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.
Wednesday, November 8, 2006
Normally, I know, I don't post on election results here...
...as local results are usually reactionary, but, I have to say, I'm surprised and pleased that Arizona rejected the attempt to codify a rejection of gay marriage by making it illegal to consider participants in any kind of social relationship other than "one man/one woman legally sanctioned marriage" eligible for any kind of dependent benefits. The state continues to refuse to recognize marriages of anyone but one man/one woman; but will continue to recognize alternate partnerships and dependents involved in those partnerships. There are some who consider that the defeat of this measure by a mere 2% of voters bodes ill for future similar attempts, but I say, 2% in Arizona on such a measure is like 20% in many other states. Arizona may be slow to move forward but, in my experience in this state, when Arizona finally moves forward it doesn't move back, much to the surprise of many ultra-conservatives who consider Arizona easy pickins.
I am discouraged by the results for the propositions directly and indirectly involved in making life harder for immigrants. I also, though, consider that many of these propositions will lose even as they have been approved. English as our official language, for instance, is too late; all you have to do to realize this is drive through any city or major city-town in the state. There is no realistically durable way to enforce this, thank the gods. Mitchell's win over Hayworth (Hayworth, as far as I can tell, continues to refuse to concede) is yet another indication that all those immigrant propositions will have very loose teeth.
I am annoyed that we are sending both John Kyl and Rick Renzi back to Washington, but, overall, thanks to the rest of the nation, enough of their power has been sucked out from beneath them so that I'm not downhearted. I am ecstatic that Napolitano was re-elected by a landslide that was called within minutes after the polls closed. Hope does, indeed, float.
Although I voted, my mother did not. This was at my discretion and it is a discretion that my mother questioned beginning day before yesterday. I took off to deposit my early ballot in the 24-hour ballot repository on Monday night, telling Mom where I was going and that I'd be back in 15 minutes (I made it in 14; the repository is only about two miles from our house). She'd been bombarded for a week with the last minute ramping up of the extraordinarily intrusive election rhetoric on TV and in the newspapers and hadn't mentioned anything about being interested in voting. When I returned from posting my ballot, though, she asked when she would be voting. Uh-oh.
"You know, Mom," I said, "I didn't sense that you were interested in voting this year. The last time you were eligible to vote, you decided against it (that was in 2000; I did ask her, then, thinking that, at the very least, she would have an opinion regarding who should be the U.S.'s next president). So, this time, I didn't even mention it. Your registration has expired because you didn't vote in 2000 and 2004. I didn't think to consider renewing it. It's too late, now, to register for this election. Did you want to vote?"
"Well, I thought it would be a good idea."
"My fault. I'm sorry."
I reviewed some of the issues and races up for grabs this year and asked her opinions. Of course, she was completely unable to bring pertinent data to the fore, and said so, but, you know, she held her own when confronted about issues rather than people, even though "her own" was a little cock-eyed.
As we talked, I thought about the national mention (small, but noticeable mention) during the last two elections regarding the advisability of allowing the elderly demented to vote (nothing was discussed about whether the demented of other ages should be allowed to vote). Although much of the discussion was centered on the possibility of people "stealing" the votes of the elderly demented, it was slanted in Arizona because people continued to remember an elderly, demented juror in a high profile trial here who was finally dismissed from the jury mid-trial because of her dementia. The more I thought about it, though, the more I considered the large number of "undemented" voters who were probably badly informed and liable to be swayed by purposely confusing proposition language and deceptive campaign rhetoric, the more I realized that Mom voting was probably not any more or less risky to democracy than anyone else voting.
"Do you want to vote in the next major election, Mom, the presidential election in 2008?"
"I think so," she said, very carefully.
"Okay. In that case, we'll get you registered."
