We've run out of salt and not just because of the frequency of kitchen fires. So, we went to the doctor's to make sure the matriarch was still okay (she's putting salt on her potato chips), arranged for some blood tests re: sodium blood levels, and heard the doctor mention from now on, it would be a quality of life issue.
You think?
Then, he and all the staff made a point of coming to shake the matriarch's hand to wish her a Happy Birthday.
The matriarch was suitably impressed but when we got to the car, asked me if the doctor had forgotten her birthday is in June. Why would they be wishing her a Happy Birthday the end of March?
She wondered if he was getting old what with the forgetfulness and everything.
What exactly do you say to this?
The doctor does not want to see the matriarch unless she is sick because there is nothing to be done for a healthy 100 year old. Do you understand what I am saying? He fully expects her to die before the next annual checkup...I'd like to think I could agree, but I want to see the surprise on his face next March when we do show up. Heaven forbid.
But, the thing is the matriarch, like any one of us, does not think about dying. I think she should...though when you really think about it that is my hang up not her one. I don't think about my own death; well, actually, I do but I don't anticipate it. For some reason, I have a hard problem with the matriarch not anticipating her own death. She gets up everyday with the anticipation of what the day will bring. She is looking forward to the girls' piano recital this weekend. She is looking forward to lunch out with my husband tomorrow. She is planning for her birthday all ready. She sometimes still mentions a trip to Cuba. For someone who doesn't do a lot, she sure as heck has a lot of plans.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Old Money
Brilliant video:
Whatever you think of the video, it is lovely to see old people involved with the young and not forgotten.
Whatever you think of the video, it is lovely to see old people involved with the young and not forgotten.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
The Weekend such as it was....
Akin to blindness, there is an element of obliviousness which must fall into most lives. Genderly speaking, it is this obliviousness between husbands and wives and how they view their children that determines power structures in a family. I have not mentioned before my children are daughters; they steam roll their father and they are really good cooks...for the most part. To be fair, I don't usually leave the kitchen when one of my daughters is attempting to make supper or bake or knead bread. Admittedly, I might be at the table reading a book but I am there, there in an omnipresent way and available to help when needed. My beloved husband? Not so much.
This past weekend was a doozy because I was not there, my husband was and so, too, the matriarch for good measure. It is terrible to admit my daughter set the oven on fire again; same child, same Yorkshire puddings, same reason--no cookie tray beneath a pan overfilled with oil. What does a man do when faced with this dilemma? First, he was on the computer in the basement and when my daughter yelled down to him, she needed some help, he took his time coming up the stairs. The child is pretty smart--previous experience, you know--so she turned the oven off but then, like me, she opened the door to the oven....I think you can imagine the rest. My husband freaked. I believe I should highlight he is not usually the panicking kind. He shut the door to the oven, yelled to the girls to get out of the house, and went upstairs to get his mother. He, fortunately, remembered the cat. (Please note, fire is still burning in the oven--door closed).
I have the van because I am spending a couple of hours undisturbed at a bookstore. Alone. He has the Honda CRV--which the matriarch cannot get into. So, he lifts his mother into the car, turns it on for heat, puts the 12 year old with the cat in the front, the others in the back and then returns to the house. I come home with the expectation of a nice roast beef dinner to be ready and wonder why the family is sitting in a running car in the driveway. Apparently, my neighbour is wondering the same thing--more about that later. I go into a smoke infested house to see my husband putting rock salt--y'know the kind for driveways--on a fire in the oven. Aside: this is never, ever a good idea. What is on the rock salt begins to pop in my oven and there is a pungent odour emanating from the stove.
What are you doing? I ask my husband with smoky eyes, coughing and with a "why aren't the windows open" sort of addendum. He has shut the windows to prevent oxygen from feeding the fire and when I say the house is filled with smoke, I am talking about both floors and all the rooms, he looks at me as though this makes perfect sense.
My husband tells me his mother said rock salt would be as good as table salt.
