The Persistence of Telephony

Mom got a call the other day from her grandson, Dan, in Iraq. Although Dan's in the Navy he's on detached duty with the Army in Kurdistan. The Navy apparently taught him Arabic. He's a good and thoughtful grandson.

Anyway, Mom was, as always, thrilled by the call. They talked for a few minutes and when Dan hung up she gave the phone back to me. I checked to make sure he was off the line and placed it back in its cradle. Mom, however, continued talking to me as if she were still on the phone. She's done this a number of times and it's always a bit disconcerting because she's talking to me and the conversation makes sense and is appropriate but she acts like she's still on the phone.

So I said, "Dan's gone for now, Mom. I hung up the phone. There's no one there."

She said, "Oh. Well I guess I'd better hang up, too, then," and picked up the newspaper.

Mom-Sequiturs

Mom: Where are the scissors?

Me: Over there on the coffee table.

Mom: (Searches around on the coffee table and comes up with a magnifying reading glass.) Well, I guess I'll never know.

Me: Know what?

Mom: Whether I'm supposed to be using this or the scissors.

Me: Can't help you. I don't know what you're trying to do.

Mom: Me neither.

Our Version of Winter

Several of the homes in the neighborhood have these large, Mediterranean-looking pines which I have not yet been able to identify. They are up to fifty feet tall, very thin, with short regular branches that are set absolutely evenly up the trunk.

This morning a (small) flock of ibis flew in and perched together at the very top of the tallest one in the area. I know birds are very light for their size but these at least looked too big for the branches they occupied. The dozen or so birds were spaced evenly around the top half dozen branches and the tree swayed only a little.

They looked like snow capping the pine.

One Orbit

Hard to believe it's been a full year since coming to Florida.

Mom is worse off than when I got here but not as bad as she would be without the meds and attention. There is no way my brother could both work and keep an eye on her by himself. The Exelon patches seem to be working for the most part, although they are--at best--a holding action. Her physical strength has also improved somewhat. She definitely wants to do more and sometimes does.

The weather has run its full cycle and we are back in the dry season. Summer was not as bad as I imagined it would be but this time of year is glorious. Cool, dry, clear starry nights in the low sixties/upper fifties and warm, dry sunny days in the low eighties. Mom and I sit in the lanai and watch birds and butterflies and the breeze blowing through palm fronds. This is what it's all about.

The only thing missing is mountains. This place is sooo flat!

Art vs. Meaning

Mom has a long history of letter writing and still tries to compose notes to friends and family. For a while there, around the time she first fell down, she literally did not have the strength to put pen to paper. (She always blamed the pen and accumulated a handful of them, none of which, of course, "worked.")

Unfortunately, although she is now stronger, her cognitive skills are weaker. Now her writings are disjointed, repetitious and frequently illegible. Even she, re-reading her notes, realizes this. She does not let that stop her.

A couple of days ago, she spent the better part of an evening composing some sort of missive. I say "some sort of" because I have not been able to see it and probably never will. She wrote it partially on paper (I think) but mostly on the backs and fronts of several envelopes which she then sealed up and glued together using Elmer's. It's three or four envelopes thick, solidly built, red and white and yellow, with flaps sticking out here and there. As collage, it's beautiful. As communication, not so much. She addressed the outermost envelope with the name of an old friend and the friend's cell phone number. And there is no way to get inside it to see what she wrote without destroying it, which I shall not do.

Those writing scraps which I have seen and deciphered are generally bittersweet, filled with thanks for friends and family, love (especially for her grandchildren), and promises to write better letters when she gets well again.

Its Own Reward

I am sooo virtuous.

Not only did I vote today, I then proceeded over to the hospital for a platelet donation. I've got my sticker and my bandage and a new T-shirt and I am surrounded by clouds of the sweetest smelling self-satisfied smug you could imagine.

I think I shall be insufferable for the rest of the day.

Hallowe'en Treats

Our yard and Neighbor Dan's yard were all done up and lit for the event. Cars have been slowing and stopping all week long to take pictures of the displays, especially my brother's cat.

Normally, kids come up the driveway to the walk and thence to the front door. Mom sits on the couch and doesn't really get to see the costumes. This year was a little different.

Rather than usual, we put up a table at the head of the driveway. Mom came out and sat behind the table where she could see every little ghostie and ghoulie (and Batman and ninja and pirate and three-foot-tall twin Supermen). The sky was cloudless and the air dry. The sun disappeared turning the palms into finely serrated, sharp cretaceous silhouettes against a pink background fading to steel gray-blue.

My brother's girlfriend came over to help. Neighbor Dan had friends over and put on a barbecue in his driveway to which he invited us. The pillaging started slowly and we gave away too much too soon on the assumption we would all be in diabetic comas from the leftovers, otherwise. Two great waves of looters hit the neighborhood after dark (I wouldn't be surprised if they came in buses and campers) and we ran out of goodies by 8:15. The last of the mini Huns and Visigoths finally departed around 9. All told, I think we treated 80+ kids of various ages and species.

Mom sat through most of it and enjoyed herself immensely.