We Did Everything Wrong - A Raising Parents Story

 My original email to my BFF was titled "It happened again.  This is ridiculously long."  I will try to not barf words and feelings into this bloggity.

But seriously: OMG.

Remember when I said that my father-in-law had settled into the facility and we thought we had made some progress?  Nah, never mind. We couldn't be further from being right.  Right is in the ditch and on fire.

So, he had a great few weeks and the meds adjustment that I may or may not have told you about was finally making a difference. He had dinner and breakfast with the family on two separate occasions, and had a long phone conversation with an old friend/boss.  

Then.  During his daily call with his boys, he mentioned that he wanted to have a family meeting.  It wasn't a big deal, nothing to worry about, and no, it wasn't about money, he said.  Color both boys skeptical.

He said it wasn't a hurry, we could wait until the weekend when we regularly visit.  We called his bluff and said We Are Doing It Now.  We're not playing any sort of game here.  

Now I'm scanning my brain to try to guess what he could possibly want to meet about. I thought it was going to be a request to go out of the facility more, be more independent or spend time with family.  Kevin thought it was going to be something about his doctor's appointments - because he has one in September so now is the time to plan for that. My b-i-l's nightmare/guess was he wanted to come back home. My sister-in-law had no guesses.

Pause while I copy/paste from the email because OMG...

S-i-l and I arrived first  to the facility and we were waiting in the lobby and the conference room for residents is adjacent to the lobby.  We were just kind of lingering for 1-2 minutes. Out of nowhere, the f-i-l says "Hello girls" or something like that and startled the hell out of me.  So much so that another person  waiting in the lobby laughed out loud. I made the joke of "This is NOT the place you want to hear voices from the great beyond!" 

Well, f-i-l was sitting in a chair that was propping the conference room door open, with the lights off and didn't say anything immediately when we arrived.  This should have been a warning but we just thought whatever about it. His usual greeting is "Hello, kid!" or "Hello there, persons name" so we're already off to a weird start.

So we go into the room and s-i-l and I sit next to each other while the f-i-l drags a chair to the table and sits at the head of the table. He's very quiet and serious, which is very unlike him.  He awkwardly makes small talk like "are you busy at work?" until Kevin arrives after a 11-hour work day in 90 degree heat.  He is in NO MOOD and was a little curt when f-i-l asked him a similar question to ours.  Then the b-i-l arrived and sat next to Kevin.

We all sat there and let him start this meeting. His demeanor was almost formal and said something like "thank you for coming and I wanted to have everyone together..."

 He said that he's been upset and "Crying in my room all week over this" and he wants to talk about it. He was literally giddy the day before because he talked to his friend, so  our spidey senses went even more up.  (Also, the facility would have phoned us)

He continues: "Back in January when we had that disagreement, who started it?"  To which, we inappropriately collectively responded  with "YOU!!!"   I think it was just a reaction borne of shock.

IMMEDIATELY he was angry. IMMEDIATELY  "I did not! I was mad because SHE - and he finger-points at me - Would NOT give me my bank statement or even tell me how much I had in the bank!"  

Kevin, incredulously - calmly says "Dad, we said we're not talking about  money. If that's what we're going to talk about then..." and his dad interrupts him with the whole spiel that we experienced in January, accusing/implying that we hid money from him and/or spent it on ourselves.  Conversely, he is ALSO mad that we spent our own money on him.

Again, he raised his voice at me and pointed and I responded "Okay, I'm going home. I'm not doing this." and looked at Kevin.  Kevin went all I'm The Captain Now and told his dad "You aren't going to speak to her like that, you'll speak only to me and be Very Careful How You Proceed."  So I gave it a beat to see what would happen next.

Now, all the therapists, social workers, med staff state to not engage in these situations.  TELL ME HOW WE'RE SUPPOSED TO DO THAT.  But I sat quietly, with my keys and phone in my hand.  Kevin reiterated that we weren't going to talk about this because this was settled and why is it coming up again; meaning what brought this on, not let's rehash this, etc.  F-i-l continues on this rant again about how we spent his money and bought a blanket but I said that we bought it and the paperwork says he bought it and...we were all just nonplussed.  

Voices got raised because this is a loud family who likes to argue. Again, we did everything wrong.  We admit it but it's nearly impossible to no react when you are ambushed like that.

At one point, as I stood up, the f-i-l said something like "Why don't I know this? No one has told me ANYTHING" and I said exactly what I'm not supposed to say "Because you've forgotten.  You've forgotten and that sucks and that's hard but you don't get to be mad at US."  This  momentarily silenced him but with a wave of his hand like whatever, which then set the boys back off again.

My s-i-l finally loudly said "THEY SAID TO WALK AWAY IN THIS SITUATION. WALK AWAY."  She never, ever, ever raises her voice. EVER.  So we were momentarily silenced then I said "You're right, that's what we have to do."   

Kevin sat back incredulously and looked at me "They said this would happen again and here we are, it's happening."  Then the verbal ruckus started again until Kevin said "This is over, we're done" to which the f-i-l slapped his hands on the table and said "Then this meeting is OVER" and went to stand, as if we're being dismissed.  The brother wades into the fray with "Well, then you're just going to stay mad at us? You don't trust us?" and s-i-l and I walked out.  I went to my car and stayed on the side where I wasn't visible to the windows.  The f-i-l doesn't know my car but I could envision him trying to storm out of the facility.

 A few minutes later, the boys finally came out and said that he was returning to his room mad as hell at all of us.  To which, I laughed - because: traumatic childhood- all I could imagine was "storming" away at a snails pace with a walker and it was funny in my head.  We all just kind of stood there in stunned silence  then the brother just said "I guess we just go home now..." and we went to our own cars.  We went home and was just defeated.

The next day I phoned the facility and left a voicemail for the assistant social worker, explained that we had a verbal altercation and wanted to ask a few questions.  

Then I texted the advocate and asked her to phone me for a quick conversation.

Then I called the dementia specialist to ask what we should do now. I explained that the "consequence" last time was nearly a month of no contact because it took that long for him to get out of that particular headspace.  She is Team No Consequence and I'm gritting my teeth about that.  She thinks we should keep our regular visitation schedule and just excuse ourselves when he starts in. I explained that we're exhausted and hurt and please don't say "It's the disease, it's not your dad" because that is unhelpful.  I told her that we were taking  a break to keep ourselves safe but we would work on that boundary.  

My frustration with this particularly is she is advising us but hasn't met Kevin's dad. She's just providing help/therapy for us. So, by her own admittance to be fair, her answers are usually one-size-fits-all.  This sounds like a complaint but it's more an acknowledgement.

 

However, the  therapist was curious about the personality shift, as per the kind of formal and "in charge" at the beginning of the meeting, which isn't him AT ALL and the calling of a meeting in and of itself.  He's never been a supervisor or in any kind of position like that. Not even within the family structure or hierarchy was he the boss.  He was gone all the time, on the road.  So we wondered if he saw something on television.  I'm now wondering if he was acting like his old friend he had talked to, who was the Owner of the company he worked for.  But we'll never know.

She was very puzzled at the manipulation; the "nothings wrong, no this isn't about money" when it was and also the drastic mood change in less than 24 hours.  She did say that we have no idea what time means to him now.  His one minute can mean a whole day at this point, it's difficult to judge.  But this applies to the "all of a sudden" change, perhaps.   Also that, strangely, he shouldn't be cognitively able for such conivery.

Then right after that, the advocate phoned me back and before I could explain what happened, she said that he had called her TWICE.  She didn't say it like this but basically he called to tattle, twice.  Strangely, he's referring to himself as Mr. Johnson with her. (WUT)   I explained how the meeting came to be and went, which was of course different than he reported.  

She did not focus on his issues other than to say that he appears to be stuck back in November. again.  He wants his debit card again.  

She's already had her appointment with him this month but said she would check in to see what's happening with the facility.

