the tyranny of her dementia

She treats me like a handmaiden, issuing one-word commands that I’m expected to obey immediately. Coffee. Tissue. Shoes. Bathroom. (OK, well I do obey the “bathroom” command immediately.) Sometimes she can’t think of the word, and so she’s developed hand signals to indicate what she wants. She expects me to be with her all of the time. She even wants me to sleep with her. We are back to the boundary-less childhood from which I couldn’t wait to escape.
I took a day off today, drove to Albany for lunch with my former work colleagues, including our boss. We are all female.
My cell phone rang while I was there. My brother had dialed my number for my mother. For ten minutes she wailed and ranted on the phone, mostly gibberish, but also condemnations for leaving her for my “girl friends” and threats to burn the house down and break everything in it. She laid on the guilt, guilt, guilt. “You’ve got to come home right now,” she kept insisting. I told her that I would be home soon, soon.
Five minutes later the phone rang again. It was my brother, chastising me for the glass shelf in the refrigerator being sticky. Clean it yourself, I tell him.
When I finally get home and walk in the door, she just misses hitting me in the face with the handle of her cane. She’s still mad. Hadn’t eaten all day. Wouldn’t take her meds. So much for brother as caregiver.
I think that she would be happier in a good Catholic nursing home, where she would have activities and people around to distract her, daily mass to attend. But my brother won’t allow it. And he has Power of Attorney.
Meanwhile, I am held hostage to her increasing dementia, and I am making plans for my escape.

thissa and thatta

(Monday is myrln’s day to blog here at Kalilily Time.)
THISSA AND THATTA
Thissa: Moving into a greener world (as the term goes) is an urgent matter. But as we make that move, we ought to be careful about choices and making them fixtures. And speaking of fixtures, one of the green decisions is that which will move us from incandescent light bulbs to screw-in fluorescents to reduce energy consumption. A commendable objective to be sure, but is this a really good way to go?
It’s no secret (or shouldn’t be) that the fluorescents contain mercury, and we can only wonder what happens when — after they burn out — we start dumping millions of them into our landfills. Where do we suppose all that mercury’s going to go as the bulbs get crushed? Into our environment, that’s where. And a recent item in Parade Magazine this week also noted that the fluorescents with their barely noticeable flicker can cause migraines or seizures. They also can aggravate skin rashes for people with lupus, eczema, and other skin conditions. The makers say the new bulbs have been improved so we don’t have to worry. Wanna risk it?
It was also noted what to do if a bulb breaks. Don’t vacuum it up cuz the debris can spread toxic dust into the air. Nope. Leave it where it lies and depart the room for 15 minutes. Then with gloves on, put the “fragments into a plastic bag, seal it and take it to a recycling center.”
This is progress? Sounds more like stupidity. The neon manufacturers must have a good lobby.
***
Thatta: Speaking of a greener world and good lobbies: Exxon Mobil reports a profit this past year of $45.6 BILLION dollars. That’s pure profit. Aren’t you pleased at how much you helped the company by paying their higher prices? Now we have to root for them to get a really good tax rebate from Dumbya and Darth…both of whom have been real good to the industry they have big ties to.
$45.6 BILLION in profit.
Oh, and while we’re on the oil business, some folks buying new cars to improve their gas mileage have found they’re getting much worse mileage than they’re supposed to be getting. Why? Cuz it turns out that E-gas — which includes the corn-based ethanol — doesn’t burn as well as plain gas. But let’s remember, ethanol’s our savior. And will improve the profit line of oil companies as we spend more cuz we burn more.
Be less corn on the cob next summer, too.

that creature of habit

She has trained me to adapt to her routines, my fat old lady cat. You can train a dog, but your cat trains you.
Each morning, after she eats and comes down the stairs, she goes to the door to the breezeway and waits for me to open it so that she can look out through the patio doors and check the weather. Of course, I comply.
When she decides to go out, she likes to go out the front door, take a stroll around the house, check for new scents, and then sit at the back door expecting to be let in. I have learned her “constitutional” routine, and now I obediently give her enough time for her walk and then obediently open the back door for her.
She likes her tablespoon treat of wet cat food twice a day at mid-morning and mid-afternoon, and if I forget, she comes and finds me and gives me a sharp tap on my leg to let me know that she’s waiting.
I have become a creature of her habits.
The affection that so many of us have for out cats made this poem (one of Jim Culleny’s daily ones) even more poignant.

A Cat in an Empty Apartment
Wistawa Szymborska
Dying–you wouldn’t do that to a cat.
For what is a cat to do
in an empty apartment?
Climb up the walls?
Brush up against the furniture?
Nothing here seems changed,
and yet something has changed.
Nothing has been moved,
and yet there’s more room.
And in the evenings the lamp is not on.
One hears footsteps on the stairs,
but they’re not the same.
Neither is the hand
that puts a fish on the plate.
Something here isn’t starting
at its usual time.
Something here isn’t happening
as it should.
Somebody has been here and has been,
and then has suddenly disappeared
and now is stubbornly absent.
All the closets have been scanned
and all the shelves run through.
Slipping under the carpet and checking came to nothing.
The rule has even been broken and all the papers scattered.
What else is there to do?
Sleep and wait.
Just let him come back,
let him show up.
Then he’ll find out
that you don’t do that to a cat.
Going toward him
faking reluctance,
slowly,
on very offended paws.
And no jumping, purring at first.

