Empty Nest?

Would you think me an unnatural mother if I told you that I was sort of looking forward to the Wild Child and the Drooling Dog's departure tomorrow? I love her dearly--the Wild Child--but my happy little schedule is disrupted and I'm yearning to get back to "normal." I think I'm even getting a little cranky!

I think it's hard when our kids move out and then come home to visit. For the first couple hours, we're overjoyed to have them back. After that--well, I think we'd be happy to have them back if only they'd leave for a little while. Or something. I guess I'm kind of conflicted.

I haven't really been able to quilt much since she's been home. When I start quilting, I'm invariably interrupted. And that's okay in a lot of ways, because I want to spend time with her, but I also want to quilt. Similarly, I haven't gotten any further on decorating the house for fall. I'm just itching to decorate, but it's hard to do with two cats and a dog to referee and two other adults--all of whom, humans and pets alike, seem to be hanging around all over the place.

My blog post is late tonight because the Wild Child has been downloading and giving titles to 628 photos from her digital camera. Finally, when I did get on the computer, she came running in here with an unopened 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle begging me to let her open it and start putting it together, even though it's 10:30 at night, she's leaving tomorrow by noon, and she has a lot to do between now and then. And it's a quilting puzzle I bought for myself and have been "saving" until I had time to put it together. I said "no." She begged some more. I said "no" some more. She looked at me with sad eyes--you know that look, right? I said "no" again. I feel mean.

I look around my house and see messes that wouldn't be here if there weren't three adults and a dog coexisting in this small home. Oh, she's pretty good at cleaning up after herself with the larger messes--like when she baked (and burned every single one of) a batch of cookies. But, for instance, her camera is still sitting here on my desk, I found one sock draped over a kitchen chair and another in the living room, and her purse, keys, and cell phone are likely to turn up anywhere. That's just an example--it is not even close to being all the stuff that's scattered here and there around the house.

The dog drools. Really yucky, ugly, gross, snotty looking drool. And sometimes he shakes himself off. I now have drool plastered on the outside of my patio screen door. I'm kind of afraid to look at anything too closely in the house. I really, really, really need to clean house--like tomorrow night after she's gone. Maybe I should take time off work and come home early to get started. Maybe I should pick up all kinds of disinfectants and bleach on the way home. Maybe I should just build a bonfire and burn everything. Well, maybe not. Bleach and Lysol will have to do.

I have to lure the cats in the house while the dog's outside and then lock them into a room where they're safe. This morning, they both got "breakfast in bed"--I had to feed the older cat on a table in the garage and the younger cat's dish is relocated to the top of the bureau in my bedroom. I got out of bed this morning and stepped on the younger cat because she was crouched on the floor next to the bed where she presumably felt safe.

I think I'm getting old and set in my ways. I like my habits. But I love my kids--both the Wild Child and her older brother. I know that once my life gets back to "normal," I'll miss her terribly. Like I said, I guess I'm kind of conflicted.

Yeah, maybe I might even miss him. A little. Well, maybe not. At least photos don't drool!

Sick Hubby!

Nothing from me tonight really. My husband came home sick from work today, and since the computer is in the bedroom, I think I'll be uncharacteristically kind and leave him be. I forcefed him a little scrambled egg and a couple bites of an English muffin when he got up to sit in his recliner and look at a different ceiling, but he was making noises about coming back to bed, so I'll shut this puppy down and head into the Sweat Shop for a little quilt work.

The weekend is here! Yippeee! I just wish hubby felt the joy! Quilt on, blog buddies! Hopefully I'll have a chance to chat with you a little more tomorrow.

The Wild Child Grows Up? Maybe a Little?

Remember my daughter, the Wild Child? She came into town last night from Tahoe to spend the night before leaving with her boyfriend for Maryland today to visit his family somewhere near, I think, the Baltimore area. The boyfriend is about 12 years her senior and has commitment issues, which is just fine with her because she's been burned a couple times and is hesitant to get involved too. But we sense things might be getting a little more serious if he's taking her home to meet his parents. AND he's asked her to live with him.

