotten or neglected her? Before her husband Paul died, she saw us maybe twice a year. Since his death, with increasingly rare exceptions, she has had our company 4-5 times a week (when she had her own place the first time) and daily since she moved in with us. Believe me, she has not lacked for company or care since.

Maybe next week, we will take her to see the place. More likely, I will take her to see the place. I just hope she doesn't make a scene when I do. It's all so stressful. Too bad I won't be able to jump into the pool to de-stress for the next few days. What's an overweight lobster to do?

It's my potty, and I'll cry if I want to...

So I have this image in my mind of how I want the master suite bathroom to look... and I share that image with my partner in crime Becca, who thinks it's a good idea. The plan is that I will buy all the stuff, and, while I am in Michigan visiting my dad, Beck will do all the work. I will come home to a brand, sparkling, new bathroom, with no effort on my part save swiping my credit card. That's how I like things- easy.


So of course, it didn't work out. Mama had a stroke, which canceled my trip to Michigan. Still, the Beckster was determined to press on. After all, the two of us had just created a truly magnificent craft room. How hard could a bathroom be?

Let me tell you.

First of all, two people cannot work in a bathroom at the same time, which left Beck to do all the dirty work (but I got to play with Pookie, so that was fair).

Second, the builders had apparently secured the wallpaper to the wall using the same adhesive NASA uses to glue the tiles to the shuttlecraft. THREE FULL DAYS it took just to remove the wallpaper. Another day to prep the walls. We entered day five before a single drop of paint was spread. We had finished the craft room in three days total!

All the dark, dated cabinets were sanded and wiped down. Two days. The walls were painted. One day. The cabinets were painted. One day. The doors and drawers were reinstalled. One day. New faucet, new lighting fixtures (thank you, son) and new towel bars . One day. Caulking. One day. (I did the caulking, and I am old and fat, so it took some time). Clean-up. One day. Dressing the room. One day.

I hear you out there, scoffing. "One day for clean-up- pfffft. I could have done it in one hour. Dressing the room? Gimme 15 minutes." Scoff if you must, thou nay-sayers, but verily I say unto you- were you there?? We were contending with tight time frames (dropping off and picking up Sunshine, Noodle and Pixie from school), an active 3-year old, a diabetic, and the countless interruptions for which life in my household is famous. I think that the fact that we got it done in two weeks is a freaking miracle.

Trips to Lowe's- 4,556. Trips to various other stores- 2. Total cost- slightly less than the Taj Mahal.


But it was worth it. It is beautiful. Clean, decluttered, roomier, brighter. I am posting pictures that don't do it justice. Why do I NEVER remember to take BEFORE pictures?

If I am crying, it is from joy. I LOVE working with Becca. So, kisses to you, sweetie, and thanks to Jake and Melinda as well. As to my readers- y'all come over and pee sometime. Ciao!

All my children... and Happy Mother's Day to you, too.

It has been my blessing and curse to have two extraordinarily intelligent and multi-talented children. I think the blessing part of that statement is self-evident; they have been a constant source of pride, surprise, delight and camaraderie since they were infants. Both have practical and artistic talents. Both love music, puzzles, wordsmithery, and both are excellent cooks. Jake can build anything. Kelly can act anything. Jake is a wonderful father. Kelly is a wonderful aunt. They love each other, so I am blessed.

The curse is that two extraordinarily intelligent and multi-talented people tend to be discontent. With so many gifts, they find it hard to focus on any one, and with so many interests, they are always striving for perfection on multiple levels all the time and often falling short. Neither one of them has any patience with falling short. And both of them tend to bite off more that they can chew and then stress about it. I wonder who they get that from?

And because they are intelligent and logical, the fact that the world is neither sensible or logical exasperates them- at high volume. At any given time, I am listening to rants and complaints about the work-place, the significant other, those in authority, and the general wrong-headedness of most people to whom they must report. I have been there- it IS hard to take direction or work directly for someone who does not share your smarts- so I sympathize with my cherubs. But it sometimes gives me an ulcer to listen to their rants, well-reasoned and sensible as they may be.

Be that as it may, the blessings far outweigh the curses. My daughter pampers me lavishly when I visit San Diego, which is why I am bummed when I don't get to go. She keeps the apartment in top-notch condition, and cooks extraordinary meals for us (or for Dave, when he is there without me). She is good company and my good friend.

Jake spoils me too. Today he installed two ceiling fans, new faucets in the kitchen and my bath, a new lighting fixture in my bath, and cleaned out the gutters. (He also sprayed me with the hose from the roof- and then drenched me when he cannon-balled into the pool).

Both my kids tease me, and rough joking is par for the course. Unfortunately, I was one of those mothers who gave their children freedom to express themselves, which they do without mercy, expressing their strong opinions on their mother- who, by the way, I find to be a completely delightful woman- at every opportunity.

Taken all in all, though, I am pretty lucky in my children. They may be libidinous, they may be all over the place with their interests, they may even be a little bit mouthier that I would like, but they are good kids, good people.