oh those ravelled sleeves

Macbeth is not the only one who yearns for “sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care.”
My mother has spent the past two nights unable to sleep. That means we don’t sleep either.
And here’s yet another reason to love the Internet.
At midnight, I get onto Google and search for “elderly insomnia.” Lots of information there, including suggestions for drugs such as Lunesta and Desyrel.
I decide to take another tack and re-educate myself about our circadian rhythms and the function of the pineal gland (the famous “Third Eye”) in producing melatonin, which makes us feel drowsy.
My mother gets practically no daylight, which means that her pineal gland is probably not producing enough melatonin. On top of that, her brain atrophy might be affecting the pineal gland as well, since it’s located in the deep middle of the brain.
In the back of my “pill” shelf (you know, Omega 3, Resveratrol, MicoMedicinals, and other stuff I buy and then forget to take), I find a bottle of sublingual melatonin, 2.5 mg.
I take one and give one to my mother.
It’s now 1:16 a.m. We are both still up, but it can take more than an hour for the melatonin to kick in.
Yawn.

your country ’tis of thee

The following post is by MYRLN, a non-blogger who is Kalilily Time’s guest writer every Monday.
YOUR COUNTRY ‘TIS OF THEE
The original version of the movie “Rollerball” with James Caan, ostensibly about that mad, violent sporting event, actually depicted a country wholly under the control of big business. “Just a movie,” people said. Oh, yeah? Perhaps you missed the news last week that IBM had settled a suit filed by its employees. The company agreed to finally pony-up overtime pay it had been withholding from workers. “So what do you want?” you might say. “They’re paying it. Case closed.”
Not quite. You see, in order to pay the withheld monies, IBM decided it needed an infusion of fresh cash. So what’d it do? It reduced employee salaries by 15% in order to pay for the settlement. Honest.
*** ***
Then there’s the newly agreed upon rebate of tax monies announced the other day. To fix a lagging economy and avert a recession, we are told. How? Well, you see, the idea is for the government to give back some of our tax money to us. Then we’re supposed to go right out and spend it, thus infusing the economy with fresh cash. In other words, “Here’s your allowance, go spend it in as many places as you like, only spend it. Right away.”
In further other words, go get that money in the hands of big business so they get richer, even though they’re getting their own kinds of rebates in tax reductions and are already subsidized by the government at our expense. But what’s really important for us is to be sure that CEOs get their multi-million/billion bonuses so their families don’t suffer any inconvenience. Boy, are they breathing a sigh of relief that we care so much about their welfare…oops, forbidden word.
*** ***
Hillary-ous says South Carolina picked on her by defeating her so badly. Now she’s vowed to cry throughout Super Tuesday to be sure she gets a fair shot.
***
Wonder why our national media have daily focused our attention mainly on Clinton and Obama, deciding they’re the only viable candidates in the Democratic Party? Easy, they provide fodder for tabloid-like sensationalism: first woman prez or first black prez. The hell with the real issues. What matters is media deciding who’s important and who’s not.
***
Your country ’tis of thee.

sound familiar?

Got the following in an email. Hormones combined with stresses were always a disaster for me. I no longer have the hormones, but I sure do have the stress. And I do remember those old PMS and menopausal hormone horrors..
Q: How many women going through MENOPAUSE does it take to change a light bulb?
Woman’s Answer:
One!
ONLY ONE!!!! And do you know WHY? Because no one else in this house knows HOW to change a light bulb! They don’t even know that the bulb is BURNED OUT!! They would sit in the dark for THREE DAYS before they figured it out.
And, once they figured it out, they wouldn’t be able to find the #&%!* light bulbs despite the fact that they’ve been in the SAME CABINET for the past 17 YEARS! But if they did, by some miracle of God, actually find them, 2 DAYS LATER, the chair they dragged to stand on to change the STUPID light bulb would STILL BE IN THE SAME SPOT!!!!! AND UNDERNEATH IT WOULD BE THE WRAPPER THE FREAKING LIGHT BULBS CAME IN!!! BECAUSE NO ONE EVER PICKS UP OR CARRIES OUT THE GARBAGE!!!! IT’S A WONDER WE HAVEN’T ALL SUFFOCATED FROM
THE PILES OF GARBAGE THAT ARE A FOOT DEEP THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUSE!! IT WOULD TAKE AN ARMY TO CLEAN THIS PLACE!
AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON WHO CHANGES THE TOILET PAPER ROLL !!
I’m sorry. What was the question?

mother to son

The following poem is from one of Jim Culleny’s daily poetry emails:

Mother to Son
Langston Hughes
Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So, boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps.
‘Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.

it was bound to happen

I figured it was only a matter of time before I hit something with my new car. The time was yesterday.
I felt so virtuous, taking bags and bags of my already-read books to the local library. As I was leaving my parking space in the library lot, I misjudged my distance from a big boulder as I pulled forward after backing up. Arrggh. There goes my bumper.
I figure that the first accident is like the first kiss. Once you get it out of the way, you can relax and enjoy the ride.