Mom & Me Four Archive

As of May 1, 2010...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 05:42:00 +0000

...Blogger will no longer allow FTP publishing. Updates to this blog, which will probably be few to none, since this section of The Mom & Me Journals dot Net is, essentially, closed by time, can be found at http://momandmefourarchive.blogspot.com. This section of the journal will also remain at in it's domain directory, so accessing links should not present a problem.

So, this is what "vacation" means, for me, in case you're unclear:

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 23:40:00 +0000

    I let Mom sleep in. She coughed at 1430. Although she was slow getting around, I was cruising. We meshed well. I could tell she was slow, no wonder, I haven't been dashing her about, here, lately; in good spirits, though.
    She finished off breakfast about 1530 and lolled at the dining table with her magazines and her Detox tea. Her thirst appeared to have kicked in and she was regulating her fluids well by herself this morning, so I didn't have to mention, at all, anything about drinking this or that.
    At 1615 I announced to Mom that I finished all the chores while she lounged over tea and tabloids. "I've even finished your bed!" I announced, to highlight how spectacular this change in chore business was.
    "Well," she said, giving me a sly look, "I guess I'll have to go try it out." I could see she was bracing herself for an negative onslaught.
    "Well, let me go turn on the oxygen. Stay here for a minute, I'll help you up, or, if you're faster than me, I'll meet you in the bathroom."
    I think I caught her steadying herself from falling off the chair. "Don't you think it's too early?"
    I met her head on. "Do you?"
    She looked around as though expecting someone to coach her. "Well, no..."
    "There's your answer."
    I believe she almost tripped over herself, heading for the bathroom before I changed my mind. While we were in the bathroom she said, twice, as I supervised the change in undergarments, "I'll be taking a nap in these, you know."
    "I know," I assured her.
    "I guess I'd better not dally about taking advantage of this chance!"
    I grinned at her. "You'd better not. You never know, with all this sun, when I might harness you and throw the plow behind you!"
    So, she's back in bed. Probably napping hard and fast before I change my mind and haul her out of bed.

    We had an interesting discussion over breakfast this morning. We were talking about tomorrow being the beginning of a new year, 2007. We mulled this over as we picked at our food.
    Mom looked up at me and said, "That makes me 90, doesn't it?!?"
    Wow. She can always remember what year she was born, but doesn't relate it to much, anymore. "Yeah, it does."
    We thought about this.
    "So, Mom," I ventured, "did you imagine, when you were much younger, a kid, maybe a young adult, that you'd live to be 90?"
    No hesitation. "Oh, goodness yes. At least."
    Well, she was right about that. I was curious. "Did you assume you'd see 100?"
    She hemmed and hawed about this. "Yes, I think so."
    Do you think you're going to make 100 now? That's 10 years away," I reminded her.
    Her face immobilized into placidity. Her eyes focused somewhere just above and beyond my head. Although they remained open, they appeared to be running an internal scan, perhaps of body parts, perhaps of will, spirit. She didn't look at me for a moment when she stated, "Yes." I think she was looking at the year.
    Do I think my mother will live to be 100? No. But, then, when she was 75 I didn't think she'd see 85. Do I want my mother to live to be 100? No. Although I might be wrong, from what I know of her health and her personal trajectory, if she lived for another 10 years I foresee that lots of those years would be spent in some sort of institutional confinement, for one reason or another. She does not mind confining herself to her home and at least one loved one, but she does not like being confined by formal institutions. It is a peculiar gift of mine that I have not bothered, day by month by year, to project into the future in regard to this journey I'm on with my mother. Others, though, might not consider this a gift. But, then, others are not making a home with her.
    Selfishly, I do not want to be doing this when I am 65. I can barely imagine being alive at 65, but, then, when I was in my 20's I imagined 40 but assumed I'd be dead by 50, so, I don't know, I hear it's surprising up there. This certainly is. I can only imagine the surprises my mother has already negotiated and might continue to negotiate. I imagine I have been privy to only half of them. Those have been pretty amazing.
    At any rate, she fell into reality earlier today, but was securely in another reality when she headed for her bedroom: She was asking if "[Dead Brother's Name] and Dad [my dad, apparently] had made it back in time for dinner." Since I wasn't sure, I said I didn't know. That seemed to satisfy her.
    So, I'm thinking I'll watch a movie. I picked up a second hand copy of Magnolia today and am anxious to see if I respond the same to Tom Cruise's character now that my hormones have settled waaaaay down. I didn't dislike him, before, I was surprised by Cruise's facility with the character. But, I'm seeing things from a markedly different perspective, now, and I'm wondering how that will affect a viewing of this movie.
    Later.

I think I'm observing a vacation...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sun, 31 Dec 2006 20:49:00 +0000

...arguably well deserved. I'm surprised, though, because I hadn't noticed, really. Except that I've "allowed" Mom to get away with more sleep then usual, although she's been making it (awake time, that is) up here and there. Yesterday she didn't retire until 0315. Then, last night, her light was out either just before or a little after 2300. I was in bed before midnight. That was a surprise.
    I'm feeling a subterranean renewal, and I'm relieved. I thought I might be stuck and had no idea how to jar myself out.
    I spontaneously invited some company. I don't know if they'll take me up on the offer, but, amazingly, I hope so.
    Just as quickly as I noticed the holidays and worried that I'd noticed them too late, "I'm well shot of" [Thank you Love, Actually] them. I feel as though I'm taking an after holiday vacation in the tropics and, fuck, I'm enjoying it!
    I thought I'd rouse Mom at 1400 today, if she's not already up. I hear noises coming from her room which tell me she may have one bleary eye on the clock, as well, and be ready to greet me at 1400. I thought we'd have salmon tonight with broccoli, Hollandaise and an interesting looking dessert for just before midnight that I picked up today while looking at baked goods. Tomorrow we'll have the ribs and probably potato salad, because I don't have to go out for that. It's been a long time since we've had potato salad.
    We don't watch football, so if there are any games broadcast tomorrow, we'll be oblivious to them. We'll probably watch the rentals I've got, both of which look good.
    I'm contemplating doing some reading. That's how relaxed I feel. That's a lot of relaxation. Serious reading, as well.
    The labeling over at The Dailies is going slowly, even though my labeling technique is much less sloppy this time around. It's the publishing process that seems to take so much time. It reminds me that one eats an elephant one bite at a time.
    Well, guess I'd better rev myself up for Mom.
    Later.

Oh, wanted to mention...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sat, 30 Dec 2006 20:01:00 +0000

...this month marks a three year anniversary of the beginning of this portion of the journals. As of May of 2007, I will have been journaling continually, here, for four years. As of August, 2007, I will have been informally and formally journaling for, hmmm, I think six years. Wow. I'm especially astonished, realizing this right now, while I am labeling The Dailies, which include such meticulous detail. God, how have I been doing this?
    I believe this effort is a bit touched. Angelically, I hope, but I fear otherwise.
    So, happy birthday to me, and me, and, later, me...
    ...later.

