Well Now

In my previous life, the one I can barely remember anymore, Tuesdays were spent going to the nursing home to visit my mom - with my dad.

I liked to go on Tuesday because of the hymn sing in the afternoon. My mom can still sing the old hymns and it always did us good to see her enjoying herself.

So today I ventured out alone, just a short time after writing the post below. That should have been a clue. Something embarrassing was bound to happen.

And, of course, it did.

They were already singing when I came in. I found my mom, sitting with two other ladies at a table. She didn't seem to recognize me at first, but she was trying to steal the hymnbook from either of the two ladies at her table. They can't give her one anymore, as she likes to rip them up. When I whispered in her ear that she didn't need a hymnbook because she already knows all the words to all the songs in it, she lit up and immediately recognized me (well sort of, she introduced me to one of her intended victims as her sister).

I think I've written here before about how singing hymns at the nursing home has nearly done me in before. But I seemed to be doing okay. Mom and I shared our little secrets. She seemed happy. But, she seemed more interested in chatting with me while everyone around us sang, and those closest protected their hymnbooks.

While the 'special music' was singing she inquired about the health of several family members, mentioning them by name. We sang Amazing Grace and by the last verse she had decided to join in.

Then it happened. The next song sung was "In the Garden". This song was played at my dad's funeral last month. At the funeral it was a beautiful rendition sung by Jim Nabors. The nursing home singers sounded more Mayberry - GOOBER Pyle. And my mom? She joined in with wild abandon. Okay, maybe not 'wild abandon' but she did indeed join in and sang every word of all the verses in perfect pitch alto. And I just lost it. Sobs. I didn't actually crawl under the table and roll around in a fetal position, but it didn't seem out of the question to end up so.

Maybe I haven't mentioned this here yet, but from the very moment my dad died I have not been able to cry. Not at all. Not even a teensy little bit. I felt sad - but nothing even remotely resembling crying would come out of me.

I tried hard to hold it together. We haven't told my mom that dad died, because she would not be able to remember it and would have to be told again and again - feeling it each time like it was the first time she heard. Or, so it would seem.

The concern in her eyes when she noticed me crying was immediate. She might not remember exactly who I am, or why I wouldn't have brought dad with me, but she did recognize emotion, and began rubbing my arm and saying, "It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."

There were more songs sung after that, and I tried to pull myself together. I was doing rather well, I thought, until several people approached me who hadn't heard that my dad had died and inquired about how he was doing.

I snuck away to a nearby bathroom and that's when I realized why I do not cry in public. I totally lack the ability to cry tears. Obviously, I MAKE tears, they just have no avenue for spillage. They drain down the insides of my cheeks and cause my lips to swell until my mouth resembles the bill of a large lipstick-wearing duck. It's unsightly, and only served to make me cry all the more. And, instead of making me feel better, crying only makes me feel even more miserable.

Let it be said that I tried my best. The very kind lady who had given my dad the story about the man visiting his wife at a nursing home was there today. I was able to tell her how much it had meant to him, and that his oldest grand daughter had read it at the funeral.

My mom and I had a very nice visit at the coffee/cookie time after the hymn sing. I was able to drive home okay, although with blurried stinging eyes and lips flopping around over my chin.

All afternoon I had this incredible feeling that my dad was there. There was a point at the nursing home that I was certain that if I turned around he would have been sitting there quietly. Like he always did.

(I wish there were a script for this.)

Had I Known...

I would have just stayed in bed all day. BUT, no. There were things that needed doing. Today was THAT DAY when I hoped to get caught up on things that I had paid absolutely no attention to since, oh, I'd say about June.

And, I actually felt quite happy to do them! After an early morning mug of coffee and a 20 minute stay in front of the TV (i like my dvr) watching "Less Than Perfect" I was ready to tackle it all.

I moved furniture, lugged books around, moved stuff, rearranged, dusted a few things and then, went to empty the trash.

That is when the 'accident' occurred. I was adding the bathroom trash into a bigger trash bag when I fumbled (fumbling happens to me a lot) the bag and a rather large amount of trash fell into the toilet. My pretty pink toilet. Not even hesitating (or swearing) I reached in and grabbed what I thought was everything that needed grabbing. Then, I flushed the rest.