Now the funny thing is that they've been more or less living together for the past year, first as roommates in a house and then later as . . . well, it's a little hard to explain, but I'll give it a shot in a second. But, anyway, I guess in his mind, those experiences don't really count because they weren't "living together"--as in no commitment, not even to a lease. Okay, whatever! All I know is that he seems to be good for her and treats her well, and she's happy and healthy, so we have the important things covered this time around.

So, back to the weird living situation. That house they were roommates at? Well the owner was an absentee owner who had hired a couple to manage the house. It was really a four-bedroom house with a cottage out back where the managers lived, and they rented out the other four bedrooms. According to the Wild Child, the managers were tweakers--literally, as in meth users. As such, they were undependable and volatile. They failed to maintain the house, and when anything needed repair, the husband would do some cheap patch job. You have to wonder about the owner never checking on his property, and if all the Wild Child told us is true, the managers are surely turning a decent rental property into a hovel. After several months of putting up with these managers, my daughter and her boyfriend got fed up and moved out in April. But they had nowhere to move to, and rentals--at reasonable prices--are hard to find in Tahoe. So, for a month or so, they were sleeping on friends' couches and living in their cars--often parked side by side. Is that living together?! My daughter rented a storage unit for all her things. For a couple weeks, they rented a room in a hotel connected to the casino where my daughter worked--this was when they were having some late season snowy weather up there.

In late May, the campsites opened, and the Wild Child and her boyfriend camped. My daughter thought it was great fun. And her brother refused to speak to her because it was his opinion that she was being stupid and she wouldn't see reason when it came to her safety. My husband and I did what we could to let her know that we were concerned about her safety, but since she's an adult, we couldn't very well "put our foot down"--something our son didn't seem to understand. As you may imagine, this has been an uncomfortable situation for our family over the past few months.

Imagine, then, my joy when she told me last night that she's tired of not having a place to come home to after work where she can collapse on the couch and watch TV; a bed to sleep in; a kitchen to cook in; and a shower and/or bath to bathe in. You see, the Wild Child has to learn things for herself--as we all do to some extent--and this was one lesson she finally seems to have learned. Now all they have to do is find somewhere to live--another big hurdle in an area short of rental properties compared to the demand, but one that I hope they'll solve soon after they come home from Maryland.

Cousin Bob

I just thought I'd introduce you to cousin Bob today. For those of you without the close family connection, I'm speaking about Robert Goulet, of course.

Back in the late 60s, when Robert Goulet was making quite a name for himself, there was talk on my dad's side of the family that we were related. My dear old Italian grandmother swore it was true, and I kind of half believed her. My mom was pretty doubtful, but then it wasn't HER side of the family, so what did she know?

I remember when I was little, I used to LOVE spending the weekend at my grandma's house. And not because grandma would bake cookies or do any of those other "grandma things." The highlight of any weekend visit was when grandma let me wear one of her "sexy" nightgowns. Her nightgowns were usually in pretty colors and were made out of filmy nylon with a satiny underlayer, and I felt like a movie star wearing them. The red one was my favorite. Grandma was a large woman and not particularly attractive; thinking back now, as an adult, I kind of have to wonder about those "racy" nightgowns, but grandma's long gone, so I can't ask the questions that come to mind. I'm not sure I would have anyway. But my mom never wore anything like that--most of my mom's nightgowns were white cotton--pretty boring, I thought. So those nightgowns were different and special!

A weekend at grandma's invariably involved watching Lawrence Welk, a long-standing tradition. Everything would stop on Saturday nights, and for once, grandma would sit down and relax, engrossed in the show. Of course, I was bored to death, but I passed the time wrapped up in a sexy red nightie, dreaming of movie stardom.

Grandma loved music, and when Robert Goulet became popular, grandma recalled that she was related in some remote way to someone in Canada with the same last name. Although Goulet was born in the U.S., his parents were from Canada. I'm not sure grandma had a real good grasp on stuff like geography and population, but she was certain that the fact that Robert Goulet's parents came from Canadian "proved" we were related.