I guess I've been experiencing some kind of viral attack...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sat, 30 Dec 2006 19:36:00 +0000

...as usual, on the heels of a visit to the Valley, so, frankly, I'm not sure if it's viral, or a reaction to "the air [down] there"...and, of course, the smoking. I tend toward a combination of the first two, as Mom is having no problems, isn't coldish at all. Just me. And, it seems to have settled in my lungs, although not bad.
    Actually, it's felt pretty good. I've been drifting in and out of naps for the last two days, and probably will for two more. I set Mom up with holiday or animal (or both) fare in front of the TV, stretch out on the couch, the kitties find me and settle in with me, maybe I'll watch the program, maybe I'll doze...I suspect that I've had a fever off and on but I've also been taking ibuprofen, for comfort. Chores and entertainments socializing have proceeded as usual.
    Very low key weekend.
    She's been moving around a normal amount, although last night I fell asleep for about three hours and discovered that she was pretty much glued to her chair. We got her to the bathroom just in time.
    I apologized to her for the lack of excitement.
    "Oh, no problem. I'm plenty excited." Such a wry woman.
    Last night all this relaxation caught up with both of us. She remained up until 0245 this morning, read until 0315. I last remember looking at the clock in my bedroom, on my way between the down, and noticing it was "05:09".
    Very satisfying evening, though. I love those serendipitous late ones.
    Odd, I feel as though I've already been through 2007 and it's time for 2008. Doubly odd because I prefer inhabiting odd numbered years, in age and calendar designations.
    I expect we'll toast in the New Year. I have a bottle of carbonated raspberry...hmmm...and something else cider, non-alcoholic, cooling in the refrigerator for the event. We're not ball watchers. But, we'll probably find some good movies, or, you know, something.
    Although I am becoming increasingly uncomfortable with certain social aspects of caregiving, I seem to be enjoying my mother's company more than ever. This is good. It allows the bugs up my ass to be a bit more tolerable.
    I was awake at 1015 this morning. I know I died soon after I looked at the clock, so I was surprised that I was up so early. I was also in a sweat, so I must have had a fever. I vaguely remember thinking about taking ibuprofen and then deciding against it last night.
    I'm pretty much going to let Mom determine when she will arise today. We've got a commercial pot pie, which requires thawing before baking, for this evening. That baking, alone, will keep her up and alert.
    I've lately been experiencing spasms of, oh, I don't know, emotional overload. I'll be in the middle of a fairly mundane portion of a day and suddenly, "out of nowhere", I'll be beset with a need to weep...not out of despair, but from being touched so deeply. So, I let some tears drop and go on about my, or our, business. I was so seized while I was rubbing my mother's legs down last night, er, make that early this morning.
    My mother noticed. She threw me a "oh brother" look and didn't say anything.
    I, however, was feeling soft and couldn't let the look go by. "It's nothing bad," I assured her.
    She waved away my explanation as if to say, "I don't care. I can't relate, right now."
    It's funny, the older I become, the more I appreciate my father's extreme sentimentality/emotionality. It was much harder for him to express than me. But, I understand more about where he was coming from than I used to. I also understand why my mother dismissed this in him as she dismisses it in me; with the exception that she pays a little more attention to my expressions of these.
    The lady isn't sentimental.
    I think we're cocooned in her for the weekend, through Monday, I guess, isn't that right? You'd think holidays wouldn't affect those such as us, but they do.
    Still no real snow. No In A Christmas Card experience. I'm becoming suspicious of those long range forecasts.
    Later.

Our snow day and a half was disappointing.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Fri, 29 Dec 2006 15:52:00 +0000

    Yesterday, which was supposed to be the big day, although most of the day was cloudy except for a few annoying rays in the early afternoon, right in my eyes, it didn't "snow" until afternoon, just before sunset. It stuck, although it froze. It's pretty outside, today, dusted white, bt it's not really snow, it's a web of heavy frost.
    It's supposed to remain cloudy until this afternoon. Maybe some rain and sleet, here. Probably not, considering the last few days. Oh well.

    Did anyone notice this? I've been forgetting to mention it. It's one of those "little things" that everyone seems to be ignoring and, yet, it seems important for my generation, at least. I read about the possible connection between marijuana use and the lack of development of Alzheimer's, and general dementia, too, as I recall, around the time this probably came out. Read it in Mom's daily newspaper, buried in "Section A". Then, again, heard it on a national news program; probably the evening before seeing it in the newspaper. I remember, as well, a few days later, seeing a very small headline tag running across the default news service on my dial-up ISP home page.
    Then, the story was buried. I wonder why. I'd think there would be lots of other questions worth asking, for my generation, anyway. Questions to which I'd like to know the answers. Like (in no particular order):

What does this mean for people who interspersed regular marijuana use throughout their lives, probably beginning in their teenage years, with periods of abstinence?
Is this effect lasting? At what dosages?
If not lasting, what are the "recommended" dosages at this time?
Are there any studies beginning or in the works which study reported past use of marijuana against mental acuity in later years?
What about steady recreational use?
What about past and/or present use of other "soft" drugs such as acid, mushrooms? Is anyone curious about whether use, either occasional or habitual, for periods or continual, of these drugs affects later rates of senile dementia?
Is is possible that our generation will either be less suseptible, overall to dementia, or prone to "other types" of dementia, or a combination of both.

    Just thought I'd mention this. I know loads of people in my age group who have used marijuana, recreationally and as a type of self-inflicted psycho-pharmaceutical treatment (sometimes successful). I've even known a few who use it for medicinal purposes. Really. I know there's this scare, right now, about early onset Alzheimer's which is happening to my generation. I know the word "epidemic" is being freely used. Yet, I cannot forget the book on the history of old age. I am bound, now, to put all this in perspective. Perhaps what is happening to our parents will not happen to us, for a variety of reasons. Perhaps this is our opportunity, now, to Seize the Lessons of the Day [lucky us that it happens to be a major lesson in compassion] about caregiving to parents because our care will be completely different, probably much less obvious, perhaps well adapted to our curiously dependent, yet distant, society. Maybe chances to learn these lessons don't come around all that often and we need to take advantage of this.
    Just a thought.
    I'm continuing to label over at The Dailies. It's going to be a long haul. I'll probably begin skipping around, doing other types of maintenance. I remain interested in reading what I wrote so off the cuff on a disciplined daily basis. Very interesting, spontaneous, stream of consciousness observations. Minimum of agony. Maximum of detail. Can be successfully accessed in bits and bytes.
    Later.

Wanted to mention...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Thu, 28 Dec 2006 07:11:00 +0000

...I haven't been making my regular reading rounds over the last few days...I just haven't found the time but I'm not in a purposeful avoidance. I'll be back around soon.

Well, I'm impressed with my work, I have to say.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Thu, 28 Dec 2006 07:00:00 +0000

    That site over there, the Daily Tests and Meds site? That is the meat and potatoes of caregiving, or, for the vegetarians among you, the soy and vegetables. For me, reading it is full of mystery; rather, rereading a mystery to which you remember the end (like something by Frederick Neumann) but not how the story got there. I'm working through the lead-up to Mom's low sodium episode. I can see it now. And, I can see why I didn't see it then. Occasionally there are moody, "self-referential" segments in the posts but mostly it's narrative exposition. Numbers. Concrete descriptions. Simple observations. It contains stark time tables, purposely and inadvertently. It is incredibly easy to label, the labels mean something upon which a community would agree and there are many posts, rather than few or mostly one, in most of the categories.
    The snow is supposed to begin tonight and last through tomorrow. Rain is predicted in the afternoon, tomorrow, for Prescott proper, but I'm sure we'll get snow up here. I can feel it. I checked the "local on the 8's" just a few minutes ago and the humidity is 98%. Yes! I knew I was feeling better...although, this time, a little under the weather because of this cold I've got. Not bad, though. Just annoying and making me awfully tired. Thus the odd hours.
    I think I will be insisting on going out in the snow tomorrow morning, if we're not yet snowed in. We could use a few things from the grocery.
    It remains relatively warm. I went out to deliver more garbage to our bins, out on the street, which weren't emptied today. Although I wore shoes, I was in cotton pants and shirt sleeves. It seemed "warm", meaning winter warm, to me.
    I'm excited.
    Later.

The sky is a cold smolder.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Wed, 27 Dec 2006 21:34:00 +0000

    We've had some sleet...the wind has picked up...there were a few minutes of sunshine around noon. I'm nestled in, although I don't feel like tights today. We've already had a few tights/huge flannel shirts days, but today isn't yet one of them. Maybe later today.
    Mom awoke around noon. Her bed was dry. When in peaked in on her I knew...
    "I'm goin' back to bed."
    "Well, let's change out your underwear."
    Her nose was bleeding; from a scratch, I could tell, the evidence was all over her right index finger and an alum stick staunched the flow a little. So, no oxygen on the way back. The atmospheric pressure is dropping rapidly. I can see from the way she's walking that she feels it. I told her I'd awaken her at 1400. It's 1438, now. I'm letting her sleep in.
    Looks like we're in the middle of precipitous skies but little precipitation. Ahhh...more this evening. And tonight. let's check on the percentages, which will be p momentarily. 50% chance of mix of rain and snow. 60% tomorrow. At this altitude, chances are any precipitation with be snow, maybe hail and sleet.
    I'm not letting Mom sleep out of concern for continued Christmas trip recovery. I'm being selfish. I'm having a good time labeling The Dailies. It's much, much easier. There is much less a temptation to label solipsistically. I'm starting at the beginning and going forward, except for a few front posts over the last few days. I'm surprised at the wealth of information over there early in the journal. I imagine, although I'm not doing a comparison reading, that much of what I wrote here during that time was thoroughly explained over there, day by day.
    I'm honestly not sure how late I'll let her sleep in. Just depends. She was restless all night and morning. Two bathroom breaks. These, though, are just rationalizations. I seem to need a little more time alone today.
    Later.