Why wouldn't you use table salt? (Fire still going on in the oven--fed by whatever is on the rock salt; I have stopped my husband from putting anymore on to the flames.)
Couldn't find it.
This is a very specific gender difference between men and women; there is always salt in this house, much like sugar. One might have to move a jar of peanut butter to see it, but it is always there. We empty two boxes of table salt onto the flames and get the fire out. We also open every window in the house and shut off the furnace. We stand out on the porch airing our eyes and breathing fresh air. After last time, my husband purchased a fire extinguisher; but, then, he stored it in the garage--which, if you are in Ontario, at this moment, is not a good idea. It froze and, thus, was completely useless.
At this point, the daughter who inadvertently started the fire gets out of the car and wants to know if she can go to her room.
The house is too smoky, I say, and she bursts into tears because her sisters have accused her of trying to burn down the house.
That's not true, I say. Let me go talk to them.
My youngest then hops out of the car with the cat and reveals the cat is trying to eat grandma's coat. I cannot make this stuff up. And, Grandma wants to go up to her room and asks when is dinner going to be ready?
No Yorkshire pudding for dinner, but the roast is already out of the oven and the vegetables are cold but edible. And, we can save the muffin tins used for the Yorkshire puddings because my husband pulled them out of the oven when he opened the door to put the rock salt in. I make a gravy to heat everything up when we eat.
It is Saturday and we obviously miss Earth Hour but to be fair, technically, there was nothing on in the house.
The next day, leaving the kitchen mess still there and my husband off on an appointment to do with work and not play, I encountered my neighbour at a Math Tournament for the girls. He is a Russian Mathematician and has gotten the children involved with all kinds of Math contests. We say hi and he comments on how big the children have gotten and how they grow up so fast; it is a strange sort of small talk considering we live across the street from one another. Then there is a silence.
I didn't know your youngest could drive...
She can't.
I didn't think so when I saw the cat but your husband was acting so weird yesterday. Did he tell he lifted his mother into the car? I think she could have gotten in on her own. But they went nowhere. He just kicked everyone out of the house, I watched him check all the windows and they sat in the car till you came home. Is everything okay?
What do you say when your humiliation has become public? But, note, this is another gender difference. No woman of calibre would ever ask publicly about the machinations of family life; she might be discreet, she may even gossip, but she would never ask in a public forum within the hearing of other people, other mothers and fathers about a strange family situation. I didn't tell the neighbour about our Saturday adventures. I didn't want to and I dread cleaning the kitchen this evening. The mess is not pleasant and I am hoping my husband's obliviousness can last until I paint the kitchen ceiling. Or rather, my obliviousness should last until he paints it.
This past weekend was a doozy because I was not there, my husband was and so, too, the matriarch for good measure. It is terrible to admit my daughter set the oven on fire again; same child, same Yorkshire puddings, same reason--no cookie tray beneath a pan overfilled with oil. What does a man do when faced with this dilemma? First, he was on the computer in the basement and when my daughter yelled down to him, she needed some help, he took his time coming up the stairs. The child is pretty smart--previous experience, you know--so she turned the oven off but then, like me, she opened the door to the oven....I think you can imagine the rest. My husband freaked. I believe I should highlight he is not usually the panicking kind. He shut the door to the oven, yelled to the girls to get out of the house, and went upstairs to get his mother. He, fortunately, remembered the cat. (Please note, fire is still burning in the oven--door closed).
I have the van because I am spending a couple of hours undisturbed at a bookstore. Alone. He has the Honda CRV--which the matriarch cannot get into. So, he lifts his mother into the car, turns it on for heat, puts the 12 year old with the cat in the front, the others in the back and then returns to the house. I come home with the expectation of a nice roast beef dinner to be ready and wonder why the family is sitting in a running car in the driveway. Apparently, my neighbour is wondering the same thing--more about that later. I go into a smoke infested house to see my husband putting rock salt--y'know the kind for driveways--on a fire in the oven. Aside: this is never, ever a good idea. What is on the rock salt begins to pop in my oven and there is a pungent odour emanating from the stove.
