You Are My Sunshine

One of the saddest days I’ve experienced in recent years with my mom dealing with Alzheimer’s was last summer when she broke her hip and was not doing well at the rehabilitation facility.

I had made the decision to cut her rehab short and move her back to the memory care unit. Hospice could once again be involved in her daily care and she wouldn’t be subjected to the difficult rehab that wasn’t working for her. She was in pain and couldn’t walk, had lost so much weight in a very short period of time and we thought we were losing her.

So plans were quickly finalized and I told the hospice nurse that I would be in mom’s room when they got her ready to move. The aide and the driver from Parkside Village would arrive and take mom and her bags in the van and I would follow behind in my car.

On my way there I received a call from hospice telling me the driver and aide had gotten mom and were on their way back to the memory care unit.

That was a surprise as they weren’t scheduled to pick her up for another hour or so. But since I was nearly at the rehab facility, I said I’d just pop in and make sure they had gotten everything. I also wanted to thank the nursing staff for the care they had given us.

When I got to her room I discovered that nothing had been packed. It was an unexpected oversight, but I assumed our signals had somehow gotten crossed and perhaps they thought I was planning to do the packing.

So I went to work. When I finished, I went out to thank the nursing staff. The aide I especially liked – her name was Avis – gave me a big hug and wished us both well. As I tried to hold off more tears (I’m becoming such a big baby in my old age), I told her what a blessing she was to us and how much we appreciated her efforts.

When I turned to leave she said, “Wouldn’t you like to see your sweet mama?”

I am sure the look I gave her was of utter disbelief. “Hasn't mom left to go back to Parkside Village?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “Your mom is in the TV room!”

So we walked to the TV room and a woman I didn’t even recognize was dozing in her wheelchair. Her bangs had grown out since she hadn’t had her hair cut since before her fall and she had two tiny little cornrow braids on either side of her head.

I smiled because I thought they were cute, but I laughed because I knew that mom would’ve hated her hair in braids.

My whole life I cannot remember mom doing anything to her hair other than the obligatory perm when she cared about that sort of thing. She never colored it. Her hair was always short, so she never wore it in a ponytail or a braid. And she never affixed a hair clip in her hair.

Mom's hair was not this big!

The only thing I can remember that was different about mom’s hair was a short period in the late 60s when she wore a wiglet. I don’t know why…maybe she wanted a little more of the bouffant hairstyle that was so popular back then and she didn’t have enough hair to achieve the look.

All I really remember was that it was gray (or “silver” as mom insisted we call the color of her hair). And to me that wiglet looked sort of like a dead squirrel in the little box she kept it in.

So I was a bit nonplussed by the cornrows, but I let it go. I figured someone was spending time with and caring about my mom.

We wheeled her back to her room just as the Joy, the aide and Johnny, the driver, came in to pick up mom.

Avis asked if she could sing her one final song before she left. Mom nodded – so Avis started crooning, “You Are My Sunshine.”

Johnny chimed in – and then mom tried to sing along, too.

I couldn’t have joined in if I tried.

I was standing behind mom’s chair, which turned out to be fortunate. Witnessing this moment of compassion between these caregivers just about broke me. I had tears streaming down my face – much as I do right now.

It was an incredibly poignant moment. Later, I wished I’d been able to capture it on video, though I don’t think I would have been capable of holding the camera at that moment.

But the memory will stay with me.

I know there are good caregivers and there are not so good caregivers out there.

That day I witnessed the very best.

So I’d just like to say thank you to all the people who care for someone else’s loved one. I, for one, am extraordinarily grateful.

And I thank you.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You’ll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

                (Jimmie Davis and Charles Mitchell, 1939)

Whatta Day!

Today is Sunday, 02/02/2020, apparently a palindrome date not having been seen for about a bajillion (or 900) years. According to Facebook-land, anyway.

On the other hand, if you scroll a little further, someone else will repudiate those claims when they suggest the dates 01/02/2010 or 11/02/2011. Those were certainly not a bajillion (or 900) years ago, though to some of us, they may seem like an eternity ago.

And, yeah, yeah, if you do a search, there IS something about today’s date being a palindrome whether you use the month and then the day or the day and then the month format. But whatever. I just know it’s 02/02/2020.

It’s also Super Bowl Sunday to you sports fans out there. Me? Not so much. I’m on a healthy eating plan right now, so I can’t indulge in beer, pizza, sliders or cheese dip today anyway. 

And I can read the hype on the best commercials tomorrow and watch them in their entirety without having to endure the whole football game to do it.

