Alexander, who happens to be me, and the horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day!

Yesterday turned into an "Alexander" kind of day. You know, the "horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day" kind of day? I have them every once in awhile, I'm sure everyone does, but thankfully, they are few and far between. And usually they are sort of funny later, but it's too soon. It's not funny yet.
I took half a day off from work to drive to Rochester for my dad's meeting at the Nursing Home/Rehab center. For many reasons, I had to drive my husband's truck. Not normally a big deal. When I left home with it, I noticed the brakes seemed a little "soft," they went almost all the way to the floor when I wanted to stop. My first and only thought at the time was, that I was used to driving my Jeep, which is newer, and therefore, the brakes in it seem harder, firmer, and it was probably just the difference between the two I was noticing. Off I went. I did notice it again once I got into the city, and city traffic, which was more stop and go at exits, stop lights, etc. A couple of times I noticed that while I thought I was stopped, completely, waiting for a green light, and took the opportunity to send a quick text (yeah, yeah, yeah, I KNOW that's bad) I would look up and realize I was creeping forward. Hmmm. Again, no real SERIOUS thought that anything was terribly wrong.
My dad's meeting was not one I was looking forward to. It was a meeting with the Nursing Home Social Worker, the Nurse Director, my sister, my dad and I, to let him know once and for all, officially and formally, that he was not going to be able to go home again, and to decide, or let him decide as best he could, whether he would rather go to the Houghton Nursing Home, or try Assisted Living in his own apartment in Geneseo. It wasn't a good meeting. It wasn't bad, in any of the obvious ways. No one yelled, or screamed, or cried. But it was full of heavy emotional overtones for both my sister and I, and obviously for my father, who has lived in his home for 60+ years. It was sad. But I thought I was fine. Actually, in all honesty, the last few weeks since his heart attack, hospitalization, the revelation of his nighttime dementia, transfer to rehab and decisions that have had to be made, and all the time put in to thinking about the decisions and discussing them with my siblings, and trying to withstand the nightly phone calls from my dad-who-is-not-really-my-dad-at-that-time-of-night when he calls to demand that we take him home, swears at us for not understanding him, tells us he will hitchhike home, asks what the HELL we are thinking (this is a man who has never used bad language in his life - except once, when I was little I remember him saying DAMN to me, and it was my fault because I was being REALLY annoying to my mother, and I was SHOCKED into silence and better behavior! - which was clearly his motivation!) - the past few weeks have been taking a VERY heavy emotional toll which is not necessarily counted on a daily basis. After all, this is life, a part of life, and you just do what you have to do day by day, whether you like it or not. That IS what adults do, right? And really, what good does it do to sit around and whine about it, or cry about it. But, I guess it is only fair to realize that while this IS life, and while none of us like it, it DOES affect you emotionally, underground, whether you realize it or not.
SO...