What are you doing? I ask my husband with smoky eyes, coughing and with a "why aren't the windows open" sort of addendum. He has shut the windows to prevent oxygen from feeding the fire and when I say the house is filled with smoke, I am talking about both floors and all the rooms, he looks at me as though this makes perfect sense.
My husband tells me his mother said rock salt would be as good as table salt.
Why wouldn't you use table salt? (Fire still going on in the oven--fed by whatever is on the rock salt; I have stopped my husband from putting anymore on to the flames.)
Couldn't find it.
This is a very specific gender difference between men and women; there is always salt in this house, much like sugar. One might have to move a jar of peanut butter to see it, but it is always there. We empty two boxes of table salt onto the flames and get the fire out. We also open every window in the house and shut off the furnace. We stand out on the porch airing our eyes and breathing fresh air. After last time, my husband purchased a fire extinguisher; but, then, he stored it in the garage--which, if you are in Ontario, at this moment, is not a good idea. It froze and, thus, was completely useless.
At this point, the daughter who inadvertently started the fire gets out of the car and wants to know if she can go to her room.
The house is too smoky, I say, and she bursts into tears because her sisters have accused her of trying to burn down the house.
That's not true, I say. Let me go talk to them.
My youngest then hops out of the car with the cat and reveals the cat is trying to eat grandma's coat. I cannot make this stuff up. And, Grandma wants to go up to her room and asks when is dinner going to be ready?
No Yorkshire pudding for dinner, but the roast is already out of the oven and the vegetables are cold but edible. And, we can save the muffin tins used for the Yorkshire puddings because my husband pulled them out of the oven when he opened the door to put the rock salt in. I make a gravy to heat everything up when we eat.
It is Saturday and we obviously miss Earth Hour but to be fair, technically, there was nothing on in the house.
The next day, leaving the kitchen mess still there and my husband off on an appointment to do with work and not play, I encountered my neighbour at a Math Tournament for the girls. He is a Russian Mathematician and has gotten the children involved with all kinds of Math contests. We say hi and he comments on how big the children have gotten and how they grow up so fast; it is a strange sort of small talk considering we live across the street from one another. Then there is a silence.
I didn't know your youngest could drive...
She can't.
I didn't think so when I saw the cat but your husband was acting so weird yesterday. Did he tell he lifted his mother into the car? I think she could have gotten in on her own. But they went nowhere. He just kicked everyone out of the house, I watched him check all the windows and they sat in the car till you came home. Is everything okay?
What do you say when your humiliation has become public? But, note, this is another gender difference. No woman of calibre would ever ask publicly about the machinations of family life; she might be discreet, she may even gossip, but she would never ask in a public forum within the hearing of other people, other mothers and fathers about a strange family situation. I didn't tell the neighbour about our Saturday adventures. I didn't want to and I dread cleaning the kitchen this evening. The mess is not pleasant and I am hoping my husband's obliviousness can last until I paint the kitchen ceiling. Or rather, my obliviousness should last until he paints it.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Glad I Was Not There
So, the matriarch's sister-in-law came for a visit-not lunch, a sit-down, have a cup of tea, chat for the afternoon kind of visit. The matriarch was having none of it; they said they were going to take her out for lunch and she intended to go for lunch. Call it the tyranny of the old...and the selfish.
Fortunately, my husband, my children and I were not invited. Sometimes the silence in a house completely yours is just rejuvenating.
And, they got lost. I believe I have mentioned before that the sister-in-law is in her eighties, has had cancer recently and really, in my opinion though my husband from childhood recollection disagrees, has the patience of a saint. My husband drew a map of how to get to the fish'n'chip restaurant; his Uncle promptly misplaced it. The matriarch said not to worry, she knew how to get there. Yes, yes, I know we should have just gone along and had lunch with them and done the driving. Life sometimes conspires to make one do what has to be done. But, then, there are these moments when glances meet and a husband and wife silently agree: over our dead bodies, are we leaving this house.