Apparently, I’m not a big fan of either the Kansas City Chiefs or the San Francisco 49ers.

Are you impressed that I at least knew the teams playing in Super Bowl 2020? I am. I only fact-checked after I wrote that sentence so as not to make me look like a football ignoramus.

I’m further impressed with myself that I knew it was Super Bowl LIV…but then because I didn’t know how many years “LIV” represents, I had to retract my arm and stop patting myself on the back. (It is, by the way, 54, if you’re like me and didn’t know.)

But then that begs the question…why are we still using Roman numerals to count Super Bowl games?

So I once again hit up Google. I’d impart that information, but it wasn’t exactly scintillating. In my opinion, of course.

All I do know is that I get a little fuzzy after XXV in Roman numerals, so Google and I are BFFs today.

Oh, and yeah, today is also Groundhog Day, where we’re still relying on a rodent to tell us whether or not we will have six more weeks of harsh winter. 

For a change, Punxsutawney Phil didn’t see his shadow, thus predicting an early spring.

But I choose to believe the groundhog when he predicted spring was on its way. And I didn’t have to wear a top hat or handle a furry rodent to do it.

All I had to do was take Miss Maggie Minx out for a walk this afternoon. Imagine my surprise and delight to find full-on sunshine and blue skies. And it’s currently a downright balmy 61°F.

That’s pretty spring-like for the first Sunday in February in Ohio.

Not that I’ve really been enjoying the day. Mostly I’ve been sleeping. Or trying to. I was only rudely awakened by Maggie yipping in my ear that it was time for a potty break.

Do you sense that undercurrent of grumpiness in my tone? It’s true. I am grumpy. And I do apologize. It’s most likely due to the raging cold I’m currently experiencing.

It has been a while since I’ve had one and I’m not at all happy to be forced to take the sniffling, sneezing, aching, coughing, stuffy-head, fever so you can rest medicine.

Well, actually, I think it’s just a cold. No fever. But the rest of the jingle? Check, check, check, check aaannnd check.

Bleh.

Last night I was so congested, I was surprised that my sinuses hadn’t blown up my face into a gigantic balloon of snot.

Ooh, sorry. That might’ve just been a little too graphic. Let’s just say I couldn’t breathe. At all. And I was really grumpy.

On the other hand, I’m not dealing with the coronavirus. Otherwise, instead of writing a grumpy blog, the CDC could be whisking me off to quarantine and badgering me with questions about recent travel to China.

So there’s a silver lining.

And I AM happy to see the sun today.

And, really, it’s kind of fun to gather around the big screen to watch a football game with friends and family and indulge in oh-so-good pizza and sliders and cheese dip.

So whichever team you’re rooting for – I hope they win.

I’ll just do everyone a favor and stay home and keep my germs (and my grumpiness) to myself. And if Vince wants to turn on the TV to watch the game, I’m okay with that. Think of how much time I’ll save tomorrow not having to search for the best commercials.

As for the rodent? Well, he’d better be right. He’s no match for a grumpy old lady with a raging head cold.

The Long Lost Voice of Jane’s Domain

If I finish this blog, I will be as surprised as you must be to read one from me. It has been a long, long time since I’ve written.

Why?

Well, I think I lost my voice for a while there. I was just so damn sad last year. Every time I started to write a blog, it wouldn’t be one of those light, semi-amusing Jane’s Domain kinda blogs. No, it would be all gloomy and doomy.

And then I’d stop writing.

One of the biggest reasons was that my 95-year-old mom who has had dementia for the past ten years fell and broke her hip this past summer. Watching her go through a second hip replacement surgery and struggling through rehabilitation was heartbreaking and I truly thought we were going to lose her.

She has rallied some, but is a much different person than she was before the fall. She struggles to find simple words to communicate. She sleeps most of the day and is now completely incontinent. She has to be fed each meal. And, sadly, she is no longer able to walk.

So it’s nearly impossible to face each day in a lighthearted manner, although I do cherish those moments when something funny happens and I can let loose with a belly laugh. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.

Like the time I thought I was using lip balm to moisturize my chapped lips and discovered I had used a lip plumper instead (where did that tube come from?) so that I walked around for an entire day with duck lips.

Let’s just say it was not a good look on me.

Or when I thought I was spraying dry shampoo in my hair and when I flipped my head back and looked in the mirror, my hair was standing straight up in the air like I time hopped myself  back to the 80s. Only then did I look at the container in my hand and read the fine print. Hair spray, I read. Lasting hold.

Oh joy.

