A Christmas Visit

My Other Brother and his kids (two nephews (both adult, both active Navy), one niece (pre-teen)) came down to visit for a couple of days. We had a belated Christmas present opening session, watched "Mr. Popper's Penguins" (a gift from the niece), played a round of mini-golf (Other Brother beat me by one stroke) and ordered in Chinese for dinner.

Mom was thrilled to have the company and the attention, although she did have to ask people to identify themselves every now and then.

They're all gone again now and the energy level in the house is slowly subsiding back to normal.

Glimpses Into the Future

Mom has become aware of Facebook.

With her Alzheimer's induced OCD tendencies, she reads advertisements in the newspaper down to the finest of fine print. She reads every word. She doesn't necessarily understand what she reads, but she reads it. Every. Word.

So, lately, she's noticed references to "Follow Us On Facebook" on everything from hype by the local mega-deal car sales lot to coupons for dish detergent, to the local pool cleaner. She doesn't get detail from TV ads (images go by too fast for her) so I'm not sure if she's noticed any references there, yet. And I doubt she'd recognize the  logo.

I've explained the general concept to her, and the fact that it's huge, and that I and my Other Brother and his two eldest kids and his ex- plus a whole bunch of other people she used to know (although not of her generation) are on it, and she sort-of gets it.

She gets it enough to wonder how it makes any money if they don't charge for using it. So that's something.

So far, at least, she hasn't noticed the Twitter logos. I'd hate trying to explain the concept behind that.

Living in the Moment, Extreme Edition

We had a Merry Christmas.

It being Sunday, I fixed French toast for Mom and myself. We then waited until my brother arose (normally not before noon because of his work but this time because he was up late wrapping presents) before opening the gifts.

Mom was confused over who gave what to whom and who received what from whom. Since she does not go out shopping any more, her gifts to us were bought by us (me for my brother, him for me) with her money. It's not easy trying to explain on-line shopping and express shipping to an Alzheimer's afflicted 91+ year-old. She kept insisting there were three small presents still to give and rearranging three sheets of writing paper on her table until my brother got out her checkbook and let her sign three $20 checks to each of her sons (my brother, myself and the middle one who will be down to visit this week with his kids). Then she was happy.

For dinner that evening, we had a delicious medium rare standing rib roast with Yorkshire pudding, garlic laced mashed potatoes, pickled mushrooms and summer squash sauteed with onions and grape tomatoes. And a bottle of 16-year-old Merlot found in the back of the cupboard (surprisingly still good despite the cork breaking when I attempted to open it). We topped it all off with apple pie and vanilla ice cream.

Mom's ice cream was melting while she ate the pie so I reminded her that the point was to eat them together which she did. When she was done we asked her if she wanted more and she said, "Just some ice cream," so I brought her seconds. When that was gone we asked if she'd had enough now to which she replied "Oh, yes! A prodigious plenty!"

We laughed. "Well, no wonder," my brother said. "You had two desserts!"

"No! When did that happen?"

"Just now. You had pie and ice cream and then more ice cream."

"What pie? I didn't have any pie. You boys are pulling my ear!"

We described in loving detail how we had offered her apple pie for dessert, which she accepted, and then the option of either whipped cream or ice cream (ice cream), and then the overkill of whipped cream on her ice cream on her pie (declined). She remained incredulous.

In the time it took to eat the second helping of ice cream, she had forgotten the first completely.

Mom-Sequiturs: "Dammit, Jim, I'm a Doctor Not a Stripper!"

I took Mom to one of her eye doctors this morning.

As usual, on the trip in, Mom turned to me and asked, "Which doctor are we going to today?"

I had told her once already before leaving the house but I told her again.

"Ah, yes," she said, nodding. "But that's his work name not his real name."

Balance of Terror (Holiday Version)

Several decades ago, in a previous millennium, my International Relations course discussed the theoretical possibility that the Balance of Terror between the US and USSR could have been maintained with a very low number of nuclear warheads on each side as opposed to the tens of thousands eventually produced. As I recall, our conclusion was it could not, that the low balance was too unstable because nukes are cheap and that the next stability point comes only when both sides have maxed out their capabilities. The only choices are none or all.

We seem to have arrived at some sort of unspoken truce this year between ourselves and Neighbor Dan. What with our lawn problems and the expenditure of energy needed to put up the Hallowe'en decorations at the last minute only to have to take them down again almost immediately, my brother has not been in the decorating mood for a while.

Meanwhile, Neighbor Dan and family were away for an extended trip through most of November.

The result is neither party has yet put out any outdoor Christmas decorations. Nothing. Nada. My brother has decided as long as Neighbor Dan does not, he will not. While I am not privy to the internal Neighbor Dan Family debates I get the feeling he also is waiting to see what we will do.

The difference between our competing lawn decorations and the strategic arms race (aside from the number of potential fatalities) is this: a deadline. The longer each side waits the closer we get to the Christmas don't-bother-it's-too-late date. The closer we get the easier it is to just say "Why bother with so little time left."

Our solution this year appears to be: None.

Spreading Holiday Greetings

Mom received a phone call from an old friend yesterday afternoon. At least I think it was an old friend.

When I told her "Marge" was calling Mom looked at me and shrugged. "Do I know her?" she asked.

"She's an old friend," I said, assuming.

"I don't remember that name."

She took the call anyway and a lot of "What's that, again?", "That's nice.",  "Who did?", and "You don't say." ensued for the next ten minutes. A fairly typical catching-up conversation.

After Mom hung up and returned to the living room, I said, "Well, that was a nice call."

Mom said, "Yes. She used to live here but she moved away and now she's somewhere up north in a residential community. What was her name?"

"Marge?"

Yes. Marge. I sure wish I knew who she was."

And All the Trimmings

My brother has decided the tree is decorated enough. He has spent the last two days cursing under his breath while carefully hanging the extremely expensive German blown-glass ornaments he has collected over the years. Many were in the $40 - $75 range and several over $100 when he bought them. Most, if not all, are limited editions, some signed by the designers. And he wonders why I don't want to help hang them.

I noticed several different ones this year. They're not "new," my brother has enough to trim at least three trees. (He had enough to trim four until a psychotic, fortunately ex-, girlfriend destroyed a couple of boxes worth in a fit of rage. Very expensive dust, but worth it to be rid of her.) When I first moved down here the working roller coaster ornament freaked me out every time we turned the tree on. This year he added the miniature electric train set ornament with two working trains on overlapping tracks (all in a space about 3" x 2"). It makes train noises when it first starts up but I can live with those.

Also "new" this year are a moon-faced Santa ornament, several Euro-type Santas (tall and thin), and a Victorian house. The classic (Laurel and Hardy) and Disney (Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs) movie ornaments are all back again. I recognize most of the others, as well. All the ornaments are a little large for the tree. They need more space between the branches in order to hang properly.

Nevertheless, we're looking good, seasonally speaking.

Totally Sincere and Unironic

We've finally started putting up the Christmas decorations. We're not the only ones who are late this year. Neighbor Dan, with whom we also compete on the Hallowe'en decoration front, has not put up anything outside yet at all. So far we're working on the inside stuff.

The Coca Cola Santa is on top of the bookcase. The circus train that plays eight fuzzy, tinny electronic bars only of a dozen different carols and hymns is on the divider by the front door. (No one has turned it on yet, thankfully.) The full creche is set up on the counter where the kitchen meets the living room and there are some Christmas candles on the coffee table. Oh, and two ceramic snow people by the front door.

So far that's it. There are boxes everywhere my brother retrieved from the storage unit so that will change over the next few days.

My brother put up the (artificial) tree last night. He strings the lights as he attaches the branches from bottom to top which allows him to easily place lights in the interior and looks really nice when complete but Mom kept asking what was wrong with the tree right up until he topped it off with the drunken Santa at which point her praise became so effusive as to drive us both nuts.

"Who would have thought that was possible? It's amazing! There's nothing else like it anywhere! You should take a picture and send it to Believe It or Not! It's a miracle!" Fortunately, Mom is no longer capable of either sarcasm or irony (I think) so my brother merely took a deep breath, and a drink, and got out the vacuum cleaner to pick up all the needles.

That's right. Our artificial tree sheds. It's very realistic.

Sub-tropical December

I finally found out the name of the small pale purple star-shaped flowers that are growing wild across lawns and highway medians all over town. They're a weed, growing in low mats of hundreds and thousands of blooms as only big as a thumbnail and two inches (at most) tall. They look like nothing so much as a light dusting of snow, the kind of early flurries common up north that occur while the grass is still green.

It's a pusley, of which there are three varieties. The one we have here, I believe, is also known as Mexican clover. They stay low enough that the mowers tend to go over them. Anyway, that's as close to snow as we're going to get. All of our windows are open and the fans are on.

