"Keep Reading or I'll Cancel My Subscription."

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Dear Suzy and Jonathan,

            Every day seems different, and today Mom was somewhat the way she was Tuesday and Sunday, but she swang back and forth, and I got the impression that some of it was an act—for appearances, for civility, for survival… 

            On my way in, I talked to Dee, one of the three people I wrote to yesterday.  She told me that Sue and Yelba were the ones who had the most contact and could make the most difference.  I’d written to Yelba and RosMay, not to Sue.

            The other residents don’t seem to be the mood-swingers  Mom is.    They were almost all in the piano area but listening to patriotic songs with their heads bowed.  Only Ada and Carol were chin up.  Bobbie, who had her head bowed, was singing a solo.  She knew all the words to all of the hymns of praise for our fair land, and later when I told her I thought she sang really well, she thanked me and said, “But this guy is demented,” indicating Lorenzo, an aide I don’t know.  Lorenzo took it as a joke, which seemed to be the way she meant it.  I just hope that he doesn’t come between Bobbie and Franz (and that Franz doesn’t come between Bobbie and her sister May.  What if she runs away with the wrong person!)

            When I first arrived around 10:45, Kay was asleep—not even wearing her glasses-- in her chair.  Mom was coming in and out of the bathroom.  When I entered she pointed out that “She” (Who Must Be Obeyed) was asleep, but when I tried to lead Mom out of the room and into the dining room area, Mom said, “I ‘m not allowed to go in there.  I’m supposed to be looking after her.”   God, I hope she doesn’t think Kay is her charge.

            But she did put in her teeth and go  into the dining room with me and suggested that we go out on the side porch/patio, which we did.  Sylvia was already there.  Ada and Carol came to join us.  I had found the Magazine Elks, which had a cover story about animal behavior predicting earthquakes, and there was even a paragraph about Alabama Street, where my son went to pre-school, and how the horses there started acting wild right before the earthquake of 1906.  Mom and Ada thought that was probably before your time but found it interesting.  Carol said, when I mentioned animal behavior before a 9.2 earthquake, “I’m scared,” so I wasn’t sure whether the wonderfulness of the animals would keep them from dwelling on the awfulness of the earthquake, and I didn’t want to give them nightmares. 

            When I said that maybe I should get something different to read, Mom said, “Yes, this is something of a downer.”  So I brought in what I could scrounge up (still waiting for Unlikely Friendships, which should be here any day), and I read about rudeness on airlines, which didn’t directly connect with their lives (though I think May and Bobbie would have been interested—and polite on their flight, given half a chance).  I mentioned the heat wave on the east coast and pointed out how nice it was to be there at Aegis instead, and then I showed them the cartoon of all the naked people going through Security.  It had the caption, “This heat wave sure makes our job a lot easier!”  No one thought that was very funny.  Mom said, “Well, I think that’s kind of…disgusting, really.”  I told them I thought it was really meant as a joke—a cartoon, really—and then I told them about you, Jonathan, and how you really like hot weather and realized that you were the only one outside at a restaurant the other day—in NYC, which has plenty of people!  Ada smiled and said she liked that in a person.  Doing his own thing.  Doing what he wanted even if nobody else wanted to.  She wanted to know your name, and then I told her, “And your son is Steve!  I have a picture of you and him,” and she wanted to see it, so I showed it to her on my camera screen, and she wanted to hold it.

            Then Mom said, “Go on with the reading, Tina, or I’ll cancel my subscription.”   

            At one point a stumbled over a sentence, and Mom said, “You really butchered that line,” and Ada agreed but added, “But we still love you.” 

            Later I took a picture of the three of them  “linking hands” as Mom had suggested, and I held the camera while showing them the picture, and Mom said, “Take your hands off my blouse,” which I apparently was covering with my fingers.  Ada saw her and her son again for the first time, and Mom said, “Okay, Tina, go back to reading.  I’m the only one who isn’t shining.”  At least I think that’s what she said.  (Jonathan and I have read a couple of books—Being Wrong and The Invisible Gorilla—both of which point out how undependable our memories are—or even our ability to see what’s there.) 

            Pretty soon it was time to go to lunch, and Divina called them in.  It was kind of like musical chairs because the people who were semi-awake all had every seat taken at their tables, so Mom sat down with Gus and Bob (the ones who seem the least likely to be alive), and while Mom was going to the bathroom again, May sat at her table.  When I told Mom I was going, she said, “Oh, hell,” the same thing she told me on Tuesday, and when I leaned down to kiss her cheek, she whispered, “I’m upset because I have to stay here.”  I said, “I’ll be back tomorrow,” and she said, “I’ll be dead.”