As far as I ever knew, grandma and grandpa both had their roots in Italy with Italian-born parents, so how a French Canadian snuck into the family, I don't know. It was fun, for awhile, though to believe that we were related to a famous person. The kids at school probably thought I was a total nerd when I told everyone that Robert Goulet was my cousin six times removed, but in my heart, I knew that being related to Robert Goulet was pretty cool. Well, that and getting to wear sexy red nighties at grandma's house!

The Wild Child Returns

The Wild Child stopped by today on her way back to Tahoe from the Bay Area.

Earlier in the week, she called me to see if I could check something online for her, and by the end of the conversation, I had placed an order for her for a ticket to a concert at the Shoreline Amphitheater in Mountain View that showcased a ton of bands. Remember me talking about my tendency toward the hermit thing? I have no problem spending quality time in the company of myself. I'm fairly independent. Still, I don't think I would ever have considered traveling four hours to a somewhat distant city to attend an all day concert by myself, but to the Wild Child, it's no big deal and that's exactly what she did.

She had a wonderful time and met some interesting people, although she said she had the most fun just watching everyone. I can't remember their names, but she spent quite a bit of the concert with this couple:

That photo at the top? That's the Wild Child on the left; her new BFF is the gal on the right. They also met up with this guy, Lars Petrus:

Lars revolutionized Rubik's Cubing by inventing some method for solving the puzzle quicker, and he held the Swedish national title at one time--or something like that. How do I know? Believe it or not, you can find him in Wikipedia. Between the Wild Child, Lars, and the couple, they had two Rubik's Cubes with them. Is Rubik's Cube big again or did my daughter just fall in with a bunch of nerds?

One of the reasons the Wild Child stopped here today, besides soaking in the familial love, was to download some photos from her camera--which is why mom (me!) has all these photos to share with you.

Last weekend she went, again by herself, to hike Yosemite. Beautiful photos of that adventure. Here's one of Half Dome:

Now if you look real close, you can see a darkish line traveling up the rounded back side of the rock. See that just above the one bush on the left? You should be able to click on the photo to enlarge it. That's some kind of cable railing system (because the darn thing is so steep) with people climbing up it. I was pleased to hear that the Wild Child had decided she was a little too tired to attempt the rest of that climb up the rock. I was, however, somewhat dismayed and slightly panicked to hear that she's going back next weekend to make the climb.

If you've read my earlier posts about traumatically scary stuff like driving over bridges, you'll understand that the idea of the Wild Child climbing up Half Dome scares the heck out of me! But I've decided to forget she said anything--I don't know anything, I never heard her say it, and it's just not going to happen. Humph. No, instead, I'll think happy thoughts about rainbows . . .

and rushing streams.

After the Wild Child left, when I was fixing my hair, I thought for a minute that my hair was getting a few highlights in it from the summer sun. When I looked closer, though, I realized it's just a few more gray hairs.

I think I'll go back to my happy place now, taking my iced latte with me. There I'll feel comforted by the nice, pretty fabric surrounding me, and I'll look forward to something slighly more calming, like the finale of the Sopranos.

Bacon, Eggs, and Whales

Me and breakfast don't get along very well. I usually have to sneak up behind it on tiptoe. First I have to lull it into a false sense of security, waiting until it thinks the time for danger has long passed. Even then, I can only grab onto a bit of it, allowing the rest to escape.

What am I talking about? For many years now, my stomach has rebelled at eating much in the morning. I'm not one to believe it's a good idea to skip breakfast altogether, but I usually try to eat something light--an English muffin; a bowl of cereal; or maybe, at most, a slice of toast and a scrambled egg. Even then, I don't usually eat until I've been up for a couple hours. I've been told that this happens to a lot of people who have had their gallbladders removed; I don't know for a fact that my missing gallbladder's the culprit, but it sure makes it difficult sometimes.

My husband, on the other hand, absolutely LOVES to go out to breakfast and rarely has the chance. About once or twice a year, I'll make the effort to go out to breakfast with him, and then suffer the consequences the rest of the morning. Now, I understand that a reasonable person with even a pinch of self-restraint would just go out and order something like an English muffin. That's all well and good except for two things: I have absolutely no self-restraint (just look at my fabric stash if you don't believe me!) and I really DO like breakfast foods. A lot. Potatoes with bacon, onions, and green peppers are one of our favorite simple dinners. We have omelets for dinner about once a month. Pancakes or waffles may appear on the dinner table from time to time. And for some perverse reason, I have no problem eating these foods at dinner time. Breakfast is another matter.

