Snow Days

We're still digging out from the 15-plus inches of snow we received Tuesday night and Wednesday. The city is slowly coming back to life but the first day was a nightmare for many.

The kindness of neighbors continues to amaze me. My father is no longer on the sick pillow but still recovering from pneumonia. Twice he's gone outside to shovel and neighbors run over to send him in the house. Even I have done some shoveling but when I told a friend, he didn't believe me.

Do you remember the feeling of waiting to hear if school was cancelled for the day? I swear a collective cheer could be heard throughout my childhood neighborhood once we knew it was a snow day. It was too dangerous to tromp to the bus stop or walk to school but we could be suited up and out to play in minutes. Sledding, making snow angels, building snowmen or just romping. It was all such fun. Although I will admit to being a weenie about sledding. High speed was never my goal and I always feared hitting a tree. Life can't be all fun -- I recall being knocked off a sled or two. Then it's take a break, have some cocoa, then bundle up for round two.

Snow days for adults have less appeal. We worry about straining our back while shoveling. Frankly, I worry about the old bird across the street who reshovels the end of her driveway. Is this really worth the risk at her age? When my prior oldies (the Belle and the Captain) lived with us, they could fall for no reason at all. Walking through the house was a fall waiting to happen. Yet this neighbor who is older than they were is out there on a mission.

We worry about the condition of the roads. We worry about other drivers. I am always certain I will get stuck and I usually do. Hot chocolate doesn't seem like enough of a reward for risking my life behind the wheel. Nine layers of clothing make most of us look and feel like the Goodyear blimp -- never my fashion goal.

I don't wish to be a child again but I wouldn't mind having a moment of the pure ecstasy associated with snow days.

Giving Up the Keys

I'm convinced this was the breaking point for the Belle. When she started mowing over the mailbox and parking the car in the front yard, we had to act.

Driving is a privilege, not a right. I've given this lecture to teenagers and I've given it to oldies.

I admire people who can say, "You are driving. Here are my keys"

Multi-tasking

Some people claim this is a downfall to our society. We have to do too many things at once. I hope they're wrong because I'm pretty darn good at it. I can type, wait for the scanner to finish scanning and watch the news out of the corner of my eye. I can check my email and my voicemail at the same time. I can wash dishes and write copy in my mind.

Twenty years ago, I was likely the woman you saw driving with hot rollers in her hair, a cigarette in one hand and the mascara wand in the other. (I don't do this any more -- I gave up mascara.)

I watch kids texting while listening to their iPod, while carrying on a conversation. If I ever learn to text, I will be this person.

The oldies used to comment, "Would you slow down?" There's a lesson to be learned.

I suppose there's this Zen thing where you're supposed to quiet your mind and relax your body. I try. A dip in the tub and an engrossing book can take me a long way in that direction. But, I am usually swimming against the tide. My brain still races.

Multi-tasking also brings distractions. I just realized I've been running around all day with my shirt on backwards. Not the first time.

Delilah

We are music junkies. But we have extremely different tastes. In the car, the husband refuses to listen to my favorite country station and I refuse to listen to hard rock. Since he's driving, I already have a headache.

If it's after 7:00PM, we have an easy compromise. We listen to Delilah. It's schmaltzy. She's over-the-top. For a ride home, it's extremely entertaining.

The other night, we had dealt with Hangdog, been informed of the mother-in-law's deteriorating condition and spent countless hours on the phone. On the way home, we listened to Delilah. Our two favorites for that night were:

Total Eclipse of the Heart
(which the husband believes is the ultimate suicide song.)
And, a special dedication from a wife to her husband:

Thank you for being there for my every need, yada, yada, yada.

Delilah asked how long they had been married. The answer was three weeks. That's when we both started screaming at the radio and thankfully, pulled into our driveway,

Pop Goes the Muscle

Somewhere between picking up oldies, moving Christmas decorations from the basement and moving furniture to accommodate the Christmas tree (which I have been forbidden to do) I heard something go "Pop!" This was accompanied by excruciating pain.

This was several weeks ago. I am much, much better. But, for a while, I moaned like an oldie.

It made me think. Do we always think we can do more than we really should? The oldies do it. Before the hospitalization, she always thought she was capable of driving. That's probably why she kept sneaking out in the middle of the night. She was trying to avoid me just like I get annoyed when someone says, "You shouldn't be doing that."