And, we will. If she's alive and in approximately the same mental state as she is now, which is entirely likely, I'll see to it that both she and I receive early ballots. She'll probably need reminder help regarding candidates and issues but, all things being approximately equal to her current mental state, I will not need to "tell" her how to vote on anything. She'll make up her own mind and, I expect, in comparison with any other voters, the man-on-the-street will be hard pressed to consider her reasoning any more or less demented than that of any other voters.
I am discouraged by the results for the propositions directly and indirectly involved in making life harder for immigrants. I also, though, consider that many of these propositions will lose even as they have been approved. English as our official language, for instance, is too late; all you have to do to realize this is drive through any city or major city-town in the state. There is no realistically durable way to enforce this, thank the gods. Mitchell's win over Hayworth (Hayworth, as far as I can tell, continues to refuse to concede) is yet another indication that all those immigrant propositions will have very loose teeth.
I am annoyed that we are sending both John Kyl and Rick Renzi back to Washington, but, overall, thanks to the rest of the nation, enough of their power has been sucked out from beneath them so that I'm not downhearted. I am ecstatic that Napolitano was re-elected by a landslide that was called within minutes after the polls closed. Hope does, indeed, float.
Although I voted, my mother did not. This was at my discretion and it is a discretion that my mother questioned beginning day before yesterday. I took off to deposit my early ballot in the 24-hour ballot repository on Monday night, telling Mom where I was going and that I'd be back in 15 minutes (I made it in 14; the repository is only about two miles from our house). She'd been bombarded for a week with the last minute ramping up of the extraordinarily intrusive election rhetoric on TV and in the newspapers and hadn't mentioned anything about being interested in voting. When I returned from posting my ballot, though, she asked when she would be voting. Uh-oh.
"You know, Mom," I said, "I didn't sense that you were interested in voting this year. The last time you were eligible to vote, you decided against it (that was in 2000; I did ask her, then, thinking that, at the very least, she would have an opinion regarding who should be the U.S.'s next president). So, this time, I didn't even mention it. Your registration has expired because you didn't vote in 2000 and 2004. I didn't think to consider renewing it. It's too late, now, to register for this election. Did you want to vote?"
"Well, I thought it would be a good idea."
"My fault. I'm sorry."
I reviewed some of the issues and races up for grabs this year and asked her opinions. Of course, she was completely unable to bring pertinent data to the fore, and said so, but, you know, she held her own when confronted about issues rather than people, even though "her own" was a little cock-eyed.
As we talked, I thought about the national mention (small, but noticeable mention) during the last two elections regarding the advisability of allowing the elderly demented to vote (nothing was discussed about whether the demented of other ages should be allowed to vote). Although much of the discussion was centered on the possibility of people "stealing" the votes of the elderly demented, it was slanted in Arizona because people continued to remember an elderly, demented juror in a high profile trial here who was finally dismissed from the jury mid-trial because of her dementia. The more I thought about it, though, the more I considered the large number of "undemented" voters who were probably badly informed and liable to be swayed by purposely confusing proposition language and deceptive campaign rhetoric, the more I realized that Mom voting was probably not any more or less risky to democracy than anyone else voting.
"Do you want to vote in the next major election, Mom, the presidential election in 2008?"
"I think so," she said, very carefully.
"Okay. In that case, we'll get you registered."
And, we will. If she's alive and in approximately the same mental state as she is now, which is entirely likely, I'll see to it that both she and I receive early ballots. She'll probably need reminder help regarding candidates and issues but, all things being approximately equal to her current mental state, I will not need to "tell" her how to vote on anything. She'll make up her own mind and, I expect, in comparison with any other voters, the man-on-the-street will be hard pressed to consider her reasoning any more or less demented than that of any other voters.
Tuesday, November 7, 2006
I've idiosyncratically updated...
...The Dailies in a post that covers the last several days, from November 2 - yesterday. Toward the end there's a note about my feelings about constant statting at this stage of my mother's life.