They were gone for over three hours with the matriarch navigating their travel throughout the city of Barrie. She is blind, you know; you'd have thought the sister-in-law and husband would have given up or faked the place being closed...any excuse. But, God love them, they really did try. Of course, they failed miserably. And, the matriarch got mad at them and they left quite quickly after lunch at a nearby family restaurant.
It wasn't quite the same, you know. The matriarch told me. I knew where I was going. They just didn't listen.
I nod my head at her, trying very hard not to laugh. People often think if they were in charge, life would be so much easier. They could handle the matriarch better. I think not. She is just very old, I don't even know if she qualifies as "fragile elderly." The woman won't admit to being blind. She takes very mild dementia pills. She knows who the Prime Minister is, the date and how much money she has in her wallet. She refuses to leave the house for respite care. She is an individual and no one can take that role away from her no matter how difficult she may choose to make life.
The sister-in-law didn't phone when she got home. My husband figures the matriarch's birthday will be the last we will see of his Aunt. So much for respite opportunities.
Fortunately, my husband, my children and I were not invited. Sometimes the silence in a house completely yours is just rejuvenating.
And, they got lost. I believe I have mentioned before that the sister-in-law is in her eighties, has had cancer recently and really, in my opinion though my husband from childhood recollection disagrees, has the patience of a saint. My husband drew a map of how to get to the fish'n'chip restaurant; his Uncle promptly misplaced it. The matriarch said not to worry, she knew how to get there. Yes, yes, I know we should have just gone along and had lunch with them and done the driving. Life sometimes conspires to make one do what has to be done. But, then, there are these moments when glances meet and a husband and wife silently agree: over our dead bodies, are we leaving this house.
They were gone for over three hours with the matriarch navigating their travel throughout the city of Barrie. She is blind, you know; you'd have thought the sister-in-law and husband would have given up or faked the place being closed...any excuse. But, God love them, they really did try. Of course, they failed miserably. And, the matriarch got mad at them and they left quite quickly after lunch at a nearby family restaurant.
It wasn't quite the same, you know. The matriarch told me. I knew where I was going. They just didn't listen.
I nod my head at her, trying very hard not to laugh. People often think if they were in charge, life would be so much easier. They could handle the matriarch better. I think not. She is just very old, I don't even know if she qualifies as "fragile elderly." The woman won't admit to being blind. She takes very mild dementia pills. She knows who the Prime Minister is, the date and how much money she has in her wallet. She refuses to leave the house for respite care. She is an individual and no one can take that role away from her no matter how difficult she may choose to make life.
The sister-in-law didn't phone when she got home. My husband figures the matriarch's birthday will be the last we will see of his Aunt. So much for respite opportunities.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
You Must Understand She's Old
It begins with a glass of water. Everyday, after breakfast, I bring my mother-in-law a glass of water up to her room. There are ice cubes, the water is cold and she likes to drink it as she eats her potato chips and Werther's for her mid-morning snack. Usually, in the afternoon, the matriarch sleeps; no need for a glass of water and, if I am not home, she has her own bathroom with a sink and she can easily re-fill the glass if necessary. She almost never drinks water in the afternoon; I say almost never because of what happened yesterday and how such an act can drive a person (ie me) crazy.
After lunch, the matriarch took her tea to her room, had more chips, still had the glass from the morning if she needed more water and seemed quite settled. I told her I was taking the children skiing and would be back in a few hours. We live quite close to the ski hills; we go skiing regularly; this was not an unusual event. When I returned home, not even an hour later because it was so cold, the matriarch told me I had left her without any water.
"What happened to your glass and tea cup?"
"I brought them downstairs while you were gone."
"Why would you bring your dishes downstairs and not get yourself a glass of water?"
Implicit in the matriarch's behaviour was the expectation that I would be there to get her what she wanted when she wanted it....even if only a glass of water. I know the woman is 99 but she did not reach that age not knowing how to survive. She also did not reach that age being stupid. It is such a silly act. And, obviously, an act trying to focus attention on herself. It is an act that is a sample of the frustration of living with a senior illustrates. How do we become this way? Why does it happen?