Vince has been encouraging me to write again. And he’s boosted my readership by inviting more people to like Jane’s Domain. I appreciate his efforts and I apologize to anyone who maybe, I don’t know, expected to read something current.

Ah well. Hopefully, those new people have been able to read some of my older blogs. I used to be very chatty.

But I have to do things in my own time.

Now that it’s a whole new year and a whole new decade, I think I’m ready. Getting back into the writing game is one of my goals for the year. Perhaps I can find my voice again.

I can’t promise they’ll all be lighthearted and fun. But hopefully they won’t be all gloomy and doomy.

Wish me luck, okay?

The Other Side of the Door

Imagine – for just a moment – you are sitting in a room. The rocking chair, ottoman and the blanket that covers you all seem somewhat familiar, but you don’t recognize the room itself. 

You are alone in the room and there is a door straight ahead, but you don’t know what’s on the other side of it.

So you stand up and walk slowly toward the door. You peek out. There are people outside in the hallway, but you don’t recognize anyone.

A woman with a nametag pinned to her tunic calls you “Anne,” so she clearly knows who you are, but you have no idea who she is.

She looks off down the hall and then turns back to you and says brightly, “You have a visitor!”

A moment later, a woman walks up to the doorway and with a big smile on her face says, “Hi mom!” so you greet her and call her by name. At least you recognize your daughter and remember her. When she hugs you, you hold on a little tighter because you’re so very confused.

She walks you into the room and settles you into a rocking chair that seems sort of familiar, but you’re not really sure where you are and how your daughter happens to be there.

Things are so muddled and you have many questions, but you’re her mother - the woman who has always been in charge – so you don’t want to admit that you don’t know what is happening or where you are.

Once you’re situated and she covers your knees with the blanket, she asks if you’d like a glass of wine. Oh! Something else familiar – and you know how to respond. So you teasingly reply, “need you ask?!” and give her a wry smile because no one in our family ever says no to happy hour.

When she hands you the glass of wine, you say, “merci beaucoup!” because somehow you recall a little bit of the French you learned in high school. Or maybe it was in college. Things are so confusing.  

After your daughter talks to you for a few minutes, she sees that you’re struggling with something. “What’s the matter, mom,” she asks.

You feel like something horrible must have happened to you because you can’t remember anything.

Something is very wrong. But how to begin?

So you say, “I don’t know, I’m feeling very confused. What am I doing?”

And then you look around the unfamiliar room and ask, “Where am I?”

She explains that you’re in a place called Parkside Village. That she and her husband Vince live only a few miles down the street. And that you’ve been here a little over 2-1/2 years.

You are astonished by this and are distressed that you have no recollection of the past 2-1/2 years. But then you ask your daughter the most important question on your mind.

“Where is dad?”

A despondent look crosses your daughter’s face and she tells you that dad passed away.  He fell and hit his head and later died of his injuries.  

You have no memory of your husband of many years – you really have no idea how many - passing away, but you feel like you can give a rational explanation by saying, “I must have repressed those memories.”

Only you can’t really recall the word “repressed” so you struggle for a moment. When your daughter helps you with the word, you nod gratefully.

Carrying on a conversation is very tiring.

And you’re very confused.

So you ask your daughter, “What do I do here?”

She teasingly says, “Well, mom, pretty soon you’re going to have to get into the kitchen and cook dinner for everyone!”

You know that’s not true so you say, “Oh, I don’t think so!” And she smiles and says, “You’re right. You’ve done enough cooking – it’s time someone else does it for you.”

And then she tells you that someone will come in to get you and take you to the dining room for dinner. And then they’ll help you get ready for bed.

You look over at the one bed in the room and ask her, “And where do you sleep?”

She explains where she lives, but you can’t retain the information.

She tells you that your other children will be visiting next month, so you look over at the clock that gives the day, date and time to orient yourself about when “next month” is.

She picks up a photo and shows you the last time your children visited, but you don’t remember it. You don’t say anything, though, because you don’t want your daughter to know you can’t remember anything.

As you finish the last of the wine and hand the glass to your daughter, you ask, “Where’s dad?”

You’re very confused. You don’t know where you are or why you’re there. Nothing is familiar. You recognize your daughter – thank God – but nothing else makes sense.

And then you turn to her and ask, “What’s on the other side of that door?”

Happy 94th Birthday, Mom!

Tomorrow is my mom’s 94^th birthday. In another lifetime, she would have hated me sharing her age with anyone – but mom doesn’t know how old she is anymore and doesn’t really react much when I tell her.

