Four full courses

Lots of Mom this week. She's been pretty good. Julie went Wednesday and they had a fancy dinner event at which they ate:

That's lamb and shrimp, potatoes, carrots and an orchid, which I think was strictly decorative. Entertainment was provided by an opera singer from the Florentine.

The picture doesn't show it, but the room was packed.

I went Friday, and today, Saturday, took her to a student string recital. So she's had a week full of culture. She can't watch TV, she can't read, she can't listen to the radio, but live music keeps her awake.

We found, in our endless packing, a diary she'd kept 20 years ago, when we'd left the kids with them for a week while we went away and had fun. Ahna was 7, Ezra 4, and she and Dad took them to the zoo, to parks, swimming in the pool, and twice to deliver Meals on Wheels to the shut-ins. She wrote that she read them the story of David and Goliath, and Ezra put rocks in his pockets, just to be prepared.

So I sat and read the diary to her -- she was amazed that she had written it -- but she kept stopping me, saying we had to be ready, we didn't want to miss the people, the people who were coming.  She couldn't say who this was, and I could only guess that in her family- and friend-crowded life, there was always someone coming, someone she didn't want to miss.

But it was also an expression of her anxiety. She can't sit still. There are only so many things you can do with her, and it will be sad if this overtakes her entirely and we lose the reading.

The best-laid plans

Packing

The house is thoroughly painted. As soon as we get it empty we'll put it on the market.

I biked to see Mom Saturday. It was a complicated plan -- visiting her, then leaving to view a condo, then returning. I thought, well, she gets two visits for the price of one. So I read her her devotions, then poetry from her poetry book. She says: "Stop now. I want to talk."

"Sure," I said.

"Yesterday," she said.

I waited. Waited some more. "Yesterday? Did something happen yesterday?"

Her eyes were fixed in the distance. She seemed about to say something. Once. Twice. Three times. I could see her searching, searching. She finally said, "I can't remember."

She wanted to lay down, so I got her into bed, put the bed alarm on. An aide came and said she would keep on eye on her. All was good.

So I left and walked to the condo viewing, just three or four blocks. Julie was there, the realtor. We went to three different buildings, all within a few blocks. My phone rang and I turned it off. Then, as we're heading back to Mom's, I listened to my messages.

"Just a minute after you left, your mom got out of bed, trying to find you. She fell. She's OK, I think. She hit her head and there was blood. We sent her to St. Mary's, just as a precaution."

I should have felt pity, I suppose, but it just made me mad. I was on my bike, we had a dinner plan with friends -- it was going to be such a jolly Saturday. Will she ever -- ever -- understand that she cannot walk without help?

Julie went to the hospital -- she's a keeper -- and I biked home. We had to cancel the dinner plan and we ate, just the two of us, in our empty kitchen. Mom got four staples to close her cut.

And, as penance for our various sins, Mom and I went to chapel on Sunday.

Isn't moving fun. 

A good Sunday

A long church service today, and Mom was great. They had special music from Stile Antico, a British singing group. There were a dozen members and they sang a cappella, music from the 14th, 15th, 16th centuries, a blanket of woven chords -- gorgeous.  Mom was right into it -- perched forward in her chair, singing with the hymns, responding to the liturgy.

We went to the Bistro and sat at the big table, a first. All the "cool" people sit there and hold forth. Mom was quiet, as she almost always is. She tucked into her apple pastry and seemed content.

I brought her up, and she wanted a rest, so I got her into bed. Immediately she says, "I have to go to the bathroom." So I let an aide rescue me, came home and paid her bills.

Sigh

What I am reduced to
(at least the chair is smiling)

It's been a tough week, with mom, moving and work. Sister S has been here, which has been a huge help.

Julie and I were supposed to see a condo in a couple hours, but the realtor called and said there was an offer on it. He'd still show it, but I just want to nap.

We had an anniversary Wednesday and spent the night downtown. Nice. But I am still coming to grips with this move, and still pretty much hate it. I have no traction, no routine, no place to work. 

The job, I feel like -- who the hell cares. 

And the Mom thing -- I'm not in love with that either. 

I'll work on my mood, and that's my final offer.