Life's Great Mysteries

If I am the only one to do the grocery shopping and even the children know what I buy, why am I throwing out the sixth empty can of Poppycock?

The Legacy Project

Here is a link some might find interesting with respect to communication between the generations:

The Legacy Project

I heard Ms Bosak on the radio in a discussion of how she cared for her dying parents within her home; she did it ably with the help of her husband and brother. But she also details encountering the end of life spectrum, the supports available, that really aren't there. Unlike, Ms Bosak's parents, the matriarch is old, that's it, so there is minimal assistance available; my mother-in-law needs no help in the washroom or taking a shower or going for a walk--yes, I know she is almost blind, a constant debate in this house, but she refuses to admit it. The reality of it is based on my observations alone and an opthamologist who will not, at my request, tell my mother-in-law she is blind. At least, one good thing to say about the man. I don't know if it is a good thing itself--it drives me crazy but it seems to give her some sort of independence. On a side note, one does not get assistance for company; I cannot get government aid to pay someone to take the matriarch out for lunch.

There is a lot of discussion about the coming tidal wave of geriatric seniors, those born in the baby boom after World War II. David Foote wrote about it years ago; Ted Fishman in "Shock of Grey" discusses how we are living in it currently. I think a really good book would be one which discusses how to deal with seniors who won't admit they are old. Should they admit they are old? Does the idea of being old really seem so bad? Should it be? I have no idea how to deal with the matriarch beyond keeping up this pretense that she could live independently; it's the doctor making her live here not her frailties as an old woman. I have actually heard my mother-in-law talk derogatorily about other old people because they are old. I think the hardest thing is to admit one needs help but help does always mean forfeiting independence. I also am seriously beginning to consider the role of community in the care of the old and the very young. Sometimes, I really wish my husband and children could get a break but my mother-in-law has lost her ties. She seems never to have been a nice person--isn't that awful to write? What I am trying to say is that what goes around, comes around...But then, I look at my husband and think she did do something right. He is a truly wonderful man.

It is all so confusing.

My husband will hate these words but I do wonder about the role of retirement; my father is almost 70 and he can work most young men under the table; my husband, at 60, cannot wait to retire (because he does want to retire, contrary to what I am writing) and return to school. It is not as though they see their senior years as waiting to die. But then I look at my mother-in-law and her constant, never-ending need to be entertained and I wonder is this what life is all about??? Then, of course, there is always the corollary of what is my life if I spend it taking care of, and complaining about, seniors who are waiting to die or trying not to live. In the end, it really does seem so mixed up. We are not defined by our ages but sometimes, we are limited by them and, other times, we are not limited by what we think but how we can physically act. And, there are no definitions that are finite. I guess it is a confusing post.

The matriarch is going out for lunch with my parents today; she is going to have a quarter chicken dinner, white meat, and hot chocolate. But, no dessert. It was my husband's birthday yesterday and my child has made him a cake and my mother-in-law wants some of it.

Words on Christmas Leftovers

All the matriarch wanted for Christmas was food. She specifically asked the children for home baked goods, actually peanut butter cookies; my parents, candy; and my husband and me, chips and Werthers Caramels, the long ones. Do you ever think the food topic will go away? The matriarch is 99 and all she does is eat. All the time. I am amazed. Constantly and Consistently amazed.

This afternoon, the children and I ate leftover appetizers for lunch. There was pate, all kinds of cheeses, olives and crackers. The matriarch originally wanted a soft boiled egg--well, I mean she ate that first. Then, with her squinty eyes, she asked me what we were having and if she could have some. So, she tried the Stilton, the Wiltshire (yes, I know we like smelly cheeses), some strange cheddar bought at the St. Lawrence Market and then settled on the old favourite, orange cheddar and some crackers, and toast, and an olive which she didn't like. And, she spat out none of it. I don't know how she chewed it but she swallowed it all and broke no wind. Consistently, constantly amazed.

When I told my husband of the day, he said I am changing her, making his mother into the kind of mother-in-law I would really like. I asked if he was being sarcastic. But it is better when she is involved and shows a little imagination.

Salt

The matriarch has started putting salt on her chips, her Lays' Classic Potato Chips. I know it is because she cannot taste the salt, I do. And, I find it hard to argue with her when she says she is old enough to know what she is doing and what's it going to do? Kill her?

I don't think so, but still....

My husband thinks it's funny. What are you supposed to do? Her blood tests still come back normal...maybe she is immortal or indestructible...I have read there are lots of centarians around; I wonder if they eat like my mother-in-law?

8 Plates...or Hell is a Chinese Buffet Restaurant

It's not the Keg.

My husband leans down to his mother and responds, We didn't come here for you. It's my child's birthday. It's where they wanted to go.

Well, it's still not the Keg.

Reservations have been made and we arrive on time to discover the parking lot has not been plowed of snow. So, my husband must drop us off at the front door.

Can I stay with you, Daddy? And, Grandma turns to look at her grandchild.

If they're going, I want to go, too.

No, neither of you can come because the parking lot is not plowed and grandma can't see to walk.

I can, too.

Both of you get out of the car. I don't think my husband is intentionally being rude, but he sure sounds that way.

My husband looks at me; he may be annoyed but, at least, he is escaping for five minutes to go park the car in the spot farthest away from the restaurant. A moment of calm in a sea of turmoil for him. Deserter.

We go in and the waitress takes us to our table and we order drinks while waiting for my husband to return.

I like Chinese fried rice. And, ribs, I do love their ribs. And, I want a hot cup of tea.

The waitress nods at my mother-in-law and leaves to bring the tea immediately---the matriarch doesn't touch it until the end of the meal, at which point, she tells me it is too cold to drink and she prefers a hot cup of tea. The Keg always brings a hot cup of tea at the end of the meal.

I want to say but you asked for a hot cup of tea as soon as we got here, but bite my lip and draw blood instead.

So, where's this fried rice?

My husband returns and it is decided he gets the children and I get his mother as we approach the buffet. There is a secret signal that passes between us that I interpret to mean that after everyone else is served, we can do the buffet together and pretend to be on a date. When I eventually return to the table and see his plate and the food, I realize he has no sense of secret communication between married couples and, obviously, understands a different language to me.

I lead my mother-in-law into the buffet and show her the different tables with their varieties of food.

That's not fried rice.

The matriarch is convinced Chinese fried rice has no vegetables in it. The restaurant also has bean sprouts sprinkled throughout the rice and I figure to someone practically blind, they cannot be appealing.

Okay, there is steamed rice. I point it out and put some on a plate.

I don't want that. That's not fried rice.

Plate number 1.

My husband comes over and suggests his mother might fancy some mashed potatoes and roast beef; then, stupidly, fills the plate.

Plate number 2.

My children are eating pizza. At a Chinese food restaurant. The quest for fried rice continues.

How about you try this one with the vegetables in it and we look for your ribs.

They make beautiful ribs, here. I know. I have been here before. I do like their ribs.

The choice is between bar-b-que ribs and sweet'n'sour ribs.

I don't like them.

God, please shoot me and put me out of my misery.

I thought you had them before. You said you had had them before.

I have never been here before. I was at a different place that had better fried rice.

Plate number 3 makes it to the table. Then, before my mother-in-law sits down, she informs me she would like a salad, a lettuce and tomato salad.

Not to be too pointed about it, I indicate to my mother-in-law she can't chew lettuce; that's one of the reasons I don't make salad. She can't chew tomatoes for that matter, either.

I can, too. When I lived on my own, I used to make salad all the time.

This is not an argument I can win because, while my mother-in-law did buy lettuce when she lived on her own, I used to go into her refrigerator and throw the rotting stuff out. She hasn't been able to chew lettuce for years, a lot of years, but, in a weird way, she doesn't know it.

Plate number 4 makes it to the table, too.

I'd also like a slice of bread.

The matriarch eats nothing without a slice of bread and butter; she prefers French, sliced bread and she peels off the crusts because she knows she can't chew them.

Plate number 5 is also at the table.

There is also a side plate for the table setting which the matriarch prefers to use when she chooses to spit out her food. My husband sits besides his mother and I sit in front of her because I got there too late and I am throwing dagger eyes at him. It is only fair that neither my middle child nor the birthday one have to watch their grandmother during a dinner out. Though, I do wonder why it always has to be me to sit facing the matriarch.

It's a bit crowded at the table and the waitress removes both my side plate and my husband's and looks a little bit worriedly at the matriarch and the amount of food before her. Little does she know, nothing stops my mother-in-law, certainly not the inconvenience of not having teeth.

I get up to get my own food and my children are onto their third helpings of pizza and I wonder why we even came to a Chinese food restaurant. We could have ordered a pizza at home, instead.

It is not pleasant when I return to the table. Apparently, everything on my mother-in-law's plate is too tough for her to chew. Not that that has stopped her from trying everything and spitting it out. As far as I am concerned, the whole mess with her salad is inexcusably rude and my husband is just embarrassed. Mind, he is pragmatic and puts the whole mess on his plate with a napkin over it so there are benefits to absence.

Grandma, do you want some dessert?

My oldest child is trying to distract grandma from the realities of her unappreciated meal and cold tea.

Yes, I'd like some dessert. My mother-in-law looks at me and I realize I have lost my appetite, anyhow, and get up again to escort her to the dessert table.

Do they have coconut cream pie? The matriarch is looking over the desserts, squinting to see if she can recognize anything, anything at all.

They have ice cream.

No, I like coconut cream pie. Obviously, they don't have coconut cream pie and the matriarch doesn't like banana cream pie so she settles on a slice of Black Forest Cake.

