Vacant Brain

Yesterday we got a call from Lugia, Leola's caregiver. She said she was going to have to start charging an extra $1000 a month for Leola's care because she is still getting up at night. Frankly, I'm surprised it took them this long.

Jon had a meeting in Vancouver this morning, so he went to see her on his way home. He told me she had even more memory loss just in the last 10 days since he saw her last. She didn't remember she had children, nor did the names of her two husbands mean anything to her. Before, if you reminded her of the names, she would remember, sort of. She recognized Jon's face, but didn't know who he was. Jon said she looked worse physically, too. She had a pasty, pale face with circles under her eyes. She had difficulty getting up out of her chair, which was new. She has stopped going outside and walking so much, which I'm sure is a relief to the caregivers, but certainly a change in behavior. However she seemed happy and in good spirits. I guess when you have a vacant brain, you can't remember enough to be unhappy. Literally every minute is like starting over.

He spoke with Lugia who said Leola can't remember anything at all. For example, one morning when Lugia was helping her dress, she said, "You put this on and I'll be right back. Then we'll have breakfast." Apparently Lugia was gone only 2 minutes. When she came back in, Leola was in bed thinking it was bedtime since she had already been wearing her nightgown. Toward the end of her stay with us she had, a couple of times, come upstairs with her nightgown and robe on saying she going to bed and it would only be 4 o'clock in the afternoon. When we pointed out the time, she would laugh and say, "Of course it is. I don't know what's the matter with me." Now she doesn't get it. She really doesn't know what is going on.

When Jon left she didn't get out of her chair to walk with him to the door, which she has always done.

Memoir Lost

A couple of days ago Jon spoke to Lugia, Leola's caregiver. She reported Leola still is leaving the house about 30 times a day requiring one of them to get her and bring her back in. In his usual direct way, Jon asked her if this meant Leola wouldn't be able to stay there any longer, because if that was what she was trying to tell us, we would like to know now so we can come up with plan C. She insisted, no she can stay, but Leola might need a change in medication. Apparently one day Lugia found Leola in her room pacing back and forth like a rat in a maze. Jon and Lugia talked with the doctor and a medication change was made. Since I am out of the loop on her care these days, I don't know what the medications were/are.

In the middle of the night last night, Leola got up to use the bathroom and must have grabbed onto her 6 ft bookshelf to steady herself. It came crashing down, splintering into shards, but fortunately she wasn't hurt and the shelving unit didn't have much in it. Obviously, the crash woke up the whole house and all the residents creating mayhem for all of them. Jon was told about the incident when he went to see her today to bring her some of the clothes we went through last weekend.

When I asked him how she was, he was quiet.

He said, "She seemed sedated. She hardly even got out of her chair."

"Did she like seeing the clothes you brought?"

"She recogonized some of them, but she didn't really care that much. Lugia told me she needs help dressing herself now. Otherwise she puts things on in the wrong order or has too many layers on - as though she forgets she already put on a slip and puts on another one. Or else she forgets to take off her nightgown and just dresses over it. I don't know."

I could tell the visit upset him. "She asked me if I was her husband. When I told her I wasn't, she said, 'Well who are you?'" he said.

He went on to say that when he arrived she was reading the autobiography she had written 10 or 15 years ago. She used to read and reread it a lot during the summer when she was living with us. She asked us almost every day if we had read it, too. Of course we had. Now however, she didn't remember she had even written it. In fact, she asked Jon if he wrote it. She had always been so proud of writing that little memoir and now she doesn't recall it. It seems there are thousands of small losses in this process.

food for the soul

Like many people, I have a list of things I want to do "some day" or "when I'm retired". Now that I am retired, I'm beginning to check some of those things off a list. I read all 7 volumes of the Harry Potter books in August and September. Currently, I'm watching Season 4 of the Sopranos. I'm trying to learn Photoshop

Another task I've been putting off is going through all my mother's recipes. This is less because of lack of time, but rather an avoidance on my part of the memories that would follow. After she died, Patrick gave me a stack of folders containing recipes she had brought with her when she moved in with him. I don't remember when she organized the recipes into these pocket folders, but it must have been during the 1980's. After returning home to Portland from Alabama, I stuck them up in a shelf in the kitchen cabinet along with cookbooks and my own folders of recipes. Jon made the comment that my recipe files look " just like your mother's". I was a little offended at first (mine are surely better organized!), but I realized he was right. Both were collections of recipes collected from magazines, newspapers and other people stashed into dog-eared folders with general labels like, "Desserts" or "Pasta". Many were decades old and some were dishes that had never been made.

Last weekend, I decided it was time to go through my mother's recipe folders. It was like walking through the last 50 years of my mom's life. A woman who loved food, she gained a lot of weight during her late 30's and 40's, which is not so unusual. However, her overeating was a way to cope with the depression from her unhappy second marriage. She withdrew and became semi-reclusive, but her world revolved around food and making meals for her family. My grandmother and aunt were also good family cooks and many recipes were from them as well.

Since I was looking for a couple of my grandmother's old Christmas cookie recipes, I started with the largest folder labeled "Cookies". There must have been 250 recipes in this folder. When I saw Mom's handwriting on the recipes for Snickerdoodles and Raspberry Squares, I immediately went back to that kitchen on Mulberry St. where we lived before my father passed away in 1958. Then there were the dozens of recipes clipped from women's magazines like "Good House Keeping" and "McCalls". There was even a recipe for persimmon cookies which must have been inspired by the persimmon tree in our neighbors yard in St. Louis, but I don't remember her ever making them.

Some of the older recipes had been clipped from boxes or bags of American Beauty spaghetti, Domino sugar and Old El Paso. There were some truly horrible early microwave oven ideas (deviled ham loaf) clipped from the "women's section" of the St. Louis newspaper dated 1973. I counted 37 recipes for variations on broccoli-chicken casserole. Funny, I don't remember eating that very often. Possibly she was on that kick after I had left home. The newspaper's food writers were really reaching for it when they came up with concoctions like"Pesto Mexicali" or "Mexicana Mostaccioli". Nacho pasta anyone? There were at least 6 versions of Tamale Pie, which, if memory serves, was a favorite of my brothers in the late 60's and early 70's.

As I made my way though the folders, I was reminded of some of her favorite foods just by the sheer numbers of recipes (Mexican food) as well as her dislikes by the absence of others, like fish. The only fish my mom ever cooked was shrimp or canned tuna. She loathed fish.

I recognized food fads and trends that came and went over the years - remember twice baked potatoes, breakfast casseroles or layered salads, calling for a cup each sour cream and mayonnaise? Speaking of mayonnaise (another favorite of hers), I found oodles of dips and appetizer recipes. Remember those ham and cream cheese roll-ups? There was even a mayonnaise pie. Huh?. Then came the 80's & 90's when she tried to make everything low fat in an attempt to lose weight. (It didn't work.) Everything was made with fat free mayo, fat free sour cream, low fat margarine, (it wouldn't melt!) and lots of whole grains, beans and rice.

Mostly, when my brothers and I were younger (roughly between 1955 - 1964), she didn't cook any of this stuff (except the cookies). Our dinner staples as kids were fried chicken, ham, corn and potatoes (any and every style), frozen vegetables, gumbo and jambalaya. We also had liver and tongue, which my youngest brother, Patrick (who called it "cow tongue") refused to eat. He said, "I'm not going to eat something that can taste me back!" I refused to eat the tuna casserole. We sometimes had hamburgers, hot dogs, macaroni and cheese (homemade) and spaghetti with meat sauce. After my mom remarried in 1964, things began to change. I was 13 and my brothers were 10, 8 and 7. Suddenly we were eating more red meat and BBQ was big, but fried chicken still reigned.

I found her recipe for BBQ sauce and chili sauce which she used to make with tomatoes from her plants in the back yard.

The recipes I discovered that made me smile the most were from my Uncle Thad. One was for his Bloody Mary (which I pleasantly remember getting hammered on as a young adult) and his Scotch Old Fashioned, which my mother adored. I made one for myself (even though I didn't have the required marischino cherry juice from Thad's recipe) and toasted to my mother, my grandmother, my aunt and to Thad for an afternoon full of tasty, bittersweet memories.

PS I didn't find my grandmother's cookie recipe I was looking for and I realized why. They were called Bourbon Cigars. My mother didn't care for bourbon, so she never made them. However, my aunt did have the recipe which she promptly sent to me.

Clothes

Jon spent a good part of the day with Leola yesterday. The caregivers said she needed some slippers. I know she has some, but Jon thought they wanted her to have slippers that would keep her from going outside since she's still doing that. He took her shopping, to lunch and on a couple of errands he had.

