Tag: Mom

Friday’s Theme Music

The train pulled into Friday but did not stop, forcing us to jump on and off. Each day we think it’s a new beginning but we also think that it’s a continuation of what’s been going on, and Fridays in particular are a start and a finish. Meanwhile, we’re edging towards September’s final minutes, as this is the last day, the 30th. Tomorrow will be October 1, 2022. And we will start and end, begin and continue.

Sunrise whispered past some gray clouds hugging the green trees surmounting the hill line at 7:15 AM. I’d been up awhile before that. My lodgings are below the kitchen in Mom’s old house. I’d awakened a little before six. Listening, I heard water running and then the fast thumping of someone rushing. Springing up to go help, I continued listening and came to understand the flow of things. The heat was being turned on, and man’s partner was getting Mom her daily breakfast of half a bagel and a cup of decaf coffee with almond milk and hazelnut creamer. I usually do that and it was over an hour early. Not surprised because Mom, worn out by physical therapy, her nurse visit, and other visitors had passed on proper dinner, so she was hungry.

I went up at 7:30 and confirmed my conclusion. Mom was up and bright-eyed, sitting on her bed, busy with her phone and iPad. She continues improving. I do have a disagreement going on with her over meds. She’s convinced herself that a pill which the label describes as a white oblong has morphed into a pink pill. We looked the pink pill up the other day and identified it. Today, Mom says, no, that’s not what it is. Did I mention that she’s intelligent but as obstinate as a rock? She exasperates me.

8:45 now, it’s warmed up to 44 degrees F. The anticipated high is 18 degrees C. We will be rain-free but clouds and sunshine will skirmish for dominance. The 7:04 PM sunset will deliver night, and September will shift into October.

I have Gorillaz with “Feel Good Inc” in the morning mental music stream. This came up from watching Youtube videos from Cartier Family. The title, “First Time Hearing “Van Halen” Eruption Guitar Solo”, pulled me, so I watched it. After enjoying it, watched several more, including the Gorillaz webisode. The Neurons liked “Feel Good Inc” so here we are.

Stay positive, test negative. Keep good thoughts in mind for Florida, just as we have for every place being struck with disasters. Tiring of the parade of disasters, myself. Don’t mean to be callous but there it is.

Okay, here’s music. I got coffee, thanks. Hope your Friday goes well. Cheers

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Wednesday’s Wandering Thought

Mom has lived in many cities, states, houses, and apartments. He’s now in his mid-sixties. She’s almost ninety. There’s been many changes, but she still has the same salt and pepper shakers that they used when he was a little boy.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

The Neurons asked, “What day is this?” I replied, “You guys are supposed to be telling me these things.”

We decided it was Wednesday and then checked a wall calendar and the computer’s time and date. Yep, Wednesday, September 28th, 2022. If you close your eyes and listen, you can hear Christmas marketing in America coming. The computer tells me it’s “Grilled Cheese Sandwich Day”. I answered, “What?” I’m working on the day of the week and you’re telling me about some specious holiday? Is a “Grilled Cheese Sandwich Day” really necessary? It’s not like they’re donuts.

A sad sunrise of whitewashed gray clouds took place at 7:13 AM. I guess the time of sunrise each day and then look it up. Six out of ten times finds me with the right answer. I’m much better at guessing the temperature. It’s 46 F now. A heavy rain crashed down on us yesterday morning. Wouldn’t be startled to see another one today. Yesterday’s rain was fun because it poured in front but was relatively dry in the back, with just a little splashover. How about a high of 60 F today? Sounds about right. Feels about right. I either need to go back to Oregon or buy some warmer clothes. It’ll be in the mid-seventies back in Oregon. I looked it up.

Sunset? Yes, at 7:08 PM.

As I assumed morning duties for Mom, bringing pills, making breakfast and coffee, cleaning, etc, I was thinking along the cracks of, “Here I go again.” Somehow, The Neurons slipped in “Would?” by Alice In Chains from 1992 into the morning mental music stream. Why “Would?”? I wrote that just for that double question mark. Don’t have an answer. Guess it’s those lines, “Into the flood again, same old trip it was back then.” Maybe.

Mom is doing okay. Made her stay in bed yesterday. Ordered the same for this morning. I’ll let her come down for lunch. Let me tell you, having her obey isn’t as easy as it’s written, but she’s in good spirits and accepted my directive. No visits from nurse, PT or OT today, a good thing, as people drain her. Except me, she says.

Alright, coffee has arrived. Rather, it’s finished brewing and is teasing, “Heeerrre’s coffee!” Okay, I’ll be right over, I answer. Stay positive and test negative. Stay dry, safe. I know it’s bad in Cuba today, Puerto Rico is still recovering, and Alaska, and the thinking is that Florida might not have a good day. Do the best you can to help yourself and others.