My friend, Big S, attended a holiday party that involved some impromptu stamina and flexibility competitions. (There might have been some eggnog involved.) After her dazzling show of flexibility, she couldn't work out for a week. My friend (M) regularly goes to her mother's, gets on her hands and knees and scrubs things. She's in pain for a week. My friend (C) overdoes things on a regular basis (like lifting her mother into and out of the wheelchair) and then her back goes into spasms. I could list a dozen more examples but that's enough.

I've promised the husband, my parents, my doctor and houseboy that I will no longer attempt to move furniture by myself. But it makes me a little sad.

No vanity; No shame

Yesterday, the sister-in-law and I went to retrieve the oldie's car from the dealership. Of course, I decided to take the dog.

The dog doesn't understand calling "Shotgun" but she does understand when someone else is in her seat. She was completely confused with being put in the back seat. I shoved her back quite a few times. I even had to use my mean voice.

Then my sister-in-law reached behind my neck and said, "Is your shirt on inside out?" Yep, it was.

So, I'm driving through a main thoroughfare in my city... I'm elbowing the dog to get back to her own seat ... then, I took my shirt off, turned it to the correct position and waited for the next red light so I could put it on properly.

You might have another name for it. I call these "bonding moments."

A Port in the Storm

Things have come to a head around here. The word "storm" is too subtle but I might offend you if I used the words that are swirling in my mind.

While the husband was on a business trip, I was informed it was time to move the mother-in-law from the hospital. She is not well enough to be home but she's not sick enough to remain in the hospital. A temporary care facility is the only option.

Have you ever tried to arrange that in less than 24 hours? I don't know about other cities but the facilities here all have waiting lists. So, I started pleading with the doctor, "Please find some way to give me another 24 hours. Say she has an infected toenail, say she has a fever, etc." He is an honorable guy; I am an unconvicted FELON!

Then the Cavalry came to town. The husband's brother and his wife arrived. They are the relatives in Texas who just hosted them for nine days over the holidays. All blinders are off. Plus, they are medical people so I could turn over the medication dispensing chore to them. Relief does not begin to describe it. They are also very funny and interesting people so I got to talk about something other than body functions or food.

Well, I take that back. My sister-in-law finds cooking relaxing. (I'm not sure what planet she hails from.) I did make a meal for their arrival but since then, she's done all the cooking and she is an amazing cook. She's also cleaned out and rearranged my pantry. She enjoys doing these kinds of things. I'm wondering if she hears, "ET -- Phone Home" in her brain.

So, we're making decisions. Still an incredible amount of indescribable details to attend to. The husband and his brother have taken Hangdog for his regular appointment at the VA but I loaded them up with questions and information. Tonight should be interesting.

The sister and I are going to pick up their car from the dealership. We had it towed there after the last two incidents: car in the front yard, car in the mailbox. If I have anything to say about it, the car is going away.

Yesterday was an emotional roller coaster. Last night was family discussions and lots of laughs and tears. There's a lot ahead of us but these two people have saved me.

The Feeding and Watering of Hangdog

Well, the trip just about did them in. They returned to us exhausted. The mother-in-law was obviously ill. The husband took her to the doctor and she was immediately admitted to the hospital. She has a mild case of pneumonia which is responding to medication. Other tests are happening as I write this.

The husband told our physician to wear his coat of armor when he does rounds. She is not a happy camper.

In the meantime, Hangdog must be fed and watered. This is not a tough job because even if he hates what is put in front of him, he will tell you, "It is EXCELLENT!" (He is well trained.) But, it does involve a few interruptions in the day. Her medication disbursement system is unintelligible to anyone but her -- that's on purpose -- so we are spending inordinate amounts of time deciphering what he needs to take and when. This involves several calls to the doctor's office.

The banged-up car is still in my driveway. Hangdog is very concerned about getting it fixed. I've obsessed with getting it out of here. She's not driving on my watch.

Lucky Number

Do you have a favorite or lucky number? Mine is three.

Except for today. Today, I am watching the clock and if all goes according to my carefully orchestrated travel schedule, the oldies will be back in three hours.

In order to preserve my sanity and restore my favorite number to its rightful place, I've made three new rules:

1. I am unavailable between the hours of 9am and 5pm. My work and my writing has to come first.
2. IF the car is repaired and IF the husband agrees to let her drive on occasion, I reserve the right to make the judgement call of instability and take the keys away.
3. Assisted-living decisions will be made and executed within three months.

I'm feeling better but the oldies won't know what hit them.

That little declaration of independence felt so good, I made three more:

1. If there's somewhere they need to go, they can call a cab or investigate senior transportation options.
2. Frying will be kept to a minimum.
3. Any new food added to the pantry is only allowed after they've eaten all the junk that's already in there. If not, I will follow the husband's lead and just throw stuff away.