He returned from his time with her depressed and weary. Her confusion is profound now. She asked him if he had children at least 8 times within a half hour, didn't know what his relationship was to her and repeatedly talked about wanting to go home. He feels she isn't happy there, but realizes she won't be happy unless she is in a childhood home with her parents again, which of course is impossible. Her health hasn't changed at all (seemingly unaffected by the cancer).

As I've mentioned, her room has been untouched since she moved to foster care 2 months ago. Maybe it was the visit with her yesterday or maybe he just needed time to process all of it, but Jon woke up today ready to start going through her things. I secretly jumped for joy since I can't wait to get that shit out of here. He is bothered by a certain fragrance that seems to permeate many of her clothes, coats, linens and throw pillows. Its origin is no doubt from a previously long-time use of a certain perfume. I don't find it unpleasant, but it is noticeable. Jon can't stand it, so he went to a carton business and got 2 big wardrobe boxes so he can put her clothes in the storage locker. So here we were once again going through her decades-old garments, doing triage with them - one pile to put in the boxes, another pile to take to her foster care and another pile to throw out. If a garment was stained, ripped or worn it went into the throw-away pile. These were things that weren't good enough for the Good Will. Sure enough, there were a lot in the throw-away category. I was pleased Jon was throwing out at least that much. I slyly threw out many kitchy nick-knacks, old pens, bows, tea towels, hot water bottles and the like knowing none of that stuff would ever sell in the garage sale we will eventually have to conduct. After going through the clothes, Jon moved the two ugly dressers under the house, but kept the other 2 in the room so as to make it less cluttered. As I looked at all the boxes of other stuff stacked in the room, I knew we still had a long way to go, but this was a start.

Leaves

Autumn is showing off it's theatric beauty these days. Suddenly the leaves are bright gold and red and appear more vivid under the cloudy sky. With stately evergreens as their neighbors, the colorful trees look like drag queens next to men in dark suits. I remember thinking during the summer that it would be fun for Leola to watch the changing seasons from our deck - she so loved looking at everything out there or from the windows. But that didn't happen for her. We thought about bringing her over for dinner, but she doesn't remember the summer leaves, the views from the deck or our house. We may still bring her over for a visit, but I fear it will confuse her. It would be interesting to see what she would remember... probably just her furniture that is left in her room and the many clothes still in the closet. Her old room still sits like a ghost town of personal belongings. I had to chuckle the other day when I went in there. I went to close the window blind and remembered it was in the garage. When she still lived with us she had tugged so hard on the string to close it, she pulled it right out of the window jam and it came crashing down. I must remember to get it fixed.

The owl is real

Last night a neighbor posted a photo on our neighborhood email group of an owl that landed on her outside deck. At first she thought it was injured or sick because it just sat there looking at her. She was fortunate enough to snap this photo. I tried to enlarge it in photoshop, but it just blurred. Her picture/email spurred many email exchanges from neighbors who have listening to the owls all summer and fall. One neighbor says her 2 year old daughter was so enchanted by the sounds of the owl that she wants to be an owl for Halloween. Looking at the owl's face, now I know why they say, "wise, OLD owl". The face looks like an old man. We have some neighbors who are real birders and the concensus is that this is a Barred Owl. I think I'll name it Nicky.

Owl in the Night

My owl is out there hooting away tonight, but I don't hear it as much as before. I think I've learned owl language over the summer. There is a pattern/rhythm to the hooting that is the same every single time. I know he/she is talking to me, saying "All is well, it is. All is well, it is." Amazing how nature provides me with the comfort and strength I seek. Even as the nights grow colder, I leave the window open so I can hear my owl.

The hooting has stopped now... I hope it returns.

Autumnal Thoughts

I haven't posted for a month for a variety of reasons. Gone for a week on Cycle Oregon, 9/12-19 and it was wonderful. Felt great to really get away and into all that rural southern Oregon beauty. Upon my return I was sick with "flu-like symptoms" that could have been H1N1, but who cares at this point. Since then I've been working hard in my studio to get ready for Portland Open Studios Oct. 17-18.

Jon has been to see Leola every week, but I have stayed away since my last visit. I know she still looks at me and thinks I have taken Jon away from her in some way even though she really doesn't know who he is all the time. He is just an important male person in her life and she associates me with the loss of him. Jon says she is always glad to see him, but doesn't remember anything from one minute to the next making it difficult to have any conversation.

The caregivers are worn out since she is much more of a handful than they're used to in terms of mobility. She leaves the house often and walks down the driveway as though she is leaving, necessitating someone to fetch her. The outdoor wanderings will no doubt stop as the weather turns colder. She often gets up at night. If she opens her bedroom door, an alarm goes off in the caregivers' bedroom waking them. From what Jon tells me they have requested more medication, but I don't know if that has happened. I'm sure they will begin charging us more for the wandering since I remember seeing that in the contract.

A friend of mine named John Concillo recommended a book to me after reading this blog. It was a touching read by Portlander John Haugse called "Heavy Snow: My Father's Disappearance into Alzheimer's". It is written in graphic novel style with pictures drawn by the author. I was struck by the many similarities in our situations.

This afternoon, Jon is taking his mother back to the oncologist to check the mass under her arm to see if it has changed. Don't know if we'll have any new information or not. He has been feeling depressed about his mom's situation lately. He thinks we made a mistake putting her in foster care - that she should have gone into a memory unit where they are more quipped to deal with her activity level. He thinks she's too cooped up and unhappy. However, if the cancer progresses, she will be in the perfect place. She still talks about going home soon.

I'm so glad to see you, whoever you are.

Leola was overjoyed to see us, but didn't have any idea who we were. She knew our names and knew she knew us from somewhere in her life, but little else. We didn't prompt her and kept the conversation light. She didn't remember that Jon had been there a few days ago, didn't remember she had lived with us, but she did ask if we were married! She dwelled on the marriage topic and kept coming back to it. She has lost so much language and ability to construct sentences that it was hard to follow her at times, but she was positive, cheerful and giddy like a child. Out of curiosity, Jon never gave her the information that he is her son. The care giver hadn't known we were coming, so couldn't have prepped her. She never knew him as her son during the 30 minute visit. She talked about going home , her mother and father who would be coming to get her.

She said, "I don't think I was married much. I think I had a husband, but I don't remember." She turns to Jon, "I didn't marry you did I?" He laughs and shakes his head.

Later, after asking for the 3rd time how long we'd been married, she said to me, "You got a good one, but I had him first."

Is this when I get all Bill Clinton on her and say, "It depends on what the meaning of "had" is"?

All I say is, "Yes, I've got a good one."

I couldn't help asking her if she had children. She thinks for a minute and says, "Yes, I think I had a boy and a girl, but I don't remember. I don't know where they are now. Oh, I don't remember much of anything anymore."

When we are in the car driving home I quietly say, "I'm sorry."

He says, "It's easier this way. I'd rather she not know me than saying 'Jon, get me the hell out of here!' This way, she just keeps thinking she's going to be going home soon, just like she did when she lived with us. It doesn't seem to matter where she is. We know she was happy to see us and she's well cared for.

And we both know we couldn't give her that care. It's OK.

Miles of birthdays

We drove over to Bend yesterday. Although I've been here a couple of times this summer, Jon hasn't been here since last December and he hasn't seen Whitney and Micah's new Bread LaVoy operation. He also wanted to get in a couple of higher elevation bike rides in preparation for Cycle Oregon which starts next weekend. Whitney was somewhat taken aback at Jon's tired face and thin body. Other people have told him he looks tired, too. He says he is sleeping well enough, but undoubtedly the stress of the last few months has taken its toll on him. He has also been putting in many miles on his bike which can be harder on a 61 year old than on a younger man's body. Although she is still alive, I know in my heart that Jon is also grieving the loss of his mother. And his sister. Today would have been Bonnie's 53 birthday. Since Daniel's birthday is Sept. 10, we often celebrated Dan and Bonnie's birthdays together when Dan was younger, usually over Labor Day weekend.

I decided to go with Jon on Cycle Oregon, not as a rider obviously (I don't even own a bike) but as a guest. I'll sleep in the tent with him and have breakfast and dinner at the campsite, but otherwise I'll drive from campsite to campsite each day doing my own thing. I think this trip will be really good for both of us to get completely away for a week with just the beauty of southern Oregon's back roads with us.

Swept Away

The deck needs sweeping. Since we have so many tall trees around our house, debris is continually falling on the deck. In her search for something useful to do, Leola swept off the deck regularly all summer and she did a damned good job. Sometimes the task would take her an hour to do. I have numerous potted plants and flowers out there and she always took care to sweep around them all. Our deck never looked as clean as it looked during the last 3 months. I guess I'll have to get back to the sweeping.