This Mother's Day I realize that no gift could ever surpass the gift of my children. A superlative gift, a gift of great price. Sunday will be my day because these two are my children. I have loved them every moment of their lives, and think I have ample love to last out the next 100 years or so. No gift can be greater than my daughter and my son.

That doesn't meant they shouldn't try to find one.

Wet cats with saddlebags

Our little chair took first place in Children's chairs at the Literacy Council Fund-raiser and was removed from the silent auction to the verbal auction. All of the children's chairs were charming and whimsical so it was very cool to have been given first place. I think our chair might have brought more money in the silent auction, though, as it was among the last things offered for bids and the crowd had thinned considerably by then. Whatever- a very nice woman got a very nice chair for a very good price. Next year, I will put a minimum bid on my entry. Notice I have committed to doing this again. Hope Melinda's up to it :)

The CK Scrapbooking Convention was so much fun. My buds Sandy and Jodie and I spent two days and one night in the big city, and spent way too much money, ate way too much good food, and had way too good a time. I went nuts, I must confess. Knowing I was going to the convention, I had not purchased anything for paper crafts since Christmas. Almost six months. Now that's restraint, people. So I figured I just spent what I would have normally spent during the past six months in one fell swoop. That's my story, and I am sticking to it.

I have not stored all my loot yet, because I want Becca to see it before I do, but thanks to my fabulous craft room and it's brilliant organization, there will be no probs. I have a place for everything.

We made a lot of neat stuff at the convention, and got a LOT of good ideas. I am so jazzed, I want to get to work on about fifteen different projects at once.

However, if you could have seen us after two days on our feet (on concrete floors, no less), toting about 6 tons of stuff, you'd have laughed your dupas off. We looked like wet cats wearing saddlebags. We got over that, thank you.

Interested in the loot I brought home? Look no further, here is a shot of it.

Here is the grand overview... good thing Dave does not read my blog.

Here are some of the cards I made for the card swap. Some of them aren't too bad. I had never gone to a card swap before, so didn't know I was supposed to make 20 of the same design. I'll know for next year.

On the other hand...

Mama is doing so much better, she has been moved to the Skills Life Center for rehab. Today she dressed herself and was quite personable. As much as she wants to come home, even she will admit that the past few days have been good for her. Once her strength and appetite return, she may be able to come home.

She really wants to come home. She misses the cats and her room and the Old Lady Mafia, though they have been visiting her and bringing her little gifts, God bless 'em. She hates her room-mate, who, I must admit, makes Mama seem extraordinarily high functioning. I don't know what Miz E's diagnosis is, but I strongly suspect she has Alzheimer's. She talks non-stop, assumes anyone who is speaking is addressing her and takes off her clothes. Several times a day. She's 85- it ain't pretty. They have her hooked up to a sensor that makes one hell of a shrill and annoying noise whenever she gets out of bed because she tends to fall. She also tends to get out of bed every 20 minutes so Mama's room is pretty noisy. All of this is pretty annoying, but Mama's biggest complaint is that Miz E hogs the TV. If Mama is going to be in there for any length of time, I may take a TV over to her.

The stress level around here has decreased greatly in the past few days. I dreaded moving Mama to the nursing home but after the obligatory high-volume fit- which I missed, thank goodness, but her doctor did not- she was pretty cool about the whole thing. She is being cared for by very good and kind people and is improving every day. All to the good.

I am over being pissed off at Dave, mainly because Mama is doing so well. Stress #2 taken care of.

And, with the help of two members of the Junior OLM, I was able to complete two projects that were either interrupted or delayed by Mama's illness.

My most beloved daughter-in-law helped me paint and reorganize my craft room, which is now beyond wonderful and is my favorite room in the house. I will post pictures of it soon- it's gorgeous. Becca is a fantastic painter. We really work well together and even Pookie pitched in. (I'd post an adorable picture of Pookie helping, but my son has asked me not to do that, so you'll just have to imagine a gorgeous three-year old in a Superman T-shirt rolling Hawaiian orchid paint on the walls).

Then my good buddy Melinda brought her substantial artistic ability to the completion of the Literacy Council project that was approaching deadline. I committed to producing a decorated chair to be auctioned off at the Chair-ity Event fundraiser tomorrow night. It turned out to be quite charming, I think.

I designed the chair. Melinda did all the painting and decoupage. I made the fairy figure and the fairy cushion.

I actually made SIX fairies, as the original design called for, but when we started assembling the chair, they were just too much. SO- as per usual - I did six times more work than was required. Less is more. More or less.

We added a "Flower Fairies of the Garden" book by Cicely Mary Barker, and the chair was complete. I had not realized what a stress not having the chair ready was until I turned it in at the Adult Learning Center and felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I hope people bid on it.

Off to bed, me.

Bitterness alert- read at your own risk

I have been informed that I am basically a positive person until it comes to the news and Mama.

I have been informed this by my husband.