On a semi-related note, the tomatoes look to be producing a very healthy second crop. There are several large fruits ripening even now.

Redneck Studies

I've been studying my brother for some time now and I am beginning to get a handle on the concept of "Redneck" especially the southern variety. For one thing, it's an acquired trait. My brother was born and raised in New England and has lived everywhere from the northern plains to southern California without betraying any such tendencies previously.

One of the primary traits is the habit of trying to come up with original yet ad hoc solutions to common problems, attempting to bypass the ways of the world as it were, without, at the same time, covering all of the possible, and often obvious, consequences.

For example: My brother decided, a couple of years ago when gasoline prices were going through one of their regular and in no way manipulated spikes, to do a little hydrocarbon arbitrage. He bought a number of plastic jerry cans and filled them with regular unleaded in an attempt to lock in the price. The full cans he then stored in the shed out back.

Let's forget the opportunity cost of tying up cash in a volatile commodity.

The redneck point is: The shed is not watertight. Neither are the jerry cans. By the time the price of gas had risen enough for him to feel justified dipping into the strategic reserve, the cans contained probably 98% distilled petroleum and 2% H2O. I had to rescue him more than once before we figured out why his truck kept conking out on him (invariably in the middle of the night).

Although he no longer tops off the truck from the cans neither has he disposed of the contaminated fuel. (Note: Review the concept of sunk costs.) Apparently, a couple of weeks ago he filled the tank of the lawnmower from one of the cans. The lawn is now knee high and the grass is literally going to seed. (The length of time it has taken to fix the mower, this time, is not entirely his fault since Mom put the receiver of the phone in her room (Why does she even have a phone in her room?) down backwards which took the entire house off-line for the weekend (we don't use the land line much) causing the lawnmower repair guys to get a busy signal and delay returning the mower to us.)

The last time the mower needed repair (August) he bitched and moaned for a day and a half about the cost. This time, not a word. Which means he knows it's his fault. The repair guys didn't just find water in the tank. Spiders (more accurately, spider corpses) were clogging up the carburetor, too.

Eight-legged Sisyphus

Now that Rainy Season is over I have the tendency (unless my brother is going to turn on the sprinklers and water the lawn) to leave my car windows open at night. Keeps the interior from overheating once the sun is up again. Unfortunately, it also allows a very persistent, determined and ambitious spider to spin a web from the outside passenger mirror halfway across the dashboard.

We're talking maybe two feet from side to side and four or five inches high. And thick. I can feel the resistance when I sweep it away.

Every night. Every day.

The spider must be living in the car but I've never seen it. Or maybe it's in the mirror casing. I can't imagine what makes my dashboard such prime real estate but I know, whatever I do to that web today, it will be back tomorrow.

The Fog of "Now"

Yesterday as my brother went off to work Mom said goodbye to him and wished him well (as usual).

After a while I realized she had spent the last fifteen minutes or so staring at his room. (She sometimes gets into these OCD-like attention loops, usually when she's trying to read something she's written (or thinks she's written--she spent the better part of one evening trying to decipher the wrinkles in a used paper table napkin. She got upset when I couldn't read it to her.)).

I said, "What's the matter?" more to break the cycle than expecting a real answer.

She sighed and said, "I must have missed him. He went off without me seeing or saying anything."

"Mom, you talked to him before he left. He said goobye and you said goodbye to him and wished him good luck."

"I did?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Well, good for me," she said, and picked up her book.

Indeed.

The Mother Lode

This morning an ibis apparently hit the bug jackpot in neighbor Mike's backyard. It began dipping and pecking at his lawn in a frenzy, swallowing and dipping again and again. The ibis have been flocking together recently and it wasn't long before this one was joined by another and then another and then three more followed by five additional as the number of diners increased geometrically to around forty or so. They formed feeding rows ten or twelve abreast and worked one side to the other breaking only to move around the orange trees. The feeding was so good, when something startled them they flew only as far as the nearest trees and power lines, waited the minimum time to recognize the false alarm and returned to pick up right where they'd left off.

When ibis fly into trees they, of necessity go to the top branches since they are too tall to comfortably fit where another branch is above them. The exceptions are palm trees where they will fly directly to the vertical bole and cling tenuously for a few moments before their own weight, levered out almost horizontally at the end of their long legs, causes them to lose their grip.

Those long legs also give them a difficult time with power lines. All birds sway a little on the line since the wires are very thin and free to move but the arc of a balancing ibis can be as much as 30 degrees forward or back. A row of ibis, shoulder to shoulder, on a house feeder wire will cause it to sag noticeably. One bird will lean forward, catch its balance and lean back (often overcorrecting). This causes its neighbors on either side to compensate by leaning forward and then back themselves which requires the next ones in line to do the same and so on. If they get the timing right they can create a kind of sine wave and for a few seconds it is possible to watch the wave crests roll down the line and back. Usually, though, and inevitably, it gets chaotic pretty quick and the whole thing explodes off the wire in a flurry of white wings, skinny legs and long bills.

After the second false alarm, the original crew was joined by another twenty or so putting the total at the feeding frenzy over sixty. Then they all took off at once and kept going.

Followed by another neighbor's just-out-of-puppyhood black lab with a look of sheerest joy on its face chasing after them across neighbor Mike's yard and ours.

Followed by the neighbor's teenage son.

There is a large, low white cloud circling the neighborhood. Maybe they'll return for dessert.

Real Convenience Food

One of the major advantages to living in South Florida is that, when you discover Thanksgiving morning there is no orange juice in the refrigerator for your orange juice and brown sugar glazed sweet potato recipe, you can just go outside to the orange tree, pick a big ripe one and juice it on the spot (using a 3+ lb. solid steel 1940s era tabletop hand juicer).

Turned out perfect.

Too Late For This Year

I was just listening to my local NPR station. They're doing a program on local Thanksgiving recipes.

Apparently, it's necessary to capture your Thanksgiving 'possum at least a month in advance so you can cage it and feed it nothing but sweet potatoes as a way of improving the flavor. "Like feeding acorns to a wood duck," according to one of the show's hosts.

Seriously, who knew?

For Those Unclear on the Concept

Today, parked out front of the city's branch of the county library is an enormous tractor trailer rig with expandable side panels (like an RV that expands outward to create a cantilevered "dining room"). One large panel toward the front of the street side was open to reveal a mass of electronic equipment. On the sidewalk side was a "front porch" type of step-up platform under an awning beside which sat a woman with a folding table and paper work under her own canopy.

The signage painted on the side of the trailer read: "DIGITALBookmobile" and "Download Books & More From Your Library!"

I asked a very tall young man wearing a Digital Bookmobile polo shirt what the purpose of the truck was.  He said it was for downloading e-books. I explained that with a reader or a laptop or a phone the whole point was I could download a book virtually anywhere and did not need to go to a "Downloading Place" and that that was, in fact, one of the selling points of e-books (and the dread of brick and mortar bookstores). He admitted the truck was really an educational and publicity campaign for people who didn't understand.

Apparently, that population is sufficiently large to justify a national tour.

Living in the Moment (and the Therapeutic Benefits of Shock and Stress)

Yesterday evening, after dinner, Mom suddenly became much more actively engaged in her surroundings. Usually, she sits on the couch and watches her game shows her only comments being that "Wheel of Fortune" takes the answers off the screen too soon, before she can read them, and "Jeopardy" contestants don't speak loudly enough for her to hear. (If I turn the volume up any more all the neighbors will hear it before she does.)

Last night, suddenly, she began commenting (appropriately) on the puzzles, the questions and answers, the prizes, etc. She was catching almost everything and was completely and intensely there. After the games, she read her book until her usual bedtime. As it approached, I said nothing, thinking maybe she had the energy to stay up for a while longer but, right on the stroke, she closed the book and announced she was turning in.

An hour later, it turned weird again.

She suddenly reappeared in the living room, fully dressed, to announce her regret that "that woman" had to leave so soon before she (Mom) could thank her (the imaginary woman) for dinner.

I said, "There is no woman, Mom. There never is. No one else comes in here. I fixed your dinner. I watched TV with you. I gave you your drops."

"You made dinner?"

"Yes, Mom. Like always. No one else comes in."

"Well, not now. It's late."

Not ever, Mom. It's just us."

"Well thank you for dinner, then. And thank her, too."

"I will, Mom. I will. Now go back to bed." She did.

Another hour later she pushed her walker around the corner again.

"Now what's the matter?" I asked.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm a very light sleeper so if there's anything you need just call and I'll hear you." Now, the thing is, when she does finally get to sleep almost nothing will wake her and certainly not someone calling out since she's virtually deaf at this point.

"O.K. The only thing I need right now is for you to go to bed and stay there. No more getting up every hour. O.K.?" Which she did. And stayed there. All night.