Jon went to visit her. He was obviously wary of her reaction to him given the picture-stabbing incidents. She may have been prepped for his visit by Ligia, the caregiver, because Leola recognized him immediately as her son. To Jon's relief, she introduced him to others saying, "This is my son". Not "my husband". He said she asked, "How's Julie?" and even said, "You picked a good one. I think you can keep her. I approve." Now Jon seems to think the whole Julie-as-the-slut delusion is over with and she is back to being his mom again. Of course he wants to think his mother is back. He desperately wants it. I'm not so sure it's true. But I wasn't there. However, I found the picture frames, minus the mutilated photos of us, in the garage after his visit.

Post Script (to my bad day last week):

My brother Patrick is not going to Iraq after all. His director didn't appove it because he couldn't do without him for 6 months. Pat's disappointed, but I'm relieved.

Daniel is not moving home. I never really thought he would, but he always calls me when he's at his lowest point, teary and defeated, wanting his mother's comfort. This happens less often than it used to, but it is still upsetting for me. I'll worry about him for hours or days, then I'll call him and he will have moved on - the crisis forgotten. Similar to Jon and his mother - only in reverse.

a vacant room

I have to admit it's a relief to have Leola gone. Still I miss her. In a way, it seems like she died rather than moved to foster care. Her room still has furniture in it and lots of her clothes still hang in the closet and are stuffed in drawers. Boxes of her things are still here, but she is not. There is a sadness in our house that feels similar to death, but yet it isn't.

I remember when my mother died 3 years ago and I had to leave my brother's house in Birmingham, AL (where she had lived with him) to go back to my life in Oregon. She died on a Sunday, just hours after I had arrived on a seemingly endless flight from Portland to Atlanta to Birmingham. I like to think she was waiting for me. During the next few days my brothers and I took care of arrangements for cremation, cleared out her clothes, boxed up her stuff, laughed and cried when we went through old photos. It was a healing time for the four of us. The funeral was to be much later at Arlington Cemetery in Washington where our father was buried. I'll never forget the day I had to leave to come back to Oregon and the feeling of pervasive sadness in Patrick's house. How difficult it must have been for him to say goodbye to us that day and be left in the house with her empty room, seeing it day after day. I don't think I've ever missed anyone as much as I missed my brothers in the days after I returned.

I avoid going downstairs where her room is because it seems ghost-like. Yet I know we are going to have to deal with all this stuff of hers sometime. Even if she can't stay at the foster care home and needs to move somewhere else, she won't have room for all of her clothes. I thought we might trade them out from time-to-time, to give her something "new" to wear while we dry clean some of the sweaters. She loves her clothes. I hate it that she can't have them all with her.

The Bitch

I spent the weekend in San Francisco with Dan, so I missed a visit from Jon's niece, Trista (Eric's sister), husband and son, who is Leola's only great grandchild. They came from Yakima, WA to visit Leola at her new home and take her out to lunch. Jon had not visited her all week at the caregiver's request, but planned to go on Sunday after Trista and family left. He asked Trista to get a feel for how Leola was feeling about Jon and me. Here's how that went:

Leola says to Trista, "You know why I'm here don't you?"

"I think so." she says.

"Because Jon ran off with that bitch, Julie."

Jon said Trista seemed reluctant to tell him this, but it was what he was expecting. Actually, he had hoped she was over this particular delusion, but wasn't sure he was ready for the next one, whatever it might be.

At this point, I thought nothing would surprise me, but I didn't expect to be called a bitch and I have to admit it hurt.

Retirement (Part 2)

Early in the blog, and also one of the motivations for writing it, I spoke about my retirement from teaching in the public schools. Last spring I said I probably wouldn't really understand the full impact until this fall when school was starting again - without me. I've noticed it for a few weeks. In the past, usually when July turned over into August, I would mentally or literally start to make a list of things I wanted to get done before I went back to work at the end of the month - hike Dog Mountain, pressure wash the deck, have lunch with so and so. That didn't happen this year. As the days of August ticked by, I didn't feel the usual anxiety, the resistance to letting go of summer and focusing on the school year with its inevitable changes and challenges. That's a pleasure of retirement. I have lots of time. I'm on Harry Potter #5 and the Sopranos season 2.

I have many friends in education, some of whom like Debra, Nancy, Ann and Pru have already started back at work since they are principals (Debra and Nancy), librarians (Ann) or secretaries (Pru). My teacher friends contractually don't have to be back until September 1, but most have been into their classrooms by now or have been busy writing lesson plans or doing prep work at home. For those of you who think teachers have three months off during the summer, think again. In Portland, our last contract day was June 12. I know several teachers who taught summer school to earn extra money. It's a rare teacher who doesn't spend some time during the summer taking professional development courses, planning projects, learning new a curriculum, reading kids literature, moving to a new classroom or at the very least, just planning how they might do some things differently - all requiring time they are not paid for. But I'm off topic...

There is something bittersweet about retiring from teaching. Yay! I don't have get up and be at work every day by 7:30. Yay! I don't have that nasty commute. Yay! I don't have to go to staff meetings or deal with the politics. I could go on with that list. But here is what I WILL miss - I'll miss having all those kids in my life every day, I'll miss watching them make progress both academically and socially, I'll miss making a difference in their lives, I'll miss the funny things they say and I'll miss talking about the kids with my colleagues. Fortunately there will always be kids and I can sub or volunteer at my leisure, but it's a little different when they aren't my responsibility. Maybe that's the part I won't miss.

Traveling at the speed of mom

People have asked me if I will stop writing the blog now that Leola is in foster care and I've generally told them I'll write it as long a s I feel the need. I started writing it as a way to cope with all the changes in my life last spring. The pace of change hasn't slowed. If anything it has accelerated.

Notes from the foster care givers:
Leola has been there for 3 nights now. The first night she got up several times during the night which was to be expected. The second night she got up at 3:00 AM and never went back to sleep. Last night she got up and entered another resident's room and woke them causing a disturbance. They have asked us to consider medications and Jon put a call in to her doctor to talk about that.

More disturbing:
It seems I am the scarlet woman now. She is convinced Jon is her husband, he has left her for me and that's why she is living in this new place. She made them take down and put away a recent picture of Jon and me we put in her room so she would remember us. In retrospect, the comments about the boyfriend and her continuous surprise that Jon and are married fit this pattern of thinking.

Yesterday, she was found stabbing pictures of Jon with a letter opener. Obviously that didn't go over very well.

Jon called and talked to her today and nothing he could say could convince her that he wasn't her husband. Her mind is trying to construct a reality that is coherent to her, so she's piecing bits of memory from her past together. Presently she is taking the bit from when her marriage to Jon's father broke up. She told Jon on the phone, "If you say you're my son and I say you're my husband, who's to say who's right? I'll say you are my son if I can come back and live with you." There's no way that is happening... not if she thinks I am the bad guy and she is using letter openers to stab photos.

Jon and I are coming to the sudden, horrible realization that this foster care placement might not work. She might be too much for them to handle. If that happens... well I guess we better have a plan C.

In other news today, my son called from San Francisco. He has been laid off from his new job and thinks he should move back home. My 52 yr. old brother who works as a geologist with the Dept. of the Army, sent me an email saying he took a job in Iraq. He leaves Sept. 27. Who said retirement is relaxing?

The Move

We moved her to foster care. It was surprisingly easy. Not much to take - a dresser, a bookshelf, a chair, a nightstand, the coffee table with tiles she made. The furniture, except for the book shelf, we moved last weekend and she didn't even notice it was gone. The chair came from the storage locker.

We arranged for Leola's cousin's daughter, Deila, to take her out for the morning while we packed some of her clothes, personal items, knick-knacks and pictures and moved it all into her new room in the house with the Romanian family in the Multnomah Village neighborhood of Portland - about a 20 minute drive from our house. The house is beautiful and the family friendly, warm and wonderful. Jon and I spent a couple of hours hanging her clothes and putting them in drawers, putting up pictures and arranging her stuff to make the room as cozy as possible. Deila brought her to her new home from the morning's outing, which included lunch and a trip to the hair dresser. Jon was waiting for them. I had returned home to pick up a few more things, but was delayed by traffic due to the closure of I405, so I wasn't present when Deila brought her in and the news about her new home was presented to her. Jon said she initially was fine with it but when she saw her room she said, "You tricked me!"

I arrived with a couple of boxes of her things which I brought into the room where the 3 of them were pleasantly chatting. I could tell Leola was wound up form her day out with Deila and was a little hyper. As I unpacked her hat boxes and the lamp, she asked me, "Did you use my car to bring this here?" Uh, no. "Well where is my car?" It was easy enough for Jon to distract her onto another subject.

Deila left first. Jon and I stayed for a while chatting with the family and Leola. Then I left. Jon's burden was huge. He said his mother talked to him rationally saying, "I understand why you did this." Maybe she did. Who knows. Ironically, the day before we moved her, she told us that it was time for her to go. She said, "I've been here long enough." Of course, she meant she wanted to go home, where ever that is, but it sounded to us like she was ready to move out of our house. Be careful what you wish for.

