Chez Rozarie

The 'rents have moved out...it is official...well, their bodies aren't here, most of their belongings are gone.  Their mail is still coming here, baseball cards still around, and some other detritus. Let's do the mail first.  Dad wanted to wait until he officially changed his address with the Department of Motor Vehicles to change his address with the Post Office.  Well, all right, not a big deal.  I see him almost every day at Joe's Diner, and go over to the new place 3 or 4 times a week.  He changed his address at the DMV, after asking everyone he met everywhere how to go about doing this.  I had suggested he go online (he is paying a lot for internet access!!!) and look up how to do this, easily and quickly.  That just wasn't enough.  Dad went to the Bridgeport DMV, got the form, did the paper, and got the stickers.  Then he spent the next week asking everyone he met everywhere about putting on the stickers...where do they go...uh huh. ...

The grand move has been semi-completed.  Furniture is moved, clothing is moved, the 'rents moved.  Senior housing now has them!  While the move took place, we were away.  As some of you may know, I am a bit controlling.  As such, we kept our plans for that weekend, and stayed away from the fun.  Of course, that meant I had no control of what went and what stayed. Dad, as some of you may remember, is a hoarder...he doesn't just have tendencies...he IS one.   Moving was especially challenging for him.  While the entire space is large in the new place, he was moving items from a storage unit, and items from their room here.  The room here was packed to the gills, as used to be said.  Under the bed, very top of the closet, very bottom of the closet, packed up dressers (4 of them!), bookcase, external closet IKEA thing (top, bottom) - all full of "stuff". The bulk of the "stuff" is baseball cards...the ones that are the "money" cards are ...

I know, it's been awhile.  So much material, so little sit down and write time this month!  That's a good thing, I know.  Saw the kid in NOLA, doing some serious work with deadlines, and some really fun volunteer work, too. I still have to chill with the 'rents at times, though, especially now.  This is the season they get a little bit squirrelly - the weather changes, and the bug to go south is churning in both of their souls.  You can see it, feel it - it's wistful, yearning, a hint of sorrow in the voice when they remark about the changing leaves, or the chill in the air.  Both of them load up on sweatshirts and jackets, while we walk around in our shorts.  Dad, amazed and aghast, continually says, "Put a coat on!" to me, like I'm five. This week, I spent one to one time with Mom a bit more than I usually do.  I picked her up from the program she attends at the Baldwin Center.  Now, I know I've written a little about this, but bear wit...

Over the past few days, there have been some interesting communication issues that I've noticed.  They've likely been present all along, but there must be something in the air that is making me see them. First (and I realized this about a year ago!), I noticed that my Dad and I share similar traits.  This has frightened me into really making some efforts to chill the chattiness - my own, that is, not Dad's!  There is no hope for him, I've afraid.  I always thought Mom was the gossipy one.  I now see it was always Dad.  Mom did talk, but really not about other people...Dad gossips and spreads bad information.  He talks in a form of bar talk, in other words.   If you've ever worked in a bar, or gone to a bar, or whatever, you know what I mean.  You listen to people, and you know they are not telling the whole truth (nothing but the truth???).  Maybe you even agree with that person, so as not to cause a ruckus.  If you disagree,...

Well, we went away for 2 weeks to a lovely paradise in Vermont on a small lake...we were totally prepared, we thought, for leaving the old folks home "alone".  We took our dog.  That was the important step.  Dad really can't control him, and Mom likes to let him out.  Since Dad doesn't always watch Mom, you can see how this might be a problem.  We don't have a fenced in yard, and we live on a really busy street!  Dad was upset we were taking him, but we didn't care.  It worked out well for everyone concerned, except for Mom. According to Dad, Mom wandered around all the time, looking for Santana.  Mom and Santana have a great relationship.  Mom gets food from Dad.  Mom gives her food to Santana.  Santana doesn't tattle, and Dad thinks Mom ate the food.  Of course, Mom missed Santana! Next step was to send an email with all of everyone's contact information, including the land line for Vermont (baaaad cell service there!). ...

Mom and Dad love to go to Joe's Diner.  Mom has a high comfort level there.  She knows Johanne, and Adrienne, and both Nick and James.  Dad can have her go sit while he talks to people, telling men to remove their hats, telling Nick how to utilize his time better when cooking, flirting with Johanne and Adrienne, and schooling James on all aspects of the short order process.  Mom sits and makes faces at him while Adrienne brings their coffees over. Mom has either a short stack or 3 pieces of french toast (you already know about the cutlery concerns now happening).  Dad gets eggs and potatoes and white toast.  He only gets meat when someone else is paying (ham slice or sausage).  He wants his coffee to be steaming.  When I sit with them, I share the carafe that I get, and that's not hot enough for Dad. Next to Joe's is Stratford and Surf Beverages, a liquor store owned by a close family friend.  He sponsors Cycle Sundays...the Diner is open...