I leave my dad's meeting, and notice that the brake light is on. Sometimes the emergency brake, which does not work, gets stuck, and you have to wiggle it around. I tried that, with no luck. So, I went on to my next stop, which was a craft store. I have been "allowing" myself a stop at one store and a $20.00 purchase some of the times I have to go to Rochester (an hour and a half trip) so that I have something to "decompress" with, after visiting my dad, which is not really a cheerful sort of trip right now. Last week I bought new yarn, and new crochet hooks. Last night I spent an hour picking out a couple of things for a friend who is also having a rough time right now, and a couple of small craft projects to work on for others, and I found some awesome Rooster placemats for a dollar a piece. So you see, the money I spend is NOT the object, acquiring more "things" is NOT the object. (My goal for this year is actually to rid my house and myself of too many "things" that we currently have; live more simply, you know?) Wandering about a place with lots of things to look at, with time to think about other people in my life, time to think about craft projects which I thoroughly enjoy, is a good way to NOT think about my dad's circumstances any longer, since dwelling on them, on him, occupies enough of my time. It is time I take, I MAKE, for my sanity.
I had some great things selected. I paid for them, finally, after about an hour's time, only to find my credit card was denied. I was FURIOUS and frustrated. It was payday and for that ONE DAY, my bank account was full. Yeah, most of the time I run on empty in it. I have often even gone over. But on payday, before I pay any bills, I KNOW there is money there. To have my credit card (debit card = directly out of my checking account) denied was embarrassing, and there was no reason for it. Thankfully, I did have my checkbook with me, and I wrote a check. I REALLY wanted my rooster placemats bargain, by that point!! (Hmmm, I DID just say it wasn't about acquiring stuff, didn't ? But I DO love a bargain...)
So after writing the check, I go back to the truck. I call my daughter, whose debit card account is linked to mine, and had her check my balance. All was well. No reason for it to be denied. Grrr. Then, while I'm sitting there with the truck running, I give more thought to the red light that is on. I call my husband to ask about it, thinking that perhaps I've forgotten a step in getting it to go off. Nope. "Check the book" he says. HE is on his way home from three days in NYC. I check the book, and basically it said, "If the light is on, and your pedal goes all the way to the floor, DON"T DRIVE IT. There's a problem! A significant and serious one."
OK, so... it's been a cold and snowy and crappy day. And I am now "stranded" in a parking lot an hour and a half from home, with no way to get there. So, I did what any reasonable person would do, after an accumulation of stress - I cried. No, I bawled. I sobbed. I called my sister, I called my husband, my brother called me after my sister called him, my son called me back after my husband called him - the motorhead in our family - to ask him about the light/brakes. All of them said STOP CRYING! CALM DOWN! I guess it WAS a bit of an overreaction. My sister said she would come get me. My husband was just at a point where he could go another 30 miles home, or turn North and go 45 miles and come pick me up. My brother offered to call his friend who has a tow truck. And my 17 year old son begged me to stop crying and think about how much he loved me. And all I could do was feel bad, SO bad, that I was inconveniencing my sister, who interrupted HER decompression drinking a glass or two of wine, drove back to sit with me for ten minutes til my husband got there, and feel so frustrated that instead of just taking charge, and figuring out what to do, I cried. I hate feeling like a helpless female. Sometimes cars and their problems make me feel that way, and I HATE that feeling. I am NOT a helpless female. I am NOT prone to crying, at all, ever, and certainly not over small potatoes like those. But, I wasn't crying for that, and I am smart enough to know that all of the sobbing in that snowy, cold parking lot was really for a lot more than that. It's for all that my dad has lost. It's for all that has changed so suddenly in the past few weeks, it's for all the worry and love and fear and frustrations I have for my dad. But, sometimes it takes something stupid to be the straw that breaks the camel's back, and I guess yesterday, that was it.
I bet some days are like that, "even in Australia."