Oh, sure, sometimes she expresses surprise that she’s almost 94. And sometimes she tells me she doesn’t believe me.

I can’t blame her – because I do tease her a lot. Like, for instance, when she points at my 42 oz water bottle and asks me what’s in it, I tell her it’s filled with vodka. At first she looks startled – and then she smiles at me and says, “No sir, Jane Marie!”

Nope, I still can’t pull one over on the lady!

Just yesterday when I told her that we were going to celebrate her birthday this week, she said she was grateful she was in such good health and can still get around at her age.

Which is true. Mom moves a whole lot slower, but she can still get up and get herself to the bathroom – or to the dining room for a meal. And she always does a little boogie move with the lady who serves her.

It’s really cute.

But then five seconds later, mom has forgotten about the interaction.

So, yes, I’m grateful, too, that she can still get up and walk on her own. But, oh, how I wish she didn’t have dementia and still retained her memories.

Because then she could tell me her fondest birthday memory when she was a little girl.

Or she could tell me what kind of birthday cake is her favorite.

We knew for sure that Dad’s favorite was Boston Cream Pie, but Mom was always pretty cagey about her favorite. I don’t know this for sure, but I figure it was because she was happy to get any sort of dessert that she wasn’t responsible for baking.

Speaking of which…I wish we could laugh about the first time I baked a birthday cake for her when I was a kid – and used granulated sugar in the frosting instead of powdered sugar. (Clearly, I needed more adult supervision than I had.)

Well, we can still laugh about the last thing. She won’t have any memory of it, but it’s still funny. And I can still see the looks on my family’s faces as they gamely attempted to eat cake with gritty frosting.

Live and learn – right?

Yeah, scarred me for life. This is probably why I’m a big fan of the Betty Crocker frosting in a can. Or more likely why I order birthday cakes from the bakery these days.

So I’ve picked up some brightly-colored helium-filled mylar balloons for Mom. We’ve got cards for her to open and Vince will get her a lovely bouquet to celebrate her 94^th birthday.

And when we sing “Happy Birthday” to her as she blows out the candle on her store-bought birthday cake, I’ll smile knowing it’s wayyy better than a homemade cake from me. Mom will smile because she still likes sweets.

But, sadly, I won’t know if I’ve gotten her her favorite flavor. It’s something I guess we’ll never learn now – and that makes me sad.

But I’ll put a big smile on my face anyway. Because ninety-four is a big deal. And we love her.

Happy birthday, Mom!

Big Sur-Perfect Wedding Spot. Subtitle: But Beware of The Klutzes at the Airport

Can I just say that the wedding we attended in California was one of the most gorgeous settings for a wedding I’ve ever seen?

Well, plus, the bride and groom were pretty darn gorgeous themselves!

Ryan and Erin – you done good!

Credit: Taylor Brooke Photography

Sometimes Mother Nature outdoes herself and on that Thursday, She was in peak form. The sun was shining brightly, there was not a cloud in the sky, there was just a hint of a breeze coming off of the ocean and everything was just, well, perfect.

Including Ryan and Erin’s dogs who were guests of honor. I didn’t hear a peep out of them throughout the entire ceremony.

Credit: Taylor Brooke Photography

All I could think was if Maggie Minx had been there she would have been barking incessantly at whatever – birds, butterflies, someone’s tie fluttering in the wind. Not only that, but if she had had any opportunity whatsoever, she would have bolted and there would have been total chaos as we chased her up and down cliffs.

Yeah, those are the sorts of thoughts that flit through my brain sometimes.

Scary, isn’t it?!

Anyway, I heaved a sigh of relief that Maggie was safely at home and then refocused on the ceremony.

It was a special day and the setting for the reception was also gorgeous and we had so much fun from beginning to end.

I thought about my cousin Bill, father of the groom, who passed away just about a year ago. It made me sad because Bill was always at all the family gatherings and I missed him – I missed his smiling face, his happy demeanor, his joie de vivre. I thought about how proud he would have been of all his kids who were there to support their brother as he married the love of his life.

And then, when I heard that all the siblings were traveling to Ireland next month to support their youngest brother, Shawn as he marries his fiancée, Tara, it just filled my heart and made me smile.

How was I so lucky to become a part of this family? I thought.

But enough of the mushy stuff. Back to the reception. 

Can I just give you a word of advice? If you’re ever – and I mean EVER – attending an outdoor wedding and reception in Monterey, be prepared. A parka is not out of the question. It. Was. Cold. Particularly when the sun set.