It's like I was hit in the head...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Wed, 27 Dec 2006 16:33:00 +0000

...a day or so after my birthday and just reeled to. I'm suddenly aware of and enjoying the holidays, and am excrutiatingly aware of their fleet retreat. Living with the demented will do that to you every time, I guess. Wow. That was a blow.
    Looks like I might be getting some of my beloved inclement weather. It's to gather, today, and I can see that it is. The sun is completely blocked. It's warm enough, though, for me (who is now used to splashes of cold, cold weather barefoot and in shirt sleeves) to walk out in no more than summer clothing to pick up the paper or the mail. Or take out the garbage, last night, although I wore sandals to avoid stickers.
    Last night rain and snow were forecast, starting today. I'm ready. Bring it on. Here's the "local on the 8's": Currently 53°. That's 43° or less in our area. Ahh, yes, I see the precip coming in on raidar. It just isn't hitting the ground, yet, here. We're a little p and away. "Few Showers" by 1400. growing in intensity through midnight. "Snow showers. Tonight." 30% precip today to 60% tonight. Definitely snow overnight. Low only 28°. That's only 18° here. That's actually high for a night low. Ooohhh...."slow flurries Thursday". Cool. Friday, mostly sunny, about 40 here. I'm looking forward to the snow but am mainly focused on the snow. Maybe it'll collect. Looks like some serious homing will be happening. Good. We've got ribs to stew...mmmm...plenty of everything for hibernating, including cocoa, and lots of glipizide.
    I'm wondering if today is going to be another recovery day for her. I think, as of this morning, I'm recovered. Even did something terribly productive, this morning; I found my "old and expired" card holder, which was buried in the bottom of a bottom box in my bedroom, which has become a storage space.
    I found one of Mr. Man's mice for him. I am sure there are several scattered throughout the boxes of papers in the back of my room. I found one, covered with the must of a season about a year ago. He went wild. Literally. I finally had to throw it out of the room to continue my survey.
    Last tax payment due. I should be up to date on the tax paperwork sometime into the first week of January. Ready to send as soon as the last government document comes through.
    I think I am more aware of my mother's age and her frailty, this year than last, especially, perhaps, because her determination keeps her from being aware of either. These are easily slowing years for her, now. Incrementally more demanding for me. Not necessarily in a bad way, just upping the ante at a table where I intend to remain. I did not think that she would be more dear to me this year than last, as last year she had become heartbreakingly dear to me, but, hmmm...oh dear, she is even more so this year. I see, now, that her death will be neither a curse nor a blessing to me. It will simply be the profound transition of a profoundly intimate relationship. I carry an image of her, now, as dust in my arms. Precious, fine, volatile dust. Her spirit, though, I note, remains firmly planted, here. So, it seems, I am yet holding most of the dust in my arms.
    I note, looking out, that, this year, we've had enough storm activity (although not enough storm precipitation) to remove all the deciduous leaves from the trees. Didn't happen, last year. I'm hoping that's an optimistically precipitous sign. We haven't yet had the Christmas Card Snow Storm. I hope that's what's lurking out there for tomorrow.
    This would not be good country for a sleigh, though.
    Later.

Final, detailed update...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Wed, 27 Dec 2006 09:02:00 +0000

...for the traveling Christmas here at The Dailies. The link will take you right to it.
    Today has, clearly, been a recovery day for me, too, but, I think, primarily from the cold pill. Some, maybe, from a much more relaxing holiday than I was expecting, and I was expecting a pretty relaxing one.
    Mom continues to talk about the unusually well behaved pet situation this time. Not that it hasn't ever been like that before. They, however, host five dogs, or is it six, three cats, an extremely attentive ferret that enchanted me, a frill necked lizard, two bull frogs, a very large turtle and a salt water aquarium. It was, however, the dogs' behavior to which she was referring. She was particularly taken with their new toy spotted Dachsund. And, Mom was right, Penelope is small enough for us to rifle away in my purse.
    "Our plan is flawless," I teased MCF. "You'll never realize she's gone."
    Mom made over the dog so enthusiastically that I took MCF aside and warned her that I would not take to a surprise dog gift the way we took to the surprise of her finding The Little Girl for us. At that time, we were looking for a cat and prepared, I reminded her. I am not prepared for, nor looking to take care of, a dog.
    She snickered, but she listened.
    I'm still feeling good, particularly since I awoke, a little after 2300, from a three hour (I think, or, was it longer) nap. I had the energy, a little earlier, to rev up for taxes. I spoke with our accountant about a week or so ago. He was, indeed, astounded that I was almost prepared, except for the necessary mailed documents, the last of which always arrives on January 31.
    Oh, my! It's after 0200! I'm tired, again, but not exhausted. I think I'll sleep well. Not that I haven't been, when I've been sleeping...
    Later.

Or, you know...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Wed, 27 Dec 2006 00:13:00 +0000

...maybe it wasn't my bravery I lost, but my energy. It's easy to be anxious, downright scared and cowardly, when you're running on empty.
    Somehow, without seeming to and with unplumbed reason, yesterday's visit replenished some of something, and I think it was energy level.
    Just speculation.
    Later.

I'm continuing a detailed description of...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Wed, 27 Dec 2006 00:07:00 +0000

...After Travel, After Christmas, After Event days over at The Dailies. The immediately previous link will take you to today's continuing serial. I will probably be updating that one later this evening.
For those of you who are interested.
Later.

For those interested,

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Tue, 26 Dec 2006 13:09:00 +0000

there's a detailed description of my mother's day, yesterday, over at The Dailies, including medication information. I have more to write on aspects more appropriate to this journal; maybe I'll take a moment to do a little more, here, now.
    So, let's see. Christmas [and the Beads of Sweat -- thank you Laura Nyro]. No, it wasn't bad, although I did sweat through the morning routine. She was, as is usual for such an outing as yesterday's, very easy to rouse, once I stage whispered the highlights of our coming day. Her ability to come to on special days never fails to surprise me. She even looked bright eyed and bushy tailed. Her right eye was still a little wide from below, but not above. Her right knee seemed to function just fine, although she always wears some sort of mild knee brace, now, when she's up and around; never to bed or when she sprawls on the couch for a nap.