The Husky Girl is Getting Soft

Christmas is coming....

How do I know? The trolls, and the goat, and the horse, and the Tomten told me so. It's almost time! This is the best time of year - the time before. Before Advent, before St. Lucia Day, before Christmas. The planning time, the thinking about it all time. I love the time before MORE than the time of. I love looking ahead, waiting, working for. It's over all too soon, which is why I like the time before best of all times. It's the best part of all holidays. Stay tuned for more about trolls, horses, Tomtens and straw goats. They are the best part of MY holidays.

Happy Birthday, Mom

My mom's birthday would be today, if she were still alive. She would be 86. I am currently 46, born in February, and that same year I was born, in November, my mom turned 40. I was a surprise baby, born nearly 9 years after my last brother. She thought I was the flu, and when she finally went to the dr, apparently he kidded her that she, as a nurse, should have known better, especially after having been pregnant three other times. I love that story. I also like the fact that I know my mother's real birthday is November 17th, even though her birth certificate says it is the 18th. 86 years ago, most babies were born at home, as she was. It was late in the evening when she finally came into the world, and as it was storming, the doctor who delivered her waited until morning to go back to his office. When he did, he recorded her birth as the 18th, even though my grandmother said my mom was DEFINITELY born before midnight on the 17th. For some reason, as a child, I found that story fascinating, and always tried to celebrate my mom's birthday with her on the 17th. She didn't care either way.
My mom died four and a half years ago, in a nursing home a few miles from me, of Alzheimers. I was there that night, and held her hand as she went. I don't know what she really died of - pneumonia? I honestly can't remember. She broke her hip in January of that year, her second broken hip, and I remember the very, very kind hospital doctor coming in to talk to us, to me, as I was sitting there with her in the hospital, and telling me that it really didn't matter if we didn't have surgery to repair the hip (her health really wouldn't have supported a surgery at that time, so it wasn't much of an option, which bothered us) because with a patient of her age, and with her medical conditions, a broken hip was really the beginning of the end, and he would give her no more than 6 months. That might have seemed cruel,but it wasn't. It was a reassurance that we were doing the best thing for her by not having surgery, by just keeping her comfortable and medicated, and it gave me a time line within which to begin saying goodbye. In actuality, I had already begun saying that long before. My mom had had Alzheimers long enough that to me, she was no longer my "mom." She was always, right to the end, a beautiful person I loved, and took care of, but the "mom" who had loved me, and taken care of me, and loved my children, the "mom" who had given me advice, helped me, listened to me, that "mom" had been gone for many years.But having someone tell you that the misery that had robbed my mom's mind, and so much of her strength (she had diabetes, had had several heart attacks and strokes and open heart surgery, had broken her collar bone, her hip twice, etc.)would soon be over for her, was a relief, actually. I was not sad to see my mom die.It was a blessing, at long last. Her life, for at least the year previous to her death, was just not good, and it was hard to watch someone you love, just exist. It was hard to watch what not having my mom at home did to my father on a daily basis. So her passing away was, at long last, a relief. I didn't cry much. I didn't really even feel terribly sad for very long. I have not spent a lot of time feeling sad, or really even missing my mom a lot in the past few years. Really, it has been more like the past 16 years that she has been "gone," so it's hard to feel like it's only been a couple of years. I've gone through all the feelings of "this isn't fair" and the anger, and all the other emotions when we first began to realize things were not right with her. I've "been there, done that" and don't need to anymore. What I have left of my mom now are the random good, and funny, memories, mostly. Like the fact that my mom was many, many things I aspire to be, but a good cook was not one of them? Fishsticks. Box potatoes, or, real-but-lumpy-watery greyish potatoes. Buttered beets, stewed tomatoes, liver and onions on Monday nights when my dad was at Rotary. Ugh. Looking back at my childhood, wonderful wonderful meals was definitely NOT a part of it. Thankfully, it WAS a huge part of my husband's childhood, as both his mom and his two aunts are fantastic cooks, and he inherited both the love of cooking and the ability, and has passed much of that on to me,so my own kids should grow up with a warm and fuzzy view of the food that filled THEIR childhoods. (As long as they forget the fishsticks and tator tots I fed them when they were little and I didn't know any better. But only on the nights when their dad was at Lions Club.)
I do miss my mom. Some times of the year are harder than others. I miss her on my birthday. I especially miss her at Christmas time. And there are always days, moment, when for some reason, or no reason at all, I just miss her really hard.I guess that will always be true of anyone you love, and lose.
I don't remember the date of her death, but I will never forget the day of her birth. Or date. Happy Birthday, mom. I love you still.

My Baby is Growing Up!

BRAMBLE, LAST NIGHT at about 6 months old
BRAMBLE THIS PAST SUMMER, at about 3 months old