I should NOT have done that.

No. I should NOT have.

If you ever find your self in this position, don't flush. It is NOT the right thing to do.

Above you will find pictures of what I managed to do, while water poured from the pretty pink toilet all over my nice clean toes. And, everything else. What is it about water seeking it's own level? Why wouldn't it just stop because I yelled "Stop doing that!".

I feel like Joan Crawford when it comes to wire coat hangers, but I did happen to have one, and it happened to be in the bathroom. While holding up that doo-hickey in the back of the toilet I was able to stop the water with one hand (no. there is NOT a shut-off knob on this toilet - the OTHER two toilets have them but not the pretty pink one.) and untwist the wire coat hanger with the other.

Although, before my eyes landed on the wire coat hanger I did try jamming some pretty pink pitchers, cups and even an angel hugging a lamb under the doo-hickey. Nothing worked. (the water runs really fast into the pretty pink toilet. not sure why. no other water in that bathroom runs fast. hmm. much to ponder. later.) Once I got the hanger under the doo-hickey I still didn't have anything to hook it too. I do not like standing in water while trying to think. My best thinking happens when there is not a crisis and my feet are dry.

By then I was starting to think that maybe the problem wasn't only that the water was still running, but quite possibly the problem was that the lower doo-hickey wasn't closing (answer me this. with which hand would you have tried to find that out? oh, well. whatever.) Toilets are full of little unnamed doo-hickeys. Have you noticed that?

Anyway.., I saw that the cord to the blinds would reach, but I still didn't know what to tie it all to, or even if that would work. Just so you know, those little beads that hang on the end of the cords? Those are handy little beads. I looped the cord through the hanger and finagled it until the beads caught on some old curtain rod hook that I used to wish weren't there.

Listen? Do you NOT hear the sound of running, splashing, gurgling water? Neither did I!

This finally gave me time to grab a towel (why do i only keep one towel in there?) and happily skip down to the basement, all the time giddy that I actually REMEMBER how to shut the water off to the pretty pink bathroom (it pays to ask.). The happy skipping ended when I opened the door only to find out what level the water had sought. Oh, well. Just empty boxes. A lot of empty boxes. A lot of WET empty boxes.

Underneath the waterpipe knobs was an open step ladder. I stood on it, reached the knobs, said aloud; Right-y tight-y, left-y loose-y - grabbed more towels and ran back upstairs, amazed that I did not slip in any level seeking water.

Presently, I THINK I have the problem solved. Just in case, I am NOT turning the water back on until there are actually TWO people in this house. One in front of the pretty pink toilet, and one in the basement under it. That seems wise.

And it would also be wise of me to remember that if I already have my arm elbow-deep in a toilet, I might as well just grab EVERYTHING in reach and not assume that the thing that looked like a kleenex actually IS just a kleenex. Because, it wasn't.

For the record (we have established that there IS a record) I am now caught up on laundry. I haven't been able to say this since, oh, probably some year that started with a 19, or, at the very least, ended in 08.

I want to lay down. For a very loooong time.

Reaching for Maturity

My dad had a doctor's appointment today. His cardo doctor was VERY impressed. His heart failure is MUCH improved.

His blood pressure meds will need to be adjusted though. Any changes in his medication makes me regret not having a degree of any sort in medicine. I carry around a pretty detailed list of my dad's meds, but today I had to resort to "he's on a new one, it starts with 'sp' and ends in 'tone'.

I've never been one to tolerate fools gladly, especially when I'm the fool.

And, I still have enough of a headache to think that 'fool' is a really funny sounding word.

In the afternoon, I took a little bit of time to finish up some projects.

I also noticed that the shirt I was wearing had too much of a shabby look to it, so I cut it up. I like the machine appliqued flowers on the pocket and collar, and I think the cuffs might make cute little wrist bands.

No. I cannot just throw something away. I hear that has become rather fashionable. I just do it because I'm weird that way.

My head still feels a bit addled, but I am coping.

(so. how'd i do? i really want to whine, but i'm trying to be grown-up about it.)