    She had to be reminded more than a few times, "Who these people are." After maybe four repetitions, two in the bathroom during our short bath (she hadn't leaked through although, to her credit, she had awakened for a bathroom call at 0445), I told her, "You'll recognize them when you see them." I was right about this.
    Whenever we visit, relatives or friends who seem like relatives, or anyone else, for that matter, she always takes on a "I'm a WAVE, I'm so cool, it's the 1940's and a cool time to be a live and a woman" attitude, especially if there are cigarettes. The more pleasurable the experience for her, the more exaggerated this personality. It's a delight to see her this way. You'd swear she was visiting while on leave from her squadron.
    Lot's of times I play the straight buffoon to her generous employer role: She doesn't need me, but aren't I handy, although a little over solicitious; she's keeping me off the streets, see...not for my protection, but the protection of others. Yesterday, for some reason, this perspective didn't come up, but once: While I was cleaning up the bathroom after one of her changing-underwear foray's, I heard her say to MCF, off hand and with decided irony, something along these lines of: "Isn't that sweet, what she does for me." Translation: "I can't seem to get rid of her, so I put her to work."
    I laughed out loud in the bathroom. With absolutely no irony.
    MCF's house has a high dining table with bar stool sized chairs. Although they give Mom's knees a workout, she loves these chairs. She loves being elevated into and slightly above the crowd. They also work well with the peculiar hip cocking that goes along with her WAVE personality. And, astonishingly, she cannot only slide easily and securely off the chairs, but onto them, as well. She gets irritated, in fact, if someone tries to help along her slow but sure process of adjustment.
    The ride down was not hard on her. The ride up was. I'm pleased to report, though, that the car seats in this particular car we rented, a Dodge Stratus, were completely comfortable. She didn't complain of hip pain either way, nor leg nor back pain. She did have some residual "back twinges" after working so hard to get into the house, but those disappeared as she relaxed. Her extremely casual positioning in her rocker, almost laying out, reminded me of a recent article I read, I think in the New York Times, that seems to be the only news I read even slightly these days, that a study by orthopedists (can't remember any of the citing details) that for people with back problems, particularly those related to the spine, "they" have found that this position actually stretches and eases the spine, sometimes irritating the tail bone, sometimes not. Since Mom no longer has a tail bone, I reflected that I now understand why this position is so comfortable and why, if her back is going to "give" her "fits", it's usually because I've directed her into sitting butt out, back held high. Ridiculous, I realize. She can't really hold up her back well, anymore, without much effort. I also realized that this is the cause of some of her breathing "problem" in the more formal position; because she hunches, upright, her lungs are compressed.
    We were gifted with a major display of rich lotions, probably enough to last at least half a year. I actually, now, depend on Christmas to restock us with lotions. Mom has become refascinated with candles, too. I mentioned this recently to them. Turns out the daughter makes candles, very elegant, handsome, fragrant ones. We came home with a nice collection of those.
    Although raconteur-ish, yesterday, Mom was also visibly tired all day, although she faked it well. I think her impromtu, long nap on the sofa in front of the TV surprised her, but this is an optimal napping environment for her, molded during long years of taking an hour's nap in the afternoon while we, her children, were arriving home from school and livening up the house. She would turn the TV on because she knew one of us would turn it off and she'd awaken. Yesterday, the rest of us ignored the TV, so it remained on. Once she awakened, though, and rejoined the noisy, cozy social life at the table, including overseeing a Canasta card game, she slipped back into her 40's costume.
    I had unusually high hopes for this visit, I discovered about 12 hours prior to the trip. It seems I was counting on it to wash away some of my caregiver angst. Actually, I was expecting it to wash away all of it. This didn't happen. But I was able to relax in a way I'd forgotten I could and that, I'm finding, has worked wonders, particular in revival of spirit. Beneath my high hopes, as well, lurked a dread that I would be disappointed. How much, after all, spiritual or not, can be accomplished in a 6.5 hour visit?
    I was, though pleasantly surprised, and remain so. My energy is surprisingly high. The surprise is, I didn't realize it had dropped so low. Thus, I found myself sketching plans for at least one spring visit, perhaps another later spring visit of them to our property to plant bulbs. My suggestions were met with enthusiasm...no set plans, though.
    We discovered, as we approached our driveway from the street, that I had inadvertently left our small, fiber optic tree on all day. It was dark when we saw it, clearly, twinkling through the window. We were delighted.
    I wonder when I absolutely have to have the car in. I've got a few in-town errands to run and using that car would be very nice. I'll call at 0800. It still has plenty of gas.
    I want to:

Pick up cranberry scones;
stop by office supply, get appropriate envelope for the history of my mother's private stock, mail that to MCS;
OJ pick-up not necessary;
staples pick-ups not necessary;
no Rx's due for refill;
plenty, with variety, to eat;
oh, yeah, make some Ranch dip for the veggies;
sausage this morning, again? no, bacon;
let Mom sleep until, oh, maybe start checking on her every half hour from noon on;
anticipate slooooow arousal but be prepared for small surprises.

    I'm beginning to rethink my label strategy. I had a much more sensical strategy laid out in MySQL with many fewer labels. I'll have to check back into that before I go back and relabel these posts. You may have noticed over the last few posts that I''ve been paying little attention to labels. For those of you who receive me through feeds, you might get some duplicate alerts over the next few days.
    Hmmm. Well, I guess...
    ...oh, yeah, a Merry Christmas was had by all. And, Mom didn't ask after [long time live in friend of family], "And, now, who was that nice young girl that left before dinner?" Nor did she questions MCF's and MCFS[ister]'s relationship, as she usually does. Of course, she been on increased iron since the last time we saw them. It seems to have reduced her dementia by about a third. Amazing what effect appropriate physical attention can have on the brain.
    So, anyway, yeah...
    ...later.

James Brown died today. Did you hear?

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Tue, 26 Dec 2006 05:46:00 +0000

    A moment of silence for "I Feel Good"...horn section and arrangement included.
    I thought he was older than 73 by maybe a decade. CHF by way of pneumonia. Wow. He's another one. Thank you, Mr. James Brown. His death provoked me to rexamine Steve Irwin's life. Or, maybe, examine afresh. He was controversial, no doubt. So was James Brown. In more than music. Something niggled at me to remember that Irwin has/had often been considered ADHD, or whatever it is. It occurred to me, today, that he wouldn't have done what he did without his disease.
    Today is the first day I can remember that I've considered that, for some people, 73 is Ancient. From what I read about his complicating conditions, 73 was Ancient for James Brown. Disease, dysfunction, god, sometimes I think we have no idea what we're talking about, although I have to agree that we've scratched the (under) surface of where we're attempting to go and what we'd like to do.
    At 73 my mother wasn't Ancient. Elderly, hmmm...let me think. When was that? 1990. That was the year I moved to Seattle. She was independent, busy, but not so busy that she couldn't fit in a curiosity excursion to Seattle to get an idea of where I'd be living and why I loved it, if I was destined to love it (I was).
    She lived alone in the manufactured home [community] in which she was more than comfortable, she was peripherally involved. It was during this absence of mine that she blankly instituted the 1700 Saturday phone calls. It was my agreement to become her companion that ended my stay in Seattle. When I returned to the Phoenix Metroplex (the Mesa part), she and I continued to live independent lives out of one home, signed off with each other in the morning, reunited in the evening, sometimes went to an event or a movie or ate out. I don't think she'd suffered her mini-stroke, yet, but I think that was only two years down the road.
    And, now, here she is, 89. Running quickly through what I can remember of the last several years, I think she began to phase into Ancienthood and what is was going to mean for her around the age of 79. That was the year I stopped working outside the home. We began to travel, though, extensively, only about half the travels to visit relatives. We hosted her cousin-in-law and her cousin-in-law hosted her. Although I was her very casual full-time companion, she retained her ability to travel and was socially savvy. She'd enjoy two years of really good health until things began to, well, sag, give way, get tired, lean toward Ancienthood.

    We did, by the way, have a jolly, well enjoyed Christmas. We arrived back home about three hours earlier than I anticipated, but we were satisfied with the visit and eager to be home.
    It was a work-out for Mom. She was a trooper. She, literally, physically, wore out on the trip back up, but I could see this creeping up on her this afternoon at MCFs and had the sense to steer her toward the car while I knew she was still mobile. She was only barely mobile coming up the steps into our home. No collapsing, though. We took it very slow and with much intent.
    She took a regular-sized nap at MCF's, falling asleep soon after the beginning of a movie they wanted us to see. It took her a long time to awaken after a healthy lunch. She wasn't hungry for dinner then, but was ready by the time we arrived home. After dinner and some coffee she had to go to the bathroom, assumed she would have the full cooperation of her legs, as did I, but they were a little wobbly. She used me as a walker going into the bathroom, but that was the last time she did.
    I asked her, somewhere in the middle of her dinner, in a friendly way, if maybe she'd be interested in me pushing her to move a little, just around the house, some of those walker laps in the hall, so that she'd be a little prepared for our next planned visit to the valley sometime in March for an as yet unscheduled doctor's appointment.
    She looked up at me, guileless, and said, "No." She shook her head. The matter was closed.
    Actually, we'll probably, in the next few days, have spontaneous spurts of energy and movement and day dreaming about getting out which may lead to something.
    I tried to push an adult buffered aspirin on her, but she repeatedly told me that she "doesn't hurt", she was "just stiff". I'd think, Oh, yeah, 89, going on 90. Of course. And I'd trust her sense that sleep would do the trick.
    At 2230, when I kissed her good night, she said, "Let me sleep in tomorrow."
    "Well, how about, no later than 1400?"
    She glared at me, astonished. "Why!" she demanded.
    Hmmmm, I thought. We'll take it as it comes. That's how we left it.
    She did smoke, but very little, after a brief period of initial chain smoking. I saw to it that she was moved away from the triggers and put back on oxygen 2/lpm continuous several times. Her nap allowed for a good oxygen bath. Afterward, although evidence of smoking was littered throughout the house, she smoked no more and asked for no more cigarettes. Not even tonight here at home.
    She read for 15 minutes. Her light went out at 2245.
    We had a very good, interesting day, today.
    And James Brown died. Wow.
    More...
    ...I'm sure...
    ...later.