I admit that I do tend to rant and rail about the crap that passes for news, especially TV news. I tend to avoid the news entirely unless my hubby is home. Avoid, hell, I NEVER watch the news unless he is home, so I think his judgment that I am negative about it is a bit skewed. I'm not negative about it as long as it's not on.

And I don't think I am negative about Mama, either. I think I am reasonably frustrated and a tad resentful, but also I think there is good cause. Mama is a rip-snorter and can turn ANY situation into a no-win one. Dave grew up with the woman, so he knows this. He just doesn't want to hear about it anymore. Period. He wants to abdicate, and resents it when I object to being the abdicatee.

Case in point coming up.

The plans were these:
April 22- May 16: Dave traveling to San Diego, and then to Brisbane.
May 6 - May 16: Kate traveling to Michigan to visit her dad and sister

And then this happened: Mama was rushed to the hospital where it took three days for the doctors to come up with a diagnosis that explained the symptoms that weren't patently faked. (The faked symptoms included laughably sham seizures and phony faints.) The real symptoms seemed indicative of some type of CVA- a micro stroke, or TIA, perhaps.

Tests have since shown an 80% blockage in her carotid artery. This is serious, and some plan of action on how to proceed needs to be formulated. That plan of action may or may not include surgery. It may or may not include admitting her to a nursing home. It may or may not include Mama coming home but needing constant supervision.

In the meantime, someone needs to visit her daily to keep her company, to keep her spirits up and to make sure she is being cared for properly. Someone will have to help her deal with whatever changes to her life are on the horizon, and comfort her if she does not get to come back to the home she wants to return to RIGHT NOW! Should they segue her to a nursing home, someone will have to help her adjust to a new environment and assure her that she is still loved and isn't being abandoned. Someone will also have to handle the logistics, the paperwork, the arrangements, and the business of caring for a sick, elderly person.

So...
The new plans are these:
April 22- May 16: Dave traveling to San Diego, then to Brisbane.
May 6 - May 16: Kate probably not going anywhere.

I know Dave's company is at a critical nexus right now. I know his job requires him to travel long distances all too frequently, and that no one, right now, can do what he does. But apparently, on the home front, no one can do what I do, whether I want to do it or not. It is getting harder and harder, even more so than when our children were young and I was a stay-at-home Mom, to carve out a bit of a life of my own.

For some reason, I feel a little negative about that.

And so... home- which is no frolic

Early tomorrow, I hop on a plane and begin the long, uncomfortable, and lonely trek from San Diego to Tennessee. Alone, because Dave is in Chicago, though he is headed home as well and will meet me at the Nashville Airport. We don't even seem to live parallel lives anymore. It is the nature of his job to keep him not so much on the road but in the air, and by that nature, to keep us chronically apart. This time, however, I chose to be apart. I did not want to go to Chicago. It is cold in Chicago. I wanted the extra couple of days in San Diego.

Have I ever told you how much I LOVE San Diego? No? Then let me list the ways and reasons I love this town.

1. My daughter is in San Diego, and she is good company.

2. San Diego is beautiful and the weather is predictable- mostly nice, with occasional so-so. It's fun when it rains here- the natives panic!

3. San Diego is very restful, (mainly because all my responsibilities are in Tennessee). I sleep well here, and often.

4. There is a complete absence of Mama in San Diego.

5. Our apartment is light, bright and airy. It does not smell of cats or old ladies.

6. My clothes aren't covered in cat hair in San Diego.

7. Great food!

8. Great shopping!

9. Great day spa where I pamper myself mercilessly.

10. Complete absence of Mama.

I really don't want to go home right now, I am having such a good time and my schedule is so booked between now and mid-May that I won't be coming back in a hurry.

Now, why don't I want to go home? Let me list the reasons.

1. Mama is there.

Oh, well, home I go. Mama will greet us with top-volume pathos and talk non-stop for the next three days. She will repeat herself every 42 minutes. For three days. But I have an Easter feast to prepare, a GFWC convention to prepare for, two fund-raisers and a clubhouse cleaning day to take me to the end of April, and a scrapbooking convention and a trip to my Dad in Michigan in early May, so I will be very busy and may not notice.

Reason 11 for loving San Diego? MY SCHEDULE IS CLEAR HERE!!

Back to busy, busy, busy. See you there.

WHALES IN BONDAGE!! Well, not quite...

A young SeaWorld trainer on the nose of a pilot whale.

Do not try this at home.

After our open-sea adventure, Kel and I did, in fact, saunter over to SeaWorld today. Having been spoiled by Disneyland and the San Diego Zoo, I was relatively unimpressed by SeaWorld's people management. It took us almost an hour to get INTO the park. It must have been Hire-An-Incompetent Week at the marine park. Well, I shouldn't be too unkind; we did get a $10 refund because of our wait, which they didn't have to do...but really, I don't wait well, especially when there are WHALES just over the fence.

Kel played with the mantra rays (whose tail tips had been surgically removed) but I couldn't help but think of Steve Irwin and kept my hands firmly in my pockets. (Actually, they live there and only come out for special occasions).

