TwitBook

[Bmichael]

...The Ranch's answer to you -know - what - with no rules.

Go ahead...tell us what you're having for dinner - we can't wait! Got a cute pic of kitty peeking out of a paper bag? Post it! We live for that stuff!

Math addict? How about a refresher on the Pythagorean Theorem?

Like macaroni and cheese? Tell us why!

So even if you're not a writer or a poet (yet), there's still plenty of fun things to do at the Armadillo!

Oh baby, oh baby!

[Carol T]

I've applied to a bunch of temp agencies with no results, but thanks for the suggestion and the encouragement.

[Carol T]

You are so right, Westerly, about the being freed part.  The last two years have allowed me to spend more time with my mother and brother and their financial affairs, and I've got a foot in the door for teaching, which is something I find I enjoy and am pretty good at.  It doesn't pay the bills, though.

[Marilyn]

Good luck, Carol! Keep on truckin', as they say ... something will come along!

And in another, completely unrelated vein, I am headed for Paris on Monday. Sacre bleu!

[Westerly_2]

Pictures, Marilyn?  *sigh*

[Carol T]

My mother turned 100 on Friday.  On Saturday we had a big party for her, which I got to pay for, but not plan or enjoy.  Actually, it was a relief not to have to plan it long distance, but it would have been nice to get to eat some of the food.  Not one single person offered to help maneuver her into the church, not even to hold the very heavy door open.  I had to commandeer someone:  "Hey, I need some help here."  She was so tired at the end she could barely make it up the three steps to her house.  I literally had to put my hands on her butt and push, at her insistence.

At least she will only turn 100 once.  She might very well live another 100 years, but I sure won't, so the next party will be someone else's responsibility.

[Marilyn]

I am so sorry, Carol ... thankless task, taking care of the elderly. You're a Good Daughter, and I guess that has to be your reward. Seems as if the "rents" are all living to extraordinary ages ... mine is nearly 96, going blind , very frail and refuses to use a walker or admit her frailties.

Hang in there!

[Carol T]

Thanks, Marilyn -- It's nice to know I'm not alone.  My mother also has very poor eyesight and can't hear well, either.  She gets along in her house without a walker because her furniture is so close together she can cruise it, but it would be great if she would use one when she goes out.  On the other hand, she goes out very rarely now, so I guess I should just ignore that part, the way she does. :-)

I keep saying to my daughter, "If I ever get this way, remind me of this."  She assures me she'll push me out the window before it comes to that.

[Bmichael]

Well that brings back some wonderful memories…

About 12 years ago, my stepfather died and even though I ‘m not the only child, I was thrust into the main support role of my mother – which included the weekly grocery shopping, any fixing and repairs that needed to be done, doctor’s visits, etc. – all during that very pleasant time when the widow struggles with suddenly being alone at an advanced age and whose sole purpose in life is to make everyone around her feel as miserable and guilty as possible.

She was pro.

The books indicated that this was normal, temporary, and would pass in time.

They lie.

With a powerful sense of loyalty, grim determination, and certain of eventual beatification, I pressed onward through hell and high water. Even after moving 100 miles away, I still returned every week to carry on with my appointed rounds for years.

On Easter, a year ago, after everyone (that would be me) left, she formed a nest on the bathroom floor and died.

Oh well…it worked for her.

Peace.

[Westerly_2]

My mom (88) and my MIL (96) both live a continent away. They are strong, independent women who want nothing from me. I seem to be in the same mold, which could spell relief for my young people.

[Carol T]

My mother used to be very independent up until six years ago when she had a hysterectomy (yes, at age 94).  Then she gave up driving, stopped being so active, and started having circulatory problems which led to mild dementia.  The lack of activity also made her much meaner. 

She's always been mean, although she used to hide it pretty well.  She's never had much use for me, except as someone she could brag about.  My daughter, her only grandchild, has been terrified of her since she was little.  My mother said it was too much trouble to drive the four hours to her high school graduation since, after all, it wasn't as if she were valedictorian.  Not too much trouble to drive the 24 hours to Florida, though.

I'm not even the good daughter (too bitter, although I try not to let it show around her), even though I'm basically an only child.

Thanks for letting me vent.  I can't afford my therapist anymore.  ;-)

[Westerly_2]

Not For Sale

 

            There was a yard sale near my street recently. As I drove past at the somewhat advanced hour of 2:30, I saw a profusion of pink stuff at the bottom of the driveway. Pink stuff = girly toys. “What luck,” I thought to myself, as I climbed out of the car. It was a wonder such pickings had not been snapped up earlier.

 

            A little girl about my granddaughter’s age was camped out on a tricycle near the pink display, watching. There was a pink plastic castle and a cabbage patch doll leaning against it. On a table was a pile of small ruffle-y clothes and a slender doll the size of a Barbie, but with wings and a brief green outfit. It could have been Tinkerbell.

 

            I was on my way to ask the lady how much it was, when the little girl put her hand out for it. “That’s mine,” she said.

 

            “Oh, you’re not selling it?” I asked.

 

            She shook her head no. The lady said something to the girl in Russian, which she ignored.

 

            Then I started looking through the clothes. And those were hers too. “They’re too small, but they’re mine,” she said. I gathered she hadn’t been part of the decision to sell her things, and didn’t want to let them go. I looked for guidance from the older lady – her grandmother ? – but she didn’t seem to be aware.

 

            “Well, thank you,” I said,walking away  empty handed.

 

            “You’re welcome,” the little girl said politely.

 

            I didn’t wonder that nothing from that part of the driveway had been carried away.

 

 

[Westerly_2]