"I know you're tired, Mom. I think you've experienced some kind of 'event'...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sun, 24 Dec 2006 20:43:00 +0000

...I'm not sure what kind but probably cerebral. I noticed, this morning, that your right eye is wider than usual and you're having a little more trouble picking up your right foot than usual."
    "I like the way you put that, an 'event'," she said.
    "Well, that's why I had you smile this morning before you bathed." Whenever I ask her to smile, she knows why I'm asking and usually gives me an exaggerated, thin lipped version, which tells me all I need to know. As well, her speech wasn't affected by whatever "happened".
    "Yeah. Don't worry about it. It's happened before. It'll happen again. No reason to go to the doctor about it. They'd just exhaust us in the ER, try to talk us into an observational stay, wrack up lots of medical charges for tests and, finally, tell us, 'nothing seems to have changed, it's probably a TIA.'"
    She laughed. "The old TIA trick," she said.
    I laughed. "Yeah. No reason to bother about this. They wouldn't change your treatment or anything. You've had these before, you'll have them again. I'll probably recommend to your doctor that we up your lisinopril dosage [with which I've been intending to experiment and finally started last night], but you're on plenty of anti-coagulant supplements, so there's no reason to put you on one of those medical ones. It's just one of those things that's happening to you because you're old, Mom."
    "Well, in that case, I won't get any older."
    "Good idea."
    This is why I'm letting Mom sleep in, today, even though she retired, last night, earlier than has been lately usual. I managed to keep her up until close to midnight, but it was a minor struggle past 2230. "I know you're tired Mom," I remember telling her, "your body's reconnoitering because of the 'event'. But, we don't want to add insult to injury, so I need to make sure you're minimally hydrated, which has been hard, today, since you had such a long nap." She did. I didn't worry about that, either. I knew what was going on.
    I noticed, last night, a feeling of peace embracing me after I'd explained all this to Mom, then continued about my late night choring duties. I stopped for a moment to analyze it. I think this is what happens when you've journeyed with An Ancient One for a long time, as I have with Mom, closely observed all her changes, minimal and maximal, seen That Ancient One through everything, including the intimate stuff, like bathing and boweling, that one usually only attends when someone is very young, monitored this and that, achieved a level of involvement in The Ancient One's life that is intense but accepted and comfortable. You don't get crazy, anymore, when you notice an "event". You don't panic and call on the Med Squad, because you know that'll be an unnecessary adventure and they'll come up with nothing that will be helpful to them or you. You change your monitoring a bit, help a little more when Your Ancient One is moving, pull back on keeping them awake in order to give them plenty of room to incorporate the event and its wake...and, as I did last night, you smile; and nod; you realize this is one of the benefits of Advanced, In-Home Caregiving, that you are protecting Your Ancient One from the enforced ignorance of the pros, who would either not have noticed, thus not have tightened their monitoring and possibly have precipitated a fall or applied agitating harassment to keep The Ancient One performing at Institutional Standards, or who would have noticed and gone overboard in their research of The Ancient One's body, thus agitating The Ancient One...
    Days like yesterday are the reason I continue my journey with my mother. People get old. Bodies break down, often easily and incrementally. No reason to get excited. Every reason to relax, enfold Mom a little more tightly, for a day or so, in my literal and figurative arms, enjoy her company, let her enjoy mine, and, as well, sit back and enjoy the ride.
    I expect that, after an easy yesterday and an easy today, she'll be rarin' to go at 0600 tomorrow. I told her that if she feels, for any reason, at any time, that she just isn't up to the trip, we can cancel at a moment's notice.
    "It's Christmas. No chance of that."
    This is her desire and intention. I'll do everything I can to make sure it is also her reality.

In the nine minutes I have before disturbing my mother's sleep...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sat, 23 Dec 2006 19:51:00 +0000

...I want to link to an essay I just read by Jonathan Franzen, published in the New Yorker and available online, also linked in Mike's journal Fading From Memory in a comment he left to one of his posts: My Father's Brain [9/30/08: Essay no longer available through The New Yorker except in abstract form].
It is a spectacular, detailed, curiously exhilarating Alzheimer's journal in an essay. If you are here because you are acquainted with dementia, take the time to read it.

I'm commenting on a particularly astute comment, here...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sat, 23 Dec 2006 16:48:00 +0000

...on the immediately previous post, because it brought me up short and I want to acknowledge this. For those of you who don't make a habit of noticing or reading comments (I'm a fringe member of this group...I usually read comments only when they already exist as I'm writing a comment, although I do have exceptions to this rule), here's the part of the comment I'll be addressing, left by Mona, author of The Tangled Neuron:

I'm hugely amused by your mom's awareness of your attempts to stimulate her memory, and I'm sure she doesn't mind. But it occurs to me that some people with memory problems resent BrainAge, etc. and people's attempts to "maintain their brains."

    When I read this comment, I had to laugh, with chagrin. She inadvertently pointed out a critical split in my thinking about dementia. On the one hand, I do, indeed, work hard to stimulate my mother's memory, despite the fact that I continue to have mixed success. I'm lucky that Mom's amused, rather than irritated, by what I do (and luckier, still, that some of the stuff I present, like Brain Age, don't register with her as therapy so much as fun; as you may recall, she's the one who decided she wanted to try it when we viewed the news segment about it much earlier this year. If you've read me for any length of time, you know, too, that I'm more fascinated by my mother's dementia than concerned about it. At any rate, when I received Mona's comment, I remembered that I had expressed similar sentiments about brain stimulation and dementia just a few days ago, over at Fading From Memory, Mike Pritchard's journal (link will take you to the comment). Since I left mine, Patty Doherty, webmistress of The Unforgettable Fund has left a similar comment.
    This irritation of mine isn't new. It's one of the reasons why I have never bothered to have my mother's dementia tested. As well, aside from my dim view of question-and-answer dementia tests and memory boosters, my mother takes a highly ironic view of those that have been occasionally tried on her by well-meaning but thoughtless medical professionals, as well.
    At any rate, the point of this post is that living with someone with dementia is a circumstance that fosters confusion over clarity. As a caregiver (and sometimes, as in my mother's case, as A Demented One), one day you hit upon a idea to try that could be labeled "Brain Stimulation". The next, you realize how ridiculous and ultimately maddening it is to have people trying to prod a demented brain into some semblance of normalcy (or, at any rate, what those of us who pat ourselves on the head and refer to ourselves as "not demented" like to think of as normalcy). One observation I've made, of which Mona just reminded me, is that the Demented-Lite (and sometimes those further into dementia) sometimes have a less agitated view of their mental acuity (or lack thereof) than those who tend to them. A lot, of course, depends on the people who surround The Demented One. I'm sure, if I worried about my mother's dementia, she would be more prone to irritation over her creative memory than I.
    Dementia is a complicated phenomenon. It isn't exclusive to aging, as those who labor with conditions like schizophrenia and bi-polar disorder tell us. It comes in so many shapes, sizes and trajectories that many of its displays aren't labeled "dementia"; i.e., the last time you had a severe cold, felt awful all over and found yourself contemplating, in your feverish state, your life as though it was a series of nothing but miserable failures, did you consider yourself demented? Chances are, you were. But, you know, bed rest, fluids, maybe an analgesic and a little sympathy "cured" your "dementia".
    It'll be awhile, I'm sure, before we have a truly effective grasp of dementia. In the meantime, I intend to remember that every time I try to sneak up on my mother's brain in order to "stimulate" it, well, I need to stimulate my own, as well.