Early this morning I woke up thinking I'd heard someone call out. I listened at her door and checked up and down the hallway. As I went back to my room I heard: "Hello?!"

Her room was pitch black when I entered. She was on the floor with her pillow, wrapped in her sheet a corner of which was hung up on a straight-back chair. She had fallen out of bed--the far side of her bed-- which meant rolling over at least twice just to get there and once more to fall out. She was still fully dressed. She wasn't hurt but was in a space too small for her to turn over onto her knees which might have allowed her to pull herself up. After scooching her around so her back was against the bed I got my arms under hers and lifted her up to sit on the mattress. When I asked what had happened she explained in full, lucid detail. somehow, the shock of the event and the subsequent stress jolted her mind into alertness.

I rearranged her bed and she went back to sleep, still fully dressed. She woke up later than usual this morning but (at least as of breakfast) still remembers the events of last night. Apparently, sufficient adrenaline can, temporarily at least, overcome Alzheimer's.

Protocols of the Bath

Doves will congregate around the edge of the birdbath and socialize, although only one will go in the water at a time and the others usually leave for a moment or two. They also drink separately.

Mockingbirds are heavy drinkers and will bob and gulp five, six, seven times before reaching their fill and moving on. They are also delicate bathers preferring to settle into the water and soak for a few moments.

The finches are understandably skittish, given their size, and although we can see a number of them around, will only approach the bath one at a time and then only for a quick sip before flitting.

Blue jays, on the other hand, are exceptionally enthusiastic, jumping into the water, hunkering down and splashing for all they're worth until drenched and dripping they fly off (at a much lower altitude being laden down with all that water). They'll line up in a nearby bush waiting their turn but two's the limit. After that the basin needs refilling.

Robins are dirty birds (what to expect with a name like Turdus migratorius?) and are never (to our experience) found anywhere near water.

Night and Day

I think we've lost the Persian Garden Effect for the rest of the year, now. Until a couple of weeks ago it was possible to sit out at night under crystal clear onyx skies, losing count of the myriad stars, while the warm breeze, heavy with night-blooming jasmine brought crickets chirps and basso bullfrog calls. It's still dry and Cassiopeia, accompanied by Jupiter still reigns at the zenith but the temperature is dropping and the jasmine is through for the season.

Yesterday was another perfect Florida sunshiny, no-humidity, fluffy clouds kind of day so I suggested to Mom that she should go outside and enjoy it. Her usual response is, "O.K. Maybe I will," after which she doesn't. Yesterday she said, "That's a good idea!" and jumped* right up.

*Mom's "jump" is considerably slower than most people's and is heavily assisted by pushing off of the couch and coffee table and anything else within reach. Nevertheless, for her it was quite the move.

She moseyed, with her walker, out front where we set up a padded lawn chair just off the walkway under the not-jacaranda. She took her sweater and a book. Inside, where it's generally 80F, she wears the sweater constantly, outside, where it's 78F at best, she doesn't. I fixed lunch for her and brought it out and then sat with her and read for a while also. She was out there for almost two hours.

Another Successful Expedition to the Mailbox

Today's selection of catalogs:

Fresh Finds -- Kitchen, household and personal gadgets. Some kitsch. Unexpected item: nipple concealers, essentially large unadorned pasties for women who don't wish to wear a bra but also don't want to show off in the cold.
Spilsbury -- Games, toys and lots of puzzles, mostly large jigsaw puzzles. Gifty kitsch. Unexpected items: special eyeglasses for finding lost golf balls and an electrified ball that delivers shocks for playing a semi-sadistic form of "hot potato."
Gregory's -- Florida citrus and other fruits. Also candy, nuts, some baked goods and honey.
Harriet Carter -- Lower end gadgets, gadgets and more gadgets.
Taylor Gift -- Much like Harriet Carter but with even more "As Seen On TV."
Things You Never Knew Existed -- Since 1914. Poop and fart humor. Conspiracy and sex advice books and videos. "Collectible" coins by the bagful. Screen printed T-shirts.
Betty's Attic -- Also since 1914. The catalog for the Sheldon Cooper in your family. Star Trek glasses and clothing including terry cloth bathrobe uniforms. Marvel and DC drinking glasses. Wide ranges of Betty Boop, Three Stooges, Marilyn Monroe and John Wayne kitsch. Includes Sheldon's favorite Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine. Meta item: Sheldon Cooper bobblehead. (We received two different versions of this catalog.)
Back in the Saddle -- All things horsey, except saddles, tack and gear. No one in this house owns a horse, has ever owned a horse or has any intention of owning a horse. It's been decades since I've ridden. I have no idea how we got on this list.
Stauer -- Designer watches and jewelry at discount prices.
Catalog Favorites -- A meta-catalog of supposed bestsellers gleaned from other catalogs.

Catch of the Day

A partial list of the catalogs that came yesterday:

Smithsonian -- Museum replicas, Murano glass, Perry Medina gourd etchings, sophisticated jewelry. And Einstein bobbleheads.
Current -- Christmas kitsch. Cards, calendars, NFL luggage tags and brand name (Campbell's, Nestle, etc.) cookbooks.
Timepieces International -- Designer watches and jewelry. Men's sapphire leather bracelet.
Miles Kimball -- Household gadgets and kitsch. "Personalized" ornaments (including for the newly dearly departed), fudge, caramels and candy not likely found in stores.
Toscano -- (My favorite.) Original and replica statuary. Lions and bears and alligators in resin. Hand carved, solid wood furniture. Thrones, both medieval European and ancient Egyptian. A giant Easter Island head. Life-size suits of armor, gargoyles and the Holy Grail.
NFL Shop -- If a football logo can fit on it, it's in here.
Hammacher Schlemmer -- High-end personal and household gadgets and toys for people with way too much money. Specifically the sleek ultra-modern Swiss music "box" with resin-lined brass cylinder, maple inlaid mahogany base on brushed nickel with the carbon fiber "sail" cover. $23,500.00. Not sure if that includes delivery. Also the robotic chess opponent and the several types of child-size working vehicles.
Pyramid Collection -- Steampunk, New Agey and Vampire clothing mostly for women. "Goddess" sizes available. Also a few sex toys.

A pretty typical haul for this time of year.

A Temporary Glitch

Some section of Mom's brain shut down last night.

Just before it was time to change her Alzheimer's medication patch and start her eye drops, she got up to go to the bathroom promising to return "in a minute". Twenty minutes later, I went to check up on her (she can sometimes take a long time in there so I wasn't worried). She was in her room, rearranging clothing carefully laid out on her bed. I asked if she was coming out soon and reminded her it was past time for the meds. She said, "Yes," so I went back to the living room.

Another forty minutes gone by, I checked again. She was still in her room, in the dark, having tried and failed to change clothes for no obvious reason. The end result being she had put her underwear on over her pants. (It was funnier in Woody Allen's Bananas.) I turned on the light and tried explaining this to her several times with no success.

Finally, after a couple more visits from me and over two hours late for her meds, she emerged wearing a pullover shirt as a skirt (not for the first time). At that point I didn't care and quickly changed her patch and administered the drops. It was an hour past her normal bedtime. She sat on the couch.

Then she turned to me and said, "Where do you go after you're done working here?"

"Nowhere, Mom. I live here with you."

"Really. I don't recognize you. Have we met?"

"I'm your son."

"I never knew that. And what about the others?"

"There are no others, Mom. It's just the three of us. You and your two sons."

"Upstairs?"

"There is no 'upstairs'. This is a ranch house. My room is across the hall from yours."

"I know that. I meant downstairs. You live here?"

"Across the hall."

"And yet I've never seen you before. I don't know why we've never met."

"You see me every day, Mom. I make your breakfast and I make your dinner and I give you your eye drops every day."

"Really. I never knew that."

"Well, you did know it but you just forgot."

"Well, it's good to know. Again." I did have to smile at that.

After that, she folded up some of her clothes I had just taken from the dryer and went to bed. She slept through the night without interruption and, in fact, I could hear her gently snoring through her door.

This morning she awoke at her usual time, bright, chipper, cheerful and fully cognizant. She knows me, knows where she is and recalls nothing of last night's episode. Maybe it was just a combination of exhaustion and over-concentration from trying to dress in the dark.

Aftermath

We survived the night intact.

My brother had not put up all the decorations because of the forecast storm which never showed but did sideswipe us with moderate rain for two days before, and minor gusting wind right up until noon of, Hallowe'en. At that point, the clouds broke up, the sun came out, the temperature rose and it was too late to add more balloons. Fortunately, he had not, as he had planned, taken any down. We had one casualty: a ghost set up too far into the drainage swale and subsequently drowned. All the others came through fine although the morning winds pushed over the headless horseman and caused the giant black cat to crouch down as if digging a giant vole from the lawn. They all recovered by mid-afternoon and we were respectably spooky by trick-or-treat time.

