Sweet Caroline

Recently, Neil Diamond made it public that his song, "Sweet Caroline" was about Caroline Kennedy. No one has ever written a song about me but I like to pretend that any song that has any version of my name is just for me.

I just heard the news that Sweet Caroline's Uncle Ted Kennedy (Democrat Senator from Mass.) has been diagnosed with aggressive brain cancer. Hasn't this woman been through enough?

Her father was assassinated when she was a small child,
Then her uncle was assassinated,
She had to follow when her mother married Ari, the magnate,
She nursed her mother through cancer,
Her brother and sister-in-law died in a plane crash,
Countless uncles, aunts and cousins have had scandals and untimely deaths.

That just hits a few.

I can't quite get over Chappaquiddick or the rape trial where Ted Kennedy testified on behalf of his nephew, Michael Kennedy Smith. In both situations, I fall in the camp of screaming, "Guilty!"

Regardless of my politics, the Kennedys have been American royalty for my entire life. The Senator has served our country, however he saw fit. I don't wish cancer or disease on any person.

I used to want to be Caroline. I gave up that fantasy. But I hope she knows that there are a bunch of us middle-aged women who have followed her and admired her.

I wish Ted Kennedy recovery. But mainly, I wish Sweet Caroline some well-deserved peace from this roller coaster.

He Has To Eat

The mother-in-law has been successfully treated for bladder cancer. Quarterly visits with her Urologist are mandatory.

This morning was a little crazy. I reminded her of the appointment. She was frying up breakfast and I lost it a bit ... "You don't have time to do this."

With a steel spine and a strong voice, she informed me, "He has to eat."

This is southern and/or farm hand mentality. Of course he has to eat. But, he could eat a bowl of cereal and a banana. Have some fruit.

He doesn't care what is put in front of him. He has been well trained and with every meal, he tells her it was "excellent." He says this no less than 10 times. If she ignores him and rolls her eyes (from living with me too long,) he says it more often and louder. "THANK YOU LOVE, THAT WAS EXCELLENT!" It could be a piece of toast on a paper plate and it would be the most excellent meal he's ever had, as long as dessert and coffee were on the docket.

Yesterday, I caught her loading up the garage refrigerator with butter. I'm not kidding -- at least 5 cartons with 4 sticks each. We are in butter abundance.

At their age, I cannot change their eating habits. Truly, it's none of my business.

She never sits down for breakfast. She eats over the sink and looks out the window. She makes sure he is taken care of and rolls her eyes. I know she loves him with every fiber of her being.

I am crossing my fingers, saying a prayer and knocking on wood. I don't care what he had for breakfast -- I just want a good report from the Urologist.

If the Shoe Was On the Other Foot

I'm a voyeur. I watch the oldies with a mix of admiration and fright. I ask too many questions. I track how they're feeling and I try to pay attention to the medication trends. (No one is allowed to touch their medications.)

I watch her tend to his every need. I watch her fry food, do his laundry, make sure the coffe is hot and plentiful, etc. He's very polite but it's also expected.

Maybe that's how she willed her way out of her bout with cancer. She knows no one would take care of him in the custom that he has come to expect. She barks at him but she's the only one who is allowed to get crabby with him. She becomes an armed guard if anyone even tries. She's a little (but mighty) watchdog and he is her territory.

I'm just tracking along behind her, picking up the pieces and making notes about what I will not do when it's my turn.