We settle back at the table with plate number 7 and the matriarch tries the Black Forest Cake and decides she doesn't like it; fortunately, she doesn't spit it out because the side plate and my husband's dishes have been removed from the table and, really, there would have been nowhere for her on which to put the spitum. I just want to go home.

My husband gets up to get his dessert and brings back some sort of custard square and the matriarch eyes it longingly. His dessert is forfeited to her and he gives up eating, too. Plate number 8 is before the matriarch and she gobbles up the custard square before the children even know she has a dessert.

At home, we have planned to have ice cream cake for the birthday child. My parents are expected early evening and we want to have a family celebration. I have no idea what the matriarch is going to do. So, we leave the restaurant and the matriarch sits in the front seat of the van beside my husband; I have pointedly told him I will not drive and the matriarch tells him how much better the Keg would have been had we gone there. My birthday child leans over to me asks why Grandma didn't like the food...

Something Interesting I read

A quote from George Grant:

"If tyranny is to come in North America, it will come cozily and on cat's feet. It will come with the denial of the rights of the unborn and of the aged, the denial of the rights of the mentally retarded, the insane, and the economically less-privileged. In fact, it will come with the denial of rights to all those who cannot defend themselves. It will come in the name of the cost-benefit analysis of human life."

Adventures of the Damned Cat

The story begins with a splinter I had somehow got in my hand.

While my husband was upstairs reading to the children (Elizabeth Goudge's "The Secret of MoonAcre"), I was downstairs in the basement looking for a pin to poke the splinter out. The matriarch is not too crazy about Goudge's work, but she was listening anyhow and it was late. By the time, two of the children and I get home from ballet and eat, because, next to my mother-in-law, my children are also eating me out of house and home, change, watch television ("Unaccompanied Minors"), my husband tell his mother only strawberries are defrosted and available to eat but he has taken the raspberries out of the freezer and done her eye drops, it was after 11. I heard some sounds in the basement: mice, I thought.

My husband came downstairs and said his mother is looking for raspberries and that one of the children needs a pair of track pants to be washed for gymnastics for tomorrow.

"I am trying to get this splinter out, can you see it? And, do you hear that sound? Where is the cat? I think we have mice."

"I hear nothing. Where is the magnifying glass?"

Huge rustling sounds come from upstairs, banging almost. Both my husband and I look up at the basement ceiling.

"What the heck is the cat doing upstairs?" My husband goes upstairs to the kitchen because the kitchen is right above the family room-cum-library in the basement. Now, the basement is sort of a funny structure; it is u-shaped, the stairs in the centre of of the U and the rooms behind it. Our new bathroom is right beside the stairs, across from it the laundry room, then the family room; they all have finished ceilings. Our bedroom is on the other side, along with an open space that has no ceiling, but our room, but for a double entry door, is finished with a ceiling, too. Beside our unfinished door but before the stairs is a shelving unit, squished in to hold fabric boxes, ski boots and helmets, and cases. It is an unattractive unit, a 6 foot black thing that should be in the garage.

"The cat is not upstairs."

Then the meowing starts.

"Oh God, I think the cat is stuck beneath the floor boards."

I am weak in the knees. I don't want the cat to die in the floorboards and there be a smell; I am such a positive thinker. My husband is more pro-active and goes out to the garage to get a ladder. I start calling the cat. Obviously, we are making a lot of noise.

My oldest child comes down to the basement and wants to know what is going on. The meowing comes again.

"Where is the cat?"

My husband returns with the ladder and my middle child comes downstairs and says,
"Grandma wants to know what you are doing and, if you are up anyhow, are her raspberries defrosted?"

"Go back to bed. Your Dad and I will figure this out."

The meowing comes again.

"Is the cat stuck?"

The two children start calling the cat. To me, it sounds like the cat is stuck between the floor joists over the family room and I go to my bedroom wall, the one against the family room wall and try to listen to the meowing of the cat. My husband is up on the ladder by the 6 foot shelf with a flashlight calling the cat. To be honest, my husband has never been a cat person but he is completely dominated by the children and now we have the cat, there is no way he is going to let it expire stuck between the floor boards.

He tells my middle child to get the hammer because if the cat is stuck, he can punch a hole in the wall or ceiling. I don't want the cat to die either, but I am looking at my finished bedroom wall, my finished ceiling, my new bathroom and thinking, this is not going to be good.

"Should I get Grandma her raspberries?"

"I see the cat!" My oldest is over by the laundry room and furnace area, laundry room has a finished ceiling, furnace area doesn't. He's up above the furnace in floor joists, mewling his heart out. There is nothing for him to jump down on and he turns to go back into between the floor boards.

"Grab the cat!" My husband commands as he struggles to collapse the ladder by the shelf and bring it over to the furnace area. We have 8 foot ceilings in the basement and my 2 children and I look at each other with our hands up, calling the cat. Something tells me the activity is pointless; then a voice from the top of the basement stairs, calls:

"Everything okay? I was wondering if you're all still up if my raspberries are defrosted."

One of the children runs upstairs to help their Grandma get her raspberries. They are not yet defrosted but go into a bowl with a ton of sugar anyhow. My husband gets the ladder over to where the cat is peering down at us and pulls the cat, hissing and scratching, out from the ceiling. The animal is one ticked creature and tears my husband's pants as he, the cat is male, struggles to get down to me. Claws in and everything is all right with the world.

"I am going to have block access to the unfinished ceiling."

Mu husband pulls a part the 6 foot shelf and goes out into the garage to get a huge piece of cardboard with which to create a temporary wall to block access to the cat jumping into the area between the floor joists. Even though it is cardboard, he nails it in. More banging and it is now 1 o'clock in the morning.

My youngest gets up.

"What are you doing?" Siblings reveal the saga of the stuck cat. "I think he's done that before."

My husband stops the hammering and looks at his child.

"Mom, Grandma wants to know if you can make her some toast."

"Okay, everyone to bed." I take the cat upstairs to their bedrooms, tuck them back in and tell them Dad and I are going to sleep with the basement door closed and not worry about anything till the morning. My mother-in-law is made her toast and I settle her back in her room with sugared raspberries, slice of toast and cup of tea. Because I figure if you are going to have a snack at 2 o'clock in the morning, one might as well as have tea to go with it.

My husband figures he is going to have to have a completely finish the basement because we can't be letting the cat wander around between the floor joists. I can see him costing out the price of drywall and swearing under his breath as his holidays plans are eaten away by things he does not want to do.

"How is your splinter?"

I look at the palm of my hand and, in the confusion, the splinter seems to have disappeared. He checks it out with the magnifying glass and then looks at me,

"I think I am going to have something to eat."

Despite Evidence to the Contrary...

The matriarch hates living here. That's a given. She has this idea that if she lived on her own, I would take her out more because I would drive over to her house in order to, particularly, take her out. She has this idea that if she lived on her own, people would visit her more. The matriarch thinks if she still had her independence, she could go shopping all the time and do as she wants. Of course, I would still be her driver. It would be so much easier on me.

I think not.

It has been a dreadful month and I suspect I am suffering from depression. But life goes on and the matriarch has told the children she no longer wants them to come to her room to say good-night; they can do it in the kitchen at dinner time. I really don't know if all old people are as selfish as the matriarch, I don't think so, but I do wonder about how one becomes this selfish. My husband, sadly, sees no difference in his mother from when he was a boy. I wonder about this conflict I have inside about hating institutional care and all its ramifications with really getting tired of catering to the matriarch all the time. Then, just when I think I can do it no longer, someone else's casual cruelty outrages me and I get the strength from my fury. The matriarch's sister-in-law phoned to tell her she would come for a visit and take her for lunch so long as it doesn't snow. It's November in Canada but for climate change, we would be covered in the stuff already. Why would the woman even call? The matriarch told me about the phone call upstairs in her room; she said her sister-in-law was coming to take her for lunch. And, I sat there, for a minute debating the issue with myself, then I said "Why would she call in November if she doesn't like driving in the snow?"

It's these almost inocuous plans that make me think maybe the matriarch is in purgatory; she has to learn about selfishness somehow. It's not happening and she just keeps on living in blissful ignorance. Or maybe I am ranting. But the poor woman is upstairs planning on where they will go when the sister-in-law comes; I suspect Swiss Chalet because we're not getting there much currently. It's the disappointment that is hard to handle. Once a week goes by and the woman hasn't phoned and the snow begins to fall, the matriarch will realize lunch out with the in-laws is not going to happen. Then, she will be disappointed and we, the five of us, will not be good enough for her and I will go through this whole awful feeling again. Christmas should distract her: dinner out at my parents,' dinner out for my child's birthday, dinner out for my husband's birthday and parties where she can pretend to be the belle of the ball.

I don't think I ever want to grow old and I will always try not to be selfish. I hope.

Dinner at my House

My oldest child can really cook well and, on Saturday night, prepared a beautiful dinner: orange-fennel pork chops, mashed potatoes, carrots and turnips; the appetizer was roast red peppers garnished with olive oil and garlic; and dessert was Hagen Daz Ice Cream. The pork chops are a specialty and really, really good and the peppers were new. To be honest, no one liked them except me, because I like everything my children cook, and the matriarch. She ate them on top of her mashed potatoes--as an alternative to the chops because, after all, she cannot chew. The woman ate half a platter of them.

