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.