Back to school,

There is a movie called "Billy Madison", starring Adam Sandler. It is a silly movie about a rich, spoiled kid who's father owns a huge Hotel chain. Billy is (supposedly) an adult, out of school, but spends all his time drinking around the pool with his two loser buddies.

Daddy worked hard his whole life building the Hotel chain hoping to pass the business on to his son, but decides to give the chain to one of his employees as the son is nothing but a drunken loser that acts like a total goof and chases imaginary penguins around the mansion riding in a golf cart.

Billy gets a wake-up call when he discovers he's about to lose his inheritance, thus promising 'Daddy' he will go back to school, starting with first grade, all the way through to 12th. He promises to attend each grade for two weeks, passing each one without 'Daddy' paying off the teachers.

It's a silly movie with some toilet humor, some sexual content, (of course), and some off-color language. After some naughty school-boy behaviour, Billy settles down and graduates, his father throws a big party, Billy hooks up with his third grade teacher and gets control of the Motel Chain.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, I'll just tell ya! I have been taking some practice ACT tests online, and found that I TANK in math. Ok, I worked on it, got a little better, but still have questions. What the heck are all those 'x's, r's and y's' anyway? And how the heck can I know how old susie is if she is 5 years older than joe and johnny is 6 years older that susie and the total age is 41, how the heck old is everyone? Yeah, a lot of work to do here.

So I decided to go to the grammar exam, make myself feel good with a passing grade. WRONG! Tank, flush and drain away. GEEZ. (Just read this and see what I know about grammer!)

So I goes over the exam and discovered that I know a bunch of the stuff, I didn't PAY ATTENTION to the details in the questions. Like if the words 'math, english and science' are all in a sentence, and they all are written in LOWER CASE letters, than that's IT. So, don't go and correct the dumb sentence by putting a capitol letter in front of one of them.

So after stomping around the yard muttering to my imaginary penguin, I decided to put my nose back in the game and PAY ATTENTION. Brains, anyone, brains? Send some my way please!

How big is the party gonna be?

Well, funeral day is here. I went to have my 'private viewing' yesterday. guess it's some kind of southern thing, or maybe I just don't know because I haven't had the pleasure of gazing on a dead body in, oh, about 3 decades or so.

So I goes to the funeral home, the guy offers me a look-see. His query, 'do you want some private time with yore Mama" sounded more like, "Here, I'll show you where she is 'cause I know you wanna go gawk at her". He sat back in one of the chairs, looking like the man he was trying to be, 'it's ok, suhweety, I'll hold you when (not if, WHEN) you collapse cause it's so hard to lose your Mama".

"How does she look?" What a question. She looks dead. How's she supposed to look? I just wonder why they made her so hard and cold. So mean old me says, "a bit much on the makeup, lipstick? I requested no lipstick". "Oh, honey", (don't call me honey when I'm having a bad day); "Oh honey, her lips were discoloured. and her skin needed a little touching up". Ok, why did you make her smile/grimace? "Oh, honey, her mouth was hangin open, you didn't want that, did you"? Ok, ok, leave it alone, she's gone, it's just a shell, I'll never look at her grimace again, forget it.

"I washed her pretty hair, blah blah" the guy was rambling on. Know what I wanted to ask? I wanted to ask how did he suck the brain out, did he use an old Egyptian method?

Geez, I'm so weird. I didn't ask.

So Kid # 1 isn't here, work work work. (guess it could have been me stuck in California on a load and someone else doing this crap, Oh, I'm not that lucky)!

Kid #2 decided to have a temper fit, not answer his phone, not return my call. Instead he called Kid #4 and ranted about how he wants that money and I refused to allow him and his wife to stay at my house for the funeral. What a jerk, (bless his heart), I never told him he couldn't stay here, it was never even discussed. Supposedly he's not coming but I bet he sneaks in at planting time. Did I say What a Jerk? Yeah, I think so, but I'll say it again. Sheesh.

Kid #4 decided not to come, too much tension between Jerk, oops, my fingers slipped; Kid #2 and myself. Oh, and the guy he had to see to get travel rights closed 8 minutes before he got there. He still could have made the trip but he's got his own thing with anger and confusion. He wants pics of the funeral. Icky, but ok.

So that leaves Kid #3, me, mahself and I, bless mah heart, an Uncle, Aunt and one cousin. And half the neighbor hood, hospice, nursing home staff, maybe a few crows and, if we're lucky, an armadillo or two. Cat has to stay home, poor creature, he's been a mess. How do cats know, anyway? Oh, and maybe a raindrop or two might show up, who knows?