There are times, my husband and I argue over the matriarch. He's at work so, half the time, he doesn't really believe me about some of the things I tell him about his mother. We've gotten over the whole sugar thing because he has come to realize his mother will eat us out of house and home for the sugar. But, the matriarch does eat, too, and not just sugar. Sugar is merely the coating for everything. My husband didn't really expect his mother to want a snack after dinner Saturday night; she ate everything on her plate, plus all the peppers, and the ice cream which she really doesn't like but ate anyhow. He had also brought her a bowl of popcorn which we had made for family movie night. (Don't ask me how she eats it, you don't want to know) The matriarch also likes butter which I won't even discuss because the sheer amounts almost nauseate me and my youngest child takes it as quite an offense that no matter how much butter there is on the popcorn, more must always be added for grandma. Anyhow, on weekends, it is my husband's turn to bring his mother her water, snack and do her eye drops; I do the chores Sunday to Thursday, he does Friday and Saturday.

He went to her room without the snack.

What were you thinking? I asked when I found him in the kitchen putting sugar on her strawberries--he now does the quarter cup thing, too.

She ate so much at dinner and the popcorn. I really didn't think she'd be hungry.

When has your mother not been hungry?

I figure the matriarch uses so much energy going up and down the stairs for every meal, she probably really is hungry. She is using up her energy (calories). For this really old lady, who is shrinking before my eyes, her diet is immense. Plus, as she very rarely eats any type of meat anymore, the matriarch really stocks up on her vegetables (except for carrots, she despises carrots), her fruit and her sugar. And, the butter which we won't talk about suffice it to say, we also go through pounds of it, too.

Crime by the Elderly

An example of what I wonder about:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2010/nov/21/pensioner-crimewave-saga-lout

The Baby Boom generation had its problems, they went away as the boomers aged and became more prosperous, but now, they've returned as pensions, wealth and all kinds of worries have returned. These criminals, old though they are, are not new to crime and are indicative of a concern I have with ageing: character does not change just because one is old, if anything, old habits or habits developed when one was young are more likely to be entrenched. I think about this in terms of how the young have been treated and wonder why people are so surprised when the young, in turn, treat the old with the same kind of callousness with which they were treated. In clearer terms, if children are put in substandard daycare, fed improperly, and not given any kind of respect, why is society so suprised when this is exactly how they treat their elderly parents?

I have written enough about the grief my mother-in-law gives me but she must have done something right for my husband to choose to have her here, to argue it is better for her here, than to have put in her some kind of institution. The matriarch was there for my husband throughout his childhood and his teens. I know not everyone can afford the option, but some people are able to make it work, let their children know they work for them (and I don't mean a miniature ATV, television set, computer or cell-phone) and not for some dream of a bigger house or better car. Of course, it is difficult. But, I think, and I am being really opinionated now, our society values the things people have and doesn't respect the things people do until its members are forced to confront the realities of a particular group. Like these old people in the article above--no one minded them until they started stealing.

My mother-in-law is the way she has always been. This is not to say she is incapable of change. Actually, I constantly hope for some degree of change. But, the nature of her character does not want change and so she is difficult; I wonder about my own character and selfishness. I hope I die before I end up like this. Anyhow, the old who steal were once the young who steal; it is not often we fall into bad habits we did not have when we were young.

Fish and Chips, Again

My husband hates Saturdays; this outing every week for fish and chips is killing him. I wonder at what point did my mother-in-law's old age become synonymous with dictatorship? There is this border at which the old forsake their independence and need to be cared for but I do not think there is ever a time the old forsake their own desires. Is it such a big deal to go out for fish and chips every week? Do you think you could do it, asks the writer, whose husband is well past 104 trips to the local fish and chip shop? We've had to cut back on the weekly jaunts to the Swiss Chalet because my mother-in-law no longer wanted to pay for the children (well, they're teens, now) and it was getting expensive; she made a point of telling me she would take me but not the children. So, we do not go unless I pay which, trust me, I cannot afford on a weekly basis. Good food and all, but I cannot afford it. There is a strange feeling of having to acquiesce to all the matriarch's wants and, yet, resenting the fact she is selfish. Is it wrong for me to wonder why she hasn't clued in that going to the fish and chip shop is not the best for my husband? I have told her it is not good for his health; she did miss one Saturday and, then, she asked to go back again. Why doesn't he say, "No?" I was quite clear about the Swiss Chalet. It is this particular aspect of old age with which I find it difficult to live: I do not believe seniority gives one the right to be selfish. I don't think selfishness develops as part of old age; I tend to think one has always been selfish and it can either become more entrenched or one can try to change it. I think this way of thinking explains loneliness, too.

Another note about blood thinners.

Here is a note about Warfarin from the Thrombosis Society of Canada:

For most indications for OVKAs, the optimal INR range is 2-3; the INR range for patients with a mechanical mitral valve is generally 2.5-3.5. Lower intensity warfarin (INR 1.5-2.0) has shown benefit over no anticoagulation in the prevention of venous thromboembolism in patients receiving chemotherapy for stage III-IV breast cancer, and , when compared with no treatment, for the prevention of recurrent venous thrombosis. However, when long-term anticoagulation with a target INR range of 1.5-2.0 was compared with the range of 2-3, the latter was more effective and as safe as the lower range.

Please note the inverse relationship between dosage and age--as one gets older, the dosage amounts usually go down because old people tend to have thicker blood, I guess. Not the matriarch. Her current INR range is 1.6-1.9, thus her dosage of Warfarin has to increase contrary to expectations; she is 99 and she takes the same dosage as someone in their fifties. I think the woman is healthy. Stroke really isn't a concern and yet, we must go to weekly blood clinics.

Warfarin--for Doctors afraid to let nature take its course

The matriarch is 99--she will die of natural causes or of an accident. She is at home; she is loved; she has all her wants met. Naturally, the doctor has called to change her dosage on Warfarin, upping it, asking for weekly blood tests and justifying the new regime with the notion of stroke prevention. It is terrible taking the matriarch to the blood clinic at any time, but now, it is to be, again, a weekly event with all the concomitant issues of taking a 99 year old woman out in winter, with ice, and she handicapped by a failure to admit she is blind. The woman is healthy; I believe her body is adapting, acclimatizing almost, to the blood thinners and stroke is not a worry. The doctor cannot seem to understand he is making her life uncomfortable, he is not prolonging it--at this rate, he is shortening it by tempting fate. Sometimes I wonder if these health professionals have any common sense at all. My mother-in-law listens to her doctor even when he speaks through me; so, we must go to the clinic, endure the line-up, she must be poked and prodded, and blood taken and, then, we can be free for another week. But is this life? Am I complaining because I think it all so pointless? What happens if the matriarch dies? An autopsy? She's 99--she could die of natural causes at any time, at the blood clinic. Yes, she could have a stroke; she could also be hit by a car; she could also fall and bleed out because she is on blood thinners. And, I know I sound like I am complaining but I am not; I have taken care of the matriarch for far too long to begin to complain now; I know I am a bit of a shrew about it all but I still do it. And, my mother-in-law does not like being on blood thinners and blood tests. She would love to see her doctor but she is not sick; I get the phone calls about new schedules and dosages; she is not allowed to socialize on medicare's dime. I can get all kinds of assistance for illness but not for loneliness...

post script:

I brought my mother-in-law her strawberries with their half cup of sugar and a glass of water for her evening snack; she is sitting up in her room eating potato chips and Werther caramels. She cannot possibly be like any other 99 year old. If I were to list her diet for today alone, no one would believe me.

Computers for the Old

An interesting article I just found about an 96 year old and his ipad:

http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/features/2010/1116/1224283402103.html

Not that I Told You So....

A link to an article written by Margaret Wente in today's Globe and Mail about the extra costs of seniors and their visits to emergency rooms:

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/time-to-lead/healthcare/little-old-ladies-are-crashing-the-system/article1794232/

One of the biggest benefits of my mother-in-law living here is that she doesn't get scared anymore. If there is something bothering her physically, I am here to give her an opinion and, if necessary, take her to the doctor. The matriarch does not worry about anything anymore because all her health concerns can be figured out by me or by a quick phone call to a health-line. Previously, I have taken the matriarch to the hospital at 2 o'clock in the morning because she worried herself silly, then phoned me, then waited to go the hospital. And, really, if I am to be totally honest, the event was a social call with nurses and doctors being impressed with a 96 year old still walking around quite normally. But, as Ms Wente observes, there is no cure for old age and, really, a desire to made comfortable or, in the matriarch's case, to have company is the true desire. I wish more doctors made housecalls.

A Small Conflict

We went to the doctor's today--for the 'flu shot at my mother-in-law's insistence. It was pleasant enough, the nurse was very nice, the waiting room was full but pleasant, we were in and out in no time and the matriarch was miserable.

"You aren't sick," I told her. "There was no actual doctor's appointment."

The matriarch forgets that one of the benefits of living here is me; I am not a nurse nor caregiver in the paid sense, but I am someone who sees her daily and will take her to the clinic if she gets sick. "Sick" being the operative word--fever, only. What else can the doctors or the magicians in the hospital do? Unless there is actually something making the matriarch uncomfortable, there is nothing they will do. Last time the matriarch got physically ill, caused by dehydration and leading the doctor to encourage her to move in here, the matriarch had an anxiety attack which she, not the clinicians or anyone else, linked to anasthesia. At the matriarch's request, she will not have anathesia again; my husband and I debated the issue with her at the time but the result was this nothingness--as in, there is nothing to be done for the matriarch should she become ill again. At the time, she was healthy with almost tri-monthly appointments with the doctor. All this visiting and almost socializing has ended. The matriarch is regulated on the blood thinners, I give her her medication, she goes for her blood tests--what else is there to do? What else can be done? Amazing as my almost 100 year old mother-in-law is, she is at the point where medical science will not extend her life--at her own request. Thus, the doctor need only see her at annual check-ups unless she becomes ill with fever--which being here shouldn't be that often. And, the woman is healthy. But, more to the point, she is 99 and death should not be that unexpected.