(There was indeed an additional new decoration this year. An 8-9 foot tall inflatable gray dragonish gargoyle--or gargoylish dragon--sat comfortably beneath the coconut palm.)

Neighbor Dan across the street went overboard again. Easily three times as many decorations as we had, smoke machines belching from the cauldron and castle, strobe lights--the usual. Also half a dozen cheap pizzas and six cases of Yuengling. Which resulted, after a while, in Neighbor Dan riding his motorcycle around the neighborhood, masked. (His twelve-year-old daughter didn't dress up this year. "I'm going as myself. That's scary enough." Surprisingly self-aware, that girl.)

We set up our candy table in the driveway again (our front door is not visible from the street access) and Mom came out for a while and sat with us while the first, and therefor youngest, kids came looting. Batman seemed to be the most popular this year. They came in both blue and black caped versions and all shapes and sizes including one little guy who was as round as he was tall. Like the wannabe from "Dark Knight" only more so.

Mom, although wearing a sweater, got cold when the sun went down and the temperature dropped to the mid-70s so she and I went in where I had dinner ready. My brother came in a little more than an hour later after running out of candy. We had our usual 100+ kids this year again. (Where do they all come from? You can wander the neighborhood all day and not see one or any indication of their existence. Do they all stay indoors every day?)

We have three Three Musketeers bars and four pieces of Laffy Taffy left. My brother's girlfriend had her usual three trick-or-treaters at her apartment yesterday so he'll go over there and retrieve the rest of the Reese's Cups from her. She doesn't like them. We, however, will inhale them.

Dodging Rina

So the Caribbean hurricane, after hitting Yucatan, bounced off of some sort of high pressure system coming down from the north and (helped along by its own coriolis force) turned back toward Central America. All we're getting is a light rain and no wind.

My brother has not taken down any of the Hallowe'en balloons or other decorations although he did leave them deflated last night when the rain was heaviest. One ghost, which was placed a little too close to the drainage swale, is under water but everything else seems undamaged.

The forecast is hinting that Monday may actually be dry, or at least dry enough for the plundering hordes to show up. Which is a good thing because, although we have all refrained from snitching any candy, great bags of left over treats would be too much.

Balloon Envy Therapy

We are now the proud owners/displayers of a life-size inflatable Headless Horseman dressed in black with pumpkin head astride a black horse with a swiveling head of its own. Also a twelve foot tall green Frankenstein Monster wearing an orange shirt, purple pants and big black boots. There is possibly another which has not yet been set up.

My brother also went out last night and bought a package of white party balloons over which he will drape his ghost sheets and hang from various tree branches.

We continue to be outnumbered by Neighbor Dan's sheer volume (the severed head hanging over the kettle was a nice touch by the driveway) but, including our 30ft tall black cat we're holding our own in variety.

Balloon Envy

Mt brother came home last night suffering a severe case of holiday balloon decoration envy. It seems Neighbor Dan has inflated and lit all of his Hallowe'en decorations--and our yard will suffer by comparison.

"He's got two hearses just like mine although they're a little smaller but one has a coffin on top that opens. Plus he's got all new ghosts. Not to mention the haunted house." Also not to mention the Great Pumpkin hot air balloon the headstones and skeletons both semi-buried and hanging. Neighbor Dan has long held the edge in total decorations such that, between the inflatables and the palm trees, his yard is impassable.

Our decorations are not up yet, having been delayed by our inability to mow the lawn, but that will be rectified before nightfall.

This morning, despite recently receiving a homeowner's insurance bill with a 50% premium increase, my brother went out to buy more spooky lawn balloons. We have our priorities.

Miscellanea

Well, the humidity is gone, there's not a cloud in the sky, a "cold" front came through a couple of days ago and the temperature is hovering around 75F. The air-conditioning is off and the doors and windows open. This is what people come to Florida for. They should start arriving in a month.

Meanwhile, Mom's insomnia is back. For the last two nights she has been sneaking out of her room after everyone has gone to bed (otherwise we send her back when we see her) and sleeping on the couch. Why she can sleep on the couch with no pillows or blankets and not in her bed is beyond me--or her. She claims to have no memory of doing any of this even when I find her sacked out in the living room in the morning. We had a long talk about it the night before and she came up with an elaborate strategy for returning the offender to bed while not admitting that she is the offender in question. (The strategy works but obviously not permanently.)

The lawn mower has been repaired, returned and used. The black snake no longer has to lift its head to peer around before deciding which way to go. I watched it last week lift about four inches off the ground before it could see in any direction. It then slithered off to the woodpile.

The "Princeton" is growing out. My part is back and I must occasionally brush my hair or it will rise up on its own to form a ridge from front to back which, although much the style with the kids these days, doesn't work well with gray hair and a beard.

Lead Us Not Into Yummy Chocolatey Temptation

The Hallowe'en candy is here. Yesterday, my brother brought home six bags (3 or 4 pounds each) of M&Ms and Three Musketeers. So now there's twenty pounds (give or take) of candy just sitting on the dining room table. Waiting. Waiting for costumed kids to ring the bell eleven days from now or for one of us to have a failure of willpower sometime before then. Eleven days!

I know where I'm placing my bets.

A Certain Lack of Progress

The Hallowe'en decorations in the neighborhood are very random this year. Someone a couple of streets over has had theirs up and lit for three weeks already. Neighbor Dan across the street has his all laid out on his lawn but nothing is inflated or lit. Apparently, they've been away for an extended weekend as the grass around the decorations is getting a bit deep. Meanwhile, we are of the opinion the grass under the decorations is probably dead or dying. Add in three days of rain and (especially) wind from an unnamed tropical depression moving in from the south. Should make for interesting landscaping come All Saints' Day.

Our decorations are not up yet at all. Mostly that's due to the lawn mower dying a couple of weeks ago and a delay, first in deciding whether to repair or replace it, then in having it repaired (since the repairer is a relative of Neighbor Dan's and Neighbor Dan was originally going to take it to the repairer but has been away (see above) and no other arrangements for either pick-up or delivery were made). The lawn mower is finally at the repairer but our grass is now as deep as Neighbor Dan's and in many places has gone to seed.

There will be no inflatable black cats, ghosts, pumpkins or life-size fully-lit hearses-with-coffins-inside-containing-moving-skeletons-and-motion-sensitive-sound-effects until the grass is cut.

Operation Pinocchio III: Mom's Excellent Adventure

So, I took Mom to the dermatologist today. The process began last evening.

"Remember, you're going to the doctor tomorrow."

"I am?"

"Yes. We're going back to have your stitches removed."

"I have stitches?"

"Yes. Four of them. In your nose."

"Really? Why?"

"Because last week the doctor removed a small tumor from your nose and stitched up the wound and now we have to go get them taken out. Why do you think I've been changing the bandage on your nose every day?"

"Well, I was wondering about that."

So, after a variation on this conversation this morning, and again in the car, we arrived at the doctor's office a few minutes early. After a short wait Mom was being taken back to the surgery room when we all heard an explosion outside and the power went out. It was heavily overcast and had rained earlier so the first assumption was lightning blowing out a transformer. A little later presumptive blame shifted to the construction site behind the building we were in.

Actually, only most of the power went out. Some of the lights remained on (including the ones in the room we needed) but all the computers and the air conditioning went out. As did the elevator. We were on the third floor.

The nurse (the same one who freaked out last week) removed (most) of the stitches and the doctor came in to check her work and remove the one she missed. Total time elapsed: five minutes. While she was working, the nurse assured us the doctor would help me get Mom onto her walker (which can double as a wheelchair in a pinch) and help manhandle her down stairs since the elevator was stuck with people trapped in it and nobody knew how long it would take to free them. The doctor assured me absolutely none of that would ever happen and we should just sit in the reception area until the elevator was repaired. Mom and I agreed that was the better option.

Meanwhile, the people trapped in the elevator had used the emergency phone to contact the fire department which arrived just about the time we made it out to the waiting room. Whereupon I had my brilliant idea for the day. I went downstairs and asked the firemen if they could help me get Mom out.

They could. They'd be happy to. They, in fact, had a "stair chair," a purpose-built contraption designed for this very eventuality. They just didn't have it with them in their truck. But the EMTs had one in their ambulance. Which the firemen were happy to call to the scene. They were a happy bunch of guys.

When the ambulance arrived, we all trooped back up the stairs (which are on the outside of the building accessible from a wraparound balcony) lugging the stair chair with them into the office where they strapped Mom in with a belt across her waist and crossed belts across her chest and the only thing keeping it from looking like an official straight jacket was the lack of arm restraints. They told her to keep her arms inside the chair and wheeled her out to the landing.

