by jphilo | Sep 14, 2015 | Family
Hey-ho, Camp Dorothy fans. This is your friendly camp activities director here with the promised update about the camp namesake’s 87th birthday party. First off, the camp activities director wants to give credit where credit is due. So readers should know that the birthday bash was not the brainchild of the camp activities director. Rather, the event was planned and executed to perfection by the camp director’s older sister.
Speaking of older sisters, the above photo catches older sister Dorothy and her younger sister Donna in a rare display of affection. As in they are actually touching. Only a side hug, to be sure, but still a big deal because we are not a family to engage willy-nilly in any sort of touchy-feelyness.
So the photo is quite a coup. Though the photographer had plenty of time to prepare for taking the picture. Because the sisters, one with her walker and the other on the arm of her nephew, evoked memories of Tim Conway’ Little Old Man routine as they moved into side hug range.
The camp director digresses. Back to the party, held on Labor Day Sunday, which was a rousing success. 30 people, including the camp’s namesake, four generations of family, and several friends, were in attendance. The birthday girl was the oldest party goer at age 87. The youngest was her great-grandson 5 months of age. She enjoyed an afternoon filled with conversation and, as far as the camp director could see, never stopped smiling.
Once the party was over much of the crowd–including Camp Dorothy’s namesake–went to her son and daughter-in-law’s house for supper. The birthday girl made a beeline for her favorite chair at their house, sat down, and made full use of her “queen for the day” status, expecting her children and grandchildren to wait on her hand and foot. Though we drew the line at cutting her toenails.
Queen Dorothy was worn out when her daughters took her to Vintage Hills and tucked her in bed for the night. The next morning she was smiling and ready to go when her oldest daughter picked her up for breakfast at her son and daughter-in-law’s house. She stayed through lunch, playing countless games of Uno and several rousing rounds of Catch Phrase.
Finally, smiling and sleepy, she called it a day. The camp director visited her a couple days later and found her still smiling. Then the camp director pulled out a package of thank you cards and announced it was time to get to work. Another Camp Dorothy update will be forthcoming when the cards are done, and she starts smiling again. Don’t hold your breathe. It could be a while.
by jphilo | Sep 3, 2015 | Top Ten Tuesday
- Believe it or not, I found sprouted seeds inside the tomato I was cutting into chunks for freezing. I’m calling Ripley’s right away.
- Mom turns 87 today, and Camp Dorothy is in full swing for the occasion. Other campers include my daughter, her husband, and their 5 month old son. The jocularity is a preview for the big birthday shindig my sister has organized for Sunday. Pictures will be forthcoming.
- Unfortunately, neither Camp Dorothy or the birthday shindig will include a bubble wrap popping contest as the manufacturers of the product are depoppifying it. What in the world were the bubble wrap big guns thinking when they made that decision.
What’s new in your world? Leave a comment
by jphilo | Jan 12, 2015 | Family
Scholars attribute the saying “All good things must come to an end” to Chaucer, whose end came a long time ago. Other scholars believe the saying was around long before Chaucer. Whoever first spoke or penned those words, I don’t much like them right now. Because those words–and the truth behind them–have settled upon our family with inevitable finality.
Today, Mom is moving into assisted living.
I told her the change needed to be made during our December Camp Dorothy Extravaganza. Her reply? “I knew this day would come someday, but I didn’t think it would be so soon.” Strange words from an 86-year-old, I thought, until she added, “My mother didn’t go to a nursing home until she was 93. I wanted to beat her record.”
“But, Mom,” I said, “this facility is much different from Grandma’s nursing home.”
We talked for a while longer, and she said she just needed time to think. Then she picked up a deck of cards and laid out a game of Solitaire. I watched her wondering what she was thinking, and how the familiar motions of shuffling and organizing the cards by number, red on black on red, aided her thinking.It must have done the trick because she soldiered on through the day in good spirits. Later that evening, when I was helping her get ready for her shower, she said, “I’m sad, Jo,”
“It is sad, Mom,” I agreed. “What’s making you most sad?”
“I won’t ever see this house again,” she said. And with those words, my heart broke. Somehow, I managed to not cry. I couldn’t cry because getting Mom in and out of the shower is dangerous enough without a camp director, blinded by tears. But my heart was–and still is–cracked in two. My mother, whose decline is partly due to Alzheimer’s, clearly saw what I couldn’t bear to admit during a month of constant caregiving, hard decisions, and anticipated changes. Mom knew before I did that all good things must come to and end, which means this.
Camp Dorothy is closed. Forever.
by jphilo | May 23, 2014 | Out and About
Camp Dorothy went on the road Tuesday with a rockin’ and rollin’ multi-destination trip. The camp’s namesake was packed and waiting at the door when the activity director arrived. Moments later, Iowa’s Thelma and Louise were on their way to the first destination:
The doctor’s office.
Six month check up time for Dorothy, and she passed the doctor’s examination with flying colors. The only thing that flustered her was the fasting blood draw. She came out of there saying, “They took a lot of blood. They nearly sucked me dry. I need coffee.”
She also needed breakfast.
So our second stop was Perkin’s, where Dorothy had her favorite of all time meal: pancakes. With coffee to wash it down. So much coffee that she agreed a bathroom break was in order before we hit the road again. Even though the bathroom was a far piece from the booth where we were sitting. A few minutes later, we were out the door and on the interstate, headed non-stop for Albert Lea, Minnesota.
Or so we thought.
Just south of Story City, Mom requested a bathroom break. The activity director snagged the handicapped parking spot outside the McDonald’s, and the camp’s namesake trooped off to the bathroom. A few minutes later she emerged feeling, as she put it “pounds lighter.” The activity director knew better than to inquire further, as the answer would include details she didn’t want to know.
A TMI situation to be avoided at all cost.
The remainder of the trip was a race. We were supposed to meet the son-in-law of the camp’s namesake’s at 1:30 in Albert Lea. Due to the unexpected potty break, we were running late. Even so, we arrived before he did, so Dorothy ordered lunch…just before she realized another potty break was in order.
Guess where the bathroom was?
Clear on the other side of the building…beyond the McDonalds, Cold Stone Creamery, Pizza Hut, Verizon kiosk, clothing display, snack food, aisles, and the coffee bar. The Camp Dorothy version of a cross-country hike designed to work up a camper’s appetite. By the time she got to the bathroom, our camp namesake was pooped.
No pun intended.
The return trip nearly did her in, but Dorothy rallied enough to eat her sandwich (though not the fries, which the ravenous camp director consumed), greet her son-in-law, and decide she needed ice cream for dessert. Which she instructed the activity director (who’s allergic to ice cream) to order for her.
Cruel, cruel request.
The ice cream finished, the fickle camp’s namesake ditched one activity director for another and headed north with her son-in-law. As the jilted activity director drove home, she thought about Dorothy’s response to the doctor’s question about her memory. Based on observations over the previous six months, the activity director prompted her. “Do you think maybe you’re having a harder time with your short term memory?” To which the camp’s namesake gave the director a blank look and replied, “Who are you?”
Gotta love her!
by jphilo | Feb 10, 2014 | Current Events
Like many people around the world, the man of steel and I spent a good chunk of the weekend watching the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi. Like many people around the world, we are in the know about:
- Bob Costa’s bout with
pink eye eye infection that has him sporting glasses.
- the Sochi wall where Maria Sharpova hit tennis ball summer and winter.
- the skating palace designed to look like an ice berg.
- every sport that contains the words “ice” or “snow.”
- how to say Evgeni Plushenko without blinking an eye.
Unlike many people around the world, we feel like a couple eight-year-olds watching the games for the first time in their living memories. That’s because after years over a decade of no television due to the switch from analog to digital television that left us in the black hole of free television reception, we finally broke down and got Direct TV. Mainly to make Camp Dorothy‘s namesake happy come time for Wheel of Fortune. But as we’re discovering this weekend, our magnanimity combined with the coldest, snowiest Iowa winter in years, has the added benefit of allowing us to feel like we’re ringside at Sochi. Without the security checks or jet lag.
Worth every penny, I say.
And so does the man of steel. Inspired by the soaring heights achieved by slope styler Sage Kotsenburg and Evgeni Plushenko skating after back surgery, Hiram went cross-country skiing with a friend yesterday afternoon. Instead of a cute, body hugging skiing outfit, he wore old, insulated wind pants with a hole in the pocket that his cell phone slips through and gets caught in the hemline.
But that’s another story.
Watching the Olympics has inspired me, too. Though not enough to actually do anything physical. Instead, I’m watching the figure skating (team, men’s, women’s, pairs, and dancing–I’m an equal opportunity gawker) to become an expert about jumps, spins, footwork sequences, and all the other cool stuff whose names escape me. My plan is to become an expert in the field and replace Sarah Hughes as the female commentator, thus realizing a life long desire to meet Scotty Hamilton.
It could happen.
How do I know? Because even though I’m not a figure skater, I’ve eaten cereal from a box featuring the photograph of a figure skater. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to glue sequins on my kicky, flirty little figure skating commentator outfit. The 2018 Olympics are only four years away, and I have a lot to do before then.
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