My husband told me today that his sister, his brother, and his brother's new wife want us to join them for breakfast on Sunday. Don't cha just hate that? So do I go and suffer? Not go? Go and pretend that I can just order an English muffin when everyone around me is eating good stuff? Why do people want to get out of the house that early anyway? As far as I'm concerned, leaving the house before noon on any day that's not a work day is just absolutely asking for trouble. What's wrong with people?!

I'd kind of like to see my brother-in-law and his new wife. My brother in law--a real man's man who's spent most of his 50 years hunting and fishing--finally met his match. This gal snagged him and reeled him up to the altar as easily as he'd reel in a trout. Naida--and I'm not sure I'm even spelling her name right--is originally from somewhere in South America. They met at a bar where she liked to go watch karaoke so she could read the words and learn English. True story. Turns out she'd never been fishing before, but now she's taken to it like a duck to water, so they're coming up here to do some fishing this weekend with my father-in-law.

And what does this have to do with whales? Not a whole lot unless my brother-in-law and his lovely bride end up catching one, but the possibility is there, since we have a mom and her baby swimming around one of our local rivers. Rumors are that they came to talk to AH-nold about the environment, little realizing that he spends most of his time in Los Angeles. It's kind of odd to know we have a couple whales swimming around the city, 70 miles away from where they're supposed to be. Remember my post about bridges and that one I really, really hate that goes up about a mile into the sky before coming down on the other side of the river? I guess maybe the engineer who designed that baby knew we'd be accommodating whales. Scientists are gathering here in Sacramento to help return the whales to the ocean, serenading them with recordings of other whales. And if that fails, there's talk about mustering up a flotilla of watercraft to herd them back to the sea. Personally, though, I kind of suspect that if we got my brother-in-law and my new sister-in-law out to the river to sing karaoke, those whales would head back home, away from the crazy early-rising, breakfast-eating, singing humans without a backward glance!

The Wild Child

My Wild Child came home for the weekend, bringing her camera with her and asking me to download her photos. She lives in the Tahoe area and has enjoyed a wonderful winter of snowboarding. Although the snow hasn't been as heavy as they would have liked AND it arrived late this year, she was finally able to take advantage of one of the ski resorts and get her share of time in on the slopes. Unfortunately, last year she didn't have a snowboard, but I'll tell you a little bit about that later.

For her birthday in February, her boyfriend took her on a drive south to the Mono Lake area. They did some hiking and relaxed in pools fed by natural springs. I think she does pretty well with photography, particularly given the fact that she has a fairly inexpensive camera. We had given her the camera for Christmas; my husband had picked it up through his work in connection with a manufacturer's promotion. I'd love to see what she could go with a better camera, but I'm afraid she'd lose it. She's gone through two cell phones in the past year: the last one was lost somewhere in a snowbank and the one before that ended up at the bottom of Lake Tahoe. The photos below were taken on that trip. I won't share with you the photo of her topless in the natural springs. Or the one of her mooning the camera on a snow-covered slope. She says she thinks that one would make a good Christmas card. I just hope grandma's not on her Christmas list!

We've been keeping a close eye on this boyfriend, and so far, so good. He's about ten years older than she is, and although he's definitely the adventurous type, he seems to take good care of her and treats her well. Quite a change from the Boy From Hell who brought her to Tahoe in the first place. I think she started seeing him on the rebound from the boyfriend before that. I'll go back a little, so it makes some sense.

When she was a sophomore in high school, the Wild Child began seeing Justin. They spent most of their time together except when she was working as a waitress at an ice cream parlor and when Justin was working in his dad's motorcycle shop or off with his buddies, messing around with cars. The Wild Child is a very emotional being and their relationship was very tumultuous; she's not one to suffer in silence. Over the years, they broke up several times but always got back together again. Two weeks before my daughter's 21st birthday, Justin lost control of his motorcycle, hit a tree, and died. It was particularly traumatic for my daughter; they were broken up at the time, although she and the rest of us thought they would resolve their differences and resume the relationship eventually. Now that would never happen.