I am the Errand Dream Girl!

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Thu, 21 Dec 2006 19:52:00 +0000

    Seven errands, all at different places, in exactly two hours, from the time I walked out the door to the time I walked back in! Amazing! I've been noticing, here and there, on the news, that various pundits have been predicting, based on "early statistics" and curious singular interviews of people stopped at shopping malls who are confirming they are "spending more this year than last", that this holiday season is supposed to be a economic block buster but, gladly, I still don't see it. I'm seeing just the opposite. I had to purchase some odd sized packing boxes at the only other mail facility (a commercial one) in town besides the post office today. I arrived at 0915. The facility opens at 0800. I was the only person there. One of my errands involved a stop at Costco. They have almost completely stowed all their Holiday stuff, including food, toys, special gift items and wrapping paper. I asked about this at the counter. "Oh," said the clerk, "sales this year aren't nearly what they usually are." One of my errand stops was at Walmart, for paper underwear (the cheapest place to buy it). I arrived there at around 1000. Only three check-out stands were open. I went through the one with no waiting. I had one item to pick up at Walgreens. No waiting there. In fact, I think I was the only customer in the store. I stopped at our usual local grocery for some salad stuff. I got right through in no time. Once again, only three check-out stands were open and there was no waiting at the self-check. I noticed that about half of their Christmas stuff had already been taken off the floor.
    Of course, online shopping may be replacing in-store shopping. However, last year when I ordered and sent gifts from online facilities, I placed orders around the first of December and every single gift arrived after Christmas. This year, I waited until last week to place orders and it seems that all gifts have either arrived at their destinations or will arrive before the end of the week. Could be, of course, that the online stores got their act together this year after multiple headaches last year, but, you know, I continue to wonder, and hope. I have a feeling that all those predictive stats and interviews are being manufactured by the Econocrats in an attempt to get people to feed the money machine by trying to get us to think that everyone's spending loads of money on the holiday, this year. It looks, as well, much to my delight, that it might not be working.
    Mom had one of those blips where her BG registered high regardless of what I gave her. It seems to have lasted only a week, ending yesterday evening, although today's stats will tell. I purposely fed her something with rice last night to see if everything has settled down. I remember freaking when this happened just before her last doctor's appointment. This time, I relaxed about it and reminded myself that any sort of blip will pull her HA1c up to where her doctor would like to see it. Speaking of which, I guess you've noticed, I haven't taken her in for blood draws since September of this year. Neither she nor I have been into it. She's doing well, no visible changes. I figure, I'll haul her in (I'm sure it will be reluctantly) in January and we'll get in three monthly blood draws before her March appointment. It's nice to settle back and not worry about this stuff. Sometimes I think I was driving myself crazy with stat immersion. I'm sure periods of compounded stat activity will happen again. No need, I think, to push the envelope when things are going so well.
    Mom is increasingly excited about Christmas. She continues to ask me, daily, if "tomorrow" is the day we head for MCF's. The only disappointment we've had, so far, is that her blood sugar was registering so high all on it's own over our baking days that I froze everything, and severely limited what I baked and restricted her supervisory tasting of ingredients to nuts only. If her BG remains easily managed, though, over today and tomorrow, I think we'll do some of the put-off baking this weekend so we can honor her desire to take a basket full of baked goodies to our Christmas hostess and her family. As well, since Christmas falls on Monday, I'm picking up our car rental in the morning tomorrow on a four day weekend special. She and I have made plans to use it over the weekend to very comfortably make the rounds of the lights at the Courtyard Square, which are always fabulous, and hit some of the streets that are known for their Christmas displays. We also have on our docket the ever amazing Gingerbread House (used loosely, many of the "houses" are actually landscape displays; last year one of the entries was of a tropical beach setting with a "little grass shack") Competition, as well as taking in any other Christmas events we can find. I expect our plans, which are numerous, will be shaved a bit, once the reality of getting ready and foreswearing naps hits, but we'll do as much as she's prepared to do.
    I remain the Holiday Caregiver Grinch, but we're having fun, anyway, and Mom is in full Mrs. Christmas mode. When I hesitantly approached her, yesterday, with my plan to leave our house at 0800 on Christmas so we can spend the entire day partying with MCF's, not leaving until well after dark, which, I carefully mentioned, would mean I'd be getting her up at 0600 on Christmas Day, she responded, "Oh, yes! Don't forget! We want to get down there as early as possible and stay until they throw us out!" Holiday partying definitely becomes her.
    Our snow days were a bust. We had a half hour of snow the first day. Although it stuck, it was a mere dusting. A snow day was predicted for tomorrow, but that has evaporated, as well. I'm disappointed but remain hopeful.
    Oh, last stop. Recovering Christmas memories seems to remain elusive. I hope being at MCF's will stimulate some, but I won't have my computer with me (on purpose), so, if any come to the fore, I'll simply have to remember and write them down. I've sort of given up. Every time I mention the subject, usually by asking one of the questions on the list published below, Mom says, "Still trying that, are you?"

No Christmas Memory luck yet...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Mon, 18 Dec 2006 07:11:00 +0000

...but she didn't take much of a nap, so her brain may not have had much of a chance to work according to plan. We had a good evening. I found The Santa Clause 2 running on yet another cable channel this evening, which thrilled Mom, as she remembered having seen the first one earlier today. I spent most of the movie making dinner and handling the evening chores, so I didn't see much of it. From what I saw, I think I prefer the first, but Mom made it clear that she prefers the second. So, later this evening I ordered both movies for our collection. Dinner, was a huge success, although it contained a variety of ingredients she claims not to like; rice, for instance, and peas, highly flavored left overs from last night's dinner. I combined those with chunks of last night's roasted chicken and flavored the mixture with the consomme from the roast. Mom exclaimed a couple of times how good it was. "Did you write this down," she asked, "so you can do this again?" Always a good idea to ask this, when I'm the cook, if I serve something you like.
    We also washed and set her hair, which relaxes her into a talkative mood. As well, I rubbed her legs down early because she was complaining about her back "bothering" her, which is unusual. I find that when I have her lean back and stretch out for a leg rub down, her back unkinks.
    It was during the leg rub down that I began to timidly probe the possibility of surfacing Christmas memories. Absolutely nothing. Except, toward the end of my probe, she chuckled and said, "You know, I remember [name of dead sister] and I questioning Mother about her memories. It was so frustrating for us that she couldn't remember anything. I remember thinking that it seemed impossible that she could have forgotten these things and being sure that I never would. And, well," she grinned her tight, ironic grin and shrugged her shoulders, "you can see how well that plan worked!"
    I was struck by how comfortable she is with her forgetfulness. I also pondered how the episode of her remembering the book throw out indicates that the memories haven't been erased, their paths have changed. It's as though her hard drive has placed them in different directories and the trick to accessing them, since I cannot access her hard drive directly, is to find the proper commands, so to speak, that will display her directories and grant access to both of us. It's funny because I can feel the heft of those memories I know remain stored. I have also fallen into the hole of her thoroughly deleted of memories. Different feeling altogether.
    Reminds me that Mona, on her website The Tangled Neuron, just published a series of unusually interesting articles about dementia as a disease vs. dementia as one of many possible conditions of aging. The link will take you to the first in the series. One of the related issues discussed is whether more effort and money should be spent on discovery and care for those already dementing, over research for "cures". It's an interesting question. Two of the aspects of this issue that have bothered me for some time are:

Our preemptive willingness to treat with drugs over person-to-person technique;
Our lather to ensure that Ancient Ones remain independent as long as possible.