In addition to the wheels, a stair chair has a kind of thin, narrow tank tread device, long enough to cover at least two stair treads, that swings down from the back under the chair and acts as a slide so the chair doesn't bump its way down. It also acts, according to the firemen, as a kind of brake to keep the chair from descending too fast. With one fireman on the down side and one on the up side, two EMTs watching and me trailing behind with Mom's walker they eased her down four half-flights of stairs, around three landings and right out to my car.

Mom was delighted and thrilled and told my brother the whole story in detail when we got home. "Never rode in one of those, before!" she said. No matter how old you are, there's always the chance something new will happen every day.

Butterfly Garden

We've talked about putting in a butterfly garden. I think we're halfway there already without even trying.

The Monarchs are migrating right now and occasionally stop by even though there's no milkweed here that I can find.

 

We have several smaller Viceroys living in the yard.

And a couple of yellowish Cloudless Sulphurs hang out around the lemon tree.

There are several other less spectacular moths and butterflies out there right now I still need to identify. If we can pick the right plants for them (and others still to be attracted) maybe next year we can sit outside in a silent cloud of colorful wings.

Don't even get me started on the dragonflies with the four inch wingspans.

The Continuing Accelerating Slide

Generally Mom has been holding her own lately but occasionally some things in her brain just don't connect or don't connect properly.

Yesterday I made pancakes for breakfast. Mom recognized that it wasn't Sunday and enjoyed them immensely. When she was done she proceeded to mop her plate with a facial tissue from which she then tried to suck the extra syrup. When I took it away from her she said, "Just because it's called a Kleenex doesn't make it wrong." No. And that's not why I took it away.

A couple of days ago I gave her a fresh load of cleaned laundry of hers direct from the dryer for her to fold and put away. She took everything to her room and while there decided it would be a good idea, for some reason, to change clothes. She came back out wearing a pullover shirt as a kind of skirt. She had managed to stretch the neck enough to pull it over her hips. The arms hung limp and empty at her waist. When I pointed this out to her, she stopped for a moment, looked down, and said, "Well, so I am." She refused to change again since she was planning on going to bed soon so I made her promise not to do it again. We'll see.

She's been very good at remembering which day it is recently and she's been reading a lot.

One step forward, two steps back. http://thatblognobodyreads.blogspot.com/2011/09/accelerating-slide.html

Operation Pinocchio, Final Cut

So. The surgery was a success.

I told Mom last night about the appointment this morning and her first response was to act as if she'd known about it all along. But then she started to get anxious, asking who we were going to see, when and why. Because of the stress, the answers never sank in and she kept repeating the questions every five minutes or so. Finally, when she asked for the third time what was needed of her I replied, "Only this. Go to bed and get a good night's sleep." Which, surprisingly, she did.

I woke her at 7:45 and she had plenty of time to dress and have a small breakfast before we left. Three times in the car she asked where we were going and who we were going to see. When we turned into the drive to the doctor's office she said, "Why are we turning here?" On the entrance walkway she stopped and said, "Who are we going to see, now?"

Unfortunately, as she was being taken back into the surgical suite her nerves got the better of her and she had an accident. The nurse called me back and basically freaked out about not being able to deal with the situation and how I would have to take care of it. She kept going on and on while I explained I would need to go home to get a change of clothes for Mom. I left while she was still freaking. When I returned, the doctor had just finished the operation and a different nurse was applying a bandage to Mom's nose. The accident hadn't bothered either of them. Mom went and changed clothes.

The surgery itself only took fifteen minutes. We then had another twenty minute wait for the biopsy results. They came back clean and now we just have to return next week to have the stitches removed. (If I can get Mom to keep the bandages on. The wound was still bleeding a little as we drove home and she picked at it until the gauze came loose and I had to replace everything. Since then we've caught her trying to put hand lotion on her nose. It could be a long week.)

Operation Pinocchio

Mom goes to the doctor tomorrow for minor surgery. We went to her dermatologist a couple of weeks ago for her regular quarterly check-up and he froze off two spots (on her forehead and back of shoulder) and biopsied two more (nose and neck). The nose sample came back malignant. And, unfortunately, he didn't get all of the tumor in the initial biopsy. So tomorrow we go back to finish off the job.

I haven't yet told Mom about the appointment, for two reasons: One, she gets very anxious before doctor appointments, worries about missing them, worries about presenting herself, worries about things she can't control, can't sleep, gets up hours early, in general--worries. Two, it's at 9:00 in the morning. She isn't going to like that at all. The operation's going to take a couple of hours and it's going to be a lot easier to get in first thing and get it over with.

She's going to end up with a little divot in her nose. My brother already has one from a similar operation several years ago. Skin cancer is just one of the costs of living down here. The doctor originally offered a couple of alternatives to this surgery. One was radiation therapy but we figured if one operation was going to stress mom out 9+ radiation sessions would send her over the edge. The other was for her to see a plastic surgeon but, at 91 years and counting and never getting out of the house except for doctors' visits, we're not terribly concerned about the divot damaging her social life.

I'll tell her at dinner.

El Suicidio de la Paloma Blanca

My brother went out this morning to buy new tires for his truck and discovered a beautiful snow-white dove huddled up against the front door. It's left wing was injured and it was unable to fly. It walked far enough away to feel comfortable as he passed by and then went into the lawn to eat bugs.

I called around to a number of rescue shelters for birds and was finally told (by an otherwise pleasant woman who nevertheless asked if it was a dove or a pigeon and when I said "dove," snarkily asked if I knew the difference which, turns out, didn't make any difference, although I do (know)) that, after consultation with the vet, the bird was considered "exotic" not native (whether dove or pigeon) and would therefor, if we brought it in, be euthanized.

Since this was not the point of the exercise, I asked for alternatives and was told we could always take it to a vet. There were two problems with this. One, we would then be liable for the bill (for what was probably someone else's pet) and, Two, we would then have a pet of our own since Florida law forbids exotic animals from being released into the wild. See, Pythons. Two was the deal breaker.

By this time, the bird had wandered away from the front door so I went looking for it and found it huddled up against the north side of the house mostly protected from the light drizzle. I said, "Well, it looks like there's not much we can do for you." It looked me right in the eye. I think it understood.

I went back inside and the dove went back out into the lawn to eat some more. A few minutes later I looked out the front window and there was a flattened white lump in the middle of the road.

Quick, clean, no mess to speak of, and no doubt better than being attacked and eaten by a cat or hawk. and much better than being euthanized by a rescue shelter.

The "Princeton"

Went to the barber for my semi-annual. He laughed when I told him I'd misplaced my ears and could he help me find them. He did. It's going to be a very long time before they're hidden again.

When I told him how short I wanted my hair, he said, "You want a 'Princeton'?" Well, I don't know. Describe it for me. He did. The results were a lot more severe than the description would lead one to believe.

It may not have been his fault. We were all distracted by the shop's owner, a full-bore Kool-Aid-chugging Tea Partier, who was ranting to his customer about not being willing to pay taxes even for police or fire services. If his house caught fire he'd let it burn down before paying for the fire department. Let it burn and rebuild. That's why he had insurance.

(It apparently hadn't occurred to him that his insurance company requires affirmative action on his part to limit his/their losses. They wouldn't pay a dime if they suspected he just stood around watching. In their eyes, that's only one step away from arson itself.)

Turns out both his customer and my barber were retired firemen.

My barber assures me that my part will reappear in a week or two and I should need the comb again in about a month, maybe a little more.

Still no idea why they call it a "Princeton."

Under Alien Skies

As we ease out of Rainy Season we've been getting evening clouds, beautiful billowing cumulus towers that sometimes bring lightning, sometimes rain, but mostly just block the sunset.

Last night the clouds in the west covered the horizon from end to end. However, there was a break in the overcast directly overhead. The lowering sun cast long wavelength light on to the sides of the thunderhead above which reflected some of it straight down to us.

The result was a red light that came in under a dark sky painting the grass brunt orange and the houses deep coral. The trees, everything that poked above the horizon, were silhouetted and other shadows went stark black. I can imagine a half-terraformed Mars, still mostly desert with it's matching sky, looking much like this.

Line For the Bath Forms In the Bamboo

My brother bought one of those concrete lotus birdbaths a few weeks ago. He put it just out beyond the edge of the lanai. It's taken a while for the birds to notice and become comfortable with its presence, but recently they've taken to it with a vengeance. The end of Rainy Season may have something to do with it, too.

A couple of evenings ago I noticed three blue jays sitting together in the bushes up against the lanai. The one closest to the birdbath leapt over to it, took a sip of water, and then began to bathe ferociously, ducking its head under and flapping its wings, water spraying everywhere, until it was soaked through. When it flew off it was noticeably slower and lower due to the additional water weight. The second blue jay moved in and repeated the show. The third one hopped over. Just then a luminous deep warm-copper-colored bird, a thrush of some sort landed on the opposite rim. It had something in its mouth, either a very large berry or a small snail. They stared at each other for a minute and then the blue jay left. The thrush took a long messy splashy bath and a good drink, picked up its prize again and took off.