Here’s the music. Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Inspiring sunshine scored the morning clouds, lighting the valley and the house’s eastern face. I put my face to it and breathed in cold, fresh air, admiring birds, squirrels, and chip monks as they took up business.

This was 7:30 AM, just after Tuesday’s sunrise at 7:12 on this 27th of September, 2022, in the Common Era. Umbrellas are called for this day as clouds have taken over and rain scents pepper the air. 55 F now, they tell us not to expect anything over 60 today. Yet I’m in shorts. Wear jeans, back to shorts today. Not like they’re glued or stapled to me. I can always swap my shorts for pants before sunset at 7:09 PM, if needed.

Mom had a rough morning. So did her partner, and my sisters, and me. That’s how it rolls. Diarrhea caused as a side effect of her antibiotics debilitated her. That all happened before 6 AM. She was to see her cardiologist but he went out sick. They still wanted Mom to come in and see the cardiologist’s nurse, but she convinced them that she was too weak, and the appointment was cancelled. They’ll reschedule after the cardiologist returns. A health care nurse is coming by at 2 to check on her, per a schedule set up yesterday.

My younger sisters vent a lot to me. This has impacted them, along with their children. All regularly visit Mom as they live in the area. I act psychologist to them, listening without giving advice. Seems to help.

Their thoughts about change and mortality prompted The Neurons to pull up a favorite song of mine. “Breathe (In the Air)” by Pink Floyd was part of the monumental album, “The Dark Side of the Moon”, released in 1972. I saw the group perform the album in concert. It felt like a transcendental experience. I’ve since seen them in concert several more times. I originally had the album on 8 track, then got it on cassette tape, vinyl, and finally, a digitally remastered CD. Yes, I like the album.

As the song says,

Run, rabbit, run
Dig that hole, forget the sun
And when at last the work is done
Don’t sit down, it’s time to dig another one

h/t to genuis.com

So life seems to be for so many, dig a hole, and then dig another, metaphors for work, work, work, work, work.

Hope you enjoy it. Stay positive, test negative, take care of yourselves and others. I’ve had coffee, thanks. I am ready for lunch and will have leftover chicken tortellini soup which my sister made and brought over yesterday. There’s plenty, if you care to have some.

Cheers

4

The Mom Dream

First, I was with other men. I was younger than now but can’t say what my age was. We’d been inside doing some unspecified activity. Finishing, we headed to elevators and exits. I was with one guy. White and young, I estimate him at six foot five and two hundred fifty muscular pounds. His hair was short, brown salted with gray.

We spoke briefly about the thing we just finished, alluding to its recurring nature. I said, “You know, we meet all the time to do this. We should get together outside and do something.”

He replied, “I’d like that.”

Now I’m at my place. Some rednecks are trying to rob me. I’ve become aware of this. They’re armed. We’re outside. I’ve hidden weapons outside. I drift around under their eye until I’m by a hidden pistol. Grabbing it, I start firing. It’s a plastic pellet gun and sprays yellow balls all over the place. They pull up similar weapons and fire back. We run around like that.

Others arrive. I realize that with the others there, the rednecks aren’t going to do anything. I’m not sure how many rednecks are present. At least two, including one with a thick and glossy black beard who seems to be their leader. Other people mill and chat, wine and champagne glasses in their hands. A redneck or two constantly follows me about, keeping me under watch, but I slowly grasp that they’re not going to rob me. Still, they make me uncomfortable and I want to leave.

I go into the house. A few people are in there but I notice that no rednecks are present. Going to a window, I climb out and run down the street.

I pass through a large activity room. People are sitting at tables. I think at first that they’re playing bingo, but they’re not. I hear Mom’s voice on speaker. Mom is on stage, moderating something. She’s in her mid-forties, about forty years younger than now. I’m surprised that Mom is moderating this. I listen to her asking and answering questions. Sometimes she laughs, but she always has a smile, red lips around white teeth.

Going on, I reach a crowded bus complex and join the queue to get on a bus. It’s a bottleneck. People are trying to go several different directions. Noticing this, I step back and let people go by since my line isn’t moving. Others see what I did and do the same. The bottleneck is cleared up, freeing me to enter the bus. It’s a huge one, like something companies use for tours or cross-country travel.

The bus starts up and begins moving. We’re driving down a steep hill. I’m in the back of the bus and Mom is driving the bus! I think, Mom is amazing, when did she learn to drive a bus? Someone back by me calls her name and then asked, “Did you ever figure out the GPS problem?”

Mom, laughing and steering, braking the bus at the hill’s bottom to turn, replies, “Yes. There’s a funy story there. Let me tell you.”