Meanwhile,  Kevin spoke with the assistant social worker and she said she would check on him.  She did then reported that he was "blubbering like a girl" in his room and hadn't left his room all day.  She said that she spoke with him about what happened and could get him to agree that we weren't robbing him blind and that we were good kids but could NOT get him to stop being angry.  She said he reacted to her just like he did to us. Amenable and then FURIOUS.

We asked if they could medicate him through this and she said she would check with the nurses to see if that was a thing.  She said she would call Kevin by the end of the day and then...did not.

Cue us calling the facility over and over but didn't get any satisfying answers. This is not the first time that this has happened.  I'm going to call and schedule a care meeting so the family can get an update on his overall status.

 Everything I've researched states that the facility should be having bloodwork and urinalysis completed.  They may have but I suspect not. Also, I learned to call this particular thing a delusion, not a memory issue.  It's both but he's clearly not based in reality right now.  

There is nothing concrete to be done otherwise.  We're switching focus to making sure he's taken care of and the facility is helping him through this instead of US fixing the issue; because that's unfixable. He's not in his right mind and we can't keep signing up for what is essentially abusive.

Then next day, I called the facility and asked for help scheduling a care conference, which sounds more formal than it actually is.  It's meeting with his nurse, social worker, etc. for an overall update.  I left a voicemail with the social worker, again.

Then two hours later, I phoned again and asked for help because no one is returning our calls.  I was put directly through to the assistant social worker. The one who originally did not return our calls.  She did answer.

I explained what had happened and then she explained what happened.  They "staffed" on him this morning so everyone is aware of what is happening.  And it is A LOT:

He is angry at us and refuses to see or talk to us.

He has demanded that the facility NOT share information with us specifically.

He had demanded that NO ONE have ANY conversation regarding him without him being present 

He wants to know where his $100 a month is.  (Medicaid allowance)

So, he's IN IT and it seems that they're not confident if he's coming out of it.  It could be that he's tipped all the way into Stage 5ish dementia at this point.  That makes this easier and harder.  

 

Then I'll leave out the details that the facility had a report over the weekend that he had left the building unattended.  They notified the wrong family, it wasn't our dad. SIGH.

I asked for guidance as to next steps. 

I explained that we cannot and will not go talk to him at this point in time.  She agreed but they also want to facilitate visitation so that's a sticky area for them.

I asked if  they had run blood tests and urinalysis but she wasn't sure or was vague.

I asked what power, if any, the durable power of attorney holds when he makes proclamations like he has.  She said that it could become a thing and to which I responded "Then he's your problem to solve. I'm not being flip or sarcastic, he ties our hands."  She said she understands.

I asked her if he is at the point of needing a facility change and she said "Not yet" but I have a feeling that we may not have a choice if he did become a flight risk or worse, combative with the staff. She said that they have had difficulty talking him down more recently. (something they should have reported to us)

Then she said she would go meet with him then phone me back with the details.  Hours went by with no call. I had to call again.

She reported that she had a "come to jesus talk" with him and asked him why he thinks his kids are hiding things, etc.  He was not able to answer that question clearly and shrugged it off.  She could get him to agree that his kids love him and want the best for him but when it's time to connect the two thoughts, he's unable.  He's like a toddler who is so tired and angry and they just Can't Even.

She asked him if he wanted to know why SHE THINKS he's upset and he said yes.  She told him straight up that she thinks he's mad and frustrated that he's losing his independence.  He agreed. (don't get your hopes up) Because then he immediately complained that he told b-i-l that he wanted to barbecue and that he said no.  She asked him why he would say no and he said "Because he says I will fall."  YES, that is a thing.

So she offered that we could use the backyard of the facility to have a barbecue and he said he didn't know they could do that and maybe that would work.  To which I replied "You gave him a solution, gdammit!" and laughed. She took it as WE would have to follow up with that and Yes, but I meant it as you gave HIM a solution so he'll have to find something else to be mad about. And he will.

To clarify, it was a vague conversation with no plan and it was extrapolated out to HE WON'T BARBECUE FOR ME; aligning with the thought that he's about kindergarten level cognitively.

I'm editing the conversation reminding him of the goal the facility set for him months ago to participate at the facility and he refuses. Because: reasons.

By taking his debit card and cash to him, it takes those two complaints off of the table. I told her that I'm not interested in seeing him right now and I think she was a little disappointed with that but understands.  While she knows what happened, I don't think she understands how ugly it was in context to the last 35 years we've been with him.  She's only experienced this version of him.

I also posited that there is perhaps a level of manipulation happening and that he will react differently to a male than to a female.  

So, now the boys are still having big feelings and that's righteous. The next time(s) we have to have good boundaries. If the vibe is off or he starts in, then we're out and we'll visit less often.  Both boys have mentioned an apology and I reminded him that we really didn't get one last time and it's too high of an expectation at this point.  I tried to make the comparison of  9-year-old Nephew who has better judgement and emotional regulation than their dad does now.

The dementia therapist gave me the idea/tool/whatever to use my Early Childhood degree/experience and make comparisons as he's actually aging backward.  He's lost emotional regulation so that takes him to the Kindergarten range.  He's like the kid who is intelligent but socially & emotionally immature.  I can kind of apply that in this situation but no one else has had that kind of experience or education. 

Then I realized that he is getting SO MUCH negative attention in this situation and that pairs with the kindergarten level also. Now I need to figure out how to make this information make sense to Kevin.  I managed to make a car analogy about his memory and car wiring so there's hope. lolsigh.

BUT WAIT, there's MORE.

The next day, as planned I was going to take the f-i-l's debit card and his monthly allowance to the facility. But first, I thought I would log into his bank account (that I am a co-owner of), print out a recent statement and include that with the cash and card.  

And: error message.  I'm not able to log in and I have to call a 1-800 number.

Immediately I'm mad.  I knew/suspected - yet hoped not - but knew he had called the bank and created a mess.

I called the number and sat on hold for 20 minutes while I worked before I finally hung up because that's ridiculous.  (Bank of America, btw)

I went directly to the branch, gave them my ID and debit card and explained what happened, even showing them the error message on my phone.  Their demeanor changed so now I knew I was in it. There was a fraud hold on his account so only deposits were allowed, no other  transactions.  

They gave me a telephone number to call that was different than what was on the website.  I went out to the car and phoned it.  There is a code/extension that is required and if you don't have it, the call disconnects.  I walked back into the bank and explained what happened to a different teller.  She gave me a different number and said it would connect directly to a human.

Back out to the car I go and I dial the number.  I do get a human and she's lovely.  It took 20 minutes total to get the extension and then finally I get a VOICEMAIL.  I left a message and went about my day.  I couldn't get cash, his card was dead and there was no need to go to the facility.  I phoned Kevin to explain who then phoned his brother, etc.  

I did my errands and walkies then returned home.  Two hours later, I phoned again and left another message.  One hour goes by and I phone again and leave another message.  Now I'm mad about the situation and the BofA

An hour and a half later, I realized they might be based in the Eastern Time Zone so I phoned AGAIN.  This time I got the actual human and again, totally lovely person. 

F-i-l had called the bank and reported fraud.  Over the DoorDash transactions.  That say DoorDash: Dennys or DoorDash: Sahara Pizza and that happen on FRIDAYS.  He also told them that he had "Been kicked out" and they said they didn't know what he meant but documented it.  

She asked if he was in Assisted Living and I explained he is in a Skilled Nursing Facility, has dementia and is 86 years old.  She says "We didn't have that noted. I have put a note in the file that he has dementia and if he calls again, it will not go any further."  Cue me frustrated with myself because the dementia therapist SAID TO DO THAT and I hadn't gotten to it yet.  Sigh.

They said give it an hour and everything will be reactivated.  LUCKILY, they didn't need to issue a new card.  But now I'm over it, I'm not leaving the house. I was in shock, then I was sad, and now I'm just hair on fire mad.  It's good that I stay home.

I phoned the assistant social worker to explain what happened.  I mentioned that the family vote is that he doesn't get to have his bank statements again.  She was Not down with that idea, mostly because that's where he is deriving his power and control and that would really upset him.  My counter to that was that I spent nearly the Entire Day being upset and fixing what he did.  