Boyfriends

"I hear you have a boyfriend." Jon says to me the other night. "Mom said you have a boyfriend who comes over. " He's teasing me of course, but she did say it.

If I didn't know better I'd think she was saying this on purpose. She has already told Jon she doesn't like it that he's married to me because she wants to marry him, which has completely creeped him out. The subject comes up again at dinner.

"What's your boyfriend's name?" she asks me.

I point to Jon. "That's him. I'm married to Jon."

"No, I mean that other guy who comes over."

Jon changes the subject. "Do you have a boyfriend?" he asks her.

"I've had lots of boyfriends. Boys always like me, but I never wanted to marry any of them. I'm glad I never got married." she declares.

"Really." say Jon. "Did you never have children, then?"

An odd, confused look crosses her face. "No. I mean yes. I did have 2 kids, so I guess I must have been married. I wonder where they are now?"

"I'm one of them. I'm Jon." he says.

"You are? Oh, yes of course you are." she says, but looks dubious.

a letter

Leola got a letter in the mail yesterday from an old friend in Bandon, OR. When I gave it to her, she didn't know quite what to do. She kept looking at the envelope and reading the return address out loud, then her name and then the post mark (which said Rochester, NY for some odd reason). "I don't know anyone in Rochester," she said. The letter was addressed to her, but it said, "c/o Jon and Julie".

She said, "Oh, it's from Jon and Julie. They are my cousins."

"I'm Julie. Why don't you open it and see who it is from?"

This has to be one of the saddest things I've seen so far in the deterioration of her brain. She has lost the ability to understand the parts of a letter - who is writing it, where it came from and even who it's for. She didn't remember the friend who had sent it or where Bandon is. Several time during the next half hour she asked me where Bandon is.

Later in the evening when we were getting ready for dinner, I told Jon, "Leola got a letter today."

"I did?" she said.

"Sure. It was from your friend Jackie, in Bandon. What did you do with it?"

"I didn't get a letter." she insisted.

"It was over next to the chair before. It's probably still there." I said.

She found it and the whole conversation started over again.

Owls

I'm listening to the owl again. I hear him/her almost every night now. I'm selfishly thinking the owl is hooting just for me. I wish I could hoot a response back. I would say, "Thanks for the comfort, strength and beauty you give me. What can I give to you?"

My last nerve

Irrational as this may be, everything about Leola gets on my last nerve lately. Allow me to make a list.

1. The previously mentioned tampering with the cat food. She is still clandestinely adding milk or water to Ozzie's dry cat food causing a soggy mess he won't eat. I've thrown away more sodden cat food this summer than I care to think about. Yesterday I heard her banging around in the kitchen. When I asked if she needed something, she said she wanted to heat the milk for the cat! Fortunately, she can't figure out how to turn on the stove.

2. She thinks she's so fucking cute - giggling over the stupidest things and acting like a little girl. Of course she always did this and wanted to be the center of attention, I guess dementia hasn't changed that.

3. Her vanity is unbelievable. When we show her pictures taken this summer (and there are a lot of them), all she can comment on is how she looks!

4. I'm tired of her closing all the doors and windows and talking about how cold she is when she's already wearing two sweaters. Put on another sweater for christ's sake! This is August and it's warm! She also closes all the interior doors for some odd reason. Ozzie can't get to his cat box.

5. She's taken to throwing things (mostly food when we eat out there) over the side of the deck. She doesn't understand that we'll have rats if she keeps it up.

6. Most of all, I'm angry that she doesn't know who Jon is most of the time now. This is irrational on my part and I know she can't help it, but I don't want to see him hurting. He is.

Dreamland

Yesterday late in the afternoon after returning from the studio, I laid down on my bed to rest for a few minutes. Jon had left to go to his cycle class. I was in that place between sleep and wakefulness when I felt an odd unease. I opened my eyes to see Leola standing over me peering down into my face. "Ahhh!" I jumped. She giggled as though this were very funny.

"I didn't mean to wake you up. I just wondered what you were doing?" she said still giggling that irritating little girl laugh that seems to say, "Aren't I just the cutest thing?"

"I was taking a nap."

"I wondered where Jon's mother was," she asks.

"You are Jon's mother and he went to the gym. He'll be back a little later. I'll come downstairs in a few minutes," I said sitting up.

"Well, I know, but where are all the other people?" she asks.

"What people? Only three of us live here, you me and -"

She interrupts, "Well, I know, but I need to get my car from the service station. I can't believe I was so stupid to let that man talk me into leaving it there. Can I talk you into giving me a ride over there? It's just over that way (she's pointing), then you turn and around the corner... I have to get my car back so I can go home."

"Leola, go downstairs and let me wake up. I'll be downstairs in a minute to start making dinner. The we'll talk about your car."

"Oh, Okay. I'll let you sleep." she shuffles down the stairs.

Unfortunately, I wasn't dreaming.

Cape Disappointment

The view from the North Head lighthouse at Cape Disappointment is one of the most spectacular on the Oregon/Washington coast. In good weather, you can see south across the mouth of the Columbia River, down the coast of Oregon and that's without even going up in the lighthouse. It looks over the bar, which is sometimes called "The Graveyard of the Pacific" because the dangerous coastal waters have claimed hundreds of ships. Sunday we drove to the coast, through Seaside and Astoria, across the long bridge over the Columbia River into Washington and on to the little town of Ilwaco where Leola was born. She hasn't lived there since 1929, but she returned often over her adult life to visit various relatives, some of whom still live there. Jon, having paid little attention to relatives over the years, was unaware of who it might be that lived there now. Leola was unable to tell him.

After having made the decision to move Leola to foster care, Jon decided he might not have another chance to take her where she keeps incessantly asking to go - Ilwaco. I told him I probably should have my head examined, but I'd go, too. We also felt compelled to go full circle with these pilgrimages having to do with her early years. Every day is a new day to her and no matter how often she has traveled on Oregon roads in the past, she reacts as though she is seeing it for the first time. Upon our arrival in Ilwaco, she didn't recognize it of course. The picture in her mind is the town in 1929 or even earlier. In the car, she said we needed to stop and ask someone.

Jon said, "What will you ask?"

"Where my house is", she replied.

"Mom, no one is going to know where your house was if you can't tell them an address." Jon said.

"Well, I'll ask them where the mill is. If I find the mill, I know I'll just turn left and go up the hill." She turns to me, "We had a Finnish bath house behind this house, you know. I wonder if it's still there?" I wonder.

Jon and I both knew the mill she was referring to was long ago torn down and she wouldn't be able to ask a coherent question to anyone. Jon had been to Ilwaco before, but not for many years and had little memory of any of what she was talking about. We decided to get out at the marina, walk around a little and get some lunch. The first opportunity she had, she walked into a gallery and asked the startled proprietor, "Where is Ilwaco?" "Leola, we are in Ilwaco. This is it." I said impatiently, trotting behind her. She didn't believe me and proceeded to babble away to this guy, making very little sense. Jon came in and explained that she had lived here during the 1920's. Fortunately, this guy was a 3rd generation Ilwaco native and very friendly. He patiently told her that very few buildings were left from her era except for some houses and we could see pictures of the town circa 1920 at the museum. He told us about some of the Finnish families who were still around town.

As we left the gallery a strange coincidence occured. Several people walking by said, "Leola?"

I recognized one of them as a someone I had met before. It turns out these people were the very relatives of Leola's I was referring to. It was her 80 yr. old cousin, Richard Patana, his wife and 2 of their daughters visiting from out of town. Leola didn't know them at first, but they convinced her of who they were. Jon was blown away by the serendipity of the situation. I was getting more and more irritable asking myself why on earth I had decided to make this trip and wondered what was in store for us the rest of the day.

One of the daughters, Deila, who lives in Beaverton, has spent a lot of time with Leola over the last few years. She took us to where the old house is and explained to Leola that no family lives in it anymore even though there is still a sign in front of it that says "Patana" which was Leola's mother's maiden name. Leola did not recognize the house. We all went to lunch, then said our goodbyes. Back in the car, Leola said, "We never saw the house." Jon knew he would need to take a picture of her in front of it or she would be saying that all the way back to Portland, so we went back. 'That's it?" she said. "It sure doesn't look like it. No, that's not the house." We've learned not to argue or try to convince her, but Jon said, "Come on Mom, let's take a picture." He took a picture of her in front of the house with the "Patana" sign visible.

As we drove the short distance to Cape Disappointment and the lighthouse, I couldn't help but wonder what this town was like when it wasn't a beautiful summer day. According to the visitor's center, it rains over 130 days a year with an average of 72" of rainfall. It also claims the largest number of hours of fog, 2,552, or the equivalent of 106 days! However, it's stunning beauty on this lovely summer day took my breath away. As Leola pointed out China Beach, she told us that's where she learned to swim. No wonder this is what she remembers.