Welcome back oldies. It's a whole new day.

It Can Always Get Worse

You know how some days end and as your head hits the pillow you think, tomorrow has to be a better day. Then you find out the joke's on you.

Yesterday was dismal.

The mother-in-law was determined to go for a hair appointment. In addition to the fact that she can barely walk, we are still dealing with icy side streets and somewhat treacherous conditions. I tried everything: pleading, guilt, bitchiness. Nope, she's going to go. At least I convinced her to leave Hangdog at home.

Their car was covered in ice and snow so I attempted to clean it off. All the while my back is rebelling. As I'm scraping and brushing snow, the Ice Man Cometh. The Unabomber came out to clean off the car. (Man with a cane, icy patches -- you get the picture.) Then I resort to ordering: Get back in the house!

She comes out marching. Well, as much marching as you can do on ice. Jaw on edge, the stubborn look in her eye. And I resigned myself to the fact that she's going to do what she wants to do. I saw the car headed out of the driveway so I went back to work. The next thing I know, I walked by a front window and I see their car in my front yard. Two very helpful gentlemen who happened to be working across the street immediately ran to her assistance. I ran out with a shovel and get this ... she was waiting for them to dig her out so she could still go!

I took her by the arm and she did the 5-year old arm wrench. Let go of me! As I pointed out every patch of ice, she said with annoyance, "I see it!" She was very angry with me so the happy family dinner I had planned was a little chilly. We had fun with the baby and a yummy meal but conversation was a little stilted.

Today, it became even more interesting.

We were awakened at 5:00am because our doorbell rang. It was a neighbor, out walking his dog, and he was concerned that somebody's grandpa is walking around in the street at the end of our driveway. The husband got him in the house and there was some confusion about where the mother-in-law was. I found her. She had gone back to bed.

Then I looked out the laundry room window and noticed their car wasn’t where I left it. So, I walked outside and found it in the ditch by our mailbox.

Apparently they were trying to go to an 8:00 VA appt. (unbeknownst to us). When the car went in the ditch, she left him outside to wait for the tow truck, put her nightgown back on and went back to bed. He was so disoriented, he was babbling (although making more sense than her.)

She swears she called her insurance company for a tow (????) but when we called they have no record of it. So, we don’t know if she called anyone at all. The husband got the car out of the ditch.

She orders him around and he follows orders. Maybe she did tell him to wait for the tow truck. I honestly don't know. But I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want him pacing the icy streets for hours. Without my neighbors' interception, he would've followed her orders and stayed. Or fallen. Or had frostbite. Or worse.

What would we do without kind neighbors? My friend and next-door neighbor happened to be outside with her dogs so she can attest that I am not embellishing. The neighbor who notified us came back to make sure we found her.

The oldies are supposed to go to Texas tomorrow. The relatives in Texas have no idea of what is headed their way.

The Last One at the Party

We attended a holiday party last weekend -- the first of many. It's the kick-off of the season. We will host a couple ourselves. We will attend oodles more. It's always fun but at some point, I'm ready to go home.

As the crowds start to dwindle and I'm itching to get my coat, the husband will find a piano. Or, he will start a conversation that could result in a new business opportunity. I should be better at networking but it's not my strong suit.

So, I've learned to drive myself so I have an escape or beg someone for a ride home.

I am married to Mr. Last Man at the Party.

Another Crisis Averted

We woke up this morning to a snow covered world. Somewhere between two and four inches, depending on where you live. I love the snowy view, especially when I don't have to go anywhere and I can just look out the window.

Then the mother-in-law informed me that Hangdog has a doctor's appointment and they're going to venture out. She prefaced it by saying, "I know this will upset you but ..." Here's a news flash -- "upset" doesn't begin to describe it. I said, "No!" I considered, "Go to your room and stay there until I tell you it's ok to come out." I also considered stealing and hiding her keys.

This is not a necessary appointment. He is legally blind and it's an eye appointment. He is not going to regain his sight by this routine appointment. Nor is his progress (or lack thereof) going to be affected by rescheduling this appointment.

So, I decided to go with begging and a little guilt. "What if someone crashes into you?" and "What if you hit an icy patch in the parking lot and one of you falls?" and "Why do you want me to worry all day?"

They had to discuss it but thankfully, he was the voice of reason.

There was also some slight worry about not having anything for breakfast but once I proved that we had sausage, eggs, bread, milk, biscuits and juice, she relaxed. For once, I'm thrilled that she's frying up breakfast. At least she's not on the road.