Oh, and also, that was kind of an official accusation that could have gotten ME into trouble.  

AND I took time off of work to deal with this.

I told her that I would bring the card and his monthly allowance down the next day.  

She stated that they don't want the full $103 but the family is not giving them the choice.  If we have to give his bank statements to him then they get to deal with $103 cash on hand.

THEN I texted the advocate and asked for one minute of her time.  She phoned almost immediately and asked for an update so I explained all of the above and she was horrified.  I shared that we are taking his debit card to him and some cash. Also that there was disagreement over the amount of money we should give him. She said that it has to be the full allowance or he's going to hyperfixate over where the rest of his money is. She said to plan to bring the $103 dollars every month and that SHE will help him budget/manage his money.  BET.

I explained that we were using DoorDash and what to do about that?  She - in the nicest, passive, Southern way possible - says that's for the facility to figure out.   So I cancelled his DoorDash account because OMG.  We weren't sure about that at first but it's connected to my phone and email so it was cancelled just based on the risk factor if nothing else.

I asked her if he had told her that she couldn't talk to us and she said no. I said "not yet" and she didn't disagree.  However, she said because of the Durable Power of Attorney, he doesn't have that right.  I shared that the facility was all "Well...." about it and she added that to her case notes.  She can touch base with the facility staff to clarify that issue.

Somewhere along the way, Kevin said he told his brother that the one person that got the brunt of this - Me - is the one who is working the hardest to fix this.  I explained that it has become my job to do this and it's me who is talking to the social worker, advocate, and dementia therapist so my information and attitude is different. Also, my education and experience in education and social services have been PUT TO USE.

 Then I realized that I'm back in my childhood dealing with an angry father but this time I have the TOOLS TO DEAL.  

I told Kevin that the mean girl part of me wants to just go slap the card and cash onto his table and state "We are NEVER talking about this again" but it would be futile and I would be "yelling" at a crazy person.  Also, he didn't tell US that he wanted his card and cash, he told the social worker and the advocate; so I'm not supposed to know any of that anyway.

One more detail that happened: F-i-l talks to his brother about once a week.  One of the boys phoned their uncle to let him know that their dad is in the dark place right now.  Uncle said that he would phone him then let the boys know what he said.  Later, he reported that when he asked "How's the kids?" Dad told him that he had screwed up and made us mad. But didn't elaborate or indicate any sort of plan to fix it, if you will.  

Now it's been 2 days and no changes.  Part of me thinks the negative attention he's getting for pissing off his kids, he thinks, is working for him.  

By giving him the card and cash, it gave him a reason to call and he didn't.  We did practice what to say if he phones to order dinner on Friday: "Dad, you have your card and all of your money. I cannot order dinner for you."  And that's all to be said.  I can't even say that DoorDash has been cancelled because you reported it. Sigh.

We cannot remember how this was resolved last time. I think someone just risked a visit and he was "fine." But now I'm wondering if he was fine or if we just hadn't triggered him.  I don't know, this is all speculation.

Then I thought of the movie quote from In & Out and laughed "Thank god my parents are dead because this would have killed them."  This would have shattered my mother-in-law.  I'm thankful she is missing this chapter.

Boxes and Cans

 The other day I read/listened/watched something about food waste. One of the points that surprised me was the fact that how often cereal goes to waste.  Because the boxes are often truck-sized and if you don’t have children – or their tastes change, as they tend to do – the cereal can be stale by the time the bottom of the box is reached.  Also, the fact that the waxed bags aren’t air-tight and why doesn’t cereal come in ziplock bags in this day and age.  Crackers or chips are a similar situation in the food waste category.  Then there’s the old joke about fresh vegetables and fruit bought with the best of intentions but offered to the refrigerator gods instead.

Anyway, this is about pantry organization.  Yes, it is.

The whole cereal thing prompted me to actually browse the pantry organizer options. Before I was thinking it was expensive – or shall I say Expensive TO ME – and what good does it do anyway.  Also, I didn’t want to be That Woman who has everything boxed, sorted, and labelled.  (Yes, yes I do, let’s be honest) But the alphabet brain has other plans.

This made me think about all the canisters that one sees in the vintage/antique shops to store food.  Because Grandma had a cellar or a root cellar and they stored food on the regular.  Or, if you were alive during the great depression: it was coffee cans and cookie tins.  Modern day grandmas trend toward butter containers and many times washed ziplock bags.  #askmehowIknow

Meanwhile.

I found an inexpensive set and bought it on impulse.  I figured that if it arrived and I had lost interest in this particular side quest or they weren’t as cool as on the social media, I would return them.

Color Kevin skeptical at this point but he’s learned to just let me go with these kinds of things.  Either it will work out for the better or I’ll go back to how it used to was.  Odds are 70/30.

I spent Sunday afternoon figuring out what fits in what.  It was a big 24-piece set with 6 “cereal sized” containers.  Then six of three other sizes, down to small enough I don’t know what they’re intended for in a kitchen. I need to go look at the photos.

What I didn’t think about was the now necessary restructuring of said pantry.  These containers, while nice and air-tight, take up more space that the regular boxes.  Well, of course they do; otherwise this wouldn’t be a Surely story.

Cue me taking everything off of one row of two shelves.  I’ve said it before: you often have to make a mess to clean a mess.  Achievement Unlocked.

Now, when we chose this kitchen layout we were actually excited about the pantry.  We’d never had one and we made many jokes about what else other than food we could store in it.  Now we have it and I would seriously never live in a house without one again.

Oh, pause.  On the clock app there was a woman who put her dishes, pans, etc. in the pantry then put her FOOD where the dishes etc. were.  I think that just might be crazy enough to work.  But I’m not interested in doing it.  Her reasoning was something about children and husband access and that isn’t a thing for me.

Anyway.

The pantry has builder-grade wire shelving.  I’ve been continually frustrated at playing dominoes with boxes or smaller items that don’t sit squarely on those shelves.  This container idea could help with that.  So that was a legitimate issue that could be addressed with said organization project.

BUT THEN, I thought about Monica’s Closet.  I’ve said for years that I wanted to make it into a nook of sorts and I’m nearly there.  It’s painted, organized and decorated.  I almost have room for a chair in there.  (more on that on a different bloggity post)   It has one row of that particular shelving and it’s installed ridiculously high.  I can easily walk under it so it’s almost like it’s not there.  

But it is and the alphabet brain tracks that.  My solution was to go to the dollar store and buy white, plastic placemats. They are the PERFECT size.  Now it just looks like a shelf…or a ceiling, as Kevin joked.

Cue me going to the dollar store on Monday morning to buy placemats.  This is one of those things where you just wonder and regret why you didn’t think of this sooner.  It’s such an easy and inexpensive fix.  And if people already know this, then WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME.

Now, cereal is sorted and other things are containerized that I didn’t think of until I had everything pulled apart.  Yes, I lost some real estate but this will solve the alphabet brain’s issue of object permanence.  While I can see and read the boxes, actually seeing the Cereal itself is a Whole Other Level.

During the pandemic, we added a shelf way up top for ice chests, lunchboxes, and bigger items.  We thought we were So Cool when we did that and now we’re even cooler, I must say. A while ago, I added a small baker’s shelf also that has purposefully become kind of a catch-all.  Right now it has Lotus and coffee supplies and a can of paint from Monica’s Closet.  Like people do.

One of my coping mechanisms originally in this space was to use cubbies to store fruit, bread, etc.  Mostly the bigger items, kind of. Then it branched out to smaller boxes for seasoning packets, spices, etc.  So I had already containerized the pantry, I just now took it all the way home.

I haven’t made labels, yet.  The set came with the old fashioned black labels and chalk pen but I haven’t used them yet.  I also have a label maker…because of course I do…that I could use.  Some of the bins have sticky notes on them from when someone else stayed at our house or because I didn’t want to climb the stool to remember which box had napkins and which box had junk.

All in all, it feels like this was a success.  It’s not been a week yet so jury is still out.  I know that I think about having cereal more now during the day so that’s a win.  I used to subsist on cereal back in my 20’s.