I can't seem to shake the blues I've been carrying around the last few days. Maybe it's the grey, chilly weather (I even put on socks this morning), but more likely it's a feeling of failure and defeat. I'm finding it difficult to keep my sense of humor.

Throughout the last 2 1/2 months I've been trying to see this situation from Leola's perspective, but I just can't. I can't fathom what it would be like to lose so much memory and not be able to think straight. When I was 20 years old, I was hospitalized for severe depression and was given electric-shock therapy. I lost some memory after those treatments, which was both frustrating and frightening, but most of it came back eventually. I still have trouble remembering the people from high school my friends Mary and Nancy talk about, but it has been 40 years since I graduated from high school and I really don't care. Leola's loss of memory is vast and it includes language loss. Sometimes I see a blank look on her face when I talk to her, as though she's watching me on TV. Outward signs of frustration are obvious when she has difficulty explaining something and she will give up and say, "I guess I just don't have any brains anymore!" How horrible that must be.

Health part 4

We took Leola to the oncologist yesterday who confirmed that she definitely has an aggressive form of breast cancer. He said it hadn't yet manifested itself in any major organs or bones (except maybe the brain which we haven't checked) but it is just a matter of time before it does. He wants to watch the mass under her arm to see if it changes during the next 2 months. If it gets larger, we will have it removed, but he wants to try to avoid any surgery or hospitalization if necessary because of her age and dementia. Obviously she isn't a candidate for chemo therapy. He mentioned that her rapid cognitive decline could partially be explained by the fact that her body is overburdened with disease.

Given this information (and having suspected it for a while now) somehow made it a little less difficult to make the decision to move her to foster care. We know she won't live another 10 years. The foster care setting we visited on Tuesday will be a warm, inviting place for her to live and we know she will be cared for better than we could do ourselves.

Birthdays part 2

I went over to Bend on Wednesday in order to be with Whitney on her birthday. Upon my arrival, we walked to the farmer's market with her friend, Melissa and her 7 month old baby, Selah, to shop for our dinner. In the four years Whitney and Micah have lived in Bend, we have spent many good times with their friends, Melissa and Sean, including Thanksgiving, Christmas, Melissa's baby shower and now, Whitney's birthday. The market was bustling and I was pleased to see a crowd around the Sparrow's booth. Business has been better than ever for the Sparrow and the new Bread LaVoy, their bread operation, but Whitney and Micah are working more than ever.

Whitney turned 27 on Wednesday. As I watched her hold and play with Selah, I couldn't help remembering when she was 7 months old and I was a young woman. Unexplained tears sprang to my eyes and I had to briefly excuse myself before anyone noticed. I'm teary again even as I write this. What a glorious and complex relationship it is between a mother and child. As Jon struggles to understand his mother's decline and her dependence on him, I wonder if it will happen to me with my daughter or son.

Whats his name

Leola was in her room before dinner taking a nap when Jon went down and knocked on her door. He poked his head in and told her he was leaving for a little while and would be back in a couple of hours. I was reading in the living room absorbed in the 4th Harry Potter book. Later, she came upstairs and sat on the couch across from me.

"Where did Eric go?" she asked me.

"Do you mean Jon? He went to work at the free clinic this evening." I told her. I was pleased she remembered Eric's name and connected him in her brain as a male family member.

"No, not Jon. Not your Jon. I mean Eric. He came downstairs when I was sleeping and I wasn't very friendly to him, so I thought I better come up and talk to him, but now he's gone."

"Eric wasn't here today. He was here on Saturday. That was Jon who came down to say goodbye before he left."

"No it wasn't Jon," she insisted. "I know who Jon is. I guess Eric left before I could talk to him."

"I didn't see Eric today. I guess I missed him, too."

I have learned not to try to convince her of anything. It only makes her more anxious and confused. The downside is that it thwarts any kind of conversation and I feel dishonest when I have to "humor" her. But it's either humor or distract her or get into one of those pointless arguments. Either way, it's pretty damned sad.

Burt's Bees

She washed the dishes with "Burt's Bees Hand Salve" the other night. I keep a tin of "Burt's Bees" next to the sink in the kitchen to use on my hands after gardening, cleaning or using solvents in the studio. It's heavy, thick and waxy, the consistency of petroleum jelly. We left some dishes in the sink after dinner since the dishwasher was full, intending to clean up a little later. Leola came to tell me her hands were greasy. I suggested she use soap and wash them. She replied she had used soap but it made it worse. I assumed she was confused and ignored it. Later after she had gone to bed, Jon said, "I think mom washed the dishes with Burt's Bees Hand Salve." After closer inspection I saw he was right. A waxy film was smeared all over the dishes.

Owls and Foster Care

It's raining tonight and I can hear an owl hooting. I've heard it several times this summer and wonder if it's the same owl I saw on my walk a couple of weeks ago. Two feet tall and dusty gray in color, it looked regal sitting on the branch of a fir tree. I've seen an owl around here from time to time, but it's rare. The hoot is strangely comforting or reassuring - as though its mythical wisdom will somehow take care of me.

We looked at another foster care facility today and it was a perfect place for Leola. It's a beautiful house with 4 other residents run by a nice Romanian family with three daughters. AND it's only about a 15 minute drive from our house. However, Jon and I have mixed feelings about releasing her from our care. Jon particularly, is having trouble letting her go. Yes, she is difficult to care for, but I don't think she will necessarily be happier in foster care than she is now. She will still want to "go home", wonder where her car is, talk about her boathouse on the Columbia River and say she needs to go see her mother. She will just be saying those things to strangers. But then I have to remember than Jon and I are like strangers to her sometimes, too. Does it really matter if she's with us? I don't know. Maybe the owl will tell me.

Pantyhose Redux

The pantyhose story never ends. Jon decided he would buy his mother new pantyhose and pitch the hundreds of old ones with runs she keeps wearing. He was quite proud of himself after returning from Fred Meyer with 7 new pair of Hanes - size A/B, displaying them to me like a child with a picture he had drawn. I looked at them and smiled. He had gotten the size A/B correct but he had bought "Plus Size" and Leola is the size of a nine year old. Determined to get this pantyhose issue behind him, he returned to Fred Meyer, exchanged them for the correct size, then proceeded to throw out the massive amount of old ones. I wonder if this will be the end of it?

The Secret Garden

Early on in this blog, I mentioned my neighbor, Betty. Smart, fit, sassy and irreverent, she is what I want to be when I'm 80 yrs. old. Betty comes and turns on water from a hose bib in our lower garden to water the small neighborhood veggie plot above. In exchange, I can pick all the veggies I want. She calls our lower garden The Secret Garden because you really can't see it much from the street and it's necessary to go down the steps before experiencing the full effect.

Five years ago when Leola moved from Coos Bay to Portland we had to get rid of many things, but it was hard to part with all the rocks and stones she had collected over the years and had decoratively placed in her front yard. She had thousands of them and many were quite large. During the move when I was in Coos Bay, I began piling many of the rocks in the back of my car thinking we could display them in our yard and Leola could still enjoy them. We had movers coming to move her stuff, but it seemed absurd to pay someone to move a bunch of rocks. However in light of what actually did get moved (see June blog entries), the rocks would have been one of the better choices. Anyway we moved a small portion of them - not as many as I wanted - and laid them in a spot under a hose bib in the garden below. Last year we had some repairs for water damage to our house and moved them so they wouldn't get lost or trashed. They sat in buckets under the house until this summer. One Sunday in July, Jon and Leola spent the whole afternoon, washing and placing the rocks back where I had put them 5 years ago - just like she used to do with them in Cos Bay.

Now mind you, I'm not into "cute stuff" and Leola is. She put a few rocks with cute faces painted on them that had come from the porch of her apartment at Northwest Place in there, but I let it go. This is, after all, her house, too, now.

But back to Betty and the secret garden. Betty's young grandchildren visit her periodically. The other night Jon and I noticed from the kitchen window as she brought several children as well as her husband and another neighbor with his two kids down the stairs to our lower garden. Today when I was working out in the yard Betty couldn't wait to tell me how the kids delighted in seeing the "secret garden" and the rocks. They just loved the rocks with the faces on them.

She exclaimed, "That was better for them than 20 Disney movies! They were also in awe of the rabbit bench."

The stone rabbit bench or "bunny bench" as we call it, came from Jon's sister Bonnie's yard after her death last November. It weighs a freakin' ton and I remember Jon and Daniel struggling to carry it out of her yard and into our car the day before Thanksgiving last year when our grief was so still so raw. Both Bonnie and Leola would be happy to know their whimsical garden fancies are sparking the imaginations of another generation.