Lately, I have read books by Father Henri Nouwen and Viktor Frankl; they discuss the meaning of life and the anxieties caused by the sense of impending death. I found both books moving; but, I was, in a sense, lost in Father Nouwen's idea of the aged having a self-awareness about their own mortality. He makes the point a caregiver must be able to accept their own mortality in order to accept the death of an elder, to be able to live with that impending doom. I can understand that; for private reasons, I have lived with my own sense of mortality for a long time. Maybe that is why I am fixated on the matriarch's death? It is not that I want her to die; I want her to understand that we all die. I can sympathize with that. I have a greater difficulty with her ignorance. My husband points out I cannot make his mother be introspective; she does not care about life when she is not here; she does care about strawberries and sugar. Speaking of which, the matriarch recently complained to my husband that he does not put enough sugar on her strawberries.

"How much do you put on?"

"A quarter cup a night. Did you think I was joking?"

But, in the car, on the way home from the clinic, I could see my mother-in-law's fury. Maybe I am extrapolating too much but I think she was expecting the big fuss over a 99 year old woman...I am sorry to say she is too healthy for that. With everything the way it is in the medical world, there is no time to admire the healthy aged; I am not even sure it should be expected. But the matriarch is no longer the star of attention. I wonder at the meaning of her life sometimes; if the matriarch will eventually clue in that there is a world outside her room in which she can still participate. Father Nouwen talks so much about compassion and sharing a spiritual poverty but he does not say how to sympathize with the individual who wants it all and offers nothing in return. How much responsibility and compassion are the elderly entitled when they choose to make their own situations? Remember, my mother-in-law is not ill, she is unhappy or, maybe, I give her too much credit and she is happy to do nothing in her room. I don't know. I get depressed not knowing what to do.

The one thing I do know is that I am more cerebral and social than my mother-in-law and I believe I have an intimacy with my children that I have worked hard to cultivate. I hope to God that will prevent me from sitting alone in my room with a whole world outside. I feel for my husband; he does not know what to do or if to do anything and he constantly plans these Saturday lunches for his mother. He tried to stop them recently and the matriarch asked him on her most recent drive with him when they were going again. He hates fish and chips. Can this be the meaning of the matriarch's life--Saturday lunches with my husband and strawberries and sugar with me?

To be 95 Again...

Here is a link to an essay in today's Globe and Mail about elderly twins; they are 95, she lives at home with 24 hour help and he lives in an old age home having been put there after a stroke:

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/facts-and-arguments/my-father-and-his-twin-sister-are-turning-95/article1787853/

The matriarch, still not admitting she is blind, still makes the stairs on steady feet, walks without a cane and eats sugar like it is going out of style.

How to Live Forever and ever and ever and ever and....

Suzanne Somers does a lot of work with bio--I forget what it is called and alternative cancer treatments and holistic living and she takes 20 vitamins a day and rubs estrogen on her face for two weeks one session, then rubs progesterone on her face for the next two weeks and wants to live till she is 120. "Why?" I ask if it takes that much effort.

My mother-in-law will be 100 on her next birthday and I figure she is preserved; the only thing she seems to eat in any kind of habitual way is sugar. A friend told me her neighbour suggested a shot of vodka with a clove of garlic every morning; the garlic must soak in the vodka. I have heard of exercises and diets and hormone therapies all to increase longevity. Why? It makes absolutely no sense to me that people pursue the idea of immortality and won't invest the time to know their neighbour. My husband figures the best way for people to stay alive is to just avoid illness and, in most cases, that is just dumb luck. People ultimately stay alive because they just don't die--sounds silly, doesn't it? But is there any way around that can prevent death that doesn't in some way also prevent life? I listen to Suzanne Somers and admire the focus with which she aims to live a long time; what if she gets hit by a car? All that time she invested in herself will have been for nought.

Socrates talks about the unexamined life not worth living; I don't know if I completely agree. With the matriarch here and child-raising, my life is swallowed by others' concerns. In as much as I have time to examine my life, this blog is it. In my moral world, I don't think there is much time to waste on myself--there is so much to do for others--I don't even think I would bother. Is that a different type of selfishness? Some times I feel lost wondering about these issues. My husband just came in and said ginseng supposedly helps with aging; I'm allergic to it.

The Beauty of Life

"Only when we are so aware..."

Being Old is not like Having a Pet

Here are some pictures of the elderly in China courtesy of the Globe and Mail in Toronto:

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/asia-pacific/chinas-growing-elderly-population/article1786391/

Of course, in this blog, I complain about taking care of my mother-in-law; it is hard, it is never ending and the woman doesn't like me. Let's focus on the last part of that statement: "the woman doesn't like me." Forget about the implications towards me, think about my mother-in-law's role in the sentence. The "woman" has an opinion, feelings, prejudices, something she "dislikes." Do you think it matters?

It is so easy to forget that my mother-in-law's opinions do matter; whatever I am feeling, at 99, she has earned the right to be mean, critical or happy and generous; in fact, except for her age, she is just like you and me. A friend sent me an email suggesting I put the matriarch in a respite centre for a weekend and have a break. Like putting a dog in a kennel for a weekend away? Like she wouldn't know? Like her opinion wouldn't matter? For all my griping, I do believe it is important for an old person to be with their family rather than warehoused in an institution, even a lovely one, to wait to die. There is something terrible about doing the best for the elderly without their consultation--is it the best if it is not what they want? Is it more important to satisfy a health need than an emotional one? It is ugly what I feel at times, but more importantly, much of the matriarch's misery is of her own making; twenty years, I have known the woman and she never called a person to just say "Hi" and, now, everyone is dead, and she cannot know and she is immensely lonely. I don't which is worse thinking you are neglected or knowing you are alone.

I cannot just put the matriarch in a place for a weekend and have time with my family and exclude her--that seems like an oxymoron. And, yes, this situation just seems to be going on forever--who would have thought their mother-in-law would live till 99; it is hysterical with the eye specialist...it is almost as though he cannot believe the matriarch is still alive and coming to see him. He isn't a very nice man and there is something peculiarly ironic going to see him. Anyhow, I can't just shut the matriarch away and forget she is a human being with feelings. At some point, I am afraid I could be 99 and end up like her and I wouldn't want my family not to bring me strawberries and 10 pounds of sugar at night.

The thing about Age...

It occurs to me, now and then, my mother-in-law is unaware of how old she is...I have been sick the past few days and she has been scared. She hates flu's and colds and any type of discomfort. And, I know I am being unfair...

My mother-in-law asked me if I had the Hong Kong 'flu. She had had it when my husband was a teenager and her husband had not been the most sympathetic of caretakers; because I am nasty, I asked who had taken care of her son while she was sick. The woman had to pause. I don't even think she had thought about her son while she was ill; he's been taking care of my children while I am in bed. But the thing is, despite her comments to the contrary, my mother-in-law does not want to die. I guess we never really want to succumb to our own deaths--even at almost 100. And, yet, is it so unreasonable to wonder why the woman would expect to continue living? First off, the matriarch is not sick--so, it's not even an issue in a sense; but, then again, she could die at any moment and one would think she would have reconciled herself to that possibility. I guess as humans we don't--I certainly never anticipate my own death and it is just as easy to die in a car crash as to fall asleep and never wake up; when one is due, one is dead. But, the matriarch just expects to keep on living--I don't know how she does it. My husband figures as long as his mother has something to hope for, she will continue to hope for it. She is looking forward to the Keg for his 60th in December. I didn't even know that was where he wanted to go--actually, neither did he, but that is where the matriarch plans to take him. So, she has plans for after Christmas which means she will be around for Christmas.

When one is sick and tired and the children are coming down with the 'flu, there is nothing like a cranky, 99 year old not wanting you near but still expecting the same daily treatments. My husband told her I was too tired to drive. She is not ill and we cannot get respite care; and her sister-in-law is out for the balance of the winter---oh well...life does continue.

Happy Birthday (to me)

Today was my birthday and the matriarch was horribly upset she didn't get me a card.

Now, the history of the birthday card is long but short: my husband and I have been together for 19 years, we dated for 2, total of 21 years together, for better or for worse. Only once has my mother-in-law ever thought about getting me a birthday card; that one time would be this year. I know it is not personal; even if it was, it doesn't matter; it is not like I was expecting one. But, holy crow, did she get mad at my husband for not getting me one!

It is not often I hear the matriarch get vocally loud and angry at someone other than me. I know I never hear her say my husband has done anything wrong. But today, boy oh boy, I almost took secret pleasure in knowing my mother-in-law was upset at someone other than me. It was almost a birthday wish watching my husband listen to his mother and then complain to me and me being able to say, "Don't take it so personally; it's not like it matters."

It is so difficult to navigate this road of my mother-in-law being this lady capable of self-responsibility and also being this person, at times, almost careless with their independence and so desperately needy. Had the matriarch suggested to my husband to pick me up a card, it wouldn't have been a problem. My husband did not even remotely consider that I wouldn't even think to pick up a birthday card for my self on my mother-in-law's behalf. The point being, of course, had the matriarch asked either of us to pick up a card, or had she even asked one of the children to buy a card, it would have been done. But we can't just assume to know what she wants because there are those times that have happened when we acted on an assumption and were wrong. For example, I have already taken the matriarch to the store to buy my child's birthday card and the date is in December. It is so easy to recognize this strange state of knowing what the matriarch wants once it has passed; I can almost tell instinctively when the woman is hungry--yes, it is all the time and as long as sugar is involved, there is never a problem; but, for my husband, dealing with his mother is more difficult and more cerebral. He cannot read her mind. I wonder as I write this if nurses in old age homes ever have to navigate this confusing loss of independence. It is a loss, after all, it is not like the matriarch can just act on any of her wants; she must always wait for someone else to be available to satisfy them. One doesn't know what to do to empathize with the situation....