An addendum: She did catch the package of sausage on fire.

Lucky Ducks

We made an impromptu run to the doctor today. (All is fine.) It's a beautiful day so I took the longer, more scenic route home.

As we drove by the canal, the mother-in-law commented to me, "I've noticed that your ducks are not nearly as sexually active as the ones at The Peabody in Memphis."

I almost wrecked the car. I'm going to have to ponder this for a while.

Mean to My Mom

I've saluted Mean Moms. This is a different subject. I can be mean to my mom.

When she wants to talk about my bad habits, I can quickly change the subject to her bad habits. When we're going to meet, I send her mean emails listing topics that I do not wish to discuss. When she hangs up on me (usually accidental,) I hunt her down and give her a hard time. When I can't reach her at home or on her cell phone, I leave extremely obnoxious messages: "HELLO! HELLO! Why do you have this phone?" Yet, she always calls back.

I come by this honestly. I am 44-years old and she almost always knows where I am. If she calls my cell phone, the first question is usually, "Where are you?"

My personal favorite is her driving. (I used to only worry about the mother-in-law driving.) My mother has taken safe driving to the level that it's unsafe. If I'm in the car with her or in the car behind her, I'm singing the carol, Winter Wonderland. "Getty Up, Getty Up, Let's Go."

I was following her today. As we both hit the intersection where we would go opposite directions, I rolled down my window and said, "Hello! Do you realize that you were in the wrong lane for the last two blocks or so?" I was hyperventilating -- watching for oncoming traffic or cars that might turn.

We both found this funny and yes, she called me later. "I can get away with nothing!" The husband does not understand how we can be in the same room and go through the same experience and yet, we hit the car and call each other. Then we get home and one must call the other to dissect the experience. Then, I must check my email before bed because Mom might have thought of something else.

We make each other crazy occasionally but in reality we keep each other sane.

Another Trip and The Happy Dance

Last week was interesting. The oldies spent more time in bed than out of it. I expressed my concerns more than once. Ok, more than twice. There were several days that he only came out to eat.

With that in mind, imagine my shock when they announced last night that they're going on a road trip. What? They've decided to go to Mississippi -- an 8 to 10 hour drive, depending on traffic. They'll stop along the way to visit relatives and friends. The angel on my shoulder said I should be concerned about their ability to make this trip, even with numerous stops.

The devil on my shoulder said, "Be happy!" So I moved out of their line of vision to a spot where only the husband could see me. Then, I did my happy dance! He burst out laughing but he covered it well.

Instead of trying to talk them out of this trip, we both said, (in unison,) "When are you leaving?" They fudged the answer. Something about packing and laundry and getting new clothes so I figure it will be 3 or 4 weeks away.

I take everything personally so I know they are trying to escape me and my endless questions. They need a break from us and we need a break from them. I will help them pack. I will loan all the luggage they can load.

Then, I will catch the husband's eye and I will do my happy dance again.

Driving

Once you overcome the life-sucking panic that accompanies your child acquiring a driver's license, you eventually relax enough to enjoy a little freedom.

The baby has been driving for a couple of years and I must admit he's a pretty good driver. (I'm sure he's much more cautious when I'm in the car.) At first he mowed over a mailbox and totaled a car. Since then, he seems to have mastered the machinery.

I couldn't get too frustrated with him. I recall wrapping my parents' car around one of those cement poles at the gas station. (Their car was the size of a U-boat.) I've backed into other people. The husband regularly bashes into someone -- usually someone parked in our driveway. A couple of months ago, he backed into one of the workout girls' cars. When we were remodeling our house, he backed into the painter's truck.

When I ride with my mother, I tend to say, "Giddy-up!" She's a very cautious driver. Her routine while she's trying to park causes my life to flash before my eyes. (Flash is too strong -- I have time to relive it moment by moment.)

The oldies recently bought a new car. She whips that sucker in and out of any situation. Of course, she totaled their last car. I get a little nervous because she's high strung and he's blind, but I am impressed with her ability to find her way around. I type out directions for her and just like Hansel and Gretel, she finds her way home.

Once they moved here, she needed to get a driver's license in this state. She read the manual repeatedly. I took her to take the written test. I told her to take her time. (Oops!) The end result (two hours later) is an Indiana driver's license that doesn't expire for four years. She'll be 88-years old. She only missed one correct answer and was quite proud of herself. Even with my reservations, I was also proud of her. I still won't ride with her. If we go somewhere together, I drive.

Sometimes, the husband drives them around. Most of the time, he's out driving a golf ball.