Friday, September 17, 2004
My horoscope...
...for today:
Time is still syrupy. I know everything will get done, in fine style. Very nice, indeed.
Mom was up on elbows and coughing about an hour ago. I peeked in on her and she said she didn't want to get up yet. I'm letting her sleep. She knows what kind of stuff will be going on for the next two weeks, trips, etc. She's up to it. She just wishes she wasn't.
I guess I mentioned, she is still not quite into relocating when we first arrive at that home. She always says something along the lines of, "I'll sure be glad when we live here again."
At which point I have to gently remind her that we won't be "living here again".
So far I have not detected any deep sadness/melancholy within her over this. Certainly no regrets over our use of the mobile home and the life we led between this home and that. No regrets prior, either. It's kind of like me having to remind her that her sister is dead. She has no trouble remembering that her brother-in-law is dead and her brother is dead. But inevitably, once a month or so, she gets the urge to "call MS and see what's going on with them," and I have to remind her that a lot of "them" are dead now, primarily her connection to them, her sister.
I have memories of visiting my maternal grandparents one summer, I think in 1966, in Spearfish Canyon between their enterprise, Latchstring Inn and their cabin just up the way and around a corner about an eighth of a mile. While we were there it was always old home week among the elders, part of whom to us children were our parents. Thus, there were endless visits upon which us kids sometimes reluctantly stumbled on hot summer afternoons when we couldn't find anything else to do. The conversations were thus (all names are fictional):
"So, what do you hear from so-and-so?"
"Died. Last spring. Heart attack, I hear. Dolores will probably have to go into a nursing home."
Everyone nodded.
"Did you hear that so-and-so died?"
"Really. So soon after George. It figures."
"So, how's so-and-so doing since they amputated his foot?"
"Not good. They think they're going to have to take the other. He's not expected to make it."
Us kids would hang out on the fringes on the floor, playing jacks or snatching food from the buffet and roll our eyes and sneer. I think these conversations were, in fact, part the inspiration for our infamous car song composition, "Everybody's Dead in the Cem-e-tar-ee".
I understand, now, why those conversations were spoken in monotone and were important. So does my mother. I've only recently begun to understand that, being as yet immortal, she probably didn't fully register the import of those conversations, although since she was anxious to catch up with relatives, she participated flawlessly.
The Roll Call of the Dead.
Speaking of which, we need to call M(om's) C(ousins) I(n) C(edar) R(apids) and see how they're doing. They are all older than she. I think the youngest just turned 89 and he's not the one who lives alone.
Looks like I've got stuff to do, although I've already prepared for the day. We didn't do therapy exercises last night so we'd better do them sometime today. I need to make a short supply run involving two stops. I know Mom isn't thrilled with supply runs but they get her out and moving and I don't want her to lose her walkering edge. However, for her, the day as a whole and her part of it for me will probably start somewhat later than now.
We'll see.
Later.
Don't let others push you around today...People may talk themselves up quite a bit, but it could be that there is very little behind their words. Be careful that you don't misfire. This is a day to care about yourself and your own needs. Take aggressive steps towards making sure you are getting what you want. Connect with people you have met recently. There is great significance in synchronistic meetings.I know. I should stop noticing that stupid horoscope. I have a call to make today that involves advanced negotiation. Previous to the business I had to conduct on behalf of my mother I was not "in to" advanced negotiation business calls. I'm sure I am, now, but this is the first one that involves me as the seeker, rather than the granter. I'm a little nervous. And, the person with whom I'm dealing, well, totally read me on the first call as not too sure of myself, even though I have, and I mentioned this to him, used them twice before. So he didn't really listen to what I said and called me back with a "standard package", which is a dynamite deal if I had a standard package move. I don't. So, I have to call this guy back. He dodges and talks over the speakerphone, and, you know, just generally makes my skin crawl. I am not concerned about whether I'll successfully attain what I seek. I know I will. I'm concerned about the journey.
Time is still syrupy. I know everything will get done, in fine style. Very nice, indeed.
Mom was up on elbows and coughing about an hour ago. I peeked in on her and she said she didn't want to get up yet. I'm letting her sleep. She knows what kind of stuff will be going on for the next two weeks, trips, etc. She's up to it. She just wishes she wasn't.
I guess I mentioned, she is still not quite into relocating when we first arrive at that home. She always says something along the lines of, "I'll sure be glad when we live here again."
At which point I have to gently remind her that we won't be "living here again".
So far I have not detected any deep sadness/melancholy within her over this. Certainly no regrets over our use of the mobile home and the life we led between this home and that. No regrets prior, either. It's kind of like me having to remind her that her sister is dead. She has no trouble remembering that her brother-in-law is dead and her brother is dead. But inevitably, once a month or so, she gets the urge to "call MS and see what's going on with them," and I have to remind her that a lot of "them" are dead now, primarily her connection to them, her sister.
I have memories of visiting my maternal grandparents one summer, I think in 1966, in Spearfish Canyon between their enterprise, Latchstring Inn and their cabin just up the way and around a corner about an eighth of a mile. While we were there it was always old home week among the elders, part of whom to us children were our parents. Thus, there were endless visits upon which us kids sometimes reluctantly stumbled on hot summer afternoons when we couldn't find anything else to do. The conversations were thus (all names are fictional):
"So, what do you hear from so-and-so?"
"Died. Last spring. Heart attack, I hear. Dolores will probably have to go into a nursing home."
Everyone nodded.
"Did you hear that so-and-so died?"
"Really. So soon after George. It figures."
"So, how's so-and-so doing since they amputated his foot?"
"Not good. They think they're going to have to take the other. He's not expected to make it."
Us kids would hang out on the fringes on the floor, playing jacks or snatching food from the buffet and roll our eyes and sneer. I think these conversations were, in fact, part the inspiration for our infamous car song composition, "Everybody's Dead in the Cem-e-tar-ee".
I understand, now, why those conversations were spoken in monotone and were important. So does my mother. I've only recently begun to understand that, being as yet immortal, she probably didn't fully register the import of those conversations, although since she was anxious to catch up with relatives, she participated flawlessly.
The Roll Call of the Dead.
Speaking of which, we need to call M(om's) C(ousins) I(n) C(edar) R(apids) and see how they're doing. They are all older than she. I think the youngest just turned 89 and he's not the one who lives alone.
Looks like I've got stuff to do, although I've already prepared for the day. We didn't do therapy exercises last night so we'd better do them sometime today. I need to make a short supply run involving two stops. I know Mom isn't thrilled with supply runs but they get her out and moving and I don't want her to lose her walkering edge. However, for her, the day as a whole and her part of it for me will probably start somewhat later than now.
We'll see.
Later.