We went out to dinner tonight, with the family...Casey was certainly missed, and talked about (in a really nice "we miss her" way).  The occasion was my parents' 56th wedding anniversary.  Miah and Meghan were there as well.  Just a small group. Mom kept asking if there was room for the "other group".  We said no, that it was just us tonight.  We wanted an adult dinner this time.  We went to Riverview, on the Housatonic.  Mom sat so she could see the River.  Dad was across from her, and I sat next to her.  She needs help with silverware these days, and can't always figure out things like butter.  It was better I sat next to her, for sure. Mom, when she sat down and got all settled in, checked the view..."Who lives over there?" she asked as she looked across the river to the Devon side, where the houses back onto the water and have nice docks.  The best thing to day is answer her with a name..."Joe", I said, which satisfied her, ...

I primarily work out of my home these days, as most of you know.  I got a call last night to pick up the tail end of an online class, so I should have been grading most of the afternoon, and now.  I had to stop awhile ago, as Dad dropped Mom off in my office, and said, "Sit with Judi, and she'll tell you that you live here." He does this with some frequency, which makes me wonder what he does when she starts asking him questions about her life when I'm not here.  For Mother's Day, we made Mom a notebook, with pictures and explanations of all the important people in her life over the past 25 years.  This is what he is supposed to give her to help with what is typically called sun downing. My theory of sun downing is that this is the time Mom remembers that she doesn't remember.  Because of this, it is a very upsetting deal for her.  My Mom is still vibrant, funny, concerned about her appearance, wears her bracelets every day.  She still jokes, and m...

Life is getting just a bit trickier, these days.  One of many issues, Mom either physically cannot hear well (say "what" and smile...I know!), or she is so unfocused there is no concentration.  One of her favorite phrases:  "What are you talking about?"  Dad wants to get her hearing tested, and at first I thought that was a good thing, but the more I think about it, I see problems. First, the testing.  She's good with that part of things, but it will be confusing ("What are we here for?  I can hear just fine..."). Second, hearing aids?  If she needs them, who will be "in charge"?  Dad has very expensive VA provided aids...can't remember where he puts them (Jeremiah and I went to Florida to get them...they were here in Stratford ON HIS BUREAU the whole time)...and right now the batteries are dead ("I have to order them...Oh...I forgot to order them").  So, will she wear them if she has to?  What about feedback and the beeping...

Self reflection can be difficult.  Spending so much time with Dad these past few weeks has really made me take a look at myself.  As children, most of what we know is from our parents.  We watch them, play we are them, incorporate their habits into our own whether we know it or not. Then we become teenagers, where everything our parents do is horrid and awful and an embarrassment.  However, we don't know, at that point, that it is really too late.  We've already picked up some major habits. As we hit our twenties, and begin to marry and have our own identities, we swear we won't do what they did, with our kids if we have them, with our homes, with our lives.  Now, I know you see where I'm going with this.  It really doesn't matter what we swear, does it? We've all found ourselves saying what they did, doing what they did...it's like the revenge of the old, isn't it? Dad, as some of you know, talks to everyone.  He doesn't care what he says...

Dad and my neighbor have been hanging around in the backyards a lot lately.  My neighbor is undergoing treatment for an illness, and is around most days.  That, of course, makes Dad sad and happy.  Sad, because he knows our Neighbor is ill, happy because he has a "Pal". So Dad checks on our Neighbor every day.  Those of you who are regular readers understand how crazy that can make someone (me!).  They make their plans for meeting later on, with various projects on tap.  For example, our Neighbor was cleaning out the shed where the gardening implements are stored in their yard.   Dad went over, and acted like the supervisor... "You could fit that over there...and put that over on that side...do you really need that?" Our Neighbor, well, you can imagine what he said back.  It involved some profanity, and tongue-in-cheek comments.  Our Neighbor really likes Dad so he has a good, joking relationship with Dad, which works for Dad, too. ...

I think Dad is finally committing to staying North.  The Florida house is cleaned up, and cleaned out.  He rented a storage unit and brought his "stuff" North.  Things like white leather chairs, photo albums, clothing all made the trip.  Lots of bins, too, I'm sure.  I didn't see any of the "stuff" - he went directly to the storage place from the road...my instructions, of course.  He now has a place to go and do some work too, as he goes through his storage unit, and starts to clean up his previous unit (our basement!). The "List" has increased importance in his life.  The "List" is the senior housing list in Stratford.  He talks about it every day.  He's already looking for more furniture at tag sales, for the kitchen and living room of whatever unit they get!  I'm glad to see him excited about it all, but remain very concerned about Mom, with all of this. Mom has another pesky UTI, and there are medication issues now.  I do...