Also, it just feels more pleasant in there. I momentarily thought about painting the walls a fun color but quickly realized how not fun that would be with all the shelving.  That's not a no, but it's a pause on that particular thought.

This was the early version of the pantry

This is nearly completed, please ignore the recycling that
my brain refuses to acknowledge

Playlist for Dysfunctional Families

It's weird when you have a parent die and you have been low-to-no contact with your family.  Because when you mention it has happened, everyone's immediate response is a gasp of surprise followed by sympathy.  As is: normal.

It feels fake, disingenuous even, to respond like a normal human being would.  But it's also not kind to respond off-handedly or with a clever remark.  I mostly just landed on a reserved thanks. 

But now it's been nine months since she's passed.  Time has gone by enough that it feels like nothing happened and/or nothing changed.  The estate is being handled, albeit painfully slowly, and I'm hoping for an update from the lawyer in the Fall.  Otherwise, I am hands-off and back to no contact.

That is a superficial statement about that particular topic and for mental health and confidential reasons, we might discuss that more later. Meanwhile...

This is a really late answer but:

Someone asked what having all the work I had done being undone meant.  Fair question and I had to think about how to accurately describe it.  I live in my head and while it's normal to me, I acknowledge that it's not normal to most.

Stims returned.  Picking at my fingers, running my hand through my hair, pulling on my ears/nose.

Cursing increased.  Believe it or not, I'm not usually cursey in real.  I mean, I am but not like the first few months.  Usually I'm more of a creative curser: "sonofabiscuiteatingdog" and "God Bless America"  But the big girl words were doing some real work for a while there.

Tension pain: who knew that trauma causes aches and pains.  Many people do.  I do.  I went to the chiropractor and he was all What the hell.

My brain got loud.  There's always a lot happening up there; there's always a song playing, and a running narrative, random thoughts.  It's like someone turned up the volume and made it more chaotic. It was like a mariachi band and a marching band are chicken-fighting on a trampoline.

My patience and concentration diminished.  I just got frustrated a lot more easily and the alphabet brain is/was on High ALERT.  I felt judgement start to wheedle it's way into my brain.

Thankfully, most of these have gone away again or subsided is a better word.  If the topic comes up, I start to feel it crawl it's way back up so I've had to be strict with myself to keep "normal".

Meanwhile, remember I have a playlist when I just need to play music LOUDLY and stay stubbornly  positive?  (click here: Music for Your Monday)   Well,  I now have a In My Feelings Playlist for Dysfunctional Families.  Because, of course I do.

So if you need to take a little twenty minute pity party, here you go.  No longer than 20 minutes, after that get off of the floor.

Bass Boat - Zach Bryan  

You're Going to Go Far - Noah Kahan

Zombies - Disturbed  

Hate Me - Blue October

Pink Skies by Zach Bryan - this one made me lay on the floor when my mother-in-law died. 

Burning House- Alex Warren

Unlucky Pants

 Swistle and I are fighting off the existential dread and ennui with any force necessary right now.  Might I suggest you do the same?  Buy that plant, eat that chocolate, watch Friends all weekend.  Do what gets you through the day.  Also: say no to drugs, except the legal ones. Take those.   

With this thought process, we're trying to find happy or happy adjacent, non-fraught topics to talk about.  So, here we go.

Remember when Swistle was looking for comfy pants suggestions?  Well, she was and link here: Comfy Pants

Someone mentioned the cargo pants at Old Navy, along with other pants sold there. I've had good luck with Old Navy clothing so I tried a pair.  THOUGHTS: they're nylon (omg), they're cuffed (OMG) and IF they had extra zippers and an extra pocket, they would be parachute pants from the 1980's.   

They were a little too short...like, what are the odds of that happening to me? (I'm 5'2"..used to be 5'3") However, I decided I was going to ignore the OCD/sensory issues and wear them the other day. The other day when I had to leave the house. OMGNONEVERAGAIN  #SurelyStrong

So, so SO much sensory input.  They were comfortable-ish but then I was reminded how parachute pants were tight in the morning and loose by the end of the school day.  The feel against my legs was TORTUOUS.  I even put on lotion to try to prevent that sensation but to no avail.  I finally took  them off and put them in the wash with the intention of donating them versus setting them on fire.

One star because they were momentarily comfortable but otherwise NO.  I will try Old Navy again another day.

Then yesterday the landscaper was here in the morning.  I had garden projects I wanted to do so I did the parallel play that neurospicy brains enjoy.  While he did work in the backyard, I worked in the garden.  It's growing like a weed now that it's hot so I'm really getting to see what needs replaced, trimmed or filled.  

During the pandemic, I did a rock project and they both still look good.  There are ferns everywhere that obscure some of it but I can see it during the winter when the ferns are gone.  This was part of my idea: something nice to look at when it's the Dark Months.

But one section just didn't work.  The soil wasn't good for growing and it was difficult to reach to keep the weeds away, which did grow exceptionally well there.  And I mean reach, as in climb up on the hill or onto the rocks and still not be able to fully reach.  It was an impulsive project that just didn't work.

Anyway.  I was wearing my uniform of yoga pants and a tshirt and put on my hiking boots so I wouldn't break a bone, theoretically, while working.  It's a look specific to PNW gardeners, I think.  Anyway x2.

I climbed up onto the hill, steep enough that I had made footholds in years past.  I removed the rockery rock that I used as a border and tore out two of the three survivor plants.  I couldn't get a grip on the other and so I left it for the landscaper. 

That task completed, I climbed back down and went to clean up all the rocks and weeds I'd thrown down.  My knee was sticky. Hmmm.  At first, I thought maybe I'd cut my knee because that's always a possibility.

Oh, sidequest: have you seen on the social media the question of "Do you have the scar on your knee or do you have the pencil lead in your hand?"  I think it was mostly geared to GENX but maybe not.  I have the scar on my knee; a crescent moon shape from a cinder block retaining wall from a cut that should have had stitches.

Anyway, again.

My knee was sticky because I had knelt on a slug.  Yeah. The joys of gardening in the PNW: slugs.

Now I didn't feel badly because as I've mentioned before, they're eating my hostas.  And: slug, my brain cannot anthropomorphize those.

But I have sensory issues and one of those are being sticky or slimy, of which slugs are somehow BOTH.  I tamped down my tiny panic and grabbed a garden shovel and attempted to scrape it off.  It didn't work, at all.  I grabbed the hose and tried to rinse it off.  Also didn't work and now one leg and foot was soaking wet.

The soaking wet pant leg someone distracted my brain from the yuck that was on my knee.  I was almost done with my projects so I powered through until I could go inside and shower. (let's hear it for disassociation...)

When I went inside, I put all my clothes in the laundry and made sure that the yukky part of the pant let was folded against itself so not to share the joy with all the other clothing.  After I cleaned myself up, I started laundry by pretreating the yucky with dawn powerwash.  I figured nothing could stand up to dawn soap, alcohol, and water.  I already add vinegar to the wash because I don't use fabric softener of any kind anymore.  I figured between all of that and a generous dose of tide, it would be fine.

It was not fine.  Imagine my horror, and momentary panic, when I take the pants out of the wash to find that NOTHING HAS CHANGED.  In fact, I think it just made it angry.  I set the pants aside and hurriedly shuffled through the other clothing with thoughts of a chewing gum like substance on everything.  To my relief, it did not transfer to anything else.

I brought the pants to the kitchen sink and began to search the internet for suggestions. The first suggestion was essentially what I had already done.  I could have let it soak longer but we'll never know.  The next suggestion was to take a butter knife and "gently scrape away the residue" *hork* then pretreat and wash.  NOTING THAT: it "may take several attempts to remove..."

Enter Kevin from outside as I'm sighing heavily about my fate and trying to squelch those pre-vomit tingles.  He asked what was happening and I  explained that the Slug Did Not Come Out in the Wash.  He too was very surprised then asked what the solution was.  I explained the above to him while he just patiently listens.