    It seems to me that these two aspects are related. I don't believe our desire for independence for our Ancient Ones is pure. I believe it is actually a controverted desire for our independence from our elders. I also believe that this is what keeps us hoping for some sort of medical treatment, the application of which requires no more than a reminder to the recipient to apply the treatment. Person-to-person technique requires time, energy, thought and relatedness, four items of which we believe we are in short supply and which we would prefer to divert to areas of our lives which have nothing to do with our elders. I would, in fact, go so far as to say that we are much too quick to jump on the "independence for elders" band wagon; so quick that our leap seems to display a willingness to dismiss our elders as too far gone and not worth our life energy. I think that we grab for the illusory gold rings of long habitual statements made by our elders that they, too, want independence, when, in fact, these statements are vestiges of what they thought, in their middle years, they would prefer, when they discounted their ignorance about what being old would entail. Although we know that there are some elders who not only want but are capable of independence, for the most part, in one or more ways, our elders function better in webs of interdependence, varyingly tightly and loosely woven depending on the individual elder and that elder's functionality at any one time. This shouldn't surprise us. The truth is, we are all like this. Even those of us who identify ourselves as enthusiastic loners do so against societal webs of community. For some reason, though, we consider our own desires for interdependence legitimate, but not those of elders. We probably do this because our world, for the moment, as Dr. Thomas points out [in What Are Old People For?], is geared toward adult interdependence to such a degree that it remains invisible to us. Thus, interdependence with children is suffering, at the moment, to a certain degree. Interdependence with elders is completely dismissed as something to be altogether avoided or relegated to the activity of viewing our jewels, carefully polished for display by someone else. I think it is this prerogative that is directing not only our medical research, but our behavioral and relationship research, as well. We take it as a given that it is desirable to do whatever we can to increase the independence of elders and, failing that, find professionals to take care of them if they fail to meet our need for their independence.
    Ai, yi, yi. What a world we live in. What surprises await us as our boomer generation inexorably increases the ratio of Ancients to Adults and Children. This, I think, is good enough reason for us to make extraordinary efforts to consolidate ourselves with our own parents, so that we will begin to clear our own fog about what it might be like for us to be old, and begin to prepare our children for the possibilities that await us, and them as what I hope will be our Generationally Interdependent Yet to Be Ancient Ones. We must remember that the boomer generation is only the first of what will probably be many future generations who will look forward to a lifespan normally including Ancienthood. Any sins we commit in this regard will, indeed, be passed on to our descendants for payment.
    Anyway, I'm thinking, if there is success to be had in regard to Mom's Christmas memories, I may have some tomorrow. Although the inclement weather to which I've been looking forward is stalling a bit, it promises to settle in late tomorrow afternoon and continue in intensity through Tuesday. I've deliberately planned these as baking days. All baking with be done under my mother's supervision. This is always a super time for camaraderie, and it will be preceded by a full night sleep both days. I'll have the iBook and microphone set up at the table, which will function as our baking surface, ready to be triggered, just in case. No promises, just hopes.

I just set my mother up, pre-nap...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sun, 17 Dec 2006 23:43:00 +0000

...for what I'm hoping will be a Christmas podcast. I noticed, this morning, that the movie, The Santa Clause was showing this afternoon on one of the cable channels. This has been one of my daily duties since the Christmas season officially kicked off around Thanksgiving: Checking the daily TV listings for Christmas movies I know my mother would like (aside from also playing the ones we own). This isn't easy. She isn't a Christmas wimp. Just because a movie's about Christmas doesn't mean it will appeal to her. I was especially pleased about the appearance of this movie, because I rented it a few years ago and she loved it, although, today, she didn't remember ever viewing it and loved it anew.
    After watching the movie, Mom and I worked into a discussion of the "new" Santa Claus traditions and information contained in the movie and how these compare with old Santa data. This is a subject close to my mother's heart, since she is Mrs. Christmas.
    As we talked, I began wondering about what she remembers about Christmases in her past. I held myself back from asking, though, because, I decided, depending on what she could remember, this might make for an interesting (at least to our extended family) podcast. As our conversation dwindled, it occurred to me that, if I want to set the stage for the most memories possible, I should consider purposely trying the technique I accidentally discovered when she and I talked about her grandfather's book of worship, reviewed in this post, second part of the post.
    I hit her with the Christmas podcast idea and explained the technique I was planning on using. "You're about to take a nap, Mom. I'm going to run through a list of Christmas related subjects I'm curious about in regards to your life. I don't want you to respond right now. I don't want you to work at remembering anything. I just want you to listen, then we'll pack you off for you nap. We'll see how much you remember later this evening, after you've slept on it, awakened, and distracted yourself with our evening activities. Once you're relaxed, we'll warm up the microphone and hit the tracks." I mentioned to her, as well, that it took a night sleep for her to remember her and her soon-to-be aunt's attic cleaning adventure, and we're not limited by a schedule, so, if we don't get much tonight, we'll consider tonight a second prep session and revisit the subject tomorrow. Sounded like a good idea to her.
    As I rambled through a seat of the pants list, every time I noticed her brow wrinkling or her mouth opening to say something like, "I just can't remember," I'd stop her and say, "Mom, don't think. Just listen. Don't worry about whether anything's coming forward right now. Just listen to what I'm asking."
    For my reference, and use while we're recording, here is my remembered list of Christmas related subjects, probably including some new ones that I expect will reveal themselves as I type:

What's the first Christmas you can remember?
What's the first Christmas gift you can remember?
What about gifts you bought or made for others? What were some of those? Do you remember reactions to them?
Since your mom was a minister's daughter, did you go to church on Christmas? If so, what were the services like?
What kind of Christmas decorations do you remember? What were some of your favorites?
Did you ever believe in Santa Claus? Did you stop believing in Santa Claus? When? How did it happen that you found out "the truth" about Santa Claus? How did you feel when you found out?
Did you or any of your siblings ever discover your parents being Santa Claus?
When did you open gifts? Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, or both?
Since you guys moved around a lot, where were some of the various places you spent Christmas? How were your celebrations affected by where you lived?
How often were relatives involved with Christmas?
What were the traditional Christmas foods?
Do you remember any Christmases that are connected with tragedy? What were those like?
What has been your favorite ever Christmas gift to give? To receive?
When you made your own family and began your own Christmas traditions, how did they contrast with those with which you were raised?
How did you spend Christmas as an adult, before you were married, when you were away from home? How about in the Navy?
Was the stocking tradition something that came from your born-into family?
Do you remember how your siblings felt about Christmas? Your parents?
Did your family ever host a down-and-out person or family for Christmas?
Was your family ever down-and-out over Christmas and, therefore, hosted by another family?
What are your favorite Christmas songs and Christmas stories? Which of these songs and stories were introduced to you by your family?
Do you remember anything about how [my] Dad felt about Christmas? Did he ever talk about Christmases in his youth?
Any particular memories about any specific Christmases involving the family you made?
When did you become aware that you have an unusual affinity for Christmas and Santa Claus?
Have you ever experienced what you would consider a perfect Christmas? If so, what was it like? If not, what is your idea of a perfect Christmas?
If you could meet Santa Claus, what would you say to him?
If you could be Santa Claus, would you change anything about Christmas? If so, what?

    I'm sure I'll think of more before and during our recording session (or sessions, whichever the case may be). I'm not promising results. A lot will depend on Mom's memory. It's possible, too, that it will take more than one recording session to successfully bring forth all my mother's memories, attitudes, opinions and stories, assuming we are successful. We'll see how it goes.
    I may also include New Years material, depending on how successful we are with this project.
    So, anyway, we'll see what comes of all this...
    ...later.

I know what it is, now.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sat, 16 Dec 2006 20:37:00 +0000

    I've lost my bravery.
    Now that I know this, I'm feeling better.
    Relieved.
    Later.

We're preparing for snow.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Sat, 16 Dec 2006 20:10:00 +0000

    I couldn't be happier. I've been experiencing some unusually high anxiety, I'm actually feeling it physically, which doesn't often happen and surprised me this evening, over the last few days, not in regards to caring for my mother, so much, as regarding circumstances surrounding our life, so I'm looking forward, more than usual, to a soothing blanket of white for a few days. Seems it should start, fitfully, I notice, having just checked the forecast, sometime tomorrow evening, make up its mind on Sunday, then settle in on Monday and Tuesday. Ahhh...
    I've been envying Seattle. I lived through one of those knock-down drag out years when I was there. Absolutely exhilarating.
    Maybe this is the beginning of our forecast wet winter. I hope so.
    One more errand run tomorrow morning and we'll be ready to be snowed in. I'm thinking we won't get as much as I'd like, but we'll get something, that's for sure, and, at any rate, I'll be reveling in the blocking of the light that's predicted. Finally.
    Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
    Later.