We then went to see the dolphin show which was great fun. Dolphins must have devolved from the porcine family because THEY ARE BIG HAMS. One young dolphin named Dolly jumped a hurdle that took it over 16 feet into the air. Gaudy. That's her below, leaping over a yellow rope.



The animals seem to be healthy and well-maintained, and their trainers show genuine affection to them. The marine mammals are regularly groomed and well-fed and have a decent volume of water to patrol. They are breeding in captivity, so perhaps a life of captivity has its perks. I guess that's how we rationalize the captivity of all animals, including our pets- it's a decent trade-off; loss of freedom for greater security, no predation, regular meals and health care. Kinda like having a job for room and board with a doctor.


After cavorting with the dolphins, who joyously soaked the first 14 rows of the audience as their finale, we meandered over to the sea otters. We ended up at Shamu Stadium, where the show was less impressive- killer whales are not the show-offs dolphins are- and more impressive, because it revolved around KILLER WHALES! The top predators of the ocean. In like, nothing feeds on them. In like, should the mood strike, good ole Shamu could have his trainer for lunch. Of course, they feed him 250 pounds of fish a day so that he won't be peckish come show time, but the size differential between the whales and their trainers makes you wonder how it came to be that they were ever captured in the first place- and trained in the second. I mean, really, how DO you train a whale? What do you do if it misbehaves? Give it a good spanking? Take a look at the next picture and see if you agree that only the very young with no sense of their own mortality ever take these jobs.

We had a great time, I have to admit. SeaWorld may be a commercial enterprise, but it is funding and supporting research and education about the other mammals with whom we share this blue planet. Conservation is as important as exploitation, and at least the exploited are respected and cared for. A sea zoo, if you will. Last week, we went into the ocean to see whales in the wild. Today we saw them in a pool. Both experiences increased our knowledge about these mammoth, mysterious creatures- as well as manatees, hippos, beluga whales, and all the other marvelous animals we were able to see first hand, up close, and personal today. It made me feel connected and protective of them. And that, I think, is the point of SeaWorld.

If you go... take a raincoat. The whales and dolphins ARE out to get you wet.

Friday last my daughter and I took a little excursion. We went down to the harbor, hopped on a small cruise ship and set out in search of whales. We had our picture made just before embarking. Fortunately, some one else took the picture, as I am a mediocre (at best) photographer, so the picture came out well. Here it is.

I managed some decent shots of the harbor, the Point Loma lighthouses, old and new, a great shot of another cruise ship also watching for whales, and lots of shots of the ocean. It's very big and very blue and black, and it was wonderful being 10 miles out from the harbor on a sunny day.

But I didn't get any shots of whales.

We SAW whales; we saw a whole pod of gray whales, and they breached and blew and slapped their flukes for us. It was incredible. They are called gray whales because under all the barnacles and other colorful parasites they carry on their skin, their skin, is, in fact, gray. But when they come out of the water they seem more golden than gray. They seem miraculous, really. Maybe miracles aren't meant to be photographed.

Though distance may have had something to do with the lack of photo ops. The boats are not allowed any closer than 100 yards and may not intercept the migration path so it wasn't like being on a research vessel and being close enough to touch them, but it was certainly close enough to get an idea of their speed and size. They are as big as whales!

The researcher from the aquarium provided us with lots of information and ways in which to track the movements of whales, but for most of the trip out, I just enjoyed being on a boat again, getting a little wind-burned but not sun-burned- I was well bundled and sun-screened- and watching the various sea-birds trailing us in hopes, I guess, that we would throw food at them.

It was incredible watching for kelp and seaweed beds, and identifying species I have only seen as lab specimens in the past. Birds would settle down on them and float for a bit, and then take off into the skies again, some so close that I could have touched them if my reflexes weren't 57 years old.

Sea lions sunbathed on the buoys and raised their dog-like earless heads languidly as we passed. Blase seals. What a world.

There is nothing more relaxing than being on a boat in good weather and on smooth water and conditions were perfect. We were, as I said, 10 miles out before we spotted the first venting spout of the largest gray whale. Thar she blows! Took me back to me pirate days, it did.

The good news is that the gray whale no longer faces extinction, though it was a close call. Their numbers have come up from an all time dangerous low of 4,000 to about 22,000 at last count, a size estimated as the carrying capacity for gray whales. They are baleen whales, and we were given samples of baleen to examine. There were jars of krill, barnacles, and other sea creatures for perusal as well, which we looked at on our way back to port. While in the presence of whales, nothing can distract you from them.

We stayed with the pod for about three-quarters of an hour and then headed back into San Diego Harbor, passing the Midway as we came into the dock.

Kel and I had thought about going to Sea World this week, and may still do so, but somehow, after seeing them in their natural habitat, I'm not sure I can appreciate whales in captivity. Bet I could get a picture of them, though.

Here I am, in sunny San Diego! Yes, the sun is actually shining, but it is a full 20 degrees cooler here than it is in Tennessee today. It is so nice to be here. I really miss the place when I am gone. And this trip is perfectly timed- smack in the middle of all my General Federation of Women's Clubs stresses.