I went out and refilled the water in the lotus basin. Fifteen minutes later the last blue jay was back and was able to enjoy its bath uninterrupted.

The jays repeated the show again last night. A couple of ring necked doves have discovered the place, too. Mom doesn't always notice when the birds arrive but, if we point them out to her, she gets a kick watching them.

The Wheel Turns

Rainy Season is almost over. It hasn't rained significantly here in four or five days and the humidity is dropping to bearable levels. The temperature is also falling slightly. The sun is setting quite a bit further south than before necessitating a change in which curtains I draw to keep it from blinding us during dinner. All of which can mean only one thing:

Catalog Season is here!

They trickle in all year, of course, one or two per quarter. But the pace is quickening now. From two or three a month to two or three a week now, soon to be a daily deluge. From Hammacher Schlemmer, Signals (the NPR catalog), and National Geographic, at the high end through Stauer, Herrington and Vermont Country Store down to Blair House and a slew of T-shirt and "collectibles" catalogs (some of which have some pretty cool stuff in a totally ironic hipster kind of way) they're already taking up half the mailbox almost every day. Clothes, puzzles, jewelry, books, swords, replica firearms, scientific experiments for adults and children, Irish food, electronic gadgets for home and office, Victoriana, health and beauty aids, coins, watches, furniture (indoor and out, modern and antique, replica and original), gargoyles and statuary, Hallowe'en, Thanksgiving and Christmas tchotchkes . . . it's all here in full color lovingly described.

And if Catalog Season is here, can the Season of Excess be far behind?

Philosphical Musings On Reptilian Motivation

This morning I noticed a little lizard--one of the horde--following a small spider across the lanai floor. The lizard would close in behind the spider and the spider would scoot away and off to the side. The lizard turned and caught up. The spider scurried and sidestepped.

This went on for over a minute. Around and around. The lizard could have pounced on the spider easily (I've seen them leap). The spider knew the lizard was there. When the lizard stopped going after it, the spider simply walked away in a straight line.

Was the lizard just investigating the spider? Do lizards have such a thing as curiosity? Was it playing?

I have no idea.

The Curative Properties of Barbecued Ribs

Monday being Labor Day, we had a "picnic" of sorts. We ate it inside, at the dining room table, but we had corn on the cob, barbecued ribs, beans, etc. The ribs took about five hours to cook and were falling-off-the-bone tender. Mom had a great time. She remarked on the food throughout the entire meal and it was fun to see a 91 year old woman wrist deep in barbecue sauce. We were done about 4:30.

Whereupon Mom went to bed.

Actually it was about 5 when she turned in, without announcing the decision to us. She simply went to her room and didn't come back out. For twelve hours.

Now 5 o'clock is about four or five hours earlier than usual and when she does go to bed at nine or ten she's usually up again an hour or two later saying "Good morning!" and toddling all over the house until we chase her back only to repeat the drill every hour until 3 a.m. She'll then wake up anywhere between 7 a.m. and noon. So twelve hours straight was something to remark upon.

Part of the reason, I think, is that we had a doctor's appointment Tuesday. Mom always gets a little nervous about missing appointments and being presentable and so forth and is frequently less random the day before. Tuesday morning she was up early, dressed to go out, bright, alert, sense of humor working. It was a fun day in spite of the thundering cloudbursts and the doctor freezing two patches (one on her forehead) and biopsying two others (on her nose and neck).

Tuesday's dinner was pasta with sweet sausage and onions in a marinara sauce. Tuesday night was the typical yoyoing between bed and the living room all night long.

Last night I served the leftovers from the picnic. In spite of falling asleep in the middle of dinner with a rib bone clenched in her fist, Mom enjoyed it immensely, and said so. When she couldn't stay awake on the couch and I suggested she retire for the night, we had an extended conversation regarding how to stay in bed and what she should do if she felt like getting up. She agreed to give it her best shot and, in spite of turning in at 8:30, didn't come out once until 3 a.m. (When we chased her back in again.) She was up early this morning, fixed her own breakfast, was sitting up straight and communicating in full sentences.

I reckon thar's somethin' in them ribs a'right.

And . . . We're Back! (Temporarily)

Just like that Mom's awareness has snapped back into something much closer to normal. I'm beginning to think the insomnia is a major factor in her recent fogginess. I present negative evidence:

The last couple of nights she has been staying up later than usual which means going to bed really tired, which means really falling asleep and staying there. She's only gotten up once or twice to go to the bathroom and has gone back to bed instead of staying up. As a result, she's been rising much earlier (between 7 and 8 a.m.). She's napping somewhat less and is much more alert when awake. She's been reading her book again (although not in any consistent order). Her sense of humor is back. (When I gave her her morning eye drops accurately she said, "Right on the nose!" I said, "No. Right in the eye! I'm trying to avoid your nose!" She laughed.)

Unfortunately, I don't believe this will last.

We see the doctor later this month. I'll ask if there is anything we can do for her sleep issues but this is apparently one of the symptoms of Alzheimer's so I'm not very optimistic.

The Accelerating Slide

Mom's deterioration has become much more noticeable lately. I can't tell if it's a function of the insomnia or if the insomnia is a result of the deterioration.

She's become physically weaker over the last two weeks. Yesterday she spent the entire day on the couch napping and couldn't stand in the evening without help. Once she was up and had a grip on the walker she was all right although very slow, as if she had to consciously command her feet to move. Last night, about 2:30 a.m., I noticed, from under my door, her light was on and her door open. At first I thought she'd gone to the bathroom so gave her time to return. After a while though, with her light still on, I thought I'd better check.

She was fully dressed, standing by the side of her bed, but bent over at the waist with her head down in her pillow. She was also slightly twisted around although that was not easy to spot what with her scoliosis. She had tried to get up, fallen over, and was too weak to push herself upright again. Or even to move at all.

I tried to straighten her out, with no success. I did manage to get her glasses off which were twisted up under her head and mashed between her face and the pillow. I was finally able to lift her legs back onto the bed, with much protesting and some pain on her part, but she was now face down and still unable to move. I tried to turn her but couldn't manage both ends at once which meant either twisting her head around and leaving her feet, or turning her legs and leaving her breathing pillow, both of which would have been extremely painful.

So I woke my brother--scared him awake knocking on his door in the pitch dark--and together we turned her. She just smiled and said, "Thanks." We left her dressed (since half the time she sleeps that way anyway) but warned her she was too weak to try getting up again. As far as I can tell, she stayed in bed the rest of the night.

She was up at eight this morning moving slowly, but moving.

Why It Is A Good Thing I Do Not Have Children

Because I giggle myself silly every time I see this:

Especially the last two kids scenes. I would so send kids of mine there. I'm a bad person. I know.

French Toast Breakfast, 5 p.m.

Mom had a bad insomnia night Saturday. She was up continuously until at least 3 a.m. My brother heard her banging around in her room and found her, in the dark, trying repeatedly to open her bedroom door, without success since her walker was in the way. Apparently she'd been at it for a half hour or so when he found her and was too exhausted to argue when he told her to go to bed. (How I didn't hear all this I'll never know.)

As a result, she slept all day Sunday. I checked on her every now and then but decided not to wake her. At the 3:30 check she was sitting up on the edge of the bed. By four she was vertical and by 4:45 she was out so I made French toast for her (it being Sunday). Two hours later she had soup and a sandwich for "dinner."

I think we're seeing a little more deterioration either caused by, or a result of, the insomnia. Short term memory is going now. This morning (Sunday night was the least eventful night in a long time) I gave her a copy of the latest Smithsonian. I said, "Here's a new magazine."

She said, "Oh, I haven't seen that one yet." She stared at the outer wrapper, which is nothing but a huge renewal plea, and asked, "Should we renew this now?"

I said, "Not yet. It doesn't expire until November. There's plenty of time left."

She put the magazine down, picked it back up, stared at the wrapper and said, "Shouldn't we renew this now?"

"No, Mom," I said. "We'll renew it in a couple of months. It's O.K. for now."

She said, "O.K." and put it back on the table. After a sip of coffee, she picked up the Smithsonian and said, "Should we write a check to renew this now?"

I took the magazine from her, carefully tore off the outer wrapper, and handed it back with just the regular full-color cover showing. "We'll renew it soon," I said. "Right now, stop staring at the outside and read the articles instead."

She laughed and said, "Oh, I've seen all those already."

Planning Ahead

I went to turn on the lamp Mom and I use most often in the living room yesterday evening and it wouldn't work. Mom said she thought the bulb was out but it's a CFL and fairly new. I switched the bulb out for one from the lamp on the other side of the couch (also CFL) but that wouldn't work either which led me to believe there was something wrong with the lamp. Except neither bulb worked in the second lamp, either. So.