I also wanted to bring more attention to javelina. In case some of my reader's didn't notice, in a comment to my last post on javelina, Granny J provided yet another site with several spectacular pictures of foraging javelina. Super pictures, really! The herd portrayed in these pictures, by the way, is about average size for such a group.
A sobering note about javelina as prey: Maybe about three weeks ago, mid-evening, after dark, the cats and I heard some scuffling outside in our back yard, a high pitched squeal...some more scuffling...thinking that yet another javelina had managed to get stuck while trying to dig underneath our neighbor's-to-the-west fences, I decided to investigate. I exited our front door so the sound of the back arcadia door sliding wouldn't cause the javelina to struggle more...although I knew it would probably struggle when I approached it mid-predicament. As I headed toward the back I heard a loud rush of scuffling, what sounded life a loud huff, then silence. I shone a flashlight all around the back yard and saw nothing. Then, a faint rustle escaped from our oldest elm just behind our carport. I directed the flashlight up the trunk. In the tree I spotted two pairs of eyes glaring at me and below the eyes the black shape of what appeared to be an adult javelina carcass hanging lifelessly from the seat of two conjoining branches. Mountain lions, probably, cooperating in a felicitous fall dinner. Although I know we have mountain lions here, I've talked to more than a few neighbors who've spotted them, including the aforementioned next-door neighbor, their reality hadn't struck me until that night.
I turned and left them to their dinner; and, not incidentally, vowed to be even more cautious about seeing to it that our cats not escape our house.
I also wanted to bring more attention to javelina. In case some of my reader's didn't notice, in a comment to my last post on javelina, Granny J provided yet another site with several spectacular pictures of foraging javelina. Super pictures, really! The herd portrayed in these pictures, by the way, is about average size for such a group.
A sobering note about javelina as prey: Maybe about three weeks ago, mid-evening, after dark, the cats and I heard some scuffling outside in our back yard, a high pitched squeal...some more scuffling...thinking that yet another javelina had managed to get stuck while trying to dig underneath our neighbor's-to-the-west fences, I decided to investigate. I exited our front door so the sound of the back arcadia door sliding wouldn't cause the javelina to struggle more...although I knew it would probably struggle when I approached it mid-predicament. As I headed toward the back I heard a loud rush of scuffling, what sounded life a loud huff, then silence. I shone a flashlight all around the back yard and saw nothing. Then, a faint rustle escaped from our oldest elm just behind our carport. I directed the flashlight up the trunk. In the tree I spotted two pairs of eyes glaring at me and below the eyes the black shape of what appeared to be an adult javelina carcass hanging lifelessly from the seat of two conjoining branches. Mountain lions, probably, cooperating in a felicitous fall dinner. Although I know we have mountain lions here, I've talked to more than a few neighbors who've spotted them, including the aforementioned next-door neighbor, their reality hadn't struck me until that night.
I turned and left them to their dinner; and, not incidentally, vowed to be even more cautious about seeing to it that our cats not escape our house.
I've been happily swimming in no-thing in particular...
...for the last few days, and I expect to continue for a short while; maybe longer. I think about posting, but as soon as I think of it, I find myself wandering elsewhere...
I've been running Non-Stat Days here, for, hmmm...I think yesterday was the third in a row but I'll have to check on that as I update the Dailies in a few minutes.
We're having what Mom considers a glorious relief from fall; warm, sunny, she even decided she wanted to survey the backyard yesterday and talked about how she was glad summer was almost upon us, so we could spend more time in the back yard. I didn't bother to correct her about the season, nor about how difficult it was to get her into the back yard last summer.
My mind is floating...it knocks into a subject, maneuvers around it and moves on to knock into another. I like this.
We've been invited to MPS's for Thanksgiving, talked it over and we're planning on going. Oh, which reminds me, I need to reserve a car for the trip. Their plan is that we meet at their house, then travel on to a restaurant for a chore-free dinner.