Saturday was the Highland Rim District meeting, which required a great deal of thought and preparation and a trip to Sparta. (No, not to the 300, but to a little town north of McMinnville). We met in the newly renovated art deco Oldham Theater and what a terrific place for a meeting. The people of Sparta are rightly proud of their historical preservation. The theater now serves as a welcome center and meeting room.

Inside, they have preserved the lobby and ticket booth and the theater itself has been renovated to a very commodious meeting room. It is a wonderful facility and was great fun having our meeting there.

Since the District only meets twice a year, there is great pressure to not forget anything and to get all available information distributed efficiently. We also had a district fund-raiser to pull together, so I was stressed. The Old Lady Mafia drove to Sparta in the Beast- Dave's Ford Excursion- which was packed to the gills with entries for the craft contest, materials for the fund-raiser... and the youngest OLM who was attending her first District meeting and was a bit nervy about it. Her crocheted tablecloth, which she didn't even want to enter, took First Place and Best in Show. She was so pumped on the way home that at one point we were looking for a place to buy a tranquilizer gun to calm her down with.

After weeks of preparation, the end of a big meeting can be a big let-down, but since I was leaving for two weeks the very next day, I didn't have time for one. Turns out to how been a good thing. All the stresses on Saturday, and a smooth, uneventful trip on Sunday, and now I have roughly 12 days of relaxation before Easter and the GFWC Convention in Nashville.

I got home to two emails from friends I had lost track of over the years. There is something very touching and humbling about being remembered. And with revisiting the past. My high-school class is preparing for its (gulp) 40th anniversary reunion; of course, I am sure you all know that, being a prodigy, I graduated at age 12; and there seems to be real excitement about this one, which will be held at a state park in Georgia (even though my high school is in Michigan). The odd and wonderful thing about all this getting in touch with the past is that both of the dear ladies who wrote to me are now living in California, and one of them is right here in San Diego! Even if they miss the reunion, we should be able to have one of our own.


Easter is going to be fun. Jake, Becca, Kendall, Haley, Delaney, Emily, Dave, me, Mama, and the three Cayces are coming to my house for a feast of leg of lamb, Russian salmon loaf en croute, cucumber dip, eggs, ham, homemade bread.... I will be one busy woman preparing the feast, but feasts are my FAVORITE THINGS TO COOK! I love from-scratch cooking. It is going to be so much fun. Care to join us?

Could it be that hubby will sleep with the fishes?

I have not seen the light of day nor left the house since last Thursday, when me buds and me cleaned the garage. I was battling the first symptoms of a cold at the time but muscled through them. It was worth it on Thursday- the garage was (and is) gratifyingly and spectacularly improved and I was feeling great warmth and gratitude toward my good friends for their efforts. On Friday, it was a different story. I was as stiff as a board and aching from head to foot. Perhaps throwing myself away had something to do with that.

I was smart. I took it easy on Friday. The muscle pain increased, and by Friday night, the GI stuff started, and I am NOT discussing the military. (Though incendiaries did come to mind as I did long tours in the head. EVACUATE!! EVACUATE!! Literally.) Saturday, the cough began and it was all down hill from there. Muscle spasms. Murderous headache. Nausea. On Sunday, I spiked a temperature which by Tuesday rose to 102. Cold sores. Fever blisters. Chapped lips. Sore throat. I was exhausted, and spent most of Monday and Tuesday sleeping. The fever finally broke Wednesday and I began to feel better. I actually left the house twice today, once for groceries and once to buy Mama a hamburger.

It has been a rough week, but things are looking up. Now that the garage is clean, I'm thinking of having my talented son teach me how to use power tools. I would like to build things without sacrificing sundry limbs and wobbly bits. I have a table I want to sand and decoratively paint. I have a chair I want to design for the Literacy Council Chair-ity next month. And there are household repairs I would like to do myself.

Women don't usually get trained on power tools, at least not women of my generation. I can use appliances, but lawnmowers, trimmers, sanders, drills, table saws and routers are as outside my realm of experience as are trips to the moon. I am hoping that is about to change. I think Jake will be a fine teacher. He already knows I am a klutz, so I've got that going for me.

I could be a craftsman, I think. Hell, after a week where I have been discarded, recycled and sick as a dog, I think I could be just about anything except nursed by my husband, who was thrilled by the garage, by the way. He did his part by storing the Christmas stuff and cleaning off his bench, work that was necessary and appreciated, though I must admit that THIS little exchange gave me a bit of a turn:
Mama: (as Dave comes in for dinner) What did you do today, my son?
Dave: I cleaned the garage.

Excuse me... he cleaned the garage? You mean like someone who wipes off the counters has cleaned the kitchen?

I admit, I bristled a bit about that. I'm sure he didn't mean it the way it sounded... Man, I sure hope the Old Lady Mafia doesn't hear about this. I'd hate for them to kneecap my old man. I am too old and too fat to be a glamourous widow. I need a spa trip before they whack him.