Just as Mom always used to do, except she never drove a bus. This is where the dream stopped.

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Monday’s Wandering Thought

His mother was doing great with her walker. That was good. The motorcycle noises she made — pretending that she was shifting, tires squealing, engine revving — were a little unnerving. But if it helped, he accepted it.

It just seemed a little strange. Then again, that was Mom.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

6:40 AM. I was outside looking for the sunrise. Cold and dark, no sign of sunshine stood out in the east. Sunrise was due at 7:20 but the impending event was being kept on the downlow.

Saturday, September 24, 2022, has been tagged. Less than a week of the year’s ninth month remains before 2022’s final quarter begins, the dreaded and dreamed upon fourth quarter. Dominated by the holiday season in the U.S., it’s a period heavy with sales, parties, and consumption. Yes, I don’t embrace the season with high spirits and open arms. But it’s the world we’ve created.

Meanwhile, it’s 45 F today, high of 18 C projected, sunset at 7:23 PM, providing us with twelve hours and three minutes of daylight.

Our family’s big news is Mom’s return home yesterday. First day went very well. She looks and sounds so much better, and ate well. Fingers crossed, knock wood, that it continues like this. Her foray through her inventory of daily medications stunned me. Morning, evening, night, sometimes taken multiple times a day, pills for everything were prescribed. Charts and pill cases keep it straight but it’s a mind-numbing collection.

I’ve tested negative for COVID now, but mild coughing and congestion continues. Did resort to two Tylenols last night, but no tissues were used last night, no cough drops consumed, only one glass of water down. Slow progress but progress counts. Other family members continue to test positive but everyone is feeling and doing much better.

Novel writing in this environment has been a challenge. I fight to eke out a page each day around the swirl of activity. Frustrating, yes, as thinking, attention, and continuity take hits.

“Chains of Love” by Erasure, a 1988 hit for them, occupies the morning mental music stream. The Neurons brought it up from the memory banks as I reflected on when to return home. Chains of responsibility, duty, concern, and love keep me staying with Mom in her home, but I have all of those out west with my wife and cats, who I miss. My wife and I exchange emails and speak on the phone. She’s doing well — they’re doing well. She says, stay as long as you want, as long as you’re needed. I’d like to go back to my beloved and to my routines, but these chains keep me here. It’s all metaphorical, of course. Leaving is my choice at any time. It’s another aspect of my fortunate life.

Stay positive, test negative, and so on. Take care of yourselves and your loved ones and community. Coffee? Not yet. The household is still asleep. Here comes the sun. Here’s the tune.

Cheers

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The Update

I live in Ashland, in southern Oregon. Events drove me east, to where Mom and several sisters reside in the Pittsburgh, PA area. On Friday, September 10, I took the redeye to Pittsburgh. Already down with COVID, Mom suffered a perforated appendix and also had COVID pneumonia, and was in Forbes Hospital, demanding morphine and fighting against being intubated. They moved her to a step down unit for more intensive monitoring and care, and was in isolation. Masks, gloves, and gowns were required to visit her, only two visitors at a time.

She’s recovered a lot since then. With antibiotics and treatment, her COVID subsided. The appendix perforation closed. Her pacemaker had only been working at less than 20%, so that was also a problem, as was a blood clot. The blood clot ended up in her spleen, which they said was okay, and her heart and pacemaker both increased to 50 % function. Pleased with her progress, she was discharged from the hospital last Monday and moved to a nursing home.

She liked the nursing home, Concordia. Physical therapy began. They told her she’d probably be there two to six weeks. That was pared down to two yesterday.

They released her today.

That surprised me. Apparently what precipitated it was a night of hell for her. Hearing about it, my sisters grew angry and charged down there.

You do not want to be in their way when my sisters are angry, especially if their family is involved. Move out of their way and in front of an oncoming bullet train. You’ll be safer.

Mom’s NoH included being abruptly taken off oxygen at midnight and not monitored. The night nurse had an attitude for whatever reason. She didn’t want to help Mom with her CPAC for sleeping and threw Mom’s phone on the floor. Mom’s door was open all night as another patient roamed the halls shouting, “I have a gun. I’m going to come in there and kill you.”

I’ve been staying at Mom’s house with her 92-year-old boyfriend, Frank, a great guy, but very passive, and under Mom’s control. Mom is 85. Her house was built eighty years ago. The steps are narrow and steep. It’s not built for a frail woman to get around and recover.