Last week, I had the privilege of spending a lot of time with Mom.  At 74, she is at least 10 years into her initial diagnosis of Alzheimer related dementia.  We have reason to believe she was already experiencing memory issues at least 3 years earlier, based on some journals we found in Florida.  We also have reason to believe that this diagnosis may have been "lazy" - based on observations of behavior rather than physical verification.  Last year, she had strokes that brought the question up that she may have a combination of both Alzheimer related dementia and vascular dementia.  This is likely a good thing, in the dementia world as vascular dementia isn't as fast moving as the big "A".  There doesn't seem to be, based on various doctors she sees, any reason to verify this combination.  There is no difference in treatment at this point.  She has no additional blockages that would be a vascular issue. So, there are things Mom can do, and thing...

Well, it's been a while since the last post, so I am certainly behind!  Lots going on so here goes... Dad has decided he MUST go to Florida.  He needs to clean out the house of his and Mom's stuff, so he can sell it.  The status of his trip changed daily.  "I'm going to drive by myself, and I'm leaving Thursday."  "I'm going to fly and rent a storage unit in Florida for our important things."  "I'm taking your mother and there's nothing you can do about it.  We're leaving Thursday and driving down."  "I'm going to fly with your mother, and fly back." These statements were heard by so many people as well.  Dad picked up his mother's habit of calling everyone in the world he knows every day.  Over the course of the first 2 weeks in March, his plans daily changed.  Finally, he made his decision.  "I'm flying out on Easter, renting a car, and driving it back with our important stuff.  You can watch...

We've heard the same phrase now over the past few months.  Every time we ask about something, Dad says, "It wasn't me."  Now, it could be about the simplest thing, like "Does anyone know where the frying pan is?" or "Why is this door open?" or "THE STOVE IS ON. WHY?"  Dad just replies, "It wasn't me." Today was the funniest, I think.  There was a cap to a beverage container on the table.  I picked it up as I was stacking the newspapers, and said to Dad, "Why is this here?"  Dad immediately popped in with "It wasn't me."  I said, "I don't care that it wasn't you.  If you don't know why it's here, then just say I don't know." I threw the cap away. A few days ago, it was the scariest, though.  Dirk came home, called me downstairs, and showed me the burner on low on the stove.  I was horrified, and we quietly called Dad into the kitchen.  We were calm (not an easy thing, ...

Yes, they have brought it here, I just KNOW!  First February in over 22 years that the 'rents have been in Connecticut!  It started Friday morning... Dad was already feeling housebound...Must've been because he left the front door open all night Thursday.  He says on Friday morning, after I suggested he remember to close the doors when he leaves the house, then again when he comes home. "It wasn't me", actually came out of his mouth.  Well, Dad, now I'm not shoveling out the front of the house, so YOU will HAVE to use the back door.  There will be no more discussion of this till spring (yeah, right!).  Of course, we will have to get rid of those 6 foot drifts in order to get mail, so I'm just blowing smoke! He did prepare, by doing yet another grocery trip on Thursday.  But he bought soda...can't run out of Root Beer!  and blueberry muffins!  Meat, chicken, actual real food?  No.  Good thing I'm a New England girl...I bought t...

Getting used to January with the old people is taking a bit.  "It's cold" is what I hear every single day, morning, afternoon, and evening.  Dad keeps saying it, as if he didn't live here for 55 years before going to Florida immediately after Christmas for the past 23 years.  Mom says, "It's not that bad", just to piss him off, of course. I've been making sure they have their gloves, hats and scarves on all the time when they go out, especially this past week.  Remember when your kids were little, and you got all their outdoor gear on, then they had to go to the bathroom?  Well, I try to remember to ask Mom to pee first. Dad thinks she should only wear corduroys when it is below freezing.  She has 3 pairs...so after the first week of cold, he has decided she can wear jeans as well...or else he is washing clothes twice a week. The other day it snowed.  I was outside shoveling...Dad comes out with his slippers (well, his old man slipper shoes - w...

Mom finally came out of the crazy hallucinatory fun on Sunday night, with a return to reality.  Her reality, however, was based about 20 years ago or earlier. "When are they leaving?  Where do we live?  Who lives here?  Why didn't anyone tell me this is where we live?" Dad, not really having the patience to answer any of those questions, brought her upstairs to me.  I brought her into their room.  "Here's your bed, your dresser, and your things.  You live here, with us." Ma: "Since when?  and why?  Am I cuckoo?" Me: "Well, for a while, the house in Lordship you sold to Nancy, and then she sold it and you came here to live with us.  You do have an illness that messes with your memories and your brain." Ma: "So we don't live there anymore?" Me: "Nope, not for about 9 years now." She didn't remember Florida at all, nor did she ask where Nancy was, or what was going on with her.  Dad just ...