The Old Lady Mafia cleans a garage, and I throw myself away

Just call me "The Godmother".

I made my hubby an offer he couldn't refuse... (mainly because I made the offer psychically, and he's apparently out of the range of my brain waves).

The offer was to clean the garage.

People, this was no small offer, psychic or otherwise. It has been almost a year since I last parked my car in the garage. Until this morning, it would have been impossible to park a teaspoon in the garage. It contained 10 years of accumulated crap, 300 pounds of empty cardboard boxes from Christmas and beyond, an unusable, irreparable queen size bed, a kaput washing machine, and enough Christmas decorations to do Rockefeller Center twice. An ironing board last used by Wilma Flintstone. Boxes of VHS tapes. Countless plastic plant pots. Paint cans. Gas cans. Multiples of dead batteries, dead TVs, dead computers, dead radios, dead stereos, dead lamps. It was the Garage of the Non-Living Dead. There were also gardening and power tools scattered everywhere. There were books and papers to such a degree that we would have been completely insulated against a nuclear attack.

No more. We are now as vulnerable as everyone else on the planet. At 9 AM, the OLM convened (along with two of the Junior OLMs, Becca and Melinda) to discuss the plan of attack over breakfast. We moved the kitty litter box into the house, blocked the cat door to the garage so that the Great Escape kitty could not escape, opened the garage door and began.

We started by pulling just about everything OUT of the garage and sorting it. HGTV and DiYwould have been proud of us. Slash, trash, and stash, that was our motto. Okay, so it's just a variation on "Mission Organization's" KEEP, DONATE and DISCARD, but our motto is more colorful and more in keeping with the Old Lady Mafia persona.

What amazed me during the whole process was the astonishing amount of traffic our activities seemed to stimulate. I live at the end of my street and usually the only vehicles I see are those of my neighbors and their kids. As we pulled stuff out of the garage onto the driveway and lawn, traffic increased exponentially. We noticed that several trucks driven by old farts kept circling the block, thinking, perhaps, that we were preparing for a yard sale. (I would LIKE to sell the yard, but that's another story). Where did these people come from? What is there about the mere suggestion of a yard sale that attracts these people? What do they do, troll the city, watching for unadvertised yard sales so they can have first pick of the crap? After awhile, we began to feel like vultures were circling us.

About mid-morning, I called the city to schedule a special pick-up for all the stuff we wanted carted out. I live in a GREAT city. At various times TODAY, three different trucks showed up at my house, one for the recycling (mostly cardboard), one for the trash (you don't want to know), and one for the dead washing machine. That truck got here just minutes too late; we went in for lunch, and while we were eating, we saw one of the vultures stop and throw it into his truck. Well, it was on the street so it was fair game, but I felt bad for the city guys who showed up to get it. They stayed to go through the stuff that was out on the lawn to see if there was anything they wanted that I was willing to part with. Nice fellas, all of them.

The garage got as organized as the OLM could make it and got thoroughly swept before we started moving stuff back in. We were putting the finishing touches on the driveway clean-up when, in a moment of mental abstraction, for which I can never forgive myself, I threw myself away. The plain facts of the case are these: as I was attempting, in my fatigue, to move an open trash can- one of the huge city cans that the automatic trash collection trucks grab, lift and empty- I leaned on it too heavily, tipped it over, and tipped myself into it. Seconds later, I hit the ground, half-in and half-out of the trash can. Slightly stunned, I did the only thing a person can do when she has just done something both painful and humiliating. I just stayed there.

Fortunately, my friends recycled me before the vultures could get me AND had the good grace not to laugh at me. Well, not to my face, anyway. We must have been a sight for the neighbors, though, because it took two people and a crane to get my plump self off the driveway.

My car is off the driveway, too. It is in the garage. Damn, we're good!

Quickies!

Get your minds out of the gutter, they're not that kind of quickies.

• Went to Temecula to visit friends last night and had one of the best meals of my life. Olivia and Mike were hosting Robert and Sandie so Dave and I made it a six-some and Olivia, who is more chef than cook, put together the most fantastic Italian meal I have ever had. Good friends, good wine, good food, good time.
• Today Olivia, Mike, Robert and Sandie stopped in en route to the Midway and a day in San Diego to see the apartment, and another good time was had by all.
• Kelly made us a good-bye supper tonight that was superb! My girl is becoming quite an adventurous and accomplished cook.
• I shipped two huge boxes out of here, one to my baby sister and one to myself. For what it cost, I should have just bought them plane tickets!
• My son has been installing a new shower stall in Mama's bath and has sent me a picture via cell-phone. That boy can do anything.
• Looking forward to seeing my daughter-in-law Becca. I really miss her when I am away. I don't just love her, she is one of my best buddies.
• Not looking forward to being snubbed by my eldest granddaughters, but think Pixie and Dixie will be happy to see me.
• As soon as I get home, I will have to get into high gear for the GFWC Highland Rim District meeting and the Spring Convention.
• Wish I could stay here.