Indian Summer Evening

The weather here has been unseasonably warm the past few days. Much as I love winter, and look forward to snow, and cold, I also don't mind the last few days of left-over Indian Summer warmth, either. It was the perfect temperature to take the dogs for a walk Sunday, and we did. Normally, when we walk for human exercise, we walk three or four miles, on one of several different routes around or out of town. But this time, my goal was not my own personal fitness, which it should be every day!, but to tire out the Bramble puppy. On weekdays, all four dogs are hooked to runs outside where they could, if they so desired, get enough exercise to wear them out. I'm sure they don't. I'm sure they pretty much lay and soak up the sun, and bark occasionally, and get up to get a drink, and then go lay back down. On the weekends, however, I keep the dogs inside with us, letting them out in the fenced back yard to do their business, sniff around, bark at the neighbors, chase the cats, etc. for a few minutes many times a day. But I KNOW they don't get 7 hours of fresh air and sunshine, like they do M-F, so they are also not very tired at the end of the day. Well, ONE of them isn't. Not sayin who, but the three older couch potatoes are 7, 6 and 5, and all appreciate a nice carpet to snooze on during the evening, and then don't seem to mind going upstairs to sleep away another 8 or 9 hours on their comfy doggy pillows, while the 6 month old Border Collie? Not so much. Sleep? WHat's that about? Who needs it? Not me, not me!!! At least, that seems to be her humble opinion. I have to say, it has been one of the hardest things for me to deal with, in having a puppy again. I need sleep. A LOT of it. I like to sleep uninterrupted for a good solid 9 hours every night. And more on weekends. Some of us just need more sleep. And Bramble is like a baby-turning-toddler at this stage. She is no longer pooping and peeing every night in my bedroom, thank goodness, but now she barks at my bedside, or whines, once, to let me know when she needs to go out. If I go upstairs between 9 and 10, I can count on getting up to let her out 3 times a night. Somewhere between 11 and 12, then again about 3-4, and then again between 5-6. She seems to only be able to go about two to three hours at night. Now although it does seem to me she should be able to last longer than that at 6 months old, I'll take it over having to clean up poop and pee in the mornings. Anyway, I digress. I do that a lot. My whole point is, I really try to tire her out more on the weekends, so that she will be SO tired she will go to sleep when we do, and hopefully, sleep longer than 3 hours at a stretch. And although it didn't work so well Sunday (we didn't walk the whole 3 miles with her- probably only 1 1/2 - because her legs are so short), it WAS a nice day for a walk. The sun was just going down as we crossed the bridge over the Genesee River on our way back to town, and the sky was all kinds of wonderful golds and reds. MY legs were tired, and I slept well Sunday night!

MAD AS A WET HEN

Seriously, this will be a post where I force myself to think about what I am thankful for tonight. It has to be. Because it has been the kind of a day where I am mad at EVERYONE for EVERYTHING. (If I didn't know better, I'd swear I was simply PMS'ing today. I have one day a month, every month, where I feel like this, and then later, I look back and go, "Ooooohhhh. THAT'S why." As though it was some new event in my life that hasn't been occurring for the past too many years. It is, no joke, the only day my students end up with detentions, or that I yell at them in class, or I can't stand the sight of my husband, and everything that comes out of my children's mouths seems destined to make me angry enough to wish, only momentarily of course, that I had never given birth. And there is still that possibility I suppose, since that time of life, "the change," seems to be upon me. Things like calendar dates can't always be counted on anymore. So although I don't THINK the reasons for my anger and irritation today are due to hormones with minds of their own, I suppose it could be. Only time will tell. REGARDLESS, I think it far wiser, on a Friday night, to think of things I am thankful for, rather than to dwell on what made me angry today. Even I am smart enough not to wish to ruin a weekend in front of me!!! And if it continues next week, there will be time enough to vent then!)
OK, so... I am thankful for

• homemade cranberry wine that turned out fantastic, and a husband who, judging the quality of my day, opened a bottle, poured me a glass, and brought the rest of the bottle to me along with the glass!
• big children who are both coming home from college tonight, just for the weekend, to visit
• looking forward to sleeping in past 6 tomorrow - it's SATURDAY!
• looking forward to next Wednesday off from school for Veterans' Day - four day weeks are always good!
• getting the vacuuming done tonight, and the kitchen floor mopped last night. I am trying to get at least one "major" chore done each night so I don't have to spend all weekend in a dirty house, or every single second cleaning on the weekend. Don't worry - there are still dishes to do, laundry to fold and put away, a chicken coop to clean, etc.
  
• getting my desk cleaned off at school today, and all the piles of papers and books and whoknowswhatall sorted and cleaned up, so I can come in Monday morning to a clean desk and work area
• the generosity of people at school who bought many raffle tickets today for my neighbor who was diagnosed with lymphoma
• beginning to plan and order and make Christmas presents. For me, the planning is better than the day itself.
  
• Bramble seeming to be almost housebroken, finally - knock on wood. At least it is WAY better than a month ago. Frustrating, but so much better, finally. And thankful that I did NOT have to use a crate for it.

And, by the way, why do they say wet hens are mad? My hens have been wet a number of times, since it rains so much here, and all they do is fluff themselves up, shake themselves like a wet dog, and go on about their chickeny business. They don't SEEM like they are mad.