I had had the perfect outfit for an outdoor wedding and reception that included a mohair sweater, boots and a sparkly skirt – but I changed my mind at the last minute when I was packing and went with something lighter and thinner.

Big mistake.  But I thought the reception was indoors and a mohair sweater just wouldn’t cut it. I’d have had hot flashes and makeup would have melted and hair would have drooped and I’d have had so much sweat pouring down my face people would have thought I was having a serious medical issue that required EMT intervention.

Fortunately, we all brought extra jackets and coats and, one by one, we left to fetch them from our cars and hotel rooms. I even saw a couple blankets that had been dragged off beds from the hotel keeping a guest or two warm. Fleece may not have been the most stylish of wedding wear, but we didn’t much care by that point!

I felt so fortunate to have the chance to talk to my cousins during this week as we had several days to hang out together. Vince was the hero as he took hundreds of frame-able photos and he was able to share them with family.

We spent a few hours in Monterey at Cannery Row and did a little shopping, a little eating, a little people-watching.  We did not, alas, visit the Monterey Aquarium. Time got short and the excursion didn’t make the cut. “Next time,” we vowed. “Next time.”

Or maybe not. It’s an expensive undertaking just to visit a few fish!

And the house that we rented right on the ocean was simply perfect. I don’t know about you, but the ocean just calls to me. We left the windows at night opened a crack so we could hear the waves crash upon the shore, which gently lulled us to sleep. It was heavenly!

But then, finally, it was time to leave. We loaded up our little white Hyundai Accent, said our goodbyes, and then headed north to San Francisco.

Vince had never been and I had been there only once, so we were newbies to the area and figured we’d only have time to do a little bit of the touristy thing. So we headed to Ghirardelli Square. Bought some chocolate (naturally), and then had lunch at a nearby café where we could sip a glass of wine and watch the sailboats from the large windows overlooking the bay.

After that, we walked to the pier and then Vince had some chowder (or “chow-dah” as my mother would say) in a sourdough bread bowl.

We headed to the airport and turned in the car. When I was handed the receipt, I could see that a couple hundred dollars had been discounted – presumably for our problems with the convertible. However, I noted that it was merely the difference in price between a standard convertible (that I originally ordered) and the luxury convertible (that we were bumped to).

Fortunately, I had made lengthy notes during our ordeal with the tires and broken rim on the BMW and I was all ready to write a letter to Alamo.

But first we had to get home. I like to write…but I figured this letter would cause some serious writer’s cramp!

Vince and I wheeled our luggage on and off trams and finally hit the down escalator to take us to the Delta terminal where we were checking our bags.

He was in front of me with two suitcases and I was behind with a carry-on, my purse and another bag. As we reached the bottom of the escalator and Vince attempted to push the bags off the escalator ahead of him, he lost his balance and fell backwards.

Right on top of me. And I went down like a stack of dominoes. Bags went flying.

But before I knew what was happening, I was being helped up by some kind young man with big muscles who had been standing near the bottom of the escalator.

A second later, I heard a terrific “Riiippp!” and realized my inner jacket (I was wearing two jackets as it was chilly in San Francisco) had gotten stuck and when I turned around, I could see a chunk of the brightly colored jacket in the teeth of the escalator.

Thank goodness this guy had the wherewithal to set me free or who knows what could have happened. I, for one, know I would not have been focused enough to remove my heavier outer jacket in order to take off the jacket that was stuck.

I was also grateful no one else was on the escalator behind us at that particular moment. Talk about falling down like dominoes!

A representative from the airport was there on the spot to ask me if I was okay and if I needed any assistance, but I was so shaken up I told her I was fine. And then I went in search of Vince who had started to walk away once he knew I was okay – either out of embarrassment or he was simply focused on getting us to the gate on time.

Later on, we were somewhat sore from our fall and we both sported a few bruises. I had a pretty spectacular one on my backside but, fortunately for you, I didn’t take any photos of it. (You’re welcome!). But we were none the worse for wear.

Well, except for my jacket. It was the first and last time I wore that jacket. There ain’t no fixin’ that thing!

Our flight back to Columbus was (thankfully) uneventful and we were so glad to be home when we finally touched down in Columbus.

But lesson learned. Today’s PSA: If you have more than two bags – Take the elevator!

Oh, and PS, I did write my letter to Alamo. And to their credit, they apologized profusely for the problems we experienced with the rental car and completely refunded our card. So - even though it was not the vacation we dreamed of back while I was plotting and planning it - I have to thank them for their attentive and immediate response.