Then he says "Might I suggest JUST THROWING THEM AWAY!?!?"  I kind of started to laugh/cry because that seriously never occurred to me.  I was just going to try to clean it off while dry heaving on the other side of the kitchen sink.  Instead, I opened the cupboard where the garbage is and threw them away.  Then went online and ordered another pair.

Because seriously, a $25 pair of inexpensive yoga pants versus the straight up TRAUMA of cleaning slug guts off of the pants is MONEY WELL SPENT.

So, yeah, I haven't been so lucky in the pants department.  That's such a lovely double-entendre that I'm clicking publish right now.

Happy July

 

In Case of Fire

 There is a scene in a movie that the antagonist asks the protagonist "Your place is on fire, you have to leave immediately. What would you take?"  It always struck me because I think that's an important question to consider.  Not the easy stuff like the children or the pets.  

What would you be absolutely devastated to lose?

For me, I think it would be photographs.  Even though most are backed up online, there's something about having the originals.  Then I think maybe my books; not all of them but some of them.  Maybe some keepsakes; my childhood stuffy, our championship coats from racing, some knicknacks.

Now, because Kevin is wired for proactivity, he already has a plan if we were suddenly needing to evacuate.  Living where we do and wildfires becoming a season instead of an anomaly, we've thought about this.  

At first, it's going to make you squint but stay with me.  He would hook the big truck up to our car trailer and load the racecar.  This would take 15 minutes, under pressure, and would accomplish two things: three of our highest valued assets would be ready to go and then we can load stuff into the truck and trailer.  This also leaves my car to be loaded, of which would be happening while he was dealing with that.

And I have a plan: suitcase & some clothes, document safe, file cabinet contents, and all the electronics.  Between the document safe and our electronics, most anything that would be irreplaceable or needed in such a situation would be included. All of these, fairly easily accessible. It's a small house and I'm ridiculously organized with most things.  They will also fit easily into my car.

Then, if still time, photographs and keepsakes.  Dump out a big tote that stores decorations then arm sweep the cabinet where the albums live.  This is an example of how much I've thought about this, I've visualized it.  This remains undecided if that is a healthy or unhealthy thing.

In the past three years, I've closed - or in my bio family's case, helped with - two houses.  

With my in-laws, we each kept things that we wanted or could use.  We did our best to distribute amongst each other and extended family. Still, truckloads went to donation.

As I glanced through the house to see what I would be compelled to take in an emergency - and I had time - it would be items from their house.  The key rack, the pansy painting that Mom loved, the tiffany lamp from the Moody House, the mantle clock. Items that feel like home, to me.

I didn't bring much home from my parents house: two figurines that I heard my entire childhood that I could have when I was older - a schoolhouse penny bank and a Josef Angel figurine. They were high on a mid-century display area that my dad built.  I felt compelled to take a soup pot when we were looking through the kitchen; I don't know why.  I didn't take any of the antique dishes, even though many were designated for me.  (I don't have room, I didn't want them)  I brought home a bath mat because it was new and matched our bathroom; so more practical than sentimental.  A bunch of Christmas decorations, because I like vintage and because that's one of the few times from childhood  that feel happy.

We were almost done with the house and I was mentally getting ready to leave for the last time. I did one last scan to make sure everything had been addressed when it caught my eye.  A antique mission-style footstool behind the door in the bathroom.  It had been missed because it was behind the door.  I had an emotional reaction, most unlike me, and my niece reacted accordingly.  

This footstool was used to reach the sink to wash my hands, brush my teeth, get my hair brushed or cut.  It was the one thing out of the whole house that represented Me.   I've been gone from that house since 1988 and that was the only thing left that seemed to indicate that I lived there once. It's dirty and needs refinished but I haven't done that yet and I might not. It's under my big desk and I rest my feet on it daily.

My point being, yes I have one, is when it comes down to it: most stuff is replaceable. While sentimentally important, I would still be okay if they were lost; sad though for sure.  Also, with aging I think, "stuff" becomes less important.

Moreover, I've learned to think "Someone is going to have to deal with this when we're gone" and that has made an impact on what I've kept.

So, two things: have an emergency plan in place.  It doesn't have to be highlighted and laminated but a general discussion or thought process of what could happen in an emergency.  Secondly, think about what you would be devastated to lose and it's probably not what your first guess would be. Then include that in your plan.

Finally, have these discussions with your family.  My mother-in-law was so good at telling us what she wanted us to have or what to do that there was very little drama when it was time. My mom didn't have any kind of plan beyond labeling her antique dishes so we had to just figure it out.  

I have a notebook in the document safe listing every item in this house of value, including where it came from, approximate value and instructions for the kids about how to deal with all of it.  Mostly, if they don't want it: have an estate sale with "make an offer" and recycle or donate the rest.  

It literally says "Take any of it to the dump and I will haunt the rest of your days." And I mean it.

Chatty Email

 We are all just feeling all the feelings right now as the world whirls around us.  Both my BFF and I have struggling with just regular communication recently. I just sent her a catch-up chatty email (instead of a WTAF IS GOING ON that has been the dominating topic) and now my brain synapses are suddenly TALK! WRITE!

So, here we go: chatty email.

I just phoned the Library of Congress in Washington DC.  OMG, I know right.  I don't get nervous usually with those kinds of things but whew.  I found myself sitting up straight as I spoke.  I forget how more formally and professionally business people speak on the East Coast.  It makes me feel hillbilly.

You're wondering why I would phone the Library of Congress, I'm certain.  I have an envelope full of negatives from my father's tour in the Korean war.  The bio family has the albums but I ended up with a bunch of negatives.  It felt sacrilegious to just toss them away so I did a search and it suggested the Veteran's History Project.  I phoned them and indeed, they would love to have them.  That is a win for everyone, for sure.  The ever so lovely Mrs. Borden will be letting me know next steps soon.

I have a cooktop stove and there is one pot that just doesn't work with it. Of course it's the pot that I use the most.  I don't know why but it takes roughly nine business days for water to boil in that pot.   I did a search as to why this could be and the internet blamed the pot. That's marginally helpful, I guess.  The pot is from a set that was a gift, most likely from Walmart or Costco.  Not judging, just a detail. 

I realized that I have two small pots that are vintage Revere Ware.  Those work just fine, I just need a bigger size.  I researched and they're a little expensive but it's because they last forever.  I ordered one and patiently waited...just to get the wrong size and not a vintage one.  Sigh.  This lines up for how this timeline is going. 

The handle is plastic instead of Bakelite.  There are grooves in the bottom of the pan, of which I can't tell if they're manufacturing marks or someone trying to clean it.  The copper bottom is stained.  There were mineral deposits.  So, that's like whatever.  Lesson learned, I've never gotten bitten from ebay before and it was just my turn.

So then, I had something spill over in the oven and it made the whole house smell.  The next morning I cut up some lemon and let it simmer most of the day.  As I did it, I thought to myself "This is going to end badly, you're going to forget and burn the pot."  But my rationale was this wasn't the pot I was looking for anyway so *shrug*

And I burnt it. This morning though, not yesterday.  Then I ordered another pot from the etsy and fingers crossed.  Oh, and I cleaned the burnt pot because it's not going to win that easily.  (soak in dishwasher detergent was the winning formula) Again: dumbest timeline. 

While I was waiting on something, I went through my personal email and deleted all the emails of photos I had emailed myself before there was a cloud way back prior to 2014-ish.  Many of them I had managed to upload but some I hadn't and seeing the littles as Kindergartners was a little harsh.  Or our old house, that I still miss 20 years later. Or our old dogs.  Anyway, clapping of hands, that project is done.

My niece bought her first house in the same neighborhood I lived in when I was married to satan my first husband; right next door to the townhouse where we lived. It's not without a little deja vu when I go for a visit.  The other day I sent her a text that said "This is what I listened to on repeat when I lived next door to your house" with these photos:

Free Fallin was playing as I left my husband for the last time.  Like a Cameron Crowe movie

My nephew sold my old Durango to my niece's friend, a guy in his late teens.  The friend was so excited, he's posting on the 'gram with photos of it.  It was reported by the non-family neighbor that he was yelling "EFF YEAH" excitedly as he pulled out of the driveway in it.  This makes my dark little heart happy.

