Monday, September 28, 2015

Monday Musings

Home after a week at mom's.  As usual, we had nice time just doing the usual.  I don't plan big while I'm there, because most of my energy is directed towards helping her move safely about the house, cooking meals, taking care of all things domestic because she can't do any of it.  Her Parkinson's is making her muscles even more stiff and it was quite difficult at times to get her up out of bed, or a chair.  It must feel like shit to have your body lock up like that.  I am patient with her, and even funny with her because she likes a good laugh.   But it is wearing.  We are up 4 times a night to get her to the bathroom.  It's not just like waking up and shuffling off the john, and, back into bed you go.  It involves time, effort, the long slow walk to the toilet.  When she's safely there, I sit on the bed and wait.  Then it's up again to assist her back to bed, and position her until she is comfortable.  I work up a sweat, I tell you.  And I know I have 2 to 3 hours before we do this again.

I truly, honestly, do not understand how my 83 year old father can do this.  If I'm worn out after a week (with a caregiver three days of the week), then imagine what he must feel like.  His trip this past week was sorely needed, and he did have a great time eating lobster, taking the ferry to Martha's Vineyard, visiting friends, driving around CT and NY.

I guess the saddest part of the week was my realization that I would have to return little Mocha.  She is not house-trained, and it was a herculean effort to work with her.  Pee and poop were everywhere.  Right in front of me.  She didn't have a clue it was not acceptable.  I had no patience for it.  I knew that my father wouldn't either.  So, after 5 days, I called and said it wasn't going to work.  My husband took her back, thank goodness.  I think it would have broken my heart to do so.

I'll leave you with something funny.  It's the least I can do.

Friday, September 25, 2015


Another scorching day in Northern California.  I am begging and imploring any and all powers that be to please bring us some cold crisp autumn weather!  The Pacific Northwest is looking cool and lovely, though I know Seattle has had some record breaking heat.  My friend Bob Adler (look up his fabulous photography web site) has been up in the rainforest for crying out loud.  Sending back lush green images of the trees and mountains.  How I wish I were there.  Western Washington is not burning.  It's not smoking.  It's verdant and cool, with moss dripping from the trees.  As it should be.

I've been living at Mom's house this week, while dad is enjoying lobster lunches and ferry rides to Martha's Vineyard.  The weather back east is favorable as well.  Only here can you walk out your front door into your very own brick pizza oven. 

My husband and I took a chance this week, and picked up this 4 mos. old puppy as a gift to my mother.  My folks have never had a dog, but mom loves my chihuahua so much that they both are open to the idea of having a pooch around the house.

This lil' girl was supposedly house-trained.  Allegedly. So now I am running about my parents' lovely home cleaning poop and pee off the shiny hardwood floors and expensive oriental rugs.  A challenge on it's own, but when paired with the challenge of making sure my mother doesn't take a fall, well, it's almost too much to bear.  I was helping her along her way when I saw Mocha take a squat on the floor.  All sense left me and I practically pushed dear mom down in order to grab the pup and place her on the pee mat.  Of course she stopped peeing when placed on the mat.  This is why I usually adopt older dogs.  What were we thinking?  The road to hell, and all that.

So that's my story and I'm sticking to it.  Happy Friday, all.  Hope your weekend is carefree and, above all,  below 70 degrees.

Monday, September 14, 2015

Monday Musings

Greetings, Monday.  You begin cold and windy in our neck of the woods.  Your local weather belies the raging fire storms just 70 miles north of here.  And southeast of here.  Entire mountain communities in ashes.  What is there to say?  Terrible loss and destruction.

I spent the weekend in my old home town with my daughter and her family.  It's only been four years, but already I get that otherworldly feeling when I am visiting.  That dreamlike state that sees differently what one used to see daily.  My daughter was born and raised here, and is raising her family here.  Nothing seems changed to her.  My perceptions are pervading my dream state: I'm in San Francisco, navigating neighborhoods that are completely unknown to me.  I'm in NYC, lost and trying to phone local friends for directions.  I'm in unknown territory.  Nothing is familiar.

Back home, in the arms of my husband, I feel rooted again.  No navigation dreams last night.  There are appointments to be made for the cars, the doctor; lunches and dinners.  Ant stakes need to be purchased at ACE and some fresh veg from the co-op.  All around me it seems the world is burning, but, here, in our bubble, our week begins.


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