I forgot the best part...

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Thu, 14 Dec 2006 01:54:00 +0000

...the part our relatives and friends, especially those who have kept up with Mom and have known her for ages, will especially enjoy.
    Our conversation last night, mentioned in the immediately previous post, that took place after the Boston Legal episode, ranged further than the area I covered below. Although I don't remember how we got there, we also touched on the subject of the slow down that commonly accompanies aging; not just intellectual slowing, but physical, social, etc. After discussing objectively what this slow down involves, I asked Mom, "How do you feel about your slow down?"
    "Well," she said, leaning back into her rocker and projecting her thoughts onto the ceiling for further study, "I know it'll come. It does for everyone, eventually. I'm not afraid of it. I'm not looking forward to it, but I'll take it in stride. I'll probably be ready for it, then."
    My mind had to take a powder, here. "Oh," I said, catching up with her. "So, you're saying you haven't slowed down, yet."
    She gave me that sidelong glance that translates: "Don't play stupid with me, girl, I gave birth to you!" "Well, of course not," she fairly snorted. Her eyes narrowed. "Why? Are you slowing down? Are you having trouble keeping up with me?" I noted that she was teasing by only half.
    I laughed. "You know, Mom, maybe I have! Maybe you're going to have to slow down so I can keep up with you!"
    So, people, it's official. Regardless of what you think, regardless of how it appears, regardless of the obvious drivel I publish on these sites, my mother has not yet begun to slow down. So there. Don't listen to me, her daughter; my perceptions can't be trusted. After all, I'm beginning to slow down, you know.
    Later.

I will always want one more moment with you.

gailraehudson@themomandmejournalsdotnet.net (Gail Rae) — Wed, 13 Dec 2006 20:00:00 +0000

    Lately, Mom and I have been working our way through the second (last year's) season of Boston Legal. Last night we encountered the episode Live Big, which I've previously mentioned in a post (linked to the name of the show) upon which I never elaborated. Although Mom's attention is always riveted when we're viewing any episode of this show, even though we'd already watched a couple of episodes previous to cuing up this one, her focus seemed particularly acute. It features a man who is being tried for murder after helping his wife, who suffered from Alzheimer's in what sounds like an advanced stage, die. Several aspects of this issue were featured, from a variety of angles.
    Admittedly, my mother's dementia does not seem to be taking what we all have agreed to recognize as the typical trajectory of Alzheimer's. In addition, her dementia has been labeled by Medicine as "vascular dementia", the trajectory for which is little addressed in the literature. Neither of us has any idea whether her dementia will ever close more tightly around her, nor, if it does, what will cause this to happen, since we've experienced episodes in which it seems to loosen its grip as other health issues are addressed. Considering the likelihood that, as she moves ever nearer to her death her physical health will decline, she probably will experience, at some point, stronger dementia, although what form it will take remains debatable. My mother's relationship with dementia has been nothing if not surprising. For both of us.
    One of the issues addressed was the horror that engulfs the demented during that stage when they are just beginning the journey of progressive dementia and realize what's happening. The episode made mention of the murder victim's actual horror and the imagined horror that Denny Crane's father probably experienced during this phase. As well, I am more than familiar with my mother's own past anxiety over the possibility of developing dementia as she watched her mother's journey through dementia, which was typical of what we've come to recognize as the Alzheimer's track. When her sister, much later in her life, fell (quite quickly) into dementia, my mother was beginning to experience mental sink holes. I was, by that time, her full time companion, had taken over all her personal business and had begun a light ordering of most of the rest her life and a heavy ordering of her medical experiences. She was in frequent contact with her sister while she lived at home and after she was moved to a nursing home, just as she was with her mother. During her sister's demential journey, though, my mother no longer expressed anxiety about her own demential possibilities.
    My mother's dementia has progressed since then, although still continuing its own meanderings. The Dead Zone has been added to her life. Her short and long term memory is decidedly looser than it was. All her anxiety about her own dementia evaporated a long time ago, though.
    As the Boston Legal episode ended and the credits rolled, I noticed that she remained focused on the screen as though she wanted yet another scene to unfold. "What's on your mind?" I asked.
    She hemmed and hawed, having trouble putting words to what she was feeling.
    I slowly back tracked through the episode and said, "Stop me when we get to the place you need to be."
    She understood what I meant. It was the scene in which Denny Crane describes his father, on the day he was euthanized, as having had a good day, his appetite was good and the word "blissful" could have been used, Denny admitted, to describe him.
    "That's it," my mother exclaimed. She continued, though, to have trouble articulating what she was thinking.
    "Let me take a stab at it, Mom. You tell me if I'm right or wrong." My mother remains astonishingly capable of knowing and expressing whether someone else is interpreting her thoughts correctly, so I didn't have any qualms about using this technique. "My guess," I suggested, "is that your experience with dementia has been a complete surprise to you."
    My mother smiled and nodded vigorously. She opened her mouth to say something but I jumped in. I wish, now, that I hadn't, as I would have liked to have heard her words, but I have this tendency, when I'm on a roll, to turn into somewhat of a verbal bulldozer. Got to watch that.
    "Would it be accurate to say," I continued, "that it's not as bad as you imagined before your mind began to take flight?"
    "Oh, yes," she said. "That's it."
    "Would you go so far as to say that while it would have been nice if your mind had remained predictable for you, the state of your mind, now, hasn't reduced the quality of your life and you have no complaints?"
    "Yes! Yes!" she confirmed, excitedly, I might add.
    "Are you concerned, now, that if your dementia progresses, people will misinterpret your experience and act on your behalf in ways that are more about their fears than your experience?"
    She sat back in her rocker with all the relaxation and gestures of someone who has been well understood. "That's it. What if I look like I'm uncomfortable, but I'm not? What if..." she worked to find the right words.
    "I know," I told her, "that you have a Living Will that precludes extraordinary life extending measures."
    "I do?" She was genuinely surprised, although not agitated about learning this.
    "Yes. It was drawn up twenty-one years ago, when you had no idea what lay in store for you. How do you feel about that, now?"
    "I'm not so sure, anymore," she said. "I don't think I want to be a vegetable, if that should happen, but I'm not sure what a human vegetable is, anymore."
    I've heard variations on this before from others, most recently during a program on PBS, Living Old. The link will take you to the interview with the woman who expressed one variation, which is almost at the bottom, in answer to the question, "Have you had conversations with your kids about a health care proxy?" I've been meaning to talk about this program, here, but haven't yet gotten around to it, chiefly because I'm still working my way through its extraordinary online coverage, which includes lots of extras.
    "Okay," I said. "I won't step in and and keep you from dying if and when I perceive that you want to die, but I'm not looking forward to that time, either. I'm also aware that there may come a time when I won't be very good at knowing what you want and what you don't want in this regard. I can tell you this, though: Mom, I will always, always, always want one more moment with you, one more hour, one more day, no matter what. I know this, now."
    She was listening carefully, nodding vigorously. She interrupted me and said, "That's how I felt about [her sister's name]. That's how I felt about Mother [her mother]."
    I took silent note that she wasn't in The Dead Zone as we talked. Interesting. "I'll err, then, on the side of life."
    "I don't want machines keeping me alive, if that's all I have left," she said.
    "I get that, Mom. I'll be careful, though, to go the distance with you, just in case."
    "Good, good."
    "It may get tricky. There may come a time when it's not as easy for me to interpret what you want as it is now."
    "I know. If you're not sure, don't do anything."
    "Sounds like a plan, Mom."
    We sat silently, for some moments, contemplating the DVD's floating "We're done here, what do you want to do now?" display.
    "I want more time with you, too," she said. "As much as I can get."
    That's when I cried, and she laughed. At me and my sorry, Dad oriented tear ducts.
    Then, I laughed.
    Thank the gods my mother remains capable of being amused by me, especially in my quick sentimentality and my overarching seriousness. This may be part of what keeps her going. Perhaps this curious yardstick will be the tool that will tell me what Time it is. Time for life. And Time for Death.
    Later.