Finally, Kevin was just now looking up someone on the interwebs to verify they weren't sketchy.  He mentions "Well, he's christian..."  To which, without thinking, I replied "You still need to give him a chance."  

And that friends, is the chatty email.  Now go forth and think about anything else other than we are living in the dumbest timeline.

Happy Summer

 

Electronic Monitoring Device

 You guys, if this isn't indicative of how this whole past few years have gone, nothing is.

I wrote a whole gdamn post, was editing it by flipping back and forth between Post Editor: Preview and the draft.  Then something happened and now it's simply only a lower case "I" being displayed.  I hit the undo button, I returned to the drafts page, to no avail.

Luckily my little I.T. nerd brain told me to go to my browser history.  There is my draft preview, whew.

EXCEPT I cannot copy and paste the text.  I can only screenshot it because according to the internet, I'm seeing a ghost page right now.

But I'm surely not going to attempt to rewrite the entire post, that isn't happening. If you see a grammatical error, no you didn't.  I'm not even going to write a closing paragraph. I'm sorry to Mrs. Hoffman, my sophomore year composition teacher, I just can't risk it.

Here is the post, even though it's formatted weird and will make me squint for all of eternity.

Fridays, Between 3:30 and 4:00

 I haven't written a Raising Parents post in a while so it feels like it's time to catch everyone up with the adventure that is caring for an elderly parent.

So, one of the things that have helped settle the father-in-law into this new lifestyle is DoorDash.  Every Friday, he phones me to tell me what he would like for dinner then I log into the site and order it.  Everyone is happy.

Until he wants something that isn't featured on DoorDash (looking at you, Olive Garden) or if his daughter is elbow deep in lukewarm refrigerator food and forgot to place the order.  Or the unexpected pouting when we told him that we would be out of town so he had to ask the front desk to help him on that particular Friday.

We also played the "That's not the regular pizza place..." challenge.  He had the front desk lady order him pizza months ago and then when I first ordered it, he said it was good but it wasn't the same.  So eventually I asked the front desk where they ordered from, ordered from there and "It wasn't the same."

This is where I say we are regularly - and probably too frequently by now - rope-a-doped by the f-i-l.  We forget that he forgets, ironically.  We fall for it far too often to be this far into this adventure.

Also, he has certain words or phrases that he says that we don't know if he was trying to be funny, or thinks he's saying it right, or what is exactly happening.  He's been doing it FOR YEARS so we can't blame dementia or stroke or UTI.  "Happy Easter Bunny Eggs" is an annual favorite, for example. 

Along that line, his current go-to meal is Enchiladas.  Pretty straight forward, yes?  Nope, I have to spell this for you phonetically: Inch-CHILL-lawd-EEEs.  Emphasis always in the wrong places, thus the capitalization.  This is perhaps, one of those "Someday we're going to miss this..." and Kevin and I are all "Will we, though?"

So, now I've mentioned the dementia.  You'll remember that there was a big push to move him to a "more appropriate" facility a few months ago.  Well, that came to a full-stop.  Firstly, he declined to move the first time this was offered. So the State wasn't interested in pursuing it again. Yes, the case manager should have known this before bringing it to us so that was annoying.  If WE wanted to move him, then it's legal proceedings and we're not doing that.  

Secondly, the case manager was invited to no longer work there.  This is a good change as she was in over her head. She had good intentions but it was a good decision. With his initial refusal and now changes in staffing, he's staying there for the duration, as we understand it.  Most of the time he says he's fine there and expresses that he understands the situation; when this is specifically addressed. 

As for his memory, we are at the point of having either the same or very similar conversations each time.   We concentrate on either not pointing it out or purposefully asking questions we already know the answers to help facilitate conversations.  As most dementia patients, he can tell you anything about decades ago but few accurate things about yesterday.

But he did call us at 4:00 in the morning because he saw he had a missed call from us.  From the day before, before we brought him dinner.  So, that's...fun.

He's mostly forgotten that we're the worst children who ever childrened.  Now it's the worst version of Groundhog Day.  The same stories, the same complaints.  For example, he claims that they didn't give him his tylenol, etc.  I went and checked with his nurse and she physically showed me the meds schedule on the computer .  She said that the travel/sub nurses may forget, in which case she reported that she told him "Then get up and follow them to the desk and get it."  I love that she gave him autonomy in the situation.

So, then, when we reported the above to him, I said "We don't want to yell at people if this is not a problem, or if you're just forgetting" and he demurred. Pink flag.  Then Kevin suggested that he can make a note to track his Tylenol and then he knows if he got it or not.  "I don't want to make a big deal or fuss..."  RED flag. To which, I quietly said to Kevin "And now we're done  talking about THAT."  

It has gotten to where the staff recognizes us and even some of the residents, that's nice in a weird way.  My suggestion is if/when you're in this situation: please make eye contact and greet the other residents.  You might be the only non-staff person they talk to, even if it's just a smile.

Anyway, now that I've made you weepy...

I made him a photo album - because that is my lot in life - of his trucking days.  Reportedly he shows it to everyone who will take a moment, which is both sweet and sad.  It is said that it's good to have things like that around to not only remind him but to show the facility staff that the person was once Somebody in this life.  

Then I posted the album on the social media and everyone thought he had passed.  SIGH.

He has a cardiology appointment in a few weeks, which is required by Medicaid/Medicare.  We tried very hard to NOT have to take him, as he ended up in the emergency room the last time he had an appointment.  But alas, Kevin and I are going. Meanwhile, f-i-l has a list of questions for her, few of which pertain to Cardiology.  He has it in his head (again) that the doctor is going to fix him.  He's even added the comment that "she fixed my wife" so....yeah.

We have both spoken with and emailed the doctor's office to prepare them for the appointment. Kevin was emphatic that ANYTHING they say will a) be taken as gospel and b)be forgotten/misunderstood.  He begged them to be careful and pragmatic with their conversations.  

Through the local Council for Aging, we have an advocate now.  She visits him monthly, just she and him so he has autonomy, and she checks with the facility then reports to me.  It's been a relief to have a non-partisan view of the situation to help guide everyone through this.  We didn't know that such a thing exists, they reached out to us and we were relieved and happy to accept.  So, please ask if such a thing exists in your community if you are also raising parents.

Now today I received notification that I have to renew his Medicaid application.  No, YOUR stress level just spiked to the moon.  I'm sitting here in the sun, with the window open and the music playing, trying not to FREAK OUT that they'll find a reason to deny him.  #thanksCheetoHitler

Which brings us to he has cycled back around to "working on getting back home."  That sigh you just sighed?  TIMES A BILLION for us. We know it's cyclical, we know it's the dementia, we know it's denial.

BUT STILL.  C'mon.

It will be a year at the end of July and my mother-in-law's been gone for two years at the end of May. It was just Mother's Day. We also just passed her birthday. We were "prepared" for an emotional upheaval that this month would/could bring.  We were not prepared with "I can do everything I need to here by myself, so why can't I come home?"

And, it is disheartening and frustrating that he can't remember what he had for dinner last night but he can fixate on those kinds of things.

The biggest issue we have is he won't give.  He won't let us make accommodations for him, like a recliner or a radio.  He won't participate in the group activities.  He won't go to the dining room for meals.  When asked why, the summary of his reason is "I'm not as bad as those losers, I don't like it so I'm not going to try."   The denial is strong in him.

Which takes us back to the Medicaid application.  If we were to lose our minds and bring him home again, Medicaid stops and we probably would NOT be eligible to re-apply and/or return to that facility.  Certain people who are  having big feelings about him being in a facility needs to remember that. (not us, sigh)

I imagine you're reading all this and you're shaking your head and you're wondering about if it's hyperbole or OMG that's so much.  This is what it's like raising parents when they're in a facility.  I don't think we had thoughts that once he was in a facility, it would be easier. But if we did, we would have been wrong.