I don't like sympathizing with abusive children of seniors. I hated reading in this morning's New York Times about how people take financial advantage of the elderly. Of course, I am against all that. But I also wonder how one is expected to deal with the habits of the elderly who have become quite selfish. I don't know how to prevent it within myself--God knows if I become like my mother-in-law, I want my children to put me out of their misery. It is just I know seniors who aren't this selfish and I know seniors who are on their way to becoming like this...Is it a world view? What determines the ability of someone to still be unselfish and compassionate as they age?
Demographics determine the changing priorities of society. So, I understand as the baby boom ages, there will be a change in the way seniority is experienced. But, I worry, as the most selfish generation in mankind's history ages, if things will get better or drastically worse. Children institutionalized in daycare centres are hardly going to think twice about institutionalizing their parents and the baby boomers were the first generation to really utilize daycare centres. I mean they were the parents of the first generation of "latch-key" children; children who were expected to entertain themselves in front of a blasting television. I cannot but worry what those children will do to their parents in old age. But I digress...
The matriarch will get her glass of water this morning and I will keep my mouth shut. If there is one thing I am learning it is I have the ability to overcome this and demonstrate to my children there are important lessons to be learned with a single glass of water. I might have to reach a bit to find that level of stoic but caring and unselfish silence, but damnit, I will find it.
After lunch, the matriarch took her tea to her room, had more chips, still had the glass from the morning if she needed more water and seemed quite settled. I told her I was taking the children skiing and would be back in a few hours. We live quite close to the ski hills; we go skiing regularly; this was not an unusual event. When I returned home, not even an hour later because it was so cold, the matriarch told me I had left her without any water.
"What happened to your glass and tea cup?"
"I brought them downstairs while you were gone."
"Why would you bring your dishes downstairs and not get yourself a glass of water?"
Implicit in the matriarch's behaviour was the expectation that I would be there to get her what she wanted when she wanted it....even if only a glass of water. I know the woman is 99 but she did not reach that age not knowing how to survive. She also did not reach that age being stupid. It is such a silly act. And, obviously, an act trying to focus attention on herself. It is an act that is a sample of the frustration of living with a senior illustrates. How do we become this way? Why does it happen?
I don't like sympathizing with abusive children of seniors. I hated reading in this morning's New York Times about how people take financial advantage of the elderly. Of course, I am against all that. But I also wonder how one is expected to deal with the habits of the elderly who have become quite selfish. I don't know how to prevent it within myself--God knows if I become like my mother-in-law, I want my children to put me out of their misery. It is just I know seniors who aren't this selfish and I know seniors who are on their way to becoming like this...Is it a world view? What determines the ability of someone to still be unselfish and compassionate as they age?
Demographics determine the changing priorities of society. So, I understand as the baby boom ages, there will be a change in the way seniority is experienced. But, I worry, as the most selfish generation in mankind's history ages, if things will get better or drastically worse. Children institutionalized in daycare centres are hardly going to think twice about institutionalizing their parents and the baby boomers were the first generation to really utilize daycare centres. I mean they were the parents of the first generation of "latch-key" children; children who were expected to entertain themselves in front of a blasting television. I cannot but worry what those children will do to their parents in old age. But I digress...
The matriarch will get her glass of water this morning and I will keep my mouth shut. If there is one thing I am learning it is I have the ability to overcome this and demonstrate to my children there are important lessons to be learned with a single glass of water. I might have to reach a bit to find that level of stoic but caring and unselfish silence, but damnit, I will find it.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Elder Abuse
Probably not a sympathetic post....
