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.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
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.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
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.
Monday, October 12, 2009
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.
The hooting has stopped now... I hope it returns.
Friday, October 9, 2009
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.
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.
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