But this is why I’m here. I came here because it might’ve been time to say good-bye to Mom. I came here to give my sisters and Frank relief and support. Now I’ll be here to help give Mom care in her home. I don’t know what train of circumstances and logic led to the surprising decision that she’s being released today. It sounds like a crazy train, in my uninformed thinking. It’s a fluid situation. The sisters are racing back to the nursery home to learn more and, as necessary, help Mom get home. Per their thinking, I’m here, waiting for Mom to arrive in case my sisters don’t arrive in time.

Coffee is on. I think we’ll need a few cups. Here we go.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

You ever leaped out of bed and remember that you’re not at home and this isn’t your bed, so there’s a piece of furniture blocking your landing, remembering all of this midway through what was planned to be a burst of energy to start the day?

Yeah, me, neither.

But did you ever get out of bed full of spirit and rushed outside to check the weather and took a deep breath and asked, “Hello, world, what is that smell?”

The smell reminds me of a giant being cremated. To my knowledge of the area, there aren’t any crematoriums around but there could be, because I haven’t been here in a while. Maybe someone saw an available vacant lot and realized their dream of building their own crematorium. I don’t believe there are any giants in the area. Could be that there are and I missed the news. We’re living in strange times, as many people have said before me. I’ll conduct a net search for giants of Pittsburgh later, if I remember.

Birds are lustily giving voice in Mom’s yard on this Sunday morning. One keeps singing, jewka, jewka, jewka, chew. (Kind of reminds me of a Steppenwolf song, “Sookie, Sookie” from 1969.) I don’t know what kind of bird it is. I’ll google it later, if I remember. There are sparrows urgently flying around. All of this could have to do with the giant being cremated, I guess.

It is September 18, 2022, and the sun rose over three hours ago. That means about another nine hours of daylight are available. Leaves are falling like they do in some places that mutter, “Oh, time for autumn. Let the leafing begin.” Then a button is pressed and the trees start with a little surprise at being goosed because they’ve just been sunning themselves and enjoying life. Once they understand the goosing, they get with the situation, drop leaves and start changing their colors.

Mom was in great spirits last night. I visited her telephonically in the evening, because my COVID. (Much better, thanks.) They’re moving her to another place this week so she can rehab for a return to the outside world. She and I talked about her wishes should she go on. You know, pass. Die. She wants cremated. We talked about what music to play at her celebration and she said we should start with “Amazing Grace”, which she believes is a beautiful song. I agree with her. Neither of us think she’s going anywhere soon. We could be wrong. She scared me two weeks ago, and we often don’t have death tell us, “Heads up” before the final breath is taken.

Because it’s September and leaves are falling through the sixtyish weather under a charcoal-sketched sky, The Neurons have brought up, “Wake Me Up When September Ends”. Billy Joe Armstrong of Green Day wrote the song. The band released it in 2005.

Stay posi and test negy. Have coffee or whatever works for you, within reasonable parameters. Don’t want to get into the mess of defining that. What’s reasonable to one —

Well, anyway. I’m pouring coffee now. Enjoy your Sunday. Here’s the video. Go Steelers.

Cheers

2

Saturday’s Theme Music

Sunrise in Pittsburgh on Saturday, September 17, 2022, brought diffused yellow light to the steel city. 7:02 AM, it would take time to heat the chilly air. Summer was heading south for the winter. Fall was making its move.

Now at ten AM, heat has stirred the thermometer to 16 C. 81 F is where the air temp is expected to go before the sun’s impact shuts down at 7:28 PM.

Staying in Mom’s home, where she’s resided for over thirty years, I’m struck by both change and stasis, again. Some things about the house are so familiar and have been as they always were. That’s not in the architecture or layout but in the details of décor and organization. Mom’s authority and control is seen in every niche and nook. She decides all. This allows me to visit as if I’ve always been here. Just remember her habits and how she organizes, and everything can be found. Probably true for most people, especially when they’ve inhabited a space for so long, but I feel it more deeply with this place of Mom’s. Of course, it’s absolutely clean – cleaning is her therapy as writing is mine – she has told me that she loves to clean, because I thought it something imposed on her, but no, she says, no – and also inside that organized structure is bizarre chaos. Wild how the two co-exist.

Thought of change prods The Neurons to resurrect a favorite song in the morning mental music stream. “A Change Is Gonna Come” by Sam Cooke came out in 1964, when I was eight. It’s been part of existence’s fabric for almost my entire life, and it has always spoken to me. I’m not alone in this; Sam plugged into something special when he created this song. For today, though, I’m going with a Beth Hart version. She infuses it with that same strength of belief and sincerity that I hear in Sam’s voice. Hope you hear it, too. In some ways, she reminds me of Janis Joplin with this song.

Stay positive and test negative. Here’s the music. I’m off for a second cup of coffee. I’ll go out on the porch into the sunshine-warmed breeze to enjoy it. Enjoy the world in the best way you can. Cheers

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