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.