Tail of missing AirAsia plane discovered in Java Sea
I can’t remember a morning where I’ve not been greeted with sad news somewhere around the world and, it seems, as you get older, the world becomes a sadder place. When I mentioned the Paris shootings to my 18 year-old daughter, she said she had heard (her phone is attached to her ear 24/7). No reaction; no questions; no comments about the tragedy; no thought given to the sorrow of the families left behind. When I think back to when I was her age, I had the same reaction. If it doesn’t touch me or my family, then it’s something that happens to other people and my life goes on.
A friend/acquaintance from the gym passed away this week and I could not stop thinking about her. The sad part is that I ran into her at the hospital where my mother was at in November. We joked that a hospital is not the place you want to run into your friends. I asked what she was doing there and she said that she was waiting to have an ultra-sound because her doctor told her she had ovarian cancer and told her it was “bad”. She recounted this so matter of factly that I wished her the best of luck and was sure I would see her back at the gym in a few weeks. She was dead in 2 months. No headlines for Terri.
No Sex Please – Busy Missing Terri.
Monday and Thursday mornings are the most stressful times of the week for me. Bathtime for the parents. As soon as the Personal Support Worker walks through the door, my dad wants to know what she’s doing here. I ignore everyone and make myself invisible and hope against hope that today is not the day that he slugs the worker in anger. The worker bathes mother first. There is no protest from her. I think she loves the attention and wants to be taken care of. She should have been born into a household full of servants. She loves to sit back and be catered to. The queen.
The king is a different matter. In the beginning, as soon as he saw the worker walk through the door, he would go and lock himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out until she left. No amount of banging and pushing the door would make him come out. Time has softened him, somewhat. Now, when the worker tells him it’s his turn to go into the bath, he tells her to leave him alone and he will bathe himself tonight before going to bed. He tells her that’s what he does every night and he is still capable of taking care of his own personal needs. Baloney! The worker talks to him in a gentle and soft voice trying to persuade him to get himself off the couch and head towards the bathroom. In the meantime, I’m listening from another part of the house, hoping that I won’t be called on to help with this most stressful moment of the day. Then, I hear my name called. Damn! I use my soft voice, which is very difficult to do, and tell him that he needs to go and wash and let the worker help him. I tell him he’s lucky that he has someone to help him and he needs to take advantage of this. He’s not impressed by this and tells me to get away. He tells us all to get away. I tell him that he stings and his son is coming over later in the day and he doesn’t want to be dirty. He says he doesn’t care who comes over, but I see his voice getting weaker and then I start to move away and motion to the worker to help him get off the couch. She starts helping him amid his mumblings about this nonsense. I keep my ear cocked to be sure he makes it into the bathroom with the worker because once he’s in there he’s a captive bather. Whew! Success today! I dread Thursday.
No Sex Please – It’s Bath time!
I feel like I’m in the movie 50 First Dates with Drew Barrymore. Regular as clockwork, at 6:00 p.m., dad pulls down the dining room blind all the way to the floor. This he has done for the past 3 months. Over the 3 months, it has ripped a little more each day and today, hallelujah! it broke completely. I am absolutely elated. Pulled it right down and immediately threw it in the garbage bin outside. We won’t be repeating this anymore. However, the Christmas lights story continues. Today is -19 degrees celcius with the windchill factor and dad, who won’t stick his nose out the window even when it’s +19 degrees, went outside and unplugged the lights as he has done every night for the past 4 weeks. He, of course, forgot again that we have a light switch inside to turn the lights on and off. Fifty first dates every night! Fortunately, this too will come to an end next week when we take down the Christmas lights until next Christmas. So glad to see them go down. On the bright side, we hasn’t watered the plants by the front window to overflowing for about a week or so. I don’t know if I should be concerned or happy.
No Sex Please. Busy with babysitting the parents.
I need to post this before the effects of L’ambiance Red Wine wear off. Had 2 glasses of red wine and feel light as a feather. Truly. I needed to lighten up as life was weighing me down. Went to the gym to try and get those endorphins jumping around. Felt a bit better but still needed something more. Had a good dinner of spaghetti with tomato sauce and roasted red peppers. Healthy. Right? A good healthy meal needs a glass of wine to accompany it. Before heading home after the gym, I stopped off at the LCBO (liquor store) and picked up 5 bottles of wine. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Only one was for me. The other 4 are for my sister whose birthday was yesterday and I still have not given her her gift. Good things are worth waiting for. Why did I need to lighten up? My father was acting his usual ‘demented’ self. He blew his nose in the kitchen sink and wiped his nose and mouth with the dish towel. Somewhat disgusting. I told him to use kleenex or paper napkins to clean his nose and mouth, but for God’s sake don’t use the dish towel. Well, when he’s caught doing something wrong, he puts on his defensive suit, gets angry and insults you and then threatens to throw you out of his house. I told him, I can get angry too and to stop getting defensive when he’s caught doing something wrong. I’m not sure it’s all the dementia that’s making him respond this way as he was easy to anger in his younger days as well.
No sex please. More red wine. I feel like I’m coming back to reality. Not ready yet.
Mother is 86 years old and she has just been released from hospital after a pleasant stay of 39 days. I say a pleasant stay because that’s what she said. She thought she was in a hotel with maid service. The nurses bathed her, changed her diaper, gave her her meds, brought her meals, regular as clockwork, and got her in and out of bed. She was a little reluctant about going home and leaving this ‘resort’. She asked who was going to prepare her meals at home. Well, that would be me. The same person that was preparing them before she went into the hospital. She came home from her hospital stay more confused than when she went in. The first evening that she was home, she was sitting on the couch and looked over at my dad (her husband) and asked who that man was and where his wife was. Oh crap! What’s happening here? Funny and not so funny.
In the morning, after her first night at home, she let out gas. Nothing new. We’re used to her letting out gas as she’s standing, walking, or talking to the neighbours. She is hard of hearing, so if she can’t hear them, no one else can. Well, she not only let out gas, but also loose stools that could not all be contained in her diaper. It reminded me of when my daughter was a baby and had a loose poop and she was covered from head to toe in the smelly brown stuff. Oh joy! I was not a happy camper and then realized why she wanted to stay at the hospital. The nurses never complained when they had to clean her. Sex? No thanks. I’m up to my eyeballs in poop.
Flowers always put a smile on my face. They ask for so little and do so much.
There was a time when the hormones were raging and then life, real life, came along and priorities got moved around. Now, sex is the last thing on my mind. Frankly, my dear, it’s not even on the radar; and it’s ok. Really, it’s ok. Real life issues are on the radar. Family is the number one priority. First of all, if we are fortunate enough to still have our parents with us, we are, or will be, sooner than we want, parent ‘sitters’. Dad is 93, but if you ask him, he will tell you he’s 90. We won’t squabble over a few years. He has dementia. Dementia makes him do some pretty stupid and frustrating things. At 5:00 p.m. he asks for the Christmas lights to be turned on. At 6:00 p.m. he goes outside in the cold, without a jacket, and unplugs the Christmas lights because he is going to bed. He doesn’t go to bed till well past midnight. This is a daily ritual. I take a deep breath and give myself the small satisfaction of shaking my head in frustration at this daily and annoying routine. Yeah, really. No sex.