The Fun Never Stops

Jon's nephew, Eric, and his wife, Cindy, spent the weekend in Portland. Their visit from Seattle had two purposes - Eric had a 20 year high school reunion in Vancouver, and they wanted to visit Leola, Eric's grandmother. (I think they wanted to see us, too!) Jon and I always have fun with Eric and Cindy, and although there is an age difference between the cousins, my kids always enjoy them, too. We told Leola that Eric was coming to see her, but weren't sure she remembered who he was. I pointed out his high school graduation picture on the shelf in her room as well as pictures she had of he and his sister as little kids. "He's your grandson," I told her, "Gary's son". "Well it's been a long time since I've seen them, I'm glad they are coming. I guess I won't go home today then." Right.

They arrived and brought gorgeous flowers for my birthday (thanks again, guys), then we all piled in the car to go out to lunch. Eric is a craft beer affectionato so we took him to Deschutes Brew Pub in the Pearl since he hadn't been there before. Leola couldn't hear a thing in the pub packed with people and little kids. (I had trouble, too), but we all scarfed down burgers and pints of Deschutes ales. I noticed Leola had added five packets of sugar to her iced tea which she claimed tasted "like water". She hadn't stirred it as was evident by the inch-thick layer of sugar at the bottom of the glass. With time on our hands, we decided to check out the new Full Sail brewpub down on the waterfront at Riverplace. We found a table outside by the marina, ordered more beers (coffee for Jon and Leola) and watched the parade of people. The weather, although cloudy, was a pleasant 75 degrees and we wiled away the afternoon watching the amazing variety of dogs people had. After we got back home, Leola wasn't sure what had happened. As Eric and Cindy said their goodbyes, she said, "I'm glad I decided not to go home today or I would have missed seeing you!"

Birthdays and foster care

Today is my birthday and besides having a lovely lunch out with my good friend, Debra, I spent the afternoon with Jon looking at a possible foster care facility. We took Leola with us which, although confusing for her, was informative for us. This place was beautiful with gardens, multiple outdoor areas to sit, fresh foods from the garden, even chickens for meat and fresh eggs. We have been told that all the best adult foster care places are run by Romanians and this was no exception. It was impeccable. The down side was it's location - a 40 minute drive from our house and the small room. It is the only room available and because it's small, the price was right for such a nice place. It wasn't even really a bedroom, but a former mud room with no window except on the exterior door (another negative). It had a tiny closet, no carpet and room for only a single bed next to the wall and a dresser. I don't think it will work. Leola kept saying it was great except that she has a husband and what would happen when he came home from the army. Her other repetitive question was about - you guessed it - a car. Can I have my car here? It was a long drive home.

lather, rinse, repeat

She can't remember anything today. It's really bad. It might have something to do with Jon being gone after all the excitement of Monday and Tuesday. A seemingly endless loop of free association of snippets of memory and learned phrases. Jon will be back from Boulder within the hour, thank god. I can't even explain how these conversations go. She just never stops talking and anything and everything comes out of her mouth. The questions - constant questions with responses to them I've heard hundreds of times.

Are you married? Yes, I'm married to Jon. You are!? I didn't know that! Why didn't anyone tell me? You knew. You just forgot. How long have you been married? 34 years. 34 years!! I can't believe it!! I wasn't invited to the wedding? Yes. Of course you were invited. You didn't come because you didn't want to fly? Well where was I? You lived in Coos Bay and the wedding was in St. Louis. Why isn't that man here? You mean Jon? He's on a business trip and will be back this afternoon. He's been gone since yesterday morning. Oh! He's getting out of the army? No. Jon was never in the army. But you said he called from overseas and he said he was coming home. He called from the Denver airport and said he was getting on a plane. He's driving from Denver?! Well that will take a long time. No. he's taking a plane from Denver. He should get in about 4:30. Will you have to go get him from the airport? No. He left his car at the airport. (Realizing she wouldn't understand this concept I proceeded to explain the whole process of parking and flying). He got out of the army and didn't even call me? I think you're thinking about you ex-husband, Ed. He was in the army and was overseas a long time ago. Ed? Oh yes. Was I married to him? Yes, he was Jon's father. I better get my clothes packed so I'll be ready when they get here. It's just Jon that's coming and he's coming HOME. He's not taking you anywhere. But I thought he was coming to take me home. I need to take my stuff with me. Where are all the other people? Jon, you and I are the only ones who live here. I thought there was another couple who sleep upstairs. That's Jon and me. I must be all mixed up. When will they get here? It's been a long time. Jon should be here anytime now. I'm so excited to see him. He's been overseas. Are you married?...

Lather, rinse, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat. Five or ten times.

For the 5th time in an hour, she has climbed the steps up to our bedroom saying she needs to go get her stuff. She's thinking of another house from her past, I'm sure, where she slept in a bedroom in an upstairs. This time I can hear her going through my dresser drawers looking for her stuff. If that what it takes to convince her that her bedroom is downstairs - well so be it. She came down and said, "I don't have any stuff up there any more. When I first came here, I had that room."

"I guess so." Shit... whatever.

Wake (up)

This morning I woke up to a knock on my bedroom door. Glancing at the clock, I noticed it was 7:30 - I had slept in a little. Jon is in Boulder on business having left very early yesterday morning. Leola was confused, didn't know where she was supposed to be, what time it was - she was making no sense, but by now, I kind of know what she means when she's like this. The excitement of the last couple of days, having ended so abruptly, has left her head spinning. She was dressed and holding her nightgown, comb and lipstick in her hands, thinking that was all she had brought with her on her "visit". I got up, made coffee, poured her cereal, topped it with blueberries, laid out the placemat, spoon, sugar and milk, fetched the papers and asked her to sit down and eat breakfast. Meanwhile she asked me hundreds of the same questions. Where's my car? I need to go back to my house. Where's my husband? What's his name again? And on and on. I sipped my coffee and tried to read the NY Times while fielding her questions. It will be a long day, I thought.

"We went to a party, didn't we?" she asked. In fact we had been to two parties in two days. Monday both my children arrived in order to attend their Aunt Bonnie's wake on Tuesday night. Daniel brought his boyfriend, David, whom we had briefly met at Dan's graduation in May, and they were staying in a hotel downtown. Whitney came alone and stayed with us. Dan spent an eye-opening hour with his grandmother while we were waiting for Whitney to arrive. At least seven times she asked him where he lived and what he did. Later he said to me "I don't know how you do this!" Later, after Whitney arrived, we went out for a late dinner, without Leola - a fun, delicious evening filled with laughter and getting to know David.

The next day, Whitney and I met Dan and David for breakfast, then arranged photos of Bonnie and us from over the years on a presentation board to take to the wake. We told Leola we would be going to a party in the evening and that she would need to take a shower and wash her hair. Of course she resisted, especially washing her hair, but Whitney was persuasive and made it a project for both of them to get "pretty for the party". Bless her heart, Whitney was wonderful with her - helping her pick out a pink dress, new pantyhose, curl her hair (see photo). Leola was jazzed and could hardly wait for "the party". Emotions were at a high pitch for all of us. In addition to running some business errands, Whitney had not slept well and an employee had woken her with a call at 5:30 AM. She was stressed about being away from the bakery when they were already short handed. I tried to give her a little down time before we went to meet Dan and David for happy hour at 5:00. The wake was to start at 7:00 at Voleur, a restaurant/bar downtown. Jon and Leola went directly to Voleur and ate there.

I'm getting a little teary thinking of the wake. Family and friends talking and remembering Bonnie. Good music provided by brother, Steve, and fellow musicians. At times, the combination of music, photos and memories was just too much for me. At one point I went to talk to a group of teachers from Mt. Tabor Middle School where Bonnie worked. As I reached out to shake someone's hand, I clumisly knocked over a full glass of red wine at their table. The glass hit the floor, shattered into bits and splashed all over several people, including a woman wearing white pants. Fortunately, it was dark in there and I was able to slink away after apologizing and cleaning up. Not my finest moment.

Leola thoroughly enjoyed herself. She danced with Jon's sister, Terry (see photo) and others. I don't know why I was worried about their reaction to bringing her. Everyone was as gracious, warm and welcoming to her as they could be. She did not know why we were there, just that it was a party for someone named Bonnie.

Health Part 3

Leola's bone scan was negative for cancer! Her back pain is caused by advanced osteoarthritis, but bones are cancer-free. So we will wait for the oncologist's opinion to see what to do about the mass under her arm. She still hasn't mentioned it and it doesn't bother her.

Wake

Waiting for Dan and David to get here so I can take them to the airport. Had such a great visit with them and Whitney, as well as Jon's siblings and family at Bonnie's wake last night. More later and I'll post pictures on Facebook. Leola had fun dancing and chatting. Didn't know who anyone was, but she had a great time.

More to come.