So, goodbye, Mom, see ya on the other side.

Another day at the nursing home

Well, yesterday marked the end of one phase and the beginning of a new one. Sort of, kind of I guess..

Ok, well, the funeral stuff is all arranged, I wish it was tomorrow and not the day AFTER tomorrow. Just want to get it done.

Yeah! I can sleep now with both ears closed, not wonder if tonight will be the night-of-the-fatal-phone-call. So why am I awake? SHEESH!

I took the wheel chair back this morning, guess I'm not ready to use it myself and I was tired of looking at it anyway. I'm glad the nursing home thing is over. Yesterday an old man caught my attention, calling to me and holding his hand out. Dumb dumb here reached out towards him and he lunged for me and grabbed my wrists, pulling me in towards me. Aw geez, old man, don't make me slug you, he had a grip that was strong enough to almost drop me to my knees. (And I'm not going to my knees for any old dirt bag, let me tell you!)

I pried myself loose, I didn't care if I had to walk away with out anything past my wrists, let the old geezer have my hands, but LET ME GO! Dirty old slob, that'll learn me to reach out to some old fart that looks weak. I said something to the nurse, she said no woman there dares get too close to him unless they know he's sleeping. Good grief. Bless his heart...

I went out to the patio as I waited for Maternal Figure to become an angel or what-ever, and I heard one of the nurses talking, no, gossiping about another. "She shore is fond of being late for work, bless her heart," one said. Another said, "Yay-ya, and she shore is puttin' on, Bless her heart". (Gaining weight, is what 'puttin' on' means). Bless their hearts...

Ok, I couldn't stand it anymore, what's up with this gossip followed by 'bless her heart' anyway?
The ladies giggled and snickered. Come to find out, an insult or gossip followed by 'bless her heart' makes the bad talk ok. After all, asking for some kind of blessing is a good thing, right?

Yeah, but, (I can't leave stuff alone, had to push the parameter), I heard someone say my Mother is SO sweet, bless her heart..... So do you say Bless her heart no matter what or is my Mother really not such a sweet thing after all? They giggled, and said, "Oh, bless your heart".

So I guess bless your/her/his heart is just an ending, like a period. "That guy's a jerk. Period". Or, said in southern-ese, "That guy's a jerk, bless his heart".

So, Y'all have a goodun, C'mon back now, ya hear? Bless your heart.

By this, I know you love me

It's been a long hard 36 hours. About 36 hours ago, I received a call from the nursing home telling me to come in, she's dying.

I hopped out of the tub, swished a towel over my dripping bod and threw some cloths on, and drove to the nursing home with several thoughts running through my head as fast as my car was running down the road.

It's over, she'll finally find rest:

It's over, I'll finally find rest:

I hope I can get my hair combed out after it gets dry:

I wonder if she'll be alive when I get there...

She was alive when I got there, in great distress. Hospice was there, along with most of the night crew of the nursing home. Ah, a party in Mom's room! She'll appreciate the attention, or will she?

The 'death rattle' was very loud and distressing to all of us. A handful of sad eyes watched me come, the party parted like the red sea so I could get to her side. They gave me her vitals, pretty darned good reading for a dying person, and showed me her leg, all black from lack of oxygen. Ok, it'll be over soon.

As the hours dragged by, the nurses and hospice noted that only one leg had turned black and cold, "I've never seen anything like it, one leg bad, one leg good, usually oxygen deprivation is bilateral", they told me. Yeah, well, Mom has to be different.

Nursing staff stopped in after hours, one lady on the way home from watching her grandson play a ball game, the administrator stayed long past her 'going home' time, actually she stayed till 3am. Hmm, these people really like 'Miss LaDonna'! Everyone had tears, oh, Miss LaDonna was their best resident, never complained, the sickest one in the home, blah-blah...

I started reviewing, in my mind, the past. Life with her as a child, as an adult and mostly life over the past 9 months since she came here. I looked around at the mountain of stuff we had brought her that she never used. Oh, how much stuff I have to pack up and take home. Throw it out? Give it away? Take it to a yard sale? I was beginning to see what I would be doing for the next several weeks after I buried her. Oh, yeah, give my brother back his radio and electric blanket. Hoorah, that much is figured out!

I remembered my sister, helping her move stuff around when she was here at the house, helping her pack for her new life at the nursing home. One sentence FS said to her rides along in my mind, "Hold on Mom, you're moving at lightning speed, I can't keep up", were FS's words to Mom as orders were snapped out one on top of the other.