In Toronto, there is a horrific case of elder abuse:
http://www.thestar.com/news/crime/article/946088--woman-housed-in-garage-had-box-of-diapers-bucket-of-water?bn=1
Now, the senior citizen involved was suffering from dementia and, while this does not in any way excuse the family, it highlights how frustrating it can be to live with someone who is no longer themselves. Their personhood, in a sense, has been lost. My mother-in-law is perfectly fine but she drives me crazy because she is not the person "I" want her to be and that is not fair to her. I don't know when needing help deteriorates into a complete loss of independence but I can say it is very hard to live within the ambiguous state of helping verses serving. The matriarch sleeps in the master bedroom, we use her dishes, and life, whether we like it or not, in some ways, is orchestrated around her routine. And, this sort of life keeps her alive; it is hard and I don't know if many are willing to live it. It would be so much easier if there was help; my husband is an only child; there is no one else to share the responsibility. And, I think that idea is key. Family is a shared responsibility.
It sounds very conservative, in the traditional family values perspective, to say family membership is a responsibility, but it is. I think we have gotten so use to putting our children in daycares and our seniors in old age facilities we forget those institutions are not there to replace family but only to help with the raising and caregiving of the old and young. A society is judged by how they treat the very old and very young. I think, in fact I deeply believe, we as a society neglect both generations. If there is one thing immigration has done to family, it has allowed people to think distance denies responsibility to blood; in fact, I think it betrays it.
The senior in the article has a second child; where was the help to the family? I know it is not mentioned but these situations arise when one family member, or their family, is left alone to struggle with a senior, with or without dementia, and the burden is very hard. It is no excuse but, while that one adult child did this to the mother, the other child did nothing--including not phone authorities about conditions. That must be acknowledged, too. The state offers all kinds of help to the infirm and fragile elderly. So, there is no excuse for this type of situation to arise. Anyhow, it is a tragic situation.
I must go. We're taking the matriarch to Swiss Chalet, today. The weather has been so windy she hasn't been able to go out much. Now, spring is arrived (almost), I hope she will return to sitting out on the front porch a bit. Let the world know she is still alive in all senses of the word.
In Toronto, there is a horrific case of elder abuse:
http://www.thestar.com/news/crime/article/946088--woman-housed-in-garage-had-box-of-diapers-bucket-of-water?bn=1
Now, the senior citizen involved was suffering from dementia and, while this does not in any way excuse the family, it highlights how frustrating it can be to live with someone who is no longer themselves. Their personhood, in a sense, has been lost. My mother-in-law is perfectly fine but she drives me crazy because she is not the person "I" want her to be and that is not fair to her. I don't know when needing help deteriorates into a complete loss of independence but I can say it is very hard to live within the ambiguous state of helping verses serving. The matriarch sleeps in the master bedroom, we use her dishes, and life, whether we like it or not, in some ways, is orchestrated around her routine. And, this sort of life keeps her alive; it is hard and I don't know if many are willing to live it. It would be so much easier if there was help; my husband is an only child; there is no one else to share the responsibility. And, I think that idea is key. Family is a shared responsibility.
It sounds very conservative, in the traditional family values perspective, to say family membership is a responsibility, but it is. I think we have gotten so use to putting our children in daycares and our seniors in old age facilities we forget those institutions are not there to replace family but only to help with the raising and caregiving of the old and young. A society is judged by how they treat the very old and very young. I think, in fact I deeply believe, we as a society neglect both generations. If there is one thing immigration has done to family, it has allowed people to think distance denies responsibility to blood; in fact, I think it betrays it.
The senior in the article has a second child; where was the help to the family? I know it is not mentioned but these situations arise when one family member, or their family, is left alone to struggle with a senior, with or without dementia, and the burden is very hard. It is no excuse but, while that one adult child did this to the mother, the other child did nothing--including not phone authorities about conditions. That must be acknowledged, too. The state offers all kinds of help to the infirm and fragile elderly. So, there is no excuse for this type of situation to arise. Anyhow, it is a tragic situation.
I must go. We're taking the matriarch to Swiss Chalet, today. The weather has been so windy she hasn't been able to go out much. Now, spring is arrived (almost), I hope she will return to sitting out on the front porch a bit. Let the world know she is still alive in all senses of the word.
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