The Trouble with Food

The matriarch has no teeth--not a problem. The matriarch loves sugar--again, no problem. But, as my mother-in-law ages, I notice she spits out less if she eats porridges, stews, and soups. But, she really prefers food she can chew. It is not a pleasant sight and for the sake of the family I make my mother-in-law wet foods; she can't quite see what we are eating, but she knows she is eating something different. I cannot imagine what it is like for her: on one level, I know she enjoys the food I make her because she eats it all but, on a different level, I know she resents the fact I make her meals differently from the rest. And, I know she wants something to get her gums into as well...

The problems are a little more serious than just the spectacle of the solid food spat out. When a very old person is unable to chew their solid food, they swallow it whole and are then unable to digest it. They become gaseous and while it is funny to hear my mother-in-law tooting like a choo-choo train, it is extremely embarrassing for her. So, I know I am right for the body when I make her the softer foods; it is not so positive for the ego. I know my mother-in-law is angry she cannot chew foods properly; Saturday's lunch with my husband is becoming just awful. She pretends to be full and he is now eating 2 fish and chip dinners for Saturday lunch and that ignites a whole other set of problems with no possibility of resolution: no family dinner Saturday nights because he is too full, my children usually cook Saturday nights so he is not impressing them, the lunch is a lot of fried foods which is not good for his health (yes, he could throw it out but his mother doesn't believe in wasting food and, until we know for sure she is blind, the woman is treated, for the most part, as though she can see--yes, yes, I know a grown man still listening to his mother but she is almost 100 and used to getting her own way!)

When I brought her strawberries up to my mother-in-law this evening, I could hear her stomach rumbling. I don't know if she was hungry or if it was gas or what; she dug into the strawberries as soon as I left the room. So much of an older person's life is encouraging them do what they want for as long as they want and so much of it is trying to know when they no longer know what it is they want. I find the longer the matriarch is here the more patience I am developing and the less hopeless I feel. I am not being negative when I say I can feel her dying; I don't want her to die: I just see and feel her slipping away lately. I don't know what that means, really. It is like my children, one day they were babies and then, almost suddenly, they are not; my mother-in-law is here and an annoyance and something of a burden and all of a sudden, she is not. I heard her muttering under her breath at me the other day when I couldn't take her out for the afternoon; I looked at her and I felt so much love it was ridiculous. And, I know she has gone through my purse again and I know she has some other quirks but I keep thinking, maybe realizing for once in my thick skull, so what? At the end, what does it all matter, really? What does it matter to me? My husband just shakes his head and watches "Jeopardy" with his mother before he goes to work and tells the children they can make him breakfast on Sundays.

Issues at the Blood Clinic

I hate taking my 99 year old mother-in-law to the blood clinic. It is clinically clean, politically polite, and absolutely awful. People are numbers; they are poked and prodded and they are so patient and extremely nice waiting in line. And, I try really hard to say the nurses are more than obliging but, really, they do anything to keep tempers down and the line constantly moving. It is like we are all bits in a moving machine--wait here, go to station 'A,' move on to station 'B,' wait there, get pricked here, please leave without interfering with anyone else's turn. It is absolutely impersonal and the nurses call everyone 'dear' with the same sort of insincerity. I hate being there.

The fellow next to us in line today was chatty. I think he was scared; the matriarch thought he was trying to pick her up; he was probably just passing the time in the seemingly endless wait. Three times he told us he hadn't eaten for twelve hours and that he had brought a sandwich to eat after his blood test. Three times he told us. And, there was nothing for the nurses to do but keep the machine wheels turning and this poor man standing hungry in line. I am beginning to reconsider this whole medical machine. If anyone had been sick in the clinic, my mother-in-law would have caught it; I just don't think this is worth it. I cannot make my mother-in-law's medical decisions but I can make my own and I just can't see trying to continue my life in this manner. I would rather have someone who has sincerity and sympathy care for me and make a mistake than to have someone pretend to enjoy keeping me alive. I don't know--it was horrendous being at the clinic this morning.

And, the fellow in line was younger than me so I am pretty sure, despite my mother-in-law's view, he wasn't looking for a 99 year old girlfriend. I hope we do not see him again (and that his health is good.)

A Little Old Granny

It is curious to me how people become old; do people not realize unless life changes them, the nature of their character is intact at some point and remains so until they die? If you have never baked cookies, what makes you think your senior years are going to be spent baking cookies for your grandchildren?

The matriarch was never a "baking cookies" sort of grandmother, but she did teach all my children to crochet, knit and embroider. She also taught my husband about pastry and he has taught the children and they are really good pastry chefs; I really mean that. I have eaten enough butter tarts to prove it.

But I wonder if we ever plan the kind of senior we want to be? I know people plan for retirement and for years after work, but that's all material...I don't know if we ever try to be the kind of people we want to be; I look in the mirror and I think of people I try to emulate and how faraway from the ideal I am and I wonder what goes on in other people's heads. The matriarch talked today about how people never call her and how they have forgotten her and I asked her whom she had called.

She went upstairs.

When I walked in on her later, the matriarch was sitting in her rocking chair having an argument with herself. She looked at me and then asked me to dial the phone for her; she wanted to call a friend who had been in hospital. I don't think people have forgotten the matriarch; she has never made an effort and, now, they don't. It is kind of sad, but there is a redeeming quality to it...the matriarch did telephone someone today, a small miracle. Maybe it is never too late to change.

Just because she's old doesn't mean she's dependent...

The matriarch is old, that's it. She is not sick, she is not disabled (though one could argue blindness is a disability, the matriarch refuses to use a cane and hasn't fallen), she has mild, very mild, dementia. Some could argue the dementia is more like occasional forgetfulness--she does become confused when stressed but I could argue I have encountered younger people who have similar problems when they are stressed. It is called dementia when one is old.

Here is today's blog:

The matriarch's sister-in-law called to see how she was doing. The woman is spending Thanksgiving with some friends and popping over to St. Jacob's Market to do some shopping; she lives in Orangeville and the plans are to have a nice drive, lunch and some shopping. No, the matriarch is not going. She wasn't invited. We don't live close to either St. Jacob's or to Orangeville; it's the sister-in-law's social event; we do a Thanksgiving Dinner here with my parents; so, the matriarch told the sister-in-law she had cancer.

I beg your pardon? I said to the matriarch. You don't have cancer.

But, I did.

But, they cut it out and now, you don't.

But, the doctor said it was still there.

No, he did not. He said no such thing. You had colon cancer 8 years ago, they cut out a few inches of your colon and you are fine.

But, the doctor said it could come back.

Yes, he did. Are you in pain? Are you bleeding when you go to the bathroom?

No.

Well, then, chances are you don't have cancer. You shouldn't be telling people you have cancer when you don't.

But (name of sister-in-law) said she would come take me out for lunch. She said she is no longer tired since her operation. (The sister-in-law did have a lump removed and chemotherapy on her breast. She is 82 and doing fine.)

That has nothing do with the fact you don't have cancer and you can't tell people that you do.

Is this confusion or selfishness? The matriarch's sister-in-law is far more blunt; she told the matriarch, flat out, she wasn't coming to bring her to her house for a visit--she is too demanding a guest. And, while she would like to come up here to take the matriarch out to lunch, or out for a meal, she thinks the drive is too far right now. I know the woman is obsfucating; she doesn't want to go out with her sister-in-law; she is, at least, being polite about it. But the whole situation makes me wonder.

I heard this great radio program on CBC's "The Current" about a couple taking in the wife's elderly parents when the father had a stroke; the mother was already suffering from severe dementia. It was tragic and I admire the woman, her husband and her brother so much for what they did; but, the situation provoked me to consider the matriarch's situation. Illness changes the control issues. My mother-in-law is really, really old. She is not ill and the sympathy I have for her, at times, is overwhelmed by the fact a lot of her misery is of her own making. You cannot tell that to people. One must sow seeds when one is young--not just in terms of friendship but also in how one views the world. Maybe most people see the world in terms of themselves--but, then, they die so their perspective doesn't matter; but what about people who keep on living? My children cannot mention an activity they do that their grandmother hasn't already done or would never do; my parents, really, especially my mother, bend over backwards for the matriarch and she really doesn't appreciate it; and my poor husband, well, he gave up trying to please his mother years ago. I sometimes wonder at the matriarch and her sitting up in her room; she is a fully functional adult always looking to be entertained and I am this sycophant constantly failing to make her happy. Do we all become like this? I imagine it is this type of thinking that enables families to leave their parents in old age homes. But, then, I also wonder would the matriarch be happier to be neglected in a bureaucratic way? I like to think I try to do my best but, ultimately, I can only please the person in the mirror...and, trust me, she is not quite equal to the matriarch's wants.

A Tragedy

Here is an article I found in today's Globe and Mail to continue information on the senior problem in Japan:

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/asia-pacific/japanese-living-longer-lonelier/article1746791/

The article details the lack of accounting for seniors' situation in both social structure accounting and family obligation. I can only wonder why these situations arise although the article indicates men who have worked long hour are the ones mostly separated from their families. It is funny to think hours spent giving a family what they want (as opposed to what they need) may encourage little, if any, growth in family contact. I wonder how women will fair as the situation continues.

Casual Cruelties

A Doctor's appointment for a 'flu shot in November.

Mom, your hair looks great...from the back!