When MPS called, she carefully mentioned that if it didn't seem like Mom would be up for a restaurant excursion, Thanksgiving could happen "at home". When I related this to Mom, he laughed (as did I when MPS mentioned it). "Doesn't that girl know, I'm always up for going out to eat?"
My feeling is that Mom will be restaurant capable up to the day she dies. Her preferred death scenario is probably as follows: Dropping dead in a fragrant, busy restaurant while she's contentedly digesting a sumptuous meal comprised of all her favorites, including ham and dessert, dessert, dessert, no sign of vegetable material, and people watching-gossiping, surrounded by convivial family.
Later.
I've been running Non-Stat Days here, for, hmmm...I think yesterday was the third in a row but I'll have to check on that as I update the Dailies in a few minutes.
We're having what Mom considers a glorious relief from fall; warm, sunny, she even decided she wanted to survey the backyard yesterday and talked about how she was glad summer was almost upon us, so we could spend more time in the back yard. I didn't bother to correct her about the season, nor about how difficult it was to get her into the back yard last summer.
My mind is floating...it knocks into a subject, maneuvers around it and moves on to knock into another. I like this.
We've been invited to MPS's for Thanksgiving, talked it over and we're planning on going. Oh, which reminds me, I need to reserve a car for the trip. Their plan is that we meet at their house, then travel on to a restaurant for a chore-free dinner.
When MPS called, she carefully mentioned that if it didn't seem like Mom would be up for a restaurant excursion, Thanksgiving could happen "at home". When I related this to Mom, he laughed (as did I when MPS mentioned it). "Doesn't that girl know, I'm always up for going out to eat?"
My feeling is that Mom will be restaurant capable up to the day she dies. Her preferred death scenario is probably as follows: Dropping dead in a fragrant, busy restaurant while she's contentedly digesting a sumptuous meal comprised of all her favorites, including ham and dessert, dessert, dessert, no sign of vegetable material, and people watching-gossiping, surrounded by convivial family.
Later.
Sunday, November 5, 2006
I had a great conversation, today...
...with one of M(y)C(olorado)N(ie)C(e)s that reminded me of a very recent conversation with my mother; one I will treasure.
As we talked about her grandmother was doing, MCNC mentioned that she didn't know whether Grandma would even remember her.
"Oh," I assured her, "Grandma remembers you, MCNC. She has a little problem with her great grandchildren, but she remembers her grandchildren. She may think you're still in Russia (many years ago this niece was in Russia and my mother has never forgotten this), but she remembers you. Believe me, MCNC, Mom even forgets a lot about the people she sees a lot, including me. Just the other day..."
Here's where the conversation begins, a much fuller and more accurate-in-detail version (although not more accurate in sense) than the version MCNC received:
Mom, speaking to me as we're sitting in the living room together, working on separate things: "So, what are your plans for next year?"
Me: "What do you mean?"
Mom: "Are you planning on teaching next year?"
Me (not bothering to mention that I'm not a teacher): "No, I don't think so."
Mom (suddenly turning to sharply study me): "Well, then, what are you going to do?"
Me: "I thought I'd stay here and continue taking care of you. Why? Are you planning on teaching next year?"
Mom: "No, I don't think I'll teach next year."
Me: "Well, if you were going to teach, I'd go out and get a job. But, since you're not, I'll stay here and take care of you."
Mom: "That sounds like a good idea."
We occasionally have variants on this conversation. Sometimes Mom works herself into a fit of agitation over me not working outside the home "next year". When this happens, the conversation usually goes like this:
"Mom, do you want me to work outide the home?"
"Well, it seems like you should."
"Okay. In that case, this is what is going to need to happen. Either I'll need to put you in day care outside the home all day long, or hire professionals to be here with you, or, maybe you'd prefer an assisted living facility."
"Oh, I can take care of myself while you're gone."
"Well, no, we tried that, some years ago, and all you did was sleep. That's not taking care of yourself, Mom, that's waiting for me."
"Oh. Well, I suppose you're right."