Birds, Cat and Dog; Co-existing

 I started feeding the hummingbirds when we first moved here then I just didn't have time to take care of the feeders so I stopped.  It felt more fair to stop then to sporadically feed them.  Then when Mom went into Hospice I started again as part of the whole "I'll take care of your flowers, etc" promise that I made.

Fast forward to the other day when their feeders were empty after having been refilled less than 48 hours before.  I'm guessing they have babies right now but I don't know for sure.  I do know this fun fact: if the tulips fields are blooming, we have less birds. Now that they're being topped, the birds are back.

Invariably, they will buzz me and/or complain as I take down the feeders to clean and refill.  I don't know if you're aware but they're bossy little f*ckers.  

Later, we were getting ready for bed and they're outside the window having dogfights around the feeder.  Again, I don't know if you know: I believe they are reincarnated fighter pilots and the existence of democracy is their only mission.

So, I mention to Kevin that they're fun to watch but they're aggressive a.f. and Kevin adds on "And can be mean for such little birds."  They'll buzz you if you're working outside, as Kevin often is.  I should say, the red ones are aggressive.  The green ones are just trying to live their lives.

We finish this conversation just to look out the window and there lays in wait, the neighborhood cat.  He's on the railing, about two feet from the feeder, content and patient as can be. He's got a little kitty buffet happening.  Kevin is all "Uh oh, shoo him away." (because I was nearest the door)  So I did and I know he probably returns when we go to bed but at least we made an effort. Maybe he'll get the red bird or get his ass kicked, I'm not sure.

Then like a full 24-hours later, I'm all "So...we had some mixed messaging there. Do we hate the birds? yet don't want them to be cat food?"

Now, about the cat.  Nephew brought their outside cat up when they moved.  We were worried how he would fare, because: city cat. Well, he’s intimidated Lucy, now he perches on our deck waiting for the hummingbirds, and we have significantly less rabbits this year.  He’s doing just fine.

We’re guessing that Lucy chased Fletcher once and Fletcher deployed the murder mittens so now Lucy is scared of him.  SCARED of him.  The other day she came in the house, whining like a baby but her hackles were up and I'm all whatever, lay down you silly dog.  Then I realized that we do have forest animals around the house so I should check to make sure there's not a cougar in the yard.  I opened the door and stepped out and there's the cat.  He's sitting on the top step and just looked at me like "Can I help you?"

Then the next day the wind had blown the door shut.  It's usually propped open so Lucy can go in and out and not make me insane.  Suddenly there's a THUMP against the door, which is startling.  I called Lucy then realized she was outside.  Meanwhile, there's another thump against the door.  I hurried to open it and Lucy ROCKETS inside the house.  Again, whining and hackles.  I look outside and the cat is on the grass, just minding it's own business.  Being a cat.  Ruining Lucy's day with it's mere existence; which I'm certain pleases the cat.

So, Lucy fearsome hunter and protector of humans, thinks that cat can just eff right off, thank you very much.  Meanwhile, the cat remains unconcerned.  

And I just fed the birds again. Yes, the red one yelled at me when I came outside.  

Happy Mother's Day

 

Do or Do Not, There is No Try

 

I'll Tumble For You

 Oh, I have to say thank you for being interested in this silly little nerd hobby.  My little kid heart is So Excited to share.

This is going to be a photo heavy bloggity because we can’t talk about these without SEEING them.  If you were here in person, OMG.

When I read Angela's comment, I had a little trill of panic.  It hadn’t occurred to me to check the power bill.  I did check and there was no power usage change with the little tumbler.  The bill cycle with the new tumbler is now in process so I won’t be able to tell until the end of May.  Kevin, who does think of these things, said he couldn’t imagine that it would be a big draw.

The gift tumbler is on the left and the big girl tumbler on the right:

What do I do with the rocks:  I have them everywhere.  Not, like, a hoarding situation but you know, tastefully.  Lol.   I have most of them in my office.  I started a rock organization project a few summers ago and it has turned into this display:

They are sorted by color, mostly.  There is also a jar of beach junk that I’ve found: marbles, broken pottery/dishes, sea glass (actually river glass).  There are also jars of feathers and shells. I started this project way back at the end of the pandemic (Geology Rocks)

I like how the sun catches them throughout the day.  There is a jar of quartz that sparkles and I thought that was absolute magic when I was little.  I haven’t polished any of those yet for fear the sparkle will smooth away or they’ll disintegrate.  (a simple internet search will probably answer that but I like learning by doing)

The other display is in a repurposed planter.  My mother-in-law gave me a succulent garden and I just have no talent for keeping unkillable plants alive.  So it now holds my favorite rocks; rocks that will never be polished, I should say.

What makes them My Favorite?  If someone gave one to me.  Kevin brings me home rocks from his work; rocks are literally his job.  Or I will pick them up when I’m on a specific adventure like our trip to Ellensburg.  Sometimes, they will just appear; I found one in the middle of a brand new gravel driveway and it looks like a galaxy to me.  I found an agate in the river during walkies one morning, the sun caught it just right and I had to take two steps into the water to get it. Very Wonderful World of Disney.

I also like the feel of them, if they’re shaped a certain way.  Worry rocks were a thing a long time ago and every once in a while, I find one that’s just pleasant to hold.  I’ve found those kinds in all shapes and sizes, one is a perfect egg shape but nearly as large as my fist. Another is flat that fits in the palm of your hand.

Then, as if that isn’t enough, I have heart shaped rocks.  Only three, right now, and those have become a quest to find.  Those seem like a gift from the universe though.  

I’ve talked here before about wish rocks.  One of my friends hadn’t heard of those and I was surprised.   A wish rock is one that has a vein that wraps all the way around a rock in an unbroken line.  Bonus if they are smooth lines or multiple lines.  And yes, I gave her wish rocks after I learned she didn’t know what they were.

Then there are these.  These are amazing.  Two green agates, one found in a river and one found in the creek on our property.  I will never polish these, they are too magical.

The rest are - what I just learned - metamorphic rock, you can see the layers as the soil, earth, water or all, changed around them.  Our neighbor is a retired geology professor and I keep saying that I want to invite him to the house to talk about rocks.

I’ve found rocks in almost every color.  This was a goal I set a while ago.  Green, quartz, and black is common on the river, purple and white are common on the ocean beaches.  Orange is difficult because they are the best example of a rock changing color once they are dried.  Blue rocks are pretty difficult to find and the only place I have consistently found them is at a very out-of-the-way beach on an island that is on the Salish Sea. (that Lucy hates because there is a steel grid staircase AND the waves are too close)

Where I live, there are a few inactive volcanos. (Mt. St. Helens is four hours away)  With that, there is plenty of pumice and lava rock, granite and shale.  I’m not as enamored with those types of rock. I often refer to pumice as “dog food rock” because that’s what my brain relates it to.  Shale is pretty but there is not a lot of variation.  

What do I do with rocks that I bring home and decide that I don’t like them as much (see: orange rocks)  I have a garden, it’s technically a rock garden with what’s called Quarry Rock and pieces even as large as what is colloquially called “one man rock”  as in one man can carry it.  I’ve taken the discarded rocks from my adventures and thrown them out there as filler.  Sometimes I will see one of those rocks and grant it a reprieve if I decide that I like it again.

This is a crap photo but I don't have the patience to wait for the sun
to rise in order to take a better photo. 

A coworker is also a rock nerd and I asked her what she does with her rocks.  She said that once she’s done with them, she takes them back to the beach.  She makes a wish and returns them to nature.  I love that idea and could give that a try someday too.  

This is not a hobby for the impatient.  Especially when you learn that the longer you do certain stages in the tumbler, the better the outcome.  I'm on stage five of second polishing for the second attempt. (how's that for confusing) It's supposed to be done tomorrow. I'm taking this process as a lesson from the Universe.  Also, I have had a few disappointments because I didn't know what rocks polished and which only smoothed.  There are people who do this on the ticktock so that has been helpful to watch.  

