A Quart of Milk

Sometimes the mind, for reasons we don't necessarily understand, just decides to go to the store for a quart of milk.--Northern Exposure, Three Doctors, 1993

My Dad's mind has gone out for a quart of milk and I'm thinking it's not coming back. This is difficult. It is yet another lesson in acceptance (have I mentioned I'm really tired of these?). My Dad has written and published I think four books, maybe five, he's been a soldier, an engineer, a painter, a master bird carver, a teacher, a furniture builder, a civil war historian, an author. He always said for his next project he would write a concerto, simply because it was one of the things he hadn't done. Dad played piano by ear, he didn't read music, I'm not sure how he would have written this concerto, but probably he would have taught himself how to read music and done it--he was just that kind of guy.

Dad still remembers me, he amazes me in conversation once in a while by remembering exactly when I was born and when his father died, but not remembering his sisters who visited. Our last conversation we talked about Easter Sunday when my brother and his wife and the wonderful little grandson were coming. Except...he couldn't remember who it was that was coming, just "alot of people, which means a big day." He can't remember words, words were his best friend. I credit my love of reading to my Dad, and now he can't remember lots and lots of words. Or what time it is, or how to get home if he goes too far walking the dog (she brings him home he says and she probably does), he can't drive any more or work in his woodworking shop.

His sense of humor is intact, and there are other things that are very "Dad-like" but I know I am experiencing the long goodbye. So counting blessings of what is still there, accepting what is, that is the mission for me. I don't have to like it though, nobody said that.

Have a magical day!

Oh. My. God. If I hear "Have a magical day!" one more time I swear I will just cry. My brother and his family, along with my Mom are visiting Disney. Yesterday was Mom's 70th birthday. My sister, Lisa and I were supposed to be there but we're not. The best laid plans and all. Lisa disintegrated a tooth that was supposed to be pulled next week. So yesterday we were at the dentist, not at Disney World. A new dentist, the regular dentist is where dentists are on Spring Break--probably at Disney with my family. *chuckle* So we get to the new dentist and we fill out all the papers.

Mind you, Lisa does not like the dentist. Not even a little bit and she's also prone to hysteria if there is a hint that pain will be involved. Our dentist makes her take Valium before she comes to his office for major procedures--he gives her no choice even though we are not drug doing people and she would really rather NOT take this drug prior to her dentist visit. That also requires that she have a chauffeur to and from the dentist--me. But I digress.

So we fill out the new dentist papers, she troops in to have her tooth pulled, whereupon the new dentist says "What? you took Valium on the orders of your other dentist? I can't pull your tooth you are under the influence of a drug and your consent is not valid." They call me in from the parking lot where I am reading a book and waiting. I say, well I have a medical power of attorney, I can sign, you pull the tooth, I go home and fax it to you, it's all good. No. She can come back tomorrow and not take Valium until she signs the consent. I hate the new dentist.

So we did not go to Disney for Mom's 70th birthday celebration (which I hear was magical) and we did not go today either. We are going tomorrow. My eye. Meanwhile I am calling about every half hour all last evening in order to update Mom and to wish her Happy Birthday. Every time I call the last thing the operator says is "Have a magical day!"

This day, and yesterday were not so magical really...please stop wishing me a magical day, ok? Just stop.

thoughts from an angry bee

WHO messed with my jeans??!! I just put a pair of jeans on, and guess what, they don’t fit. They are too tight, uncomfortable and just generally VERY annoying. So off I go to my dresser and proceed to try on all jeans which are all too tight and uncomfortable and just generally annoying. I am not saying the cuss words I am thinking because you guys like me and talking like an Infantryman probably won’t do any good. Fortunately I kept the jeans that these jeans replaced so now I’m wearing the jeans that were in a stack on the closet floor waiting for me to decide about what to do with them. *mutter grumble mutter* This doesn’t bode well for trying on my swimsuit which I haven’t worn in a while or the other more “dress up” clothes I have to try on because I need to plan clothes for Lisa’s birthday trip….which we leave for on Saturday and omg what if ALL my clothes are this way and someone has messed with them ALL?! It appears that the *you ate all that crap over the holidays gremlin* has arrived and messed up all my clothes. I could cry but I’ll settle for stomping around.

Did I say that I don’t like this adulthood thing? Well I don’t. I don’t like worrying about my Mother. Nobody told me I was going to grow up and end up worrying about my Mom. Is this like pay back for when I made my Mom worry about me all that time? Well, it sucks. She’s had all these damned tests and they still haven’t found the cancer which they say they know is there because the blood tests and the bone breakage say so. So WHERE IS IT. Frustrating. If it’s frustrating for me I can only imagine how she must feel and there isn’t one thing I can really do about it. Plus, while they aren’t FINDING it they aren’t TREATING it which annoys me no end. Meanwhile my Mom is calmly warning me that depending on the outcome she may decide to do nothing because doing something could be worse for her quality of life than doing nothing. Because, she says, it is her choice after all. Yeah. I don’t like it. Not one bit, nope. So…more stomping around.

Are you sick of politics yet? I am. Oh so sick of it. We need a new President so fine, but still, I want to punch a politician, any politician will do. And this is only January. Heaven help me.

Ok I think that’s all the angry bee thoughts. I’ll try to behave better in the next post?