I think you'll regret taking out the bathtub in your bathroom. When you're old like me, you won't be as spry and will need baths over showers because you'll be so crippled up.

Steak dinners.

Is your Dad coming for lunch, too? I know your Mother wants to take me for lunch but I really don't like most of your family.

Roast Beef dinners.

I know I am not the brightest light in the chandelier; but, sadly, your power isn't even turned on...

The man at that Salon didn't cut my hair properly; he didn't even notice I was 99.

I am not blind; I just can't see.

A bowl full of brown sugar looks just like a bowl of porridge. Good thing the milk wasn't handy.

The ribs at Swiss Chalet aren't as tender as they used to be...everywhere I go the food has become so tough. Nothing tastes the same.

Roast Chicken dinners.

You make good soup; I can eat soup all the time now...just I get tired of tomato or chicken noodle and I don't like that stuff you make.

Why is this house always out of sugar?

Yes, I can go for a drive with you , we can go to Zehrs and you can pick me up some potato chips and Werther's Candies because I am all out. But I don't want to go in the store with you. I'll wait in the car and you can hurry.

Grandma is sleeping; do we have to wake her to go out?

Roast Pork dinners.

No one phones anymore; where do all the people go? I'd like some company now and then.

Sleeping in the basement, sitting at the side of the table rather than the head, being taken for granted by a selfish old woman...dreading the possibilities of the future.

An old age home: a senior sits by a window, blind to the sites outside her room, bereft of company at any meal, challenged to ever leave the place for a change. Whose hell is worse?

The Old and Fire Alarms

Christie Blatchford had an interesting article in today's Globe and Mail:

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/christie-blatchford/verdict-in-seniors-home-fire-a-call-to-action-but-will-anyone-listen/article1739107/

It seems silly to have to commend a reporter and fire chief for writing about the obvious, but it is also silly to have to write fire protection protocols in senior housing or retirement homes are almost non-existent in homes older that 1997. People who live in houses, like me, are recommended to have fire alarms; why would the institutionalized be treated differently? Why would companies who run these homes argue against fire protection for the old and infirm? They argue it is too expensive to update their buildings? Why? Are these homes somehow different from the places in which the owners live?

And, as bad as the owners are, do family members not check to see if there are protections around for their elderly relative? Of course, I am being harsh. But society is judged by how it treats its very old and very young (and the infirm). To leave an elderly person without the most basic of protection, sprinklers in an old aged home, is a form of abuse; every family should at least check to see what the protocols are for fire. How do the old get out of a burning building? Who helps them in the case of an emergency? Why is it we think it doesn't matter in a seniors' building? Of course, it does; why wouldn't it?

And my oldest makes Salsa

The matriarch went to my Mom's, made Chili Sauce, and returned home with 8 bottles. My mother thought it could be used in the making of Chili Con Carne.

"No, no, no," I told her, "It is a kind of relish or chutney."

"What do I want that for?" My mother asked.

I looked at her; what did she think my problem was? Worse yet, the matriarch knew her Chili Sauce wasn't the same; my husband knew it wasn't the same. My mother-in-law is 99 and eats sugar all the time; of course, it couldn't possibly taste the same as it used to; the matriarch no longer tastes food in the same way. So, there are 8 jars of Chili Sauce in my cupboard which no one will eat--including my mother-in-law because she doesn't like it. Such is life.

My oldest, also a pickler, made Salsa and the matriarch ate some.

"That's quite spicy," she said, eating another spoonful. We usually eat Salsa with Tortillas but the matriarch cannot chew the hard chips and, instead, just ate the stuff out of a bowl. I was surprised at how much she ate. Her eyes watered a bit and I thought she would have stopped, but the woman really enjoyed it. She cannot taste her own sauce but thinks my child's is just wonderful and wonders how it will go on mashed potatoes. I shake my head and wonder if my oldest will have to make another 24, 48 or 72 jars; God knows, the matriarch can eat and eat more when she likes something in particular.

Death, Chili Sauce and Rotting Fruit

Recently, a person gave the opinion to me that very old people should not be using the health care system to stay alive; for example, they should not be on blood thinners or other medication to make their lives last longer. Obviously, they aren't; the medical system keeps you in good health, it's aim is not immortality. But, seniors are, rightly, entitled to have a quality of life for the duration; blood thinners prevent stroke in my mother-in-law's case. That means, she could survive a stroke if she wasn't on them; it's a quality of life of issue not quantity. I know I judge the matriarch all the time. There is this constant battle in my head: is she bugging me on purpose or is she just being old? But, as much as I let loose on this blog, the reality is I wouldn't change her right to choose her way to live for all the tea in China; I wish it didn't cause me so much hassle, but it is her life to live the way she wants. Under no case, do I believe or would I ever believe in someone's or some institution's right to determine when another individual has lived long enough. It's a slippery slope that could extend to the handicapped, the chronically in pain, the chronically ill, the mentally ill and the mentally challenged. It doesn't take much in a world governed by financial concerns rather than moral ones.

Anyhow, enough of that.

My mother has offered to have the matriarch over to make Chili Sauce. Seeing as my husband has to return to full hours at work, and his company has been extremely generous with reduced hours for a long time, it makes life a whole lot easier. And, there is the bonus blessing of not having the stuff here; my poor mother does not know what she is in for with the matriarch. My mother offered today to have the matriarch over to make Chili sauce--to make it at some point, soon. The matriarch got me to pull down all her pots necessary to make the sauce and they are in her room; I have got one case of jars ready, including washed, for the matriarch to bring to my mother's. The bowls are ready although I don't know why the matriarch wants to bring them--my mother lives in a house, has her own stuff, has raised a family, too. But I digress. The matriarch wanted to go tomorrow; I explained my mother had plans plus she had to buy the ingredients. The matriarch wanted to go with her to help buy what is necessary....

And, then the tragedy of the day happened.

I looked at the matriarch's bowl of fruit in her room; it is always full of peaches and plums. But when I looked at it, today, I realized underneath the ripening fruit was mold. The matriarch likes to keep her room warm; with the blood thinners, she tends to feel the cold and is no longer opening her windows. And, so, the fruit is going bad. Unfortunately, that wasn't the problem. When I told the matriarch and went to take the bowl away, the fruit had to go and the bowl to be washed, she went to stop me. The poor woman thought the fruit was still ripening and told me she wanted to keep it. I told her it was bad and had to go, but, again, she stopped me and told me she was letting it go to get softer. She can't chew it when it is so hard. I began to cry because I suspect she has been eating rotten fruit--with all the bloody sugar to cover the odd taste. I told her you can't eat this fruit, it is rotting and took the bowl away. Yes, I had to pull it out of her hands. But, then the matriarch said to me, "I can't see when the fruit is bad."

I don't know if this is what happens when blindness suddenly hits; I don't know if the matriarch can't see. She refused to eat most of her dinner because she wasn't feeling well and I think she is so upset. We knew the blindness was coming; it was one of the reasons the doctor encouraged the matriarch to give up her house. But she has refused to say she can no longer see and I don't know if I am supposed to pretend everything is okay, following her direction, or make a big deal and take her to the doctor's. The opthamologist had already warned me this could happen--last year. Why is it people anticipate the likelihood of the matriarch dying before the eventuality of blindness? She obviously isn't dead and, now, cannot see when the fruit is rotting beneath her hands. I feel so sorry for her. I feel so terribly sorry for her.

Fruit and Sugar and Sugar and Fruit

"Why are we always out of sugar in this house?"

I turn to look at my husband. You have got to be kidding me, I think to myself.
He is looking in the cupboard at empty sugar bowls; there is no sugar in the pantry, there is no sugar in the bulk container under the counter. I believe, yet again, we have run out of sugar. There is no white sugar. There is no brown sugar. There is no icing sugar. There is no Demara sugar I usually have around for Christmas.

"Do you not listen to me?" I respond sweetly. "We have no sugar. I have told you your Mother is going through bowls and bowls of it. Haha, it is all so funny until you realize we are going through pounds of sugar in days."

"But the kids bake."

"Yes, they do. And, your mother eats that stuff, too"

I plunge into the argument with the force of someone absolutely sure of herself.

"Shall we talk about the fruit, too? 'Cause your mother eats fruit like it is going out of style."

"Why are you so worried about what a 99 year old woman eats? Why does it matter?"

I know it doesn't matter; telling my husband I think that my 99 year old mother-in-law is playing mind games on me sounds paranoid. I can't believe she is eating all this sugar either. I have visions of cleaning her room after her death and finding mountains of the stuff hidden in her drawers. It scares me to think of where it might be hiding. When I look at the matriarch, she appears to be shrinking--becoming almost granular.

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter." I repeat the phrase under my breath over and over again as though saying it, somehow, makes it true. Of course, it matters. It is driving me crazy to no end to wonder where it all goes.

This week's fruit and sugar purchases (bought Thursday of last week):

2 lbs white sugar

2 lbs brown sugar

18 apples

6 oranges

7 litre box of peaches

7 litre box of nectarines

2 boxes of plums (about 24-30 prune plums)

We have 6 apples left and some oranges; the children don't eat oranges and my mother-in-law has no teeth, so she doesn't eat apples. It is Tuesday night. I think it matters--yes, I know, there is nothing I can do but it still matters.

Mind games. I know that is what she is doing. I am sinking under the sugary coating of paranoia.