These lamps are on the same circuit as the microwave in the kitchen with which they share the wall and an in-kitchen circuit breaker. The microwave was fine. The circuit breaker was fine. The telephone, which is plugged into the same outlet as the first lamp was fine. So either there was something wrong with both lamps or there was something wrong with the top outlet of the double wall plug. I switch the phone and the lamp and . . . the lamp worked. So I moved the plug for the second lamp from the top of its outlet to the bottom. It worked. There was something screwy with the top half of both outlets.

Then my brother called from work.

He wanted to let me know that in an attempt to keep Mom in her room at night he had disabled the living room lamps on the theory that she would rather not just sit in the dark. He did this by flipping a switch over by the front door and had forgotten to flip it back again.

There is a switch, over by the front door, about as far away from these lamps as one can get, that does nothing but turn on and off the top halves of two separate outlets. That's it. The top halves of two outlets. Nothing else.

Who . . . when this house was being built and wired twenty-five years ago . . . ever thought that would be a necessary or desirable feature?

For Every Thing There Is a Season

My brother has been trying, for the last six days, to mow the lawn. The rain, however, has been timed just right to prevent any major cutting. He has managed to whack a few weeds around the plantings out front and along the walkway and part of the driveway. Since the lawn really needed mowing six days ago, it's starting to get real deep out there.

We (he mostly with a little help from me) did manage, as the lightning strikes were coming closer, to plant a few shrubs along the walkway which was about time. The opened bag of plant soil has been sitting around so long there were plants growing out of it. (So at least we know it works.) There are only about a dozen other pots of various species lined up along the driveway waiting to be transplanted.

Mom-Sequiturs: It Depends on the Meaning of "Have To"

When I got up this morning Mom was already up and parked on the couch. I went to check if she had coffee or if I needed to make some (I did) and she was sitting there on the phone with someone. Now, she can hardly hear anyone on the phone anymore and is easily confused by more than simple declarative sentences (she loses her way in subordinate clauses) even in person let alone when distorted electronically over the phone. She never dials out so this had to be an incoming call she had picked up.

When she saw me she sighed and said, "I can't understand this or make her stop and explain anything," and handed me the phone. I was all set to ream out someone who would use high-pressure sales tactics on an obviously old lady when I heard the female robotic caller say ". . . if [something something] press four, if . . ." and hung up.

I said, "Its a recording, Mom. You can just hang up. You don't have to sit there and listen to that."

She looked at me and said, "Then what else do I have to listen to?"

Jekyll & Hyde

I think I've just about given up on making Mom stay in bed at night.

We had a long conversation last night about her insomnia and how she gets up like clock-work almost every night, several times, and then sleeps until noon or later. (The recent exception was the night before her eye doctor appointment. She gets so nervous about oversleeping and missing the appointments that she actually stays in her room.) The problem is, she never remembers doing any of it even though the full ritual consists not just of getting up and dressed but actually making her bed before coming out. She also denies cursing me out when I tell her what time it really is which is the unnerving part: the personality differences between Daytime Mom (sweet, temperate, co-operative) and Nighttime Mom (stubborn, caustic, mean-tempered).

She promised to try better and to stay in her room. I told her to stay up until she was really tired instead of going to bed at "bed-time." She agreed and then went straight to bed. An hour and a half later she was out again, and a half hour after that and another half hour after that. She had no recollection of our conversation. She had no recollection of being out just thirty minutes ago. So I gave up. Told her to sit as long as she wanted. She was there on the couch when I went to bed and still there at 2:30 in the morning when my brother came home.

She did get up reasonably on time this morning in spite of everything, so I made pancakes. She doesn't remember a thing.

Because Paper Is Too Ephemeral

I glanced over at Mom sitting on the couch this morning and she had a pen in one hand and the other hand held up close to her face. She was writing something but I couldn't see any paper.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Writing," she said.

"On what? Are you writing on your finger?"

"NO!" She held up her left index finger which was tattooed with black ink.

"Well, what's that then?" I asked.

She examined her finger and said, "On further consideration, yes, I am." She tossed the pen aside and said, "Never mind."

The Sharper Side of Mom

I fear I sometimes give the impression that Mom isn't "there" as much as she is. True, she isn't anywhere near as sharp as she used to be, but two incidents over the weekend show the ol' girl's still got it hidden away somewhere.

I noticed her going into the kitchen and asked her what she wanted. "Just a cup of coffee," she said. Once again, she had left her walker at the kitchen entrance and was slowly crabbing her way along the counter. "Well," said I, "You go back to your walker and head on into the living room. I'll get your coffee and bring it out to you. And I bet I'll get there before you do." She looked at me and said, "I'm sure you will. Nowadays everything happens faster than I do."

This morning she received a catalog addressed to her in the mail. She studied it for a minute and said, "Oh look. It has my name on it." I started to say, yes it does but she continued: "Current Occupant."

Under the Onion Tree

Mom's eyesight is not what it used to be despite daily applications of drops for macular degeneration and retinal problems. (I apply the drops ever since I discovered she was not hitting her eyes when she tried to administer them herself. She wasn't tilting her head back far enough and was just dribbling the drops down her cheeks. Not surprisingly, her check-ups have shown stabilization since I took over.)

Anyway, yesterday morning she looked out the large window through the lanai and said, "Well, there's absolutely nothing going on out there today." Meaning there's no significant gale blasting through. Normal breezes are too subtle for her to detect. She can also see the occasional bird if it's sitting on a wire and contrasted against the sky, but she frequently thinks a dark blue sky is clouds and vice versa, a light gray overcast becomes clear sky. "Yep," she said. "Nothing going on at all . . . except those three onions."

Onions?

So I tried to see where she was looking. The lemon tree has three almost ripe lemons clustered together like a pawn shop sign.

So now we have an onion tree.

When Murphy Sleeps

I think I set a personal best for platelet donations this afternoon. Didn't set off the beeping machine due to low pull even once and finished the entire donation in about an hour, not counting paperwork. That's twice in a row now without setting off the machine. Maybe my body's finally figured out the system.

We'll just see what happens next month.

Lazy, Hazy Daze

So, it was a perfect summer day yesterday, sunny, scattered clouds, warm (but not excessively like the rest of the country), no humidity (that's always the killer this time of year) and I talked Mom into going outside for a while, something she just does not do anymore. She sat out front in the shade at the edge of the grass in a cushioned lawn chair and I brought her her book and a drink and joined her with one of each of my own and we watched my brother mow the lawn.

She offered me some of her juice assuring me, "I haven't tasted it, yet." I showed her I had my own.

She said it was too hot out and her juice was going to get warm. I said that was why I had put an ice cube in it.

She said it was too hot and the ice cube was going to melt before she could finish her drink. I said it was still better than no ice cube. (I didn't mention that she normally doesn't want ice in her drinks at all.) She said, "That's true," and offered to share with me. I showed her my drink. We both sat and read for a while.

After about forty minutes she said, "My seat's getting sore and it's too hot out here," so we packed everything back up and moved inside where the thermostat is set at 79. She put on her sweater, sat on the couch and read her book.

Saunamobile

I foolishly left my car windows open last night. In my defense, it hasn't rained directly here in several days (although we could see the rain coming down all around us) and the humidity was way down and there were no clouds of consequence nearby. So I took the chance.

Somewhere around 11 p.m. I realized the sound I was hearing was not the air conditioner fan but rain pounding on the roof. I could see the full moon through the clouds even though it was pouring. So I ran out and put the windows up even though the interior was already wet. (I think I must have gotten out there fairly early in the storm because the seats were damp but not soaked through.)

When I went out to retrieve the mail at noon today I opened the driver's door and was stunned by a blast of intense humidity. I could hardly breathe as I sat down to insert the key to activate the windows. The buttons were so hot I couldn't maintain contact and had to press them intermittently. Even an hour later the car is noticeably more humid than the surrounding air.

On the bright side, a few minutes in the car makes the rest of the Florida day seem very comfortable.

Necrophages in the Shade

We had a rough weekend in terms of system collapses and infrastructure breakdowns. People are all O.K. but the air conditioning quit on Sunday and my brother's truck has developed an out-of-alignment condition that led on Saturday to a shredded front tire which was rust welded to the wheel so he was vehicleless until today when he could take it into the shop. He got back just as the HVAC guy was crawling into the attic.

So it was no real surprise to me to find four turkey vultures on the front lawn standing in a circle under a large shade tree. One had the red head of an adult but the other three were black-headed juveniles. They stood a little over two feet tall with three to three-and-a-half foot wingspans. They circled the tree and each other occasionally rising up into the lower branches although they would descend again almost immediately.

I don't think they eat air conditioners or pickup trucks but apparently they can sense the entropy around here and are hanging out in hopes something carbon-based is next.