I even have insta photos of rocks, here is my favorite:

@kellwynn93

This started during the pandemic, I needed something to focus on and because we were doing daily walkies, it was easy to incorporate.  Then when I was gifted the tumbler, it reawakened some childhood dreams and next thing we know some hurt has been healed.  Because of silly rocks.

I mentioned this in the original post a few years ago: want a rock?  I'll gladly send you one.  :)

The Tip of The Refrigerator

 Well, as we all know, we have had just the worst past two years.  The worst.  I mean, I'm not daring the Universe or anything but mydawg.

We've weathered it okay so far, there have been a few times that we lost it; mentally, spiritually, physically.  Luckily we haven't spun out at the same time, mostly sticking to our "One Crazy Person At A Time" policy.

Until the refrigerator stopped working.  That apparently was the limit.

Kevin mentioned last weekend that the ice cream was soft.  We both just kind of went "Hmmmm" and moved on with our lives.  Then on Wednesday I grabbed the butter and it was soft. You're sensing a theme, aren't you?

I checked out the fridge section and it was cold but not COLD.  The freezer was as best as I can describe as meh.  The ice machine is making ice and happy, the vegetables were frozen, but the ice cream was soft.  I texted Kevin that I thought there was a problem, like, for real though.

He came home and went into problem-solving mode.  He discovered that the coils desperately needed cleaning.  It's a newish fridge and they are on the bottom and not on the back as we were used to.  Thanks to two years of just GAAAAAAAHHHHH, this maintenance task just didn't even make it onto the to-do list.  There was a whole other dog's worth of hair and dust under there.  Sigh.

Using the shop vac and an air compressor, he cleaned it all and we waited.  Kevin said that he'd noticed that the refrigerator had been running more lately.  I hadn't and tried not to raise an eyebrow at the not mentioning of that.

We left it closed until the next morning, hoping that would fix it.  It didn't.  I unplugged it for an hour to let it reset, as suggested by the interwebs.   Nope.  Kevin said that he would look into it more and ask his friends if they knew anything.  

I was in the middle of one big work project and had just finished another.  I didn't make time to research any possible causes or fixes.  So we were not as proactive as we both usually would be.  We were both victims of magical thinking, it was just going to fix itself.

He came home and I was making dinner, at which time I decided that I should probably stop eating food from that refrigerator and freezer.  He tried a few things and we looked at the owners manual to no avail.

Then we both kind of just...stop thinking about it.  It was an unsolvable problem.

This is Not Like Us At All Ever.

This morning I spent an hour trying to find an appliance repair company.  It is shocking the lack of skilled technicians.  I left a voicemail for one at 8:03 this morning, they open at 8:00.  It's now 11:30 and no response. 

Then I phoned the store where we bought the washer and the dishwasher.  They're local and their customer service is really good.  They have a technician and....he can be at the house on Monday, May 12th.  I asked if there were any other options and she put me on hold.  They are "working me in" for next Tuesday afternoon.  That's one...two...three...almost four days without a refrigerator. But I scheduled it.

NOW my brain flips into Go Mode.  I can get ice and fill the ice chests. Something I should have done two days ago but WE LISTEN AND WE DON'T JUDGE.   I cancelled all the cold stuff from the grocery order. Maybe I can buy a dorm fridge to get us through the weekend.  We'll just have to eat out all weekend and WON'T THAT BE FUN.  

Sigh.

Kevin phoned a friend and our Nephew.  Nephew said that there is a reset switch that probably needs pushed.  It's inconveniently located at the back of the refrigerator.  I pulled it out (it's on coasters) but I can't get back there still.  Instead of being on the evening news for being crushed to death by a dying refrigerator, I am waiting for either Kevin or Nephew to get home later today.

We're not buying a dorm fridge because I realized that once we were done, we have zero use for it.  Now I'm back to buying ice.  Then I realized that other than water, most of the stuff in the refrigerator is going into the garbage.  Sigh. And I already submitted the grocery order.  Also, now I have to empty everything, fill up our recycling that I just took, and then replace everything. 

Now I'm spun out again

Instead I'm listening to music on my headphones while alone in a silent house because my brain is the frog in the Bugs Bunny cartoons.  (Michigan J. Frog)

The Perfect Date

 

On Tuesdays, We Rock

 Firstly: my dearest Swistle has full permission to skip this post as I imagine if she has to hear about this topic one more time, I fear she will run screaming into the abyss.  

I have become Liz in Shrinking, I fear.  

I was given a the rock tumbler for Christmas and I'm obsessing, like the proper nerd I am. What had happened was my Nephew drew my name and wasn't sure what to give.  My Niece came in clutch and chose a rock tumbler.  Nephew was Very Skeptical and relieved when he saw that I was so happy. SO HAPPY.

So, I started it like the 27th of December, we'll say.  It's run almost non-stop since then.  The other day I switched it around and it threw an error code.  I tried a few things then searched the interwebs. ZERO SHADE to the gift giver, but it turns out that this is a cheap tumbler.  (Again: ZERO SHADE because really it's a good thing because who knew if the alphabet brain was going to be satisfied after doing it once or twice)  

One of the suggestions I found was essentially "You can just wire around it" and I laughed.  "Cause of house fire: a sketchy wired rock tumbler".   Oh, and I have it in Monica's Closet.  Yeah, it's a little noisy but not as bad as one would think. Kevin said it sounded like running water, which he did not enjoy.

Kevin said to just go get another one at the hardware store and I dragged my feet.  It's only $70 (only, sigh) but I just couldn't do it.  So he called the store and there was only one in stock so he asked them to hold it.  Then he called me and said Go Get It Now.  So I stopped my Spring Break binge-watching and got it.  I am so neglected and abused by that man, LOL.

The new tumbler is not effing around.  It's more industrial and it has two barrels instead of one.  It's louder and accumulates heat so we moved it from my office out into the garden shed.  I started a new batch and had one batch that was on the last cycle.  On a whim, I tried the gift one and it started again.  Luckily, I had gone to Deception Pass the day before so I had another new batch of rocks. (this is adorable because, really: I always have a batch of rocks)

I started those then will switch it to the new one when the first cycle finishes.  Kevin mentioned that while it's good that it works again, it's probably not worth risking burning down the house. #buzzkill. See: "cause of fire"  

I'm having fun learning which rocks will polish and not polish, which rocks just reduce in size, and which ones come out REALLY GOOD.  Instead of trying to find rocks of a specific color or type, now I will search for ones that might polish.  Now instead of finding new trails to take Lucy walkies, I'm looking for places where I can find cool rocks.

This is what I've learned so far: green ones smooth and are pretty but don't shine.  Black ones significantly reduce in size and are pleasingly smooth.  White ones from the ocean turn out MAGICAL, smooth and round and shiny. And often agates that glow when you put light under them. Purple does shine and shows veins.  (this is the level of nerd I have become: veins, not lines)  I just started a batch of orange rocks and we'll see.

Right now, I have a tray of polished rocks on the table next to my chair because it's just so pleasing to look at them.  I will need to find a way to display the next batches though, or start giving them away.  But right now, they're My Precious.

While learning all about this, I realized that this has become one of those Healing Childhood Wounds.  Over the holidays, there were videos on the clock app about parents or grandparents receiving gifts of toys from their childhoods that they wanted and never received. (if you need a good cry, go watch) This is absolutely that.

  I have always collected rocks and have wanted a tumbler since I was a kid. Growing up on a lake and running through the woods, you always found treasures. I would often be disappointed when once dried, the rocks appearance changed and I knew a tumbler would fix that.  Alas, decades later, here we are.

The cycles run in about seven days per so now on Tuesday afternoons I can go play with my rocks.  I bought a specific strainer to rinse them, I use an old soup pot that I brought home from my parents house, and even have a scale that Kevin gave me to make sure I don't overload the new tumbler (like I probably did with the gift one).  There's a bin to keep all the supplies.  I have a system and am In It. 

There are rocks that can be cut in half to show agates and I have (so far) drawn the line at using power tools (probably)  Maybe once I get bored with this tumbler.  Like that's going to happen. Because, LOOK: