by jphilo | Sep 4, 2015 | Out and About
Camp Dorothy’s very own Thelma and Louise are home, dog-tired and sweaty, after a hot weekend on the road. And I mean hot. Really hot. How hot was it?
I’m glad you asked.
If you remember, the purpose of our trip was to attend the 67th high school reunion for Camp Dorothy’s namesake. The reunion supper was held in Pipestone, Minnesota’s historic hotel, the Calumet Inn. The Calumet was restored some years back, and just got a second facelift, courtesy of the folks at Hotel Hell.
I’m not making this up.
The weather turned hot, hot, hot on Saturday with heat and humidity both in the upper 90s. So the camp director made a recognizance run before the festivities, to scope out parking spots and the quickest, most stairless route for Dorothy. That done, the clueless camp director returned to the overnight digs so she and Dorothy could get all gussied up for a hot night on the town. Which turned out to be a whole lot hotter than anticipated.
Because the air conditioning was out at the Inn.
Though the staff had fans to keep the air moving, kept the ice water flowing, and even handed out damp, chilled washcloths, it was still hot. So hot my dress stuck to the varnish on the back of the wooden chair every time I leaned forward. So hot condensation puddles formed instantly beneath cold glasses. (BTW, it’s possible to surreptitiously wet one’s hand in the puddle and trickle water down one’s leg, arms, and cleavage without being detected. Don’t ask how I know this.) So hot the establishment treated everyone to a free round of drinks.
Why we didn’t pack up and move to an air conditioned venue?
Because once octogenarions get where they’re going they tend to stay put. Two members used walkers and three used canes, and though the remainder of the group was surprisingly spry and ambulatory, they were also sympathetic to the limitations of their former classmates.
So there we were, two hot babes out on the town.
One with her dress stuck to the back of the chair. The other swapping stories with former classmates. Both of them enjoying the music provided by a male quartet (with one member who graduated in 1942) whose only nod to the the heat was to sit on tall stools as they sang. Sure, we were hot. But, we were also alive.
What more could two hot babes out on the town wish for?
by jphilo | Jul 2, 2015 | Three Thoughts for Thursday
- Happiness is balancing your elderly mother’s checkbook on the first try, something you were never able to do with your own checkbook growing up, no matter how often your much younger mother tried to teach you to do it.
- Sadness is knowing that if you tell your elderly mother you balanced her checkbook the way she taught you to do it, she won’t even care.
- Winning is spending an afternoon with your elderly mother doing what she does care about–Rummikub.
What made you happy this week? Leave a comment.
by jphilo | Jun 2, 2015 | Uncategorized
Every Wednesday I spend several hours with Mom at her new home in assisted living. Here’s a peek at what’s best about Wednesdays with Dorothy.
10. The staff at the assisted living facility is friendly to me and loving towards Mom.
9. Getting to know other residents who live there has been delightful.
8. Mom treats me to supper.
7. Mom’s favorite game is Rummikub and the primary colors on the tiles make me feel so happy.
6. Mom’s second favorite game is Uno, and when she wins she gives an evil laugh because she knows it will make me laugh, too.
5. At least once a visit, she looks around and says “I can’t believe Genworth* is paying for this” with wonder and delight.
4. Mom still has a great sense of humor. (See #6)
3. She takes great joy in looking at pictures of her great-grandchildren and showing off the cards and crafts they send.
2. When we are together on Wednesdays, I know without a doubt that I am where God wants me to be, doing what he wants me to do.
1. Mom loved and cared for me in my early years and being able to reciprocate that love and care in her last years is a gift to both of us.
*Genworth is her long term care insurance company.
by jphilo | May 8, 2015 | Reflections on the Past
Funny, isn’t it, how our preferences change over the years? As a kid, a day like the one described below would have been a dream come true. Today, even more than 7 years ago when this story first posted, the thought of 3 McDonalds meals in 1 day turns my stomach. How about yours?
Wednesday morning, my brother and mom picked me up at 6:15 to attend my uncle’s funeral. We spent most of the day on the road. In the course of the trip, we realize a dream that would make most seven-year-olds salivate. We ate three meals at McDonalds.