The Fifth of July

Mom didn't get up until almost 1 p.m. today. This is because she stayed up to watch fireworks on TV last night.

First was Washington, D.C. which was marred by the prominent display of celebrity and some really lousy camera work on the fireworks themselves. The shot which was supposed to be primary was obscured by gun smoke from the cannon used fir the truncated 1812 Overture but that didn't stop the director from using it so we got to see the back scatter form fireworks going off on the other side of the cloud. Other cameras kept missing shots by focusing in on boats in the river or marching bands or just close-ups that were so close up the screen turned a uniform red.

Next was New York which was fine (although some of the fireworks were lost in the lights of the city itself) except for the decision by some idiot producer to accept the idea of some moron artistic designer to include an endless sparkler effect in the upper right corner drawing attention to the fact that this was "Live." Seriously?

The last was Boston, which really pushed Mom's endurance. Before it started, she went out front where we could hear, but not see, the city fireworks going off. The commercialism during the concert part was crass, but once the fireworks started Boston didn't do too bad.

Neighbors were shooting off small stuff all evening and Mom got as much out of that as she did from all the TV hoopla. Anyway, it was close to midnight by the time she went to bed. The good thing is, her exhaustion trumped her insomnia, at least for last night, and she stayed in bed.

Just Sayin'. . .

One would think, in a land where one of the primary seasons is officially named "Rainy," some attention would be paid, when designing/building roads, to the concept of "drainage."

. . .and Things That Go Bump In the Night

Mom's insomnia is getting worse. It started a while ago with her getting up around 11:30 or so and sitting for 10-15 minutes and then going back to bed and has progressed to where she now gets up almost every night, like clockwork, an hour and a half after going to bed, then another hour after returning to bed and then again sometime in the middle of the night to sit on the couch and read for an hour or so. As a result, she's been getting up later and later in the morning. Yesterday she didn't rise 'til after noon.

Last night was the worst. She promised, as she was heading off to bed, to stay there and not come out. An hour later, there she was comin' 'roun' the corner. When I informed her she had just set a new record, she turned around and went right back. Half an hour later she was out again. This time she stayed and read her book. An hour and a half later, when she had to go to the bathroom, I said "You really should be in bed. Don't come back just to keep me company." She said, "Yeah, that's probably a good idea." And went.

Until. . .

Three o'clock in the morning. I hear noises outside my door. Lights go on. Lights go off. Bump. Bumpity-bump. I crack my door just enough to peer out. Bedroom lights on. Bedroom lights off. Bump. Bump. Hall lights on. Hall lights off. Bumpity-bump. Kitchen lights on. Kitchen lights off. She's apparently trying to fix herself a snack. In the dark. Using the lights just to get her bearings and then turning them off again and navigating by feel as her walker hits the walls.

And then silence. And darkness. I think she's gone back to her room. In the morning I find parts of the kitchen rearranged. By ten she's up, dressed and her bed is made.

She remembers nothing of her little walkabout.

Aquae Vitae

It's amazing how quickly the plants have responded to the rain. The tomatoes, which were all brown and shrivelly and looking ready to fall over, are now green and tall and blossoming again. So: homegrown tomatoes second crop coming up!

The peppers, which never looked as bad as the tomatoes, are coming back in again, too. More peppers and more blossoms, both.

The mangoes are about done for the season. It's finally gotten to the point where there are fewer falling each night (even after a storm) than the number I can peel and cube in a day. There is one very large bag in the freezer freezer (sort of a strategic reserve), three small bags in the refrigerator freezer, a bowl of fresh cubed in the refrigerator for immediate access along with a large bowl of mango salsa. There are still about three dozen on the counter waiting to be peeled and chopped. And none of this counts the dozens we have given away already. There's maybe a dozen or two left on the tree.

The funny thing is, we're about a month early. The next door neighbor's mango is just starting to ripen. Ditto for other trees in town. We have no idea what makes our little 20 x 20 micro-climate different.

We're just enjoying the results.

Ask And Ye Shall Receive

It's Rainy Season!!

Just like that. The weather reports say so. The hour-and-a-half long with 60-mile-per-hour wind lightning storm last evening was merely confirmation. The rain came down in swirling sheets, blasting through the screens in the lanai and pounding against the glass doors to the living room. It was glorious (and just a little scary with the windows/doors rattling away. Even so, I had to point out to Mom that it was raining. "Is that why it's all gray out there?"

The storm knocked 22 mangoes from the tree. Then it was over--just like that--the setting sun came out and I went out to pick them up. The rabbit was out there. I explained to him what I was doing but he just sat and watched.

The weather lady promises more of the same every day for the next week at least.

The Longest Day . . .

. . .was cut short by a collection of towering, rolling, flat-bottomed thunderheads that came from the east and covered the land faster than the sun could reach the horizon. Distant lightning and muted thunder promised rain--somewhere. But then, it's done this every day for the past week and lied about the rain each time. We're supposed to be into the rainy season now.

We did finally get a fifteen minute shower which is so useless as to be just an insulting tease.

Mom has got a bee in her bonnet about trimming a bush which is growing in front of the dining room window. She says she can't see anything out the window now, which is true, but when it is trimmed the situation won't change since A.) she can hardly see anything now as it is, and B.) when the window is cleared there is nothing out there but the front lawn, the road and an occasional car going by. Nevertheless.

When I caught up with her she had the window open and was trying to remove the screen so she could reach through with a pair of scissors and trim the bush from inside. She said she didn't have the energy to go outside and do it.

Mango Mania

We are buried in a mango glut this year. At the beginning of the season, when the first fruit were just showing, we estimated over a hundred on the tree. That may have been a little low. My brother takes anywhere from two to six with him to work almost every day as gifts to his co-workers. That only leaves another half dozen on the counter at any one time. I need to replenish the mango salsa again. Also mango iced tea. And cold bite-size chunks to nibble on or put with ice cream.

We don't technically pick the mangoes. We wait 'til they fall off the tree dead ripe. And we leave any the birds/bugs/rabbit get to where they lie.

There're enough to go around for everybody/-thing this year.

Art Imitates Life

The rabbit was in the backyard again sitting perfectly still. It was toward the far back of the yard and I knew Mom couldn't see it from the couch and, normally, I wouldn't ask her to get up just for a rabbit but she stood up on her own to go get a drink so I called her over to the lanai door/window.

"See that?" I asked.

"Oh, it's the bunny! Hello, Mr. Rabbit. Look how still he's sitting, not moving at all." Which was all accurate and true and pretty perceptive for someone as blind as she's getting to be. Except . . ..

She was facing the wrong direction. She was looking about 30 degrees to the right of where the rabbit actually was. So I stood behind her and looked over her head along her line of sight.

She was staring at a life-size white ceramic garden statue rabbit. Which she had made years and years ago.

When I pointed that out to her and showed her where the real (chocolate brown) rabbit was, she laughed and said it was a good thing I was there. In her defense, while she was looking the live rabbit didn't move any more than the sculpted one. (Although about ten minutes later I did see it nibbling at the lowest leaves of the lemon tree.)

Accidental Home Remodelling

My brother was out whacking weeds the other day and apparently uncovered the rabbit's home. There's a small hole under the pineapple palm (so named because it resembles an overgrown pineapple sitting by the driveway). There're some tufts of grayish fur at the entrance and, if you poke gently at the opening, something pushes back. Our supposition is little bunnies but we haven't seen them directly, yet. My brother recovered the hole with some whacked weeds to try to maintain the camouflage. We'll see if it works.

91

It's Mom's birthday today. She's 91 years old. Ninety-one. Doesn't look a day over 88.

We didn't get her any real presents per se. She doesn't need anything and doesn't want anything and, in fact, keeps trying to give stuff away. So, instead, we gave her cards and I made breakfast (brunch really by the time she got up and moving). Blueberry pancakes. I put a lot more blueberries in the batter than I thought I had done. The batter in the griddle rose up to envelop the berries and I could see (and smell) them cooking up, popping and spreading berry juice throughout the pancakes as they cooked. Yum.

After that my brother went out and bought a pound of fresh shrimp so this evening's birthday dinner will be shrimp fettuccine alfredo. And a cake. None of us will need to eat again until next week when we get to do it all again for his birthday.

Wildlife Beyond the Screen

Wow!! Mockingbirds really, really, really hate snakes. Two of them were in the backyard this weekend pouncing on our poor resident slitherer, grabbing it and even lifting it slightly off the ground. It managed to get into some tall grass under a palm tree and the birds eventually gave up and went away.

Two minutes later the rabbit was out back nibbling on the lawn. The rabbit's too large to worry about the snake but, then so are the birds, although it could, and probably would gladly, eat an egg or two. Mostly I think it gets by on the never diminishing lizard population.