Missing Seniors and Pensions

In Japan, 230 000 seniors are missing:

http://www.independent.ie/breaking-news/world-news/230000-japan-centenarians-missing-2333479.html

It was noticed a man, supposedly celebrating his 111th birthday, was actually a mummy when government officials popped around to celebrate the big day. Estimates were the man had been dead for 30 years. The whole time, his pension had been deposited into his account and someone had accessed it. I wonder if this means the state should look in on people as they age because family, obviously, may not be doing it. I wonder about those obligations. I wonder how I would feel if the state periodically checked up on my care of the matriarch, if I would feel weird about it.

I probably wouldn't mind if people came to see if the matriarch was still alive--she'd, at least, have visitors. One of things of having a senior living with you is the reality of neighbourhood participation; my neighbours all know she is here and look out for her when I take her out, the children next door kind of stare when she steps down the porch steps, the people across the street wave at her in the car. These are good things, I think. I probably wouldn't get a way with keeping her here as a mummy. But that event does bring home the idea that seniors do much better with community. I wish they weren't hidden away so much. I am really beginning to feel that push to do something because what I do do as a mother and caretaker is so under-valued and can be so easily replaced by institutional care. It seems society prefers that method. It strikes me as undervaluing the individual in the name of group management. Or, maybe, it is being able to hold people to a financial reckoning because we live in a world where accounting is more important than personal care. I don't know.

For one, I have no power attorney over the matriarch's funds; her money is her money. Secondly, whatever the matriarch has saved will be used to bury her; if there is anything leftover, she has left it to the children. Thirdly, if I was in this for the money, I wouldn't be in it. Japanese seniors, in the country that is supposed to set the standard for senior care, are missing; it doesn't say much for accounting or for individual care.

Grandparents

An interesting article from the Globe and Mail:

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/world/americas/number-of-us-grandparents-raising-their-grandkids-rises-sharply/article1701865/

I don't know what to make of grandparents raising their grandchildren. It doesn't say much about their parents--excusing the sick or the dead; I can't decide if economics is a justifiable reason to not raise one's children, survival is one thing, a mortage quite another.

Hazel McCallion verses Lunch

Hazel McCallion, the current mayor of Mississauga, west of Toronto, has decided to run for mayor for another term. She has been mayor for over 36 years and Mississauga has never been in debt for the entire period. Pretty impressive when you think of it--both Ms McCallion's longevity as a politician and her track record. She is 89. Is she too old? Or does her record stand for itself and, thus, she can be elected again based on it? Or does her longevity, in a way, keep younger and, possibly, different or better politicians out of the running? Or, further, she is of an age when she could just die and should that reality preclude her? Mind, anyone, age indiscriminate, could just die, too; car accidents happen.

It is hard to know what to think.

I look at the matriarch who almost ran out the door today in anticipation of lunch with my husband. So much of her behaviour is excused by age and I look at Ms McCallion and wonder if anyone excuses her behaviour because of her age. Of course not. Everyone agrees she is, obviously, behaving in the best interests of Mississauga and, most likely, she is not called a "selfish, old lady" behind her back. But is she being selfish by running for election again? Sometimes I think the matriarch behaves the way she does because she always has; she has always gotten up in the morning and so she always will until she doesn't. Ms McCallion has always been mayor and, probably, always will be until she isn't. It is a strange kind of parallel and my perspective is biased by my age; I live in the shadow of 2 baby booms, the generation after the war who won't give up their youth and the generation of the Eighties who won't assume their adulthood. My generation just seems to be stuck in the middle. I mean, on the face of it, when an 89 year old woman is the best choice in an election, it doesn't say much for any of the alternatives. However, being honest, I don't think anyone is running against Ms McCallion.

The matriarch will eat peanut butter and jam for dinner today; she will have a filling lunch with my husband, she will drink her hot chocolate with whipped cream and have a pleasant time. She will not spit out any of her fish and chips and she will be quite content. I wonder if Ms McCallion has similar uncomfortable habits?

Okay, Sometimes it is hard but...

Yesterday, I heard a story on CBC about the death of 2 brothers: 1 died of natural causes at the age of 59, the other starved to death because he was a 46 year old man with Downs Syndrome who could not survive one his own. No one, no neighbours, no family checked on the two of them for 2 weeks and the 46 year old fellow died after his brother's heart attack left him alone and incapable of fending for himself. The older brother took on care of his sibling when his mother died. I couldn't find the story in today's papers and missed the link from yesterday's radio news. But what a tragic story.

In light of that, here is a link to a situation in British Columbia:

http://www.cbc.ca/canada/british-columbia/story/2010/09/06/bc-rightsremoved.html

An elderly woman was not maintained properly in a hospital facility and her husband's legal power of attorney was stripped from him when he refused to pay the bills because of the lack of care. Obviously, there are elements to the story to which I am ignorant but the problem, again, seems to be a loneliness to the life of the old.

I don't know how to remedy these situations. Institutional care will not work on long term basis; people mean the best, I have to think that, but care becomes a function in a job when it becomes routine; try as much as we want, society cannot pay for the feeling of care, that sense of obligation towards another human being. I know some people are born with that intuition, some are not; our institutions are governed by other principles that don't involve care but are based on money. It is sad but true. It used to be religious institutions could be relied on to provide care for the elderly but, after the revealing horrors of institutional schools, I doubt many would choose to let their elderly live there. The other option, of course, is family care; but, then, as numerous of my posts have demonstrated that is not easy either.

I think about those 2 brothers and wonder if their neighbourhood was as silent as mine is during the day. Everything seems to be going towards institutional care as though, despite evidence to the contrary, it is somehow ideal. In Ontario, kindergarten is now an all-day affair as though a 4 year old spending all day in school is somehow better than being at home. Have families become so awful that it is better for society to interfere than let them have any influence at all? I wonder.

It seems, to me anyhow, that institutions have become the norm for the care of the elderly, the infirm (including mental defect), and the young. I cannot but wonder how those 2 brothers would have done had they been able to be out and about in the neighbourhood; how the old lady would have done had she been allowed to return to her home and die with her husband; how children would be if they could run outside for a while. Of course, I write as though my family is rich and it costs us nothing for me to be home with my children and my mother-in-law; it is so much easier to think that way than to acknowledge the actual costs involved with raising one's children, caring for one's elderly family. I am a bit down. It seems everywhere I turn what I do as a person is diminished in society because it no longer values the care a home offers, the need a secure environment fulfills. I know all my neighbours by name; my children play outside; my mother-in-law drives me crazy--I am a dying breed.

The Four Walls of My Freedom

An interesting book review, I look forward to reading the book:

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/family-and-relationships/disability-writer-donna-thomsons-clear-eyed-look-at-the-value-of-a-life/article1696913/

The Blood Clinic

The matriarch and I hate going to the new blood clinic. It is like a medicalized factory--numbers are called, people go in, get poked and come out. While the technicians, no longer nurses, are nice they do not have time to be social or empathetic, some don't even have the wherewithal to be considerate. One of the ladies from the matriarch's previous clinic was moved to this one and she has made an effort on our previous two visits to be the one to do the blood test for the matriarch. And, she has been extremely nice to my 99 year old mother-in-law. One would think the doctor could be the same.

After this last visit, where, yet again, the matriarch bruised after the poke, I phoned to ask if the cumidin dosage was too high or if, maybe, we could stop going to the blood clinic. I don't want my mother-in-law to die--despite it all--and I believe quality of life should be the most important idea to be considered but, really, going for weekly blood tests for blood thinners is problematic. Especially with the change to this new clinic. My mother-in-law is 99, she is not going to live forever. If she picks up a cold at this clinic, it is going to be a huge discomfort. The weekly blood tests are not an inconvenience--well, not to her--but she cannot socialize at this new place and she dreads going to it. And, I don't understand why the doctor keeps her on cumidin; it is to prevent a stroke, he tells me, but what is that? What else could possibly kill her? At 99, it is not so wrong to die nor so unexpected.

None of us wants to die, but I think, sometimes, we get tired of living. My mother-in-law still wants to live--as long as she eats on her own, it is not a worry. But the blood thinners, I think, are prolonging her life. It is a weird situation to be in to say you don't want someone to die and, at the same time, be against things prolonging someone's life. The doctor has said we can now go to the clinic every two weeks; the matriarch's blood tests are stable. But she is bruising, so I doubt it very much, and I suspect the doctor is watching the matriarch. But I don't know for what...at 99, she could die anyhow. So why keep up this pretense of preventing her death? Is that healthcare?

The matriarch lives a life where she wants to go out for lunch all the time. There is only so much money to enable her to do so...we get her out twice a week to a restaurant and I still take her for daily drives and there are the visits to the clinic, to the nail salon, and to the hair dressers. Who am I to judge this type of existence? I am not supposed to be judging it. But, then, how do these acts define my existence? I don't think it is selfish to be questioning these acts as the sum of existence. I mean it amounts to my husband and me, catering to my mother-in-law's whims and is that we are supposed to be like when we get old? Living on our whims? My mother-in-law could live on for years like this or she could die tomorrow--neither situation would be unexpected. But, I begin to think it is wrong for an existence to be reliant on blood tests and stroke prevention. Or, maybe, it is not. I don't know. I go to a funeral today for a man I respected who was in his forties. He wanted to live to see his son grow-up. Should I be comparing his life to the matriarch's?

Grace before Meals

Things that Really Happen...

So, the stove caught fire today and my youngest made a point of saying, "Not my fault." As we watched the bonfire in the oven and switched off the gas, the matriarch wandered into the kitchen.

"What's for lunch?"

The kids and I turned to look at her and I realized I still had the pot of soup on the stove and it was still warm, fire and all.

"Tomato soup."

My eldest wondered aloud if grandma noticed the oven was on fire; the old lady turned to look and told us to put salt on top of the flames and they would eventually go out.
"Just don't use my shakers."