I must be looking for escape. I decided I needed to read all the Harry Potter books this summer. I read the first one way back when it came out, but I never got the bug. I reread it and now I'm on #3. But that's not enough. I rented the first season of "The Sopranos" and now both Jon and I are totally sucked in. Over the last few years, we've enjoyed renting some of the HBO and Showtime series - especially in the summertime. We don't watch anything on TV normally, but we devour some of these series. First was "Queer As Folk" followed by "Six Feet Under" (my favorite). Then "Weeds", "Rome", "Deadwood", and "The Wire" (another favorite). We also watched "Seinfeld", "Curb Your Enthusiasm"and "Sex in the City", but those we didn't start at the beginning and watch all the way through like the others. I always wanted to start "The Sopranos", but couldn't commit to the time. Now... Hey I'm retired and I need an escape. The first episode when Tony has to deal with his aging mother was interesting. Jon said it didn't quite ring true.

He said "All the characters seem so real except the his mom, but I'm warming up to her."

Leola heard the words "Mom" and "warming" and ran with it., "What? No my feet are warm. Are yours? Do you need a blanket?"

Whoa! Leola is really disoriented today. I don't think she knew who Jon was at any time today, much less me. She keeps talking about that "other man and lady" meaning us.

Last Thursday night, for the first time, we had some friends for dinner. Our good friends, Debra and Gregg came over and Leola was like a child on good behavior. Since then, she has been pretty out of it. On Friday, Jon took her to visit an adult day care at Cedar-Sinai. She loved it and can't wait to go back. We will start this week.

Another family matter

Last November just before Thanksgiving, Jon's sister, Bonnie, died tragically of an intentional overdose. She was not Leola's daughter.

A little history to explain. Jon's parents divorced when he was a year old after Leola had an episode of manic behavior that left her hospitalized. It's not a surprise the young couple didn't make it. Married young, baby #1, then separated by WWII, baby #2 (Jon), then mental illness. Jon's father, Ed, went on to later remarry and have 4 more children. Over the years, Jon didn't see his father and half-siblings much since they were a military family and were always moving and living in far away places. He did have a relationship with them, but it wasn't until he was in medical school and his father retired from the military, that he really got to know him. Conveniently, the family lived in Forest Grove, OR about a 40 min. drive from Portland where Jon and I settled in 1977. Over the years, we got to know his brothers and sisters better. During the last 25 years, we spent the most time with and was closest to Bonnie who was 5 years my junior. She and I shared a career in special education and we both worked in Portland Public Schools. She and Jon shared biking and movies. She loved our kids and they loved her. We all loved her sense of humor. She is the only one of the half-siblings that had any kind of relationship with Leola. Both Bonnie and Leola shared many holidays with us together.

I'm bringing this up because the memorial/celebration/wake for Bonnie is this Tuesday, August 4 and everyone from Jon's father's side of the family will be together. Of the 4 half-siblings, only Terri had children so we are a small group. There are no great aunts and uncles, no cousins. Jon's older brother passed away 6 years ago and his 2 children, ages 38 &40 (living now in Seattle and Yakima) were never close to their half-aunts and uncles.

So. Jon's sister, Terri, arrived from Santa Fe last night with her husband and 2 kids, ages 17 and 21. They are staying with brother, Steve and his wife, Julie. (Yes, it is another JULIE BLACKMAN.) The other brother, Robert, lives in Vancouver, but will be here for the wake on Tuesday. Daniel and Whitney arrive tomorrow and Tuesday respectively.

Jon's mother was understandably disfavored by his father's second wife - a sentiment that was transferred to her children. However, Bonnie kept an open mind and allowed Leola into her life. They talked about knitting and dancing. Leola doesn't remember Bonnie now, of course, but we decided to bring her to the wake on Tuesday. This might not be well received by Steve, Terri and Robert, but we decided Bonnie would have wanted it.

Health (part 2)

I have not been able to work in my studio this week due to the extreme heat, which is fine since I've been unproductive anyway. On Monday, I went for an hour walk on the riverfront with my friend, Linda, whose 85 yr. old mother has Alzheimer's and is in a memory unit. I told her about Leola always saying she wants to go home, even when she's not sure where that is. Linda said before her mother went into the memory unit, she was living in her own home (which she had lived in for years) and she still packed bags to "go home". She and her siblings decided it was a desire to get back to a childhood home still in the the memory bank. I felt better after hearing this. Every time Leola says she wants to go home I feel guilty like we are keeping her here against her will. Even if she were at home, she would probably be saying those words since the "home" she remembers no longer exists.

Leola is declining fast. I've noticed she is having more difficulty finding words. She asked me for a basket and I asked her if she wanted to wash some clothes. After a few exchanges, I realized she was trying to ask me for a suitcase, but she had forgotten the word for it. When we did laundry, she couldn't recall the word for dryer. These are just a couple of examples of hundreds of words she can't remember. Of course, this doesn't stop her from talking!

She's lost the concept of time. Some days at 4:30 in the afternoon, she will get ready for bed, then laugh at herself whe I point out the time. She is also getting more and more OCD, perseverating on certain subjects and rituals.

Yesterday was a bad day. She didn't feel well and complained of back pain. She's complained of this before and it seems to come and go. For the first time, she said she didn't want to eat at dinnertime. Sitting was painful.

Jon spoke to her doctor and instead of waiting 3 weeks for the oncology appointment, he scheduled a bone scan to see if the cancer is in the bone. That's what the oncologist would have done anyway. He also prescribed a low does of an anti depressant to possibly help with the OCD, especially given her history of mental illness.

This and That

The last few days of excessive triple digit heat has many of us cranky, but Leola is finally warm. Last year, we installed air conditioning, but have hardly ever needed to use it - until now. Air conditioning is a concept Leola does not understand since she is never too hot. It almost seems like a cruel joke on her. Previously, it was too cold for her outside and now it is too cold for her inside. As I write this, she is sitting outside on the deck in 104 degree heat - stockings on, but at least no wool sweater (she has one with her, just in case). We've been forcing her to drink liquids, but does she want a cold drink? No. She wants hot coffee!!

I was looking forward to eating the rest of a juicy, sweet melon from Hermiston, Oregon this morning. These babies are the Lexus of melons as far as I'm concerned. When I looked in the fridge, I couldn't find it, so I asked Jon, "Did you guys eat the rest of that cantalope at lunch yesterday?" He said they had each had some, but there was lots left. He looked at me knowingly and said, "Maybe you should look in the freezer." My beautiful melon was frozen solid. Supervision of meal clean up is now on our list.

Since it is way too hot to be in my studio today (old building, 3rd floor walk up with no AC), I offered to wash her sheets and towels and surprisingly, she agreed they needed it. However, this was one of those tests of my patience because she wanted to do it herself. OK I know I'm supposed to allow her to do as much as she can on her own, but just as with a small child, it is often easier to do it myself. "The Laundry Project" took most of the afternoon since she took the clean sheets out of the dryer and placed them back in the washer with the wet clean towels and rewashed them all. But that was before she put the soap in the dryer.

Day Trip

Leola was born in Ilwaco, Washington at the mouth of the Columbia River, just across from Astoria, Oregon. She grew up in Stevenson, Washington which is right on the Columbia River in the dramatic Columbia Gorge. For a time, her family lived on a houseboat on the river a little east of Stevenson. Her father was a fisherman. For those of you who have never been through the Columbia Gorge, it is a deep gorge through the Cascade Mountains carved out by the Columbia River which runs between Washington and Oregon. Obviously the geology is more complex than that, but you get the idea. She swam in the river as a child and across it as a teenager.

Since she seems to have forgotten most of her life after age 22 or so, she talks a lot about those years spent in and around Stevenson where she graduated from high school. Often when she says she wants to go home, Stevenson is where she means. So Jon had the idea to take her back there yesterday. Since I'm currently working on paintings inspired by the Gorge, to his delight, I decided to come along. Leola was so excited.

While the two of us were in the car waiting for Jon to lock up and join us, she said to me, "Of all the lady's who work here, I like you the best!" OK.

"I'm glad." I reply.

As Jon approached, she stated, "His mother and I were really good friends."

I said, "I guess so because you ARE his mother."

She laughs and then remembers, "Of course I am."

We decide to drive out the Oregon side by way of the Old Cascade Highway which begins in Troutdale. As we cross the Sandy River, Leola stuns us by saying, "There's a restaurant near here. We just ate there about a month ago. We sat by the window and looked at the river."

Our jaws drop. She's referring to Tad's Chicken and Dumplings, the restaurant we took her to on our way to Chris's birthday party. Not only does she remember eating there, she remembered the time frame, about a month ago. During the last 2 months, we haven't heard her recall anything like this. It must be the power of the river.