Off to pack. Long day tomorrow. Flying sucks but it beats driving... or walking.

And the Oscar goes to...

Dave actually won this year's Oscar pool with 12 correct picks out of 24 categories. Kelly was right on his tail with 11. First-time participant Becca had 8 correct picks. I had 7. Seven out of 24. Less than 30%.

God, I am so relieved. My 13 year tradition of NEVER winning the pool remains intact. Whew! I am so glad it's all over. Every year there is the terrible tension about winning; I can't even describe it to you, it is so intense, especially since I do not deliberately throw the damn thing (other than not seeing any of the movies and not reading "Entertainment Weekly"). No, I take pride in the fact that my unbroken string of losses is entirely the result of my uncanny ability to choose unwisely. How many things have YOU lost for 13 consecutive years?

I started out the evening with a win- the very first category, Art Direction- and was on tenterhooks until about half-way through, when it was finally clear that I would, in fact, NOT win the pool again. After that, I could enjoy myself. A bi-coastal Oscar party involves a lot of texting and phone calling and lacks the intimacy of all of us being in the same room at the same time, but it was still a good time. Kelly has only lost 3 times in 13 years, and it took a particularly weird and bizarre Oscar season to knock her out of the winner circle. I take pride in the consistency of my Oscar ignorance. Weird and bizarre did not knock me off my glorified perch as the consummate non-winner. A pristine record has been preserved for another year.

I would like to thank my husband, my children, my friends and the Academy for this honor.

And the Oscar goes to.... who the hell cares?

My daughter and I have a friend who goes by the moniker Gryphon. I bring this up because it is Oscar time again, and my daughter puts together Oscar ballots every year for which friends and family members each pony up a dollar. Every year, she creams everybody and keeps all the money. She used to have Oscar parties before she traveled west, which brings me back to Gryph. He has blogged, in part, about her Oscar parties. He has also thrown down the Oscar gauntlet on his blog, Life Among the Natives. I have a link to it on my blog. Go there. Be entertained. Then come back, and look at my picks.

Back already? Damn, you read fast! Anyway, unlike Gryphon, I am not going to choose who SHOULD win. I really haven't seen many of the movies and I am a movie-tech moron. Sound editing- better than unsound editing? Art direction? You, the Van Gogh, go to the left. Cezanne, stay where you are. Animated shorts- aren't those worn by Mickey Mouse? I could go on, but you get the point and are probably getting annoyed as well.

Here are my picks in no particular order. I put an asterisk by the movies/performances I have actually seen.

Supporting Actor- Eddie Murphy; who can say "no" to Donkey?

Animated feature*- Cars

Costume design*- The Devil Wears Prada; Hello! The whole film is about fashion.

Make-up- Pan's Labyrinth (or, as a colleague pronounces it, LAB-EYE-RINTH).

Supporting Actress- Jennifer Hudson

Visual Effects*: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. Yo ho, me hearties!

Documentary Feature: An Inconvenient Truth, which documents Al Gore's ineptitude as a presidential candidate and mentions the environment

Art direction: Pan's Labyrinth, which I bet I will have to see in California, as a small market like my little home town will never show it

Live Action Short Film: Binta and the Great Idea- it's the first one in the category which is as good a reason as any to choose it. Oh, wait, they're alphabetical...

Animated Short Film: The Little Matchgirl

Sound mixing*: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest- we pirates must stick together.

Sound editing*: Pirates.of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest, and this choice surprises you why?

Documentary short: Two Hands (which are better than none)

Film Editing: The Children of Men (though I suspect women are involved in the process somehow)

Original Score: Pan's Labyrinth

Original Song: "Our Town" from Cars

Cinematography*: The Illusionist. I have also seen The Prestige; too bad these films came out at the same time to knock each other out of the box office, because they are both brilliant and deserve recognition.

Foreign Language Film: Pan's Labyrinth

Leading Actress: Helen Mirren

Adapted Screenplay: Children Of Men

Original Screenplay- Pan's Labyrinth

Leading Actor: Peter O'Toole- I mean, c'mon already; screw that Life Achievement Oscar crap and praise him as he deserves while he is with us

Best Director: Martin Scorsese- see above comments

Best Picture: Letters from Iwo Jima- just so Dirty Harry doesn't blow Marty Scorsese away for winning best director.

Okay, young Gryphon... and Kelly... these are my entirely uninformed picks for this year's Oscars. I would like to thank the Academy for only doing this once a year.

Ruh- roh

Tomorrow, Mama will be going to the Trinity Senior Day Care for the first time. Getting her enrolled has been only slightly less complicated than quantum physics, and has required two people (Stephanie and I), a notary public, a trip to the doctor, and the filling in of a sheaf of forms, all of which I had to read and translate to Mama. She had to sign her own name in front of the notary. Her last name is apparently Richaboa. I know she can write her own name, but when she doesn't want to do something...