"Anyway, Mom, this is my job, taking care of you. I like this job. Do you not like how I'm doing it?"
"Well, no, I'm very pleased with you. It just seems that you should be doing something else with your time."
"Mom, I have nothing better to do with my time than be with you."
"Oh, good, because I want you here with me."
Although the words often vary, the sentiments are accurate. I think, everytime she works herself into a snit over me being employed at my "career", whatever she happens to think that is at the time, or, at the very least not "wasting" my time taking care of her, I sense it is because she is so comfortable and relaxed in her life as she lives it and I provide for it to be lived that it is easy for her to feel as though life should be continuing the way she's always known...everyone working, going to school, coming home at the end of the day to recuperate and refresh themselves in the bosom of family, everyone pitching in to keep house, anyone who isn't employed outside the home keeping the home fires burning for everyone else...
And, you know, it is a peculiar pleasure for me that she continues to feel this way. Whenever we have one of these conversations, I always reflect that I must be doing something right.
The Mom is up from her nap. Time to plan dinner...and light a home fire.
Later.
As we talked about her grandmother was doing, MCNC mentioned that she didn't know whether Grandma would even remember her.
"Oh," I assured her, "Grandma remembers you, MCNC. She has a little problem with her great grandchildren, but she remembers her grandchildren. She may think you're still in Russia (many years ago this niece was in Russia and my mother has never forgotten this), but she remembers you. Believe me, MCNC, Mom even forgets a lot about the people she sees a lot, including me. Just the other day..."
Here's where the conversation begins, a much fuller and more accurate-in-detail version (although not more accurate in sense) than the version MCNC received:
Mom, speaking to me as we're sitting in the living room together, working on separate things: "So, what are your plans for next year?"
Me: "What do you mean?"
Mom: "Are you planning on teaching next year?"
Me (not bothering to mention that I'm not a teacher): "No, I don't think so."
Mom (suddenly turning to sharply study me): "Well, then, what are you going to do?"
Me: "I thought I'd stay here and continue taking care of you. Why? Are you planning on teaching next year?"
Mom: "No, I don't think I'll teach next year."
Me: "Well, if you were going to teach, I'd go out and get a job. But, since you're not, I'll stay here and take care of you."
Mom: "That sounds like a good idea."
We occasionally have variants on this conversation. Sometimes Mom works herself into a fit of agitation over me not working outside the home "next year". When this happens, the conversation usually goes like this:
"Mom, do you want me to work outide the home?"
"Well, it seems like you should."
"Okay. In that case, this is what is going to need to happen. Either I'll need to put you in day care outside the home all day long, or hire professionals to be here with you, or, maybe you'd prefer an assisted living facility."
"Oh, I can take care of myself while you're gone."
"Well, no, we tried that, some years ago, and all you did was sleep. That's not taking care of yourself, Mom, that's waiting for me."
"Oh. Well, I suppose you're right."
"Anyway, Mom, this is my job, taking care of you. I like this job. Do you not like how I'm doing it?"
"Well, no, I'm very pleased with you. It just seems that you should be doing something else with your time."
"Mom, I have nothing better to do with my time than be with you."
"Oh, good, because I want you here with me."
Although the words often vary, the sentiments are accurate. I think, everytime she works herself into a snit over me being employed at my "career", whatever she happens to think that is at the time, or, at the very least not "wasting" my time taking care of her, I sense it is because she is so comfortable and relaxed in her life as she lives it and I provide for it to be lived that it is easy for her to feel as though life should be continuing the way she's always known...everyone working, going to school, coming home at the end of the day to recuperate and refresh themselves in the bosom of family, everyone pitching in to keep house, anyone who isn't employed outside the home keeping the home fires burning for everyone else...
And, you know, it is a peculiar pleasure for me that she continues to feel this way. Whenever we have one of these conversations, I always reflect that I must be doing something right.
The Mom is up from her nap. Time to plan dinner...and light a home fire.
Later.
