Thursday, November 9, 2006
Over the last few days Mom's established a pattern...
...of early to bed, arising not quite an hour later to go to the bathroom, then remaining up until I decide to retire. The first night this happened she read in her room, in bed. Tuesday night she joined me in the living room, asking, "So, what are you doing for fun?"
I hadn't been doing anything that she would have considered fun, but it occurred to me that it might be a good time to watch the The Dog Whisperer video that MFS sent. It led us into some interesting conversations. One was about our standard Dachshund on Guam, Fritz, who became so territorial in his last years that he finally wouldn't tolerate anyone but the females in our family. We talked about how we could have modified his behavior if we'd only known. This led to a discussion about Willy, the Dachshund Mom & Dad hosted when they owned the farm in Wichita Falls, TX, and how Dad modified his behavior from perpetually scared of everything to so courageous that he eventually was run over by a truck he was, in his mind, chasing off the property, which broke Dad's heart. A discussion about the differences between parenting children and becoming a leader-of-the-pack to one's dog elicited a conversation about attitudes toward children contrasted with attitudes toward pets.
Last night, Mom rearose as I was about 10 minutes into watching Japanese Story. This is one of those movies I rented, when it first came out on DVD, strictly on the strength of Toni Collette being in the cast. I fell so in love with the movie that I have continued to think of it since. Mom didn't watch it at that time. When I ran across a barely used (probably only watched once), cheap copy of it some days ago when turning in movies for credit at my favorite get-rid-of-DVDs-you-don't-want place, I snatched it using some of my accumulated credit. When Mom joined me last night, I told her what I was doing and restarted the movie. Although she expressed interest, I expected that at a point after about 15 minutes of watching the movie she'd become bored and I'd stop it for viewing at another alone-time. I was wrong. She was riveted, too. When the movie ended, she surprised me by saying, as the credits rolled, "I really enjoyed that! Let's buy that movie. I'd like to see it again."
We discussed it, mostly the landscape, about which Mom commented, more than a few times during the movie, "Where is this? Australia? We should move to Australia," despite me reminding her that we probably couldn't live in the environments shown in the movie with which she particularly fell in love [You can take the woman out of the desert, I guess, but you can't take the desert out of the woman]; and about the subtle appreciation that grew between the main characters (the wife of the businessman included, even though she appears only in the last quarter of the movie), despite their extreme cultural differences.
At one point I mentioned something about my reaction when I first saw the movie.
"You've seen this movie? Why don't I remember seeing it?"
"You didn't see it the first time, Mom. I wasn't sure you'd like it."
"Well, from now on, check with me before you decide what you think I'd like."
Yes m'am!
I have, lately, turned quiet, quiet, quiet. It's a good feeling, peaceful, a touch of sadness involved but only around the edges, not a problem and for what reason I'm not sure...maybe I always feel it at this time of year. I should probably check. But I probably won't. Don't want to disturb the quiet. I am, though, I noticed, wavering on Thanksgiving. I haven't reserved a rental car, yet. We will probably go, Mom will definitely have a good time if we do, I will probably have a good time, but, then again...I suppose I should reserve a car, though, just in case.
Later.
I hadn't been doing anything that she would have considered fun, but it occurred to me that it might be a good time to watch the The Dog Whisperer video that MFS sent. It led us into some interesting conversations. One was about our standard Dachshund on Guam, Fritz, who became so territorial in his last years that he finally wouldn't tolerate anyone but the females in our family. We talked about how we could have modified his behavior if we'd only known. This led to a discussion about Willy, the Dachshund Mom & Dad hosted when they owned the farm in Wichita Falls, TX, and how Dad modified his behavior from perpetually scared of everything to so courageous that he eventually was run over by a truck he was, in his mind, chasing off the property, which broke Dad's heart. A discussion about the differences between parenting children and becoming a leader-of-the-pack to one's dog elicited a conversation about attitudes toward children contrasted with attitudes toward pets.
Last night, Mom rearose as I was about 10 minutes into watching Japanese Story. This is one of those movies I rented, when it first came out on DVD, strictly on the strength of Toni Collette being in the cast. I fell so in love with the movie that I have continued to think of it since. Mom didn't watch it at that time. When I ran across a barely used (probably only watched once), cheap copy of it some days ago when turning in movies for credit at my favorite get-rid-of-DVDs-you-don't-want place, I snatched it using some of my accumulated credit. When Mom joined me last night, I told her what I was doing and restarted the movie. Although she expressed interest, I expected that at a point after about 15 minutes of watching the movie she'd become bored and I'd stop it for viewing at another alone-time. I was wrong. She was riveted, too. When the movie ended, she surprised me by saying, as the credits rolled, "I really enjoyed that! Let's buy that movie. I'd like to see it again."
We discussed it, mostly the landscape, about which Mom commented, more than a few times during the movie, "Where is this? Australia? We should move to Australia," despite me reminding her that we probably couldn't live in the environments shown in the movie with which she particularly fell in love [You can take the woman out of the desert, I guess, but you can't take the desert out of the woman]; and about the subtle appreciation that grew between the main characters (the wife of the businessman included, even though she appears only in the last quarter of the movie), despite their extreme cultural differences.
At one point I mentioned something about my reaction when I first saw the movie.
"You've seen this movie? Why don't I remember seeing it?"
"You didn't see it the first time, Mom. I wasn't sure you'd like it."
"Well, from now on, check with me before you decide what you think I'd like."
Yes m'am!
I have, lately, turned quiet, quiet, quiet. It's a good feeling, peaceful, a touch of sadness involved but only around the edges, not a problem and for what reason I'm not sure...maybe I always feel it at this time of year. I should probably check. But I probably won't. Don't want to disturb the quiet. I am, though, I noticed, wavering on Thanksgiving. I haven't reserved a rental car, yet. We will probably go, Mom will definitely have a good time if we do, I will probably have a good time, but, then again...I suppose I should reserve a car, though, just in case.
Later.
Comments:
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Originally posted by Deb Peterson: Sat Nov 11, 07:30:00 PM 2006
Gail--I like the fact that you're enjoying your quiet spell. I just posted a comment on Mike's blog about birthdays and holidays--I think each one brings along the ghosts of all that have gone before (now where did I get THAT idea..?!). I know I need a bit more energy each year to greet all these ghosts--maybe you're marshalling your strength! Each year it gets more crowded, oddly enough, even though there might be fewer actual people. So just trust your instinct.
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Gail--I like the fact that you're enjoying your quiet spell. I just posted a comment on Mike's blog about birthdays and holidays--I think each one brings along the ghosts of all that have gone before (now where did I get THAT idea..?!). I know I need a bit more energy each year to greet all these ghosts--maybe you're marshalling your strength! Each year it gets more crowded, oddly enough, even though there might be fewer actual people. So just trust your instinct.
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