Mama seems excited about going, though, and was very pleased with the place when we went for a look-see. So was I. This looks like a good way for her to finally have some social interaction and maybe make some friends. She outlived all her siblings, friends, husbands, and peers, and then was transplanted from Michigan (where she had lived all her life) to Tennessee. Granted, she was very familiar with Tennessee from her many visits to see us while her husband was still alive, but it has not become HOME even after almost six years here. I am not insensitive to how lonely she is but all attempts to ease that loneliness have ended in failure. I have tentative hopes for Trinity.

Now, about the ruh-roh...
My darling daughter quipped last night that she can't wait until I am old enough for HER to blog about ME! I see some Homeric justice in my future. Hopefully, I will be too demented to notice. Or just demented enough to be able to cop a plea! Maybe I should just stop posting about Mama....


Nah.

Episode 143 in which Mama goes to the nurse practitioner and I end up drugged

Mama is in wonderful health. Aside from high blood pressure that would be controlled by medication if she TOOK her medication, and arthritis, she is in good shape physically. For 78, she is remarkably well. She seems to be the only one who doesn't know that.

She has been obsessing about her weight. She thinks she is wasting away. "I'm so skinny. Why am I so skinny?" Aside from having bird-legs, Mama is not particularly skinny, but if she is concerned about her weight, so am I. Every waking moment. Seven days a week.

"I only weigh 112 pounds" she laments, "I used to weigh 163, now I weigh 112." I nod. It's true; 30 years ago, she weighed 163 pounds. She looked like a keishka, so round, so firm, so fully packed. It's the 112 pounds I have some doubts about. "Let's put you on the scale", I say in my most patient voice. I think ahead, and have a witness- Mama is slightly less likely to argue with the scales if there are multiple witnesses. I recruit Stephanie. We maneuver her onto the scales. We make her let go of the sink. We look at the bright, digital numbers. Mama weighs 125 pounds. "There", I say, actually thinking this will resolve things. "See? You're not losing weight. You're just where you should be, not too skinny and not too fat." Most people would be happy to hear this.

But, as my constant readers can attest, Mama is not most people. Within days, she is obsessing about her weight again. "I'm so skinny. Why am I so skinny?" I don't bite. I just let it go. And on it goes... until, finally, she starts the "I need to go to the doctor" obsession. I really can't see any justification for taking her, but hey, it's her money and her right to see a doctor, so I make an appointment with our nurse practitioner, Sharon, whom we both love and trust. I use as an excuse Mama's need for her pneumonia shot.

We get to the office ahead of our appointed time because it's never a sure thing how long it will take to get Mama into the building. She seems to develop a cornucopia of symptoms the minute we get into the parking lot. Her speech becomes slurred. She loses the capacity to walk. She goes totally blind. And deaf. Pathos, thy name is Mama. Once inside, I sign her in while she inflicts her personality on the genuinely unwell.

We get called back and Sharon asks what's up. "She needs her pneumonia shot, and she's obsessed with her weight. She thinks she's wasting away." Sharon looks at the chart. Mama not only weighs 125 pounds, but she has gained 8 pounds since her last visit! The only thing Sharon sees that concerns her is Mama's blood pressure. She talks to Mama for several minutes and gives Mama a lecture about taking her pills, then sends her outside so we can talk.

And suddenly, we're talking about ME! " She's driving me crazy!" I say. "I love her, but I need some help," I say. "I'm not sleeping and I am battling depression again", I say and then I burst into tears. No one is more surprised than me!

Sharon understands. She sees this all the time. She says I am suffering from caretaker burn-out. She gives me some good advice, offers some alternatives, suggests senior day-care. She is very helpful.

I stop blubbering, feeling completely foolish. Sharon goes to get Mama's shot (and my chart) and calls Mama back into the room.

"What's wrong with my Katie?" Mama demands as she walks through the door- she apparently heard me crying, or else noticed my red eyes and attractively running nose. "There's nothing wrong, Mama," I lie, "it's just this damn nose of mine," which I blow convincingly into a tissue.

Mama sits down in the chair and looks me straight in the eye. "I know you're lying. Give it to me straight, " she says, "I have cancer, don't I?" and SHE bursts into tears.

"Good God, NO!" Where the hell did THAT come from? "No, Mama, absolutely not, you do NOT have cancer." I rush over to comfort her. Sharon comes back into the room, and I tell her why Mama is crying. She reassures Mama that the only thing wrong with her is her blood pressure, and she can control that. No, she does NOT have cancer. Does she understand? Nod, nod, nod. Sniff. Nod, nod.

Sharon gives Mama her shot. She gives me the charge sheet. The diagnosis for Mama is anti-pneumonia therapy... and dementia.

Imagine my surprise.

My diagnosis? Insomnia-induced depression.

Mama feels so much better. She got a shot and a big dose of sympathy.

I will feel better. I got prescriptions for an anti-depressant and sleeping pills.

Mama has been complaining of a terribly painful arm ever since she got the shot in it. She was looking for her sling for awhile there. She IS taking her pills, though.

If I feed her MINE, can I use caretaker burn-out as a defense?

I JEST! C'mon, people, if I was going to kill the old thing, she'd be dead already!