In our family, this accomplishment is earth-shattering news. My siblings and I spent most of our childhoods begging to eat at McDonalds. Since the closest one was 25 miles away in Sioux City and money was tight, our pleas fell on deaf ears. Except, of course, when Mom had saved up for a big city shopping trip. Then, if we were also running short of the straws for Dad, we ate lunch at McDonalds with strict orders to save the straws, ketchup packets, plastic spoons, extra napkins and anything else not nailed to the floor.
Our taste buds have changed in the intervening years, so we weren’t thinking of Golden Arches when we started out Wednesday. Later, my brother said he did have the Clear Lake McDonalds in mind since his mother-in-law would be there with her breakfast gang. She was, and we had a nice visit. My yogurt cup was delicious.
We arrived at our destination around noon. With the post-funeral light lunch three or more hours away, we decided to get something to tide us over. Pipestone, Minnesota’s dining options are limited. Once again, we chose McDonald’s. Their side salads are pretty good, I discovered.
At the church, Mom had time to visit with her sister-in-law before the funeral. The service was sweet and touching, a good end to my uncle’s life lived long and well. The cemetery was beautiful with dozens of fern peonies buds opening to the warm and welcome sun. During lunch back at the church, we chatted with relatives more than we ate and didn’t leave until after 5:00. By 8:30 we were close to Albert Lea, hungry as bears. Mom suggested we stop at the travel plaza that housed several fast food places. We agreed, but we weren’t hungry for Pizza Hut. We were hungry for Cold Stone Creamery ice cream, but after quick waistline checks we shook our heads.
Our third option was–you guessed it–McDonalds. I ordered a salad with grilled chicken, then caved and added a large fries to split with Mom. As we carried our food to the car, my brother said, “I think this a new record. Three McDonalds meals in one day.”
At that moment I realized we are getting really old. Forty years ago, a day like this would have thrilled us. These days it makes us green around the gills. No doubt about it, we’re slipping. I have proof. We didn’t even save our straws.
What childhood dream would be a nightmare for you now? Leave a comment.
by jphilo | Apr 10, 2015 | Family
Friday’s here again, so it’s time for another fantastic post from the past. This one comes from April 2011, a few years after Mom’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis and subsequent move to live with my brother and his family. That chapter of Mom’s life ended this past January, when she moved to an assisted living facility. She is not adjusting particularly well. But as this post points out, she has adjusted before, and I can hope that she will slowly adjust again. And I can also hope that this week, during our Wednesday visit and drive, she will smile to see the daffodils are blooming.
The Daffodils Are Blooming
My daffodils started blooming yesterday, their bright faces raised, impervious to the wind while they soaked in the sunshine. They spoke spring and warmth and light and hope into my winter weary heart. They made me smile.
Then the rain moved in, and everything changed.
These natty soldiers, who had marched beside my house erect and confident short hours ago, were bowed and bedraggled this morning. They shivered in the wind. Tears rolled down their faces and puddled in the dirt at their feet. Their burdens were heavy on their shoulders, so heavy they couldn’t lift their heads to see the clusters of clean, greening grass lining their parade route, cheering their arrival.
They have no idea that sunshine will return.
The daffodils were a gift from my mother the last fall she lived in her house. Before we suspected Alzheimer’s. Before her legendary strength abandoned her. When she still had energy to dig in the dusty, autumn soil for the daffodil bulbs that needed separating. Come spring, the news that I had planted the bulbs didn’t bring her as much pleasure as in previous years.
The first clue, as I look back, that something was wrong in my green thumb mother’s world.
Things moved more swiftly after that. The next fall, Mom moved in with my brother and sister-in-law. The next spring, her house was sold. Her passion for gardening evaporated along with her love of quilting, sewing, jigsaw puzzles, and ordering around her children. When my sister gave Mom an African violet for her bedroom, her response was, “I’m not sure I want that much responsibility.”
Can this be the woman who grew all the roses for our wedding altar arrangements?
“The daffodils are about to bloom, “ I told Mom during our visit two days ago. “The ones you gave me.” On our drive to the library, we saw some blooming beside a small house. “Look, Mom,” I pointed. “Aren’t they pretty?” Her eyes turned warm and bright. For the rest of the trip, and again on the way home, she watched for flowers.
“The daffodils are blooming.” She smiled and lifted her head. Briefly, the sunshine returned.