We stopped at Chanticleer Point, Crown Point (see photo) and briefly at Multnomah Falls (the biggest tourist attraction in the state) and crossed over into Washington over The Bridge of the Gods. She knew where she was and remembered everything about all of these places. All the memories were from her girlhood. She remembered learning to drive on the Old Cascade Highway, how her mother always had to stop at Crown Point and how she climbed to the top of Beacon Rock and "caught heck" for it.

Stevenson is at the Washington side of the bridge and we drove around the town looking for her the site of her old house. Jon and his brother had been to the house when they were kids after it belonged to another relative, so he remembered the general area. Leola did not remember and understandably so. We are talking 75-85 years ago. The town has changed. From Stevenson we drove east on SR 14 to the town of Carson and Cook. She said she went to school for a while in Cook when they lived on the houseboat, but there is nothing in Cook anymore. During all of this, she remembered some places, but mostly not. She went in and out of confusion.

We returned to Stevenson to eat lunch. She fixated on finding the place where they had the houseboat, a place called Sepsican. She has talked about this place repeatedly. It is not on any map and when Jon googled it, nothing came up.

"We should have gone a little further. We didn't go far enough. I'll just have to come back and find it on my own. I'll drive here and find it." she insisted.

To make a long story shorter, Jon and I decided to drive back east on SR 14, all the way to White Salmon and cross the bridge there. This way, we will have covered every mile on the river between Stevenson and White Salmon. If we didn't do it, we would never her the end of it... "if we had just around the next bend, we would have seen it." We never found Sepsican. It doesn't exist any more and there was no sign. She's still convinced we just "didn't go far enough."

The day began to unravel a little. It was 2:30pm and we had left home about 9:00am. Leola was tired, wound up and a little argumentative. During the ride back, she was unpacking Jon's camera bag which was on the seat next to her. Jon aksed her why she was unpacking his camera bag and she said, "This isn't your bag, It's my bag! I brought it from Coos Bay." An argument followed. I have to admit Jon and I didn't do anything to keep the situation from escalating - we were tired, too. It was the first time I heard her tone of voice get nasty. I know I don't want to hear it again.

Health

A couple of weeks ago, the woman who takes Leola swimming told Jon she noticed a mass under Leola's arm that we might want to have checked out. Jon (being the physician he is) checked it out himself and deduced it was cancer. Doctors are the worst at imagining the worst case scenario. About 4 years ago, Leola was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a mastectomy. He assumed it had spread into her lymph node and was probably in other major organs. We took her into the doctor, who ordered some tests including a biopsy and an ultrasound of her internal organs. The biopsy revealed that it is breast cancer, but strangely enough, there was no evidence of it being anywhere else but in the mass. The mass under her arm doesn't bother her and she has never mentioned it. She doesn't have any other symptoms. The next step is to take her to the oncologist and that appointment is three weeks away. What to do? This situation has given us much fodder for discussion. Would she be treated? Should the mass even be removed if it's not bothering her? She's 92 and surgery and hospitalization would being highly disorienting. We can only wait and see what the oncologist says.

Crazy Unleashed

I'm sitting in Sydney's Cafe, a small coffee place near my studio that I frequent when I need to get a visual break from my paintings. Only today, it's 10:30 and I haven't been to the studio yet. I just needed to get out of the house and still be able to write this before it escapes my brain.

Last night, Jon and I went to see Storm Large in "Crazy Enough" - a breathtakingly powerful, one-woman performance and autobiography. Before we left, we locked Leola in and she seemed fine with being home alone. When we returned about 10:15pm she was still awake and cranked. We noticed she had attempted to put away all the dished in the dishwasher, except they were still dirty. This has happened before and not really a big deal. She was holding the TV remote in her had and said she was trying to call her friend, Barbara, but she couldn't make the phone work. Well, I can't figure out how to use the new TV remote either. I learn it and then 3 weeks goes by before I watch anything on TV again. By then I've forgotten how to use it. Needless to say, those things are not intuitive, but at least I know it isn't the phone. Anyway, she asked us the name of the show and how we liked it. We told her. As we put dishes back into the dishwasher, she asked us again.

"How was the show?" What was it called?"

OK, I've been here before. Out of curiosity and a need to find humor in the situation, I decided to count the number of time she asked us these 2 questions. In the space of 8 minutes, she repeated the questions 11 times peppered with comments about how she would have liked to have gone with us. Jon told her "Crazy Enough" had a lot of cussing and loud music, so she probably wouldn't have like it.

Not 3 seconds later she asked us, "Did you like the show? What was the name of it?"

We said we were going to bed and Jon walked downstairs with her. Five minutes later she is upstairs in our room looking for the cat. "Good night, Mom."

This morning, Jon was working and on a phone conference in his office and I was in the kitchen preparing to go grocery shopping. Leola came into the kitchen as was teary saying she wanted to go to "where I live" but couldn't find her car. She was quite confused saying she was stupid because she couldn't find her keys or her wallet and how could she go someplace if she can't even keep track her car. She wasn't making much sense, but I understood what she meant. I can't handle it when she cries, but I attempted to calm her down and get her reoriented. So I went upstairs and interrupted Jon, which I hated to do. He came down and and talked with her while I escaped to the grocery store.

Upon my return, she asked, "Are you going out?"

"No, I just got back. I went grocery shopping. See I bought some ice cream for you."

"I don't know where I put my car. I just don't know what's the matter with me." she said. At least she wasn't teary anymore. I continued to put groceries away while she just kept talking, mostly about the car, her wallet, how stupid she is.

"I guess I'm just crazy. That's why I need to leave. You don't want a crazy person like me here and bothering you, getting in your way." My heart breaks. What do I say to her?

"Leola, you aren't crazy, you just forget things. We love you and want you to be here." I say. And I mean it. Now who is the crazy one?

Help!!!

Jon is making things so much harder than they have to be. Tonight he kept trying to reason with Leola. I could see her anxiety increasing as he was talking to her. She must have asked him to make a call to her house, I didn't hear the conversation exactly. I heard her talking to someone on the phone, presumably he called NW Place, where she lived the last 5 years. I admonished him saying, "Why do you keep doing this? It just makes her worse." Next thing I know he's dressing to get ready for a bike ride. Escaping. Fine. Leave me here with her again.

Upstairs, I returned a phone call to my friend, Debra. Next thing I know she's up in the bedroom standing next to me and looking for something. She realizes I'm on the phone and goes back downstairs, but is right back up again and is heading for my closet. I ask Debra to hold on and ask Leola what she looking for. "My clothes are in here," she replies. "I need to get them to take home with me." I try to get her to go back downstairs, then quickly realize I need to end my phone call and attempt to get her oriented. I show her her room with all her things in it and she says, "Well, this is just some of my stuff. I don't know why it's here, but I'll hire someone to take it home tomorrow. The rest of my stuff is at home." She gets more agitated and argumentative. I give up and tell her I'm going to go read. I sit down with a book and quickly understand I'm in this for the long haul tonight. She wants the phone book and I get it for her. She wants a pencil and I get one. She forgets why she wanted the phone book, but she gets distracted by reading it. Whew. I go grab my laptop and start typing. Now, she is asking me where she should put the pencil because she doesn't need it. She's calming down.

We have had an iron outdoor table and chairs for 20 years. It is a good quality metal table, but in it's old age, it wobbles. For over a year we have had a couple of siding shakes stuck under one of the legs to keep it from wobbling. It works. Tonight during dinner, I noticed the table was wobbling and saw that the shakes were gone. Leola loves to sweep the deck and does a damned good job of it, but now she's done something with the shakes! Where will I find them? They could turn up anywhere. The first place I looked was in the red box. Not there. Jon and I looked around outside thinking she had thrown them off the side, but I thought this unlikely. Looked in the garage, the trash (no, she doesn't know where the trash is), the shed - nothing. Now as I sit in the living room typing away on this blog, I look up and notice a couple of wooden shakes on the table. There they are. At this point she has unwound herself and is reading letters from the red box again. I think I'm better at this than Jon is. But, she's not my mother.

The Red Box continued

Leola placed the red box on our dining room table so "I won't forget it when I leave tomorrow". Last night, before Jon got back, she was having some issue with her pantyhose. It seems they frequently fall down, she being so small and most of the hose being old. She stood up in the living room and took off her skirt (black wool - a sensible choice for a 92 degree day). She was wearing a slip which she hitched up and tugged at her stockings. I noticed once again that she was wearing panties on the outside of her pantyhose, but I soon realized she also had on a second pair of panties. This was news to her. I went back to my book not wanting any part of this display. Shortly later, I noticed she got up and deposited something into the red box. About 20 minutes later, she couldn't find her book, so I looked in the red box thinking that was what she had put in there. What I found were 2 pair of panties as well as her book and 3 magazines she's been reading, along with the old letters. When Whitney was here on Sunday, she said she found underwear of Leola's in a drawer in the guest room - a bra and panties. I wonder where else we'll be finding them? The question is - why?