I thought of the electric keyboard in her room, here at the house. Mom wanted it moved around in her room, to make it easier to play. She never touched it. Then she wanted it moved to the living room, so she could play it out there. Oh, and put this stand here and bring that over here, put this in that drawer, get me a power cord.... run, run, back and forth, from her room to the living room, move stuff around, finally wear her out and get peace as she finally put her busy head on the pillow and took a break.

She never used that stuff, eventually asking to have it moved back into her room. This time it was older brother running at 'lightning speed' trying to keep up with her instructions and please her.

Rearranging the house several times, asking for meals that never got eaten, requesting items from a store that was almost 40 miles away, (sometimes stuff that ended up being food for the pet rat), bring me this, go get that, turn the TV up, down, change the channel, that was her main activity here.

What the heck is up with this woman, anyway? Then I remembered going to visit her on the way back from California in my truck. I got permission(from her landlady) to park a Peterbuilt at her house. How was the visit? Well, pretty good, short, only 7 hours, (all I could take, to be honest), but during the visit she decided I needed to go grocery shopping for her. What? "Don't you get your groceries delivered", I asked. Well, yeah, but she wanted ME to go for her. I reminded her that all I had was a big truck. So what, go anyway, was the end result.

So I go to the store, in a 379 Peterbuilt with a 72 inch bunk. That's the truck with the big square nose, L-O-N-G nose, with a Condo Sleeper, big, big. I dragged 7 bags of groceries out and was piling them in the truck, fully aware that I was getting stares of astonishment from other shoppers. This was a small town, big trucks aren't a regular sight there!

So here she lies, in the bed, should have been dead a week ago, and surely shouldn't be alive with one dead leg, shut-down kidneys and no real food for the last few weeks. Blood pressure 118-over-48. 48, geez, that's low! But she's still alive, getting turned, re-arranged, diaper checked, morphine given, and lots of kisses, touches, and 'I love You's" from the staff.

Why? My answer? By moving stuff around over and over, buying stuff that won't be used, and all this fussing over her at the nursing home, by all that, she knows she is loved. What are her last un-spoken words to the world?

"Do this for me and I'll know you love me".

On Vacation

I took the day off today. I spent a few hours this morning re-addressing some old, OLD stuff. Old like about 35 years ago old. Ticks me right the heck off when stuff creeps up on me and drop kicks me to the floor, but I've learned to roll with it, things get better MUCH faster if I roll with the punch.

So I rolled with the punch, had a good sniffling, hitching and snotty cry and decided to take the day off. I'm glad I did, for several reasons.

One: She slept all day anyway.
Two: She eats for other people if she gets hungry enough, and
Three: I'm not the all-powerful-saviour-of-the-world/family anyhoo!

What did I do on my day off? I went to visit a friend, bought myself a big fat box of Frosted Flakes and came home to pig out. I mowed the lawn, weeded my flower bed and now? I'm drinking wine like a person who deserves the best. (thought I was gonna say 'wine-o, huh?)

I think I'll take a long hot bath, get in my jammies, (yeah, so what it's only 3:30 in the afternoon, it's 5 O'Clock somewhere!) and watch movies. I hear the cheese and crackers calling me, and my wine glass is almost empty.

Have a great day, everyone.

Dummer Ants

It's been an up-and-down week, watching poor ol' maternal figure cry out in pain as the nurses shuffle her around to change her bedding, mess with her butt sore and try unsuccessfully to keep her on her side. She can cough better on her side, not to mention keeping off the horrible looking hole in her back side.

The poor thing is in a diaper and goes potty from a laying down position on a bed pan. I feel more sorry for her loss of dignity than I could ever feel sorrow for her pain and impending loss of life.... But she has a way of making it all better. Sort of like kissing a boo-boo better when I was 5 years old.

The other day I had a spoon of some kind of nursing home slop they call lunch and she was trying to grab for the spoon. Instead, she latched onto my index finger and pulled, pulled harder, and pulled yet again as a puzzled look crept onto her face. "You're pulling my finger, Mom" I told her. "Oops!" she said as the puzzled look was replaced by a small grin. Her eyes can't see, haven't seen a thing sans hallucinations for years, but that doesn't mean those eyes can't twinkle with mischief! "I might regret that" was her answer. Silly woman, I chuckled with her.

She tries so hard to chat, but her mouth simply doesn't obey her brain-commands sometimes, she was mumbling something about ant poison. Remembering a Murder Mystery we watched on TV a hundred years ago when she was still here at the house? Not sure... But I got the jist, we're talking about ant poison now, ok, I can follow that line.

