Family

 I'm going to be annoyed with family for a little while this morning. 

still from the film of August, Osage County

First, let me say that there are plenty of people who care about me and want to help me in in my current situation.  I don't need my small family, though I do love them.  So I feel sad that the two of them each  made commitments to me and then forgot them, but it's not devastating like it was when their mother told me not to come to help her when her husband died because I was "too emotional."  It took me years to work through that.  I know, I know.  Everyone grieves differently.  Then I found out that she suggested to my nephew that I didn't want to go to their father's celebration of life which wasn't true...I had a trip planned and she told me that it was okay to go...so I did and it turned out to be a terrible trip, so I should have stayed. You see?  Already there's too much drama.  My family, my life, has had way too much drama.  Too much mental illness.  Too much self defense.  Why do I still carry pain over the times I've been ignored?  Because of Mom.  Because of Mom walking out of the house and leaving me with the one who hurt me. Because of Mom leaving me so many times.  So, "when am I" right now as I think of my niece and nephew, both in their 30s?  Why does their "abandonment" disturb me?  After all, it's just karma...I ignored my Auntie Vio, a wonderful person.  So my niece said that she'd read through an interpersonal communication textbook with me and then decided not to.  My nephew said that, for my birthday and/or Christmas promised he'd send me an email once a month to catch up.  And yuppers, you guessed it, neither have come through.  But it's okay.  I understand.  I've had a church assignment for the past three weeks to call three people and I haven't done it because I'm so afraid of cold calling.  But I'll do it today and see if I can up my karma.

As for my sweetheart...for some reason he sat up all day in one of the wingbacks wearing only a shirt, a robe, and underwear.  I kept putting a blanket over his old legs.  He could name me yesterday morning, kinda, calling me "KayKay."  

He can get out but three words of any sentence.

The Good News:  I'm going to Vancouver once I reach widowhood!  I've just been accepted to the Vancouver School of Theology.

My name is "Classical"

 Yesterday we had a visit from our beloved friend Marion.  She is closer to him than anyone else (besides myself) in Bend.  For over a decade, up to the start of the Pandemic, she would come over to the house almost every Friday, first to be instructed in Poetry, and then just to meet and gossip about life.  The meetings started when Marion wanted to learn more about WH Auden and Will offered to teach her.  After they'd read through the Auden canon, they went on to other poets. So her experience of him is as a fellow cranky person and professor.

We had not seen her for awhile (I forget when last she came over).  We were comfortable being unmasked.  At one point it seemed like she wanted to have a linear conversation with him with turn taking based on the same shared subject.  That's not happening now and I sotto voceed a warning.

He is able to sound like he is having a conversation.  His brain latches on to anything it understands in the previous conversational turn -- a word or phrase -- and responds to that.  So what he isn't doing is carrying a picture of the entire conversation in his head.  I'll take notes next time.

He went back to bed after she left and then got up around 5:00.  I asked if he wanted some dinner and he said yes, though he ate very little.  Then, after wandering around a bit, he said, smiling, that it was cold and he was going to bed.  I was smiling back and asked him, "Well, do you know who I am today?"  

He looked at the hoodie I was wearing and said "You are the Classical . . ."

And I stopped him.  I recognized that his tired old brain still knows that language carries clues and that the answers are almost always in the written word.  So he looked at the language on the person in front of him:  "The Classical Theatre of Harlem."  His brain to vocalization process made that the closest thing that made sense to him in response to the question.

 

Assignment: Self Care

 I'm currently enjoying a creative writing workshop with Nicole Meier - Author.  We meet at 9:00 this morning.  That means I have over three hours now to write a response to my short assignment from the other workshop member and Nicole:  to answer the question,  what do I do for self care besides sitting here in my wonderful office looking at the Deschutes River wake up in the morning?

I wonder why so many people need to tell me about self-care?  One of the first things dementia carers learn is the phrase, "You can't pour from an empty cup."  This means we need to pay close attention to our own needs.  So let me tell you, always being one to follow directions (she said with tongue firmly planted in her cheek), I've done what I could during these last five years to make sure that I took care of myself.  

 

This last year, as I became his Power of Attorney, I discovered we had some spare cash.  So I began paying myself handsomely for caring.  The first big purchase was a new car after our old one wouldn't restart twice on my way back from a trip to Portland to sell books.  I got a whole $600 courtesy discount as trade-in when I got a Subaru. I have also purchased a few too many boots and shoes, completely useless after March, 2020.  

But as fun as it is to purchase new things, consumerism isn't really enough for self care.  I've also hired a caregiver who gives me a "maid's night out" for three hours once a week.  I use this time to have a meal or walk with friends or go to my office and order in something tasty that I wouldn't order at home.

Well, I wouldn't have ordered at home in the past because he might not like it.  Right now I don't know what's happening with him.  He didn't eat dinner again last night.  I gave him a "snack plate" around 4:00 and told him Jen was coming but/and he went back to bed after consuming just a bit of what was on the plate (cut up protein bar, nuts, cookies).  Jen, our carer, comes for two hours on Monday nights to make him dinner while I am downstairs mentoring my EFM class on Zoom.  Last night, like two weeks ago, he didn't get back up when she invited him to dinner.  She made a sandwich and put it in the fridge.

So now I am free to order in Thai or Korean at home because I won't be needing to share my delivered meal.  Yippee!  Oh fuckityfuckfuck.  Sigh. My emotions are like basil and garlic in the process of becoming pesto.

Fortunately, my friends love pesto.