Obviously, I used all the salt in the house, every shaker but her's, and the boxed salt and the pickling salt and the flames did eventually go out. I was shaking and I think the kids were scared and the oven was a little bit black but the matriarch ate all her soup and said she would have cake when my parents came over. Because stuff like this happens only when my mother comes to visit and the matriarch knows this to be true.

Incompetence

Giving up is not the same thing as losing control though I think, sometimes, I confuse the two. The matriarch has mild, very mild, dementia which basically amounts to some confusion, sometimes. It is unpredictable, irregular and I am not supposed to think she uses it on a whim--however, there are times I suspect she does. My big problem, and it is harsh, is my belief people should realize they are aging. My husband, who I tend to forget is almost 60, thinks age is all in the mind and I should get over my expectations. But, then, he is not the one who has to take a 99 year old woman to a beauty salon and explain her wishes to a twenty year old who hasn't a clue but that he is dealing with one very old lady. Of course, I want control; it would make things easier and, of course, there is guilt because easy disrespects my mother-in-law's competency. She knows what is up despite me often thinking she doesn't. It's not done on schedule, this becoming old and losing one's mind. Maybe in a home, my mother-in-law would be on schedule and not to do things to annoy people--my husband figures if his mother didn't have the option of driving people crazy, she'd be dead. But it is hard to reconcile age, wisdom (and, yes, I am giving more credit than normally) and the reality that things fall apart even when we won't admit it.

Home Forever

Sometimes, it is so hard with the matriarch; I feel she does some strange things on purpose and to drive me crazy. My friend was over yesterday and made the point that maybe my mother-in-law acts the way she does to retain control of some sort over her life. She does live in my home, she does eat in my kitchen, she does expect me to do all the work--because she can't. It must be awful to no longer have control, no direction in one's life and live at the discretion of someone else. I feel so guilty. My friend, whose grandmother lived with her family for 12 years, said her mother used to get depressed, too, but there was not a lot to be done. If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to care for an older person, too. Maybe it would be easier if more family were involved but there is no family; distant cousins and nieces and nephews do not seem to feel the same obligations and my mother-in-law certainly does not seem to want them around.

I found this article in the New York Times about an 98 year old woman evicted from the Carnegie Artists' Apartments:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/28/nyregion/28carnegie.html

Aside from the information about the building's demolition, there does not seem to be a recognition that this 98 year old woman was still living independently and participating with her neighbours despite her age. Sometimes I listen to the ads about how to live longer and younger and I see vibrant communities with purpose destroyed in the same of what is perceived as something better. All that is old is replaced with something new as though that is somehow better, more important and the wealth of the old, the traditions and so forth are lost. It reminds me of the bloody chili sauce and the knowledge, the recognition, that I am going to have to make it.

One thing my friend and I did disagree over was the way youth is celebrated; what does it matter if the old still dye their hair into their 70s? I guess I think it is that pretense at youth that makes it so much harder to accept old age and all the consequences of life that goes with it. My friend says it doesn't matter; we just now accept old people who look younger. And, I guess, that is my problem: people who look younger tend to act younger and I mean immaturely. Or, maybe, I am being stupid; it is okay for seniors to behave the way they want, they have earned the right. My expectations are warped, I guess. But my problems can be summed up in my experiences with my half-blind, half deaf mother-in-law who wants to make this chili sauce. She can no longer make it, no one eats it and I will have to go through the motions only to throw it out--what does it matter? Well, the matriarch can also no longer taste it-- my proof is in the plethora of empty sugar bowls around here, another pound of sugar on its way today,--do I expect the matriarch to understand she has physically changed and not the sugar and vegetables used to make the chili sauce? I think pretending to be young makes it more difficult to be old. We live in this world that changes so fast we think the world is altering daily and, yet, I think, we pretend to stay the same. I guess that is my problem: we do change as we age and that is okay and good, pretending not to makes the whole process worse. I wish my mother-in-law would realize we no longer eat the chili sauce but it has been replaced by homemade salsa and that fact commemorates her tradition of homemade pickling. It is a weird sort of paradox to be living with--this idea of change and stasis and jars of chili sauce that will be floating around my house for years to come.

The Crazy Age

Here is an interesting article by Jane Miller on growing old:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/aug/26/jane-miller-growing-old-ageing

What intrigues me most is the idea that, somehow, a narrative can be created for a life and events explained as though there was a reason for every incident of every day of one's existence. It's not like that and I think people are beginning to delude themselves into thinking rationalizing events or circumstances in a life can excuse behaviours. I recently read Mitch Albom's book "5 People You Meet In Heaven" and, while it was interesting, ultimately, it was a justification for all life events and a rationalizing of the connectedness between people. I guess I am not saying that people are not connected and chaos theory alive but what I am saying is that we mistake this sort of belief for a God or faith or whatever. I don't think it works that way.

The matriarch may reflect privately on her life, I don't know; she loves to talk about her first marriage in the thirties and the parties she and her husband used to have. But she left him when she had had enough of his boozing and physical abuse--I wouldn't have thought it the happiest time in her life and, yet, it is the period she seems to reflect on the most. I think you have to have a certain nature and desire for introspection to create sense out of an existence; some people are not like that. It's not wrong or right; but, I think there so many attempts to rationalize existence that attempts at life get lost in the thinking. I don't think my mother-in-law thinks about her own death; I think that is why she loves going to funerals--she is still alive despite it all and loves pointing the fact out to the grieving. (Yes, it's tasteless and tacky and the reason my husband avoids bringing her to funerals but true all the same.) My suspicion is the matriarch doesn't think about God or meaning--I'm not saying she doesn't care, well, actually, I am--but I mean it is not in her nature to worry about such stuff, to even contemplate it. And, I think we live in a world where sometimes that is seen as wrong.

Privileging the cerebral, because that is what it is, applying this narrative structure to a life is not fair. Because, then, somehow there has to be meaning in stuff that "just happens." And, stuff does just happen for no reason at all. I know I judge my mother-in-law all the time and I am beginning to think I do it because I am trying to rationalize the last ten years of my life. It's a long time to have spent helping someone else with their life and I am trying to make sure I have learned something by it. And, I haven't--not really. And, one cannot really make the argument there have been lessons without falling back into platitudes that someday these events will come back to me; I could get hit by a car in the future, die and none of it will have mattered in the long run to me personally. That's okay or, at least, I am beginning to realize that it would be okay. It is so hard to do the right thing when there is no reason, no narrative, no structure. Reminds me of that other book "Can We Be Good Without God?" (just you have to replace "God" with the word "Reason.")

Habits of Charity

No one wants to die knowing there are no memories of kind acts. Unfortunately, a lot of people plan to do generous acts when they retire but die before they can. I don't think the matriarch even considers the possibility of her own death and our memories. Perhaps I am being judgmental, perhaps I am being realistic. My husband figures his mother could live another twenty years and think nothing of putting me in the grave--and that is not being ironic, just very sad. My mother-in-law lives in a constant state of "want." She is never happy with what she has and thinks the grass is always greener somewhere else. The new blood clinic, today, proved her thoughts wrong yet again as we went to an almost factory like clinic and she was treated decently but impersonally. Of course, this is what a home would be like. Though, she has visions of catered meals and friendly nurses and laundry done daily. How nice it would be if life could be like that.

Sadly, that is not what the average home is like despite the best intentions; it is generousity of spirit that makes the best homes excel. My mother-in-law does not have that kind of spirit; she waits to be catered to and fussed over and, I guess at 99, she has earned the right. But I cannot help but wonder what my mother-in-law was like when she was younger and had to take care of my husband's grandparents. They lived with his family for twelve years, rent free, and left when my husband's father asked for a hand with the expenses. I don't know why the family asked for the money; the house was paid for and there were no debts. But I think about that absence of the matriarch's unselfishness and wonder. Is it a habit that must be cultivated when younger?

Tired

As the matriarch gets older, she gets tired. Most nights, she goes to bed before 8:30. You can see in her face, she is physically exhausted--whether or not she has not done anything. Most days, the matriarch just sits in her room; I don't know what she actually does beyond sit but she is there. And, the fruit and sugar eating is completely out of control.

My husband made his mother lunch on Saturday and she complained there wasn't enough sugar. My husband being my husband poured a little over half the sugar bowl onto her fruit and silenced her. She ate it. But my husband, guiltily perhaps, told me he thinks it was definitely too much--his mother is more a less than half sugar bowl sort of person. This week I bought 2 pounds of sugar to see how it goes. I have been going to the store every few days to buy pounds of sugar because my husband didn't believe me when I said his mother was eating immense amounts of sugar. Now, he does. You would think the sugar would keep the matriarch hyped up. But she is still tired at night.

And, as for fruit, the woman really hasn't eaten dinner in a few days; she's eating plums, nectarines, peaches, bananas, strawberries and raspberries but no dinner of consequence. The matriarch does eat breakfast with cereal, toast, juice and tea. Is this what happens when we get old? We succumb to the sweetness and fibrousness of any fruit that is available and that we can chew? The matriarch peels everything and I constantly have to check for skins because she will leave them in her room and I am afraid of bugs. She is an adult and should know better. It's like she wants to be told to give me her peelings. On one level it is silly, but on another she is giving up her independence, her rights as an adult. The matriarch is waiting for me to make decisions for her. It can be quite draining constantly making someone else's life choices. She is not my child. Ultimately, my mother-in-law is a stranger I have grown to know instinctively but it is still weird for me. I wonder if it is like this for others? And, I always feel she is judging me despite her half blind eyes and lack of hearing--it is all so silly to be so insecure around an old woman who can do no harm.