I launch into a story about how I put ant poison on the ant hills in my yard but instead of dying, the ants simply move 2 feet over and start a new hill. In all her wisdom, (for surely old people have much wisdom to share); "Maybe you need dummer ants" she mumbles. I snicker, giggle, she smiles.

I popped in to see her the other day, she grabs for me in a panic, "WHERE'S THE DOG!?" The dog? The dog is with Ron. "Ok", she says, then; "WHERE'S THE CAT, WHERE IS THE CAT????" Her hand was flailing around, looking for my hand, or maybe the cat.

"The cat is home, on the porch", I tell her. "Oh", she settles down again. Next question from her was; "Are you going to Las Cruces today"? Las Cruces? I don't think so! I tell her no, she asks why and I explain that Las Cruces is a long, long way. She asked where I was going if not Las Cruces, I tell her I'm going home. "HOME?? That's an awful long drive, isn't it"? she asks

Aww, geez, she thinks she's back in New Mexico. I explained that home was close, about 25 miles, "Just up the road, Mom, real close". I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head as she tried to process that information. I saw her face relax as she separated the un-known from the known. 'Oh, yeah, I'm in Tennessee' was the read on her face. Poor thing...

I talked her into going outside for lunch yesterday, the nurses lifted her into a geri-chair and wheeled her outside. It was really nice out, about 70 degrees with a fantastic breeze. The breeze was trying to blow in some rain but only managed to blow in a TON of humidity. This made her cough uncontrollably and she was rushed back inside for her oxygen. Oh, I felt bad, but I'm glad she got to go outside. I think if she had her druthers, she'd die outside as opposed to inside....
The nurses shuffled her back into bed, amid her cries of pain. (She reminds me of my liquid cat, just hanging there in their arms). When they got her back on the bed they said "There, that wasn't so bad, right?" Mom said she had her doubts, that they might drop her. Then she said, "But I bounce, bounce like a ball". I guess she should know, she's been dropped here, once by me, once by my brother. Yes, she bounces like a ball, but more than physically, she bounces back to 'happy' even in the face of death. What can I learn from her?

Dogs, People and God

I went to see the Maternal Figure this morning, seems she had another mini-stroke. She is so weak that when she sat up in bed she listed over like the leaning tower of Pisa on soft ground.

She is so weak that she can't cough, can't hold her coffee cup or spoon, can't open a soda bottle, let alone get it to her lips and tip it up...

I had a dog, a mini- Pekingnese, Kelita was her name. I knew when she was 6 weeks old that her life would be short. She had seziures, allergies and a whole host of secondary problems caused by the medicines she was on. The vet told me that every day past age 6 would be a blessing. I was blessed for almost a year after age 6. At that time, I had to do the most awful thing, kiss her goodbye and let the vet give her the fatal shot.

Starting with the day I brought her home, I became her god, the one and only that provided her food, warmth, care, love and dicipline, and, ultimately, I provided her with a time of death. Why did I 'take my dog out' of this life? Because she was suffering unbelievable misery and was slowly dying a horrible day-by-day death and I, as her god, chose to end her misery. I bought her her favorite n0-no food, a big fat hotdog, took her to her favorite park and gave the best day I could have before the final visit to the vet.

Up until that day, she was my god-example. She loved me unconditionally, adored me even if I was having a grouchy day, and always, ALWAYS forgave me no strings attached.

So who is this guy in the sky with a lightning bolt coming out of the end of his finger, the guy with the long white beard and infinite wisdom anyway? You know, the guy who loves us so much he let his son die a horrible death to save us from our sins: The guy who loves us unconditionally, the guy who provides even the birds and the foxes, the guy who will makes the very stones cry out in worship of him if we don't get around to it once in a while? AND forgive us for forgetting him once in a while.

My {sinful} question is this: If this big guy that brought-us-into-this-world-and-can-take-us-out loves us half as much as I loved my dog, then why are people allowed to writhe in pain, gasp for breath, puke up every meal and live in complete misery until they drown in their own phlegm? My question is this: Why doesn't this all-knowing-all-loving god just take her home or where ever dead people go?

The church people say suffering comes from sin. Well I submit that the Maternal Figure hasn't exactly done the right thing every time but I vehemently deny that she acted in some kind of sin knowingly. This woman has scratched and struggled her whole life, and sin came TO her, not FROM her.

So why is she 'allowed' to lay in such pain, have her dignity thrown in the toilet and struggle for every breath? If she were my dog, she would be out of her misery by now. Go ahead, think I'm evil and hateful, I don't care. Watching a proud, independent woman suffer like this has added 10 years to my life and in my wee little know-nothing wisdom, it's not fair, what she's going through! God, if you're listening or reading, what the heck are you doing????