Within four or five months of Justin's death, the Wild Child met the Boy from Hell. Although this kid seemed very nice and respectful, over the course of time, we learned he was anything but. In November of that year, he and my daughter moved to Tahoe where he had grown up. We later learned that he had a problem with drugs and alcohol, although we--and she--didn't realize it at the time. My daughter has always been good about managing and saving her money, and when they moved to Tahoe, she bought a new-to-her 4WD SUV. She still needed a few things to set up housekeeping, but with our help and a few cast-offs, she was able to furnish a small, one-room cottage. She got a job waitressing at a nearby casino, and things were going fairly well. The BFH got a job at the same casino but lost the job after two weeks. Because he didn't have a car, he would use hers, driving her to and from work. Before long, there were several times when he failed to pick her up after work, and my daughter was forced to get a ride from a friend or walk home late, late at night. Eventually they began arguing, and one night, he stranded her at work again. When she got home, she found he had taken all of her things--TV, snowboard, cell phone, car, and anything else he could carry. Some of the things were sold by him--including her snowboard--and some she was able to recover. A month or so later, he persuaded her to take him back. I guess we're all gullible at some point in our lives, and this was her time. Within weeks, the same behavior occured again. This time, not only did he take her things, but he spun out in the snow, scraping her SUV over rocks and boulders and abandoning the car on the highway. By now, he was driving without a license, so he fled the scene. Then he called her at work and told her where she could find her car. The car had to be towed and was not driveable. Through an insurance snafu, it was uninsured as well. It took my daughter a year to save up the money necessary for the repairs and to put her life back in order, but I think she learned a valuable lesson. I know this boy has tried several times to convince her to take him back but she's not buying it. One of his most memorable attempts was when he told her his father had been decapitated in an automobile accident and he had inherited half his father's business and his house in the Santa Cruz area. The Wild Child was less than impressed and told him that money had nothing to do with why they weren't together. A few weeks later, the boy's father called, looking for his son--this is the guy who was presumably decapitated. Oh, did that provide endless material for jokes! The Wild Child has a wonderful wit and a dry delivery. And at least she can laugh about it now.

In any event, this BFH is now out of her life and she's moved on. Both she and her current boyfriend are hesitant to commit to any long term relationships; apparently he's also had his share of unfortunate experiences. But they seem good for each other for the time being.

It was nice to have the Wild Child at home. There were times over the last few years when I hoped she would move back, but she insisted on standing on her own two feet and rebuilding her life. For the past year, she's been talking about saving up money to travel around the country with her dog, Rocky, beginning sometime in 2009. This child is the one who turns my hair gray, but she's also the one who's doing the kind of things that I didn't have the courage to do back in the 70s when I was her age. Yes, she's wild and I worry about her, but I love her and admire many things about her too.

I still owe you all one more thing you didn't know about me, and that's coming soon--I didn't want you to think I had forgotten!

Parents

Today my husband and I drove up to Oroville to spend some time with my mom. She hasn't been eating or sleeping very well and has been fixated on taking care of everything that needs to be done. Perhaps not surprisingly then, when we arrived, she was tired and extremely cranky. She eventually relaxed, though, and we had a nice visit. She shared with us some of her memories of her early years with my dad and also of the years when they lived in Idaho later on, when my husband and I were first married. We had two young children of our own and not much money, so travel was difficult for us, and we didn't see very much of them for several years except twice when they traveled down this way for vacation. I'm glad she has such wonderful memories to hold in her heart.

I thought I'd share a couple photos of my parents. The first one above was taken around 1947, which would have been a year or so before they married. My dad had served in the Army during WWII, and when he returned, they started dating and eventually got married. I came along in 1956. They had been married for eight years and were unable to have children, so I was adopted. Just as they were looking into adopting a second child, my mom finally became pregnant, and my brother was born in 1960.

The photo below was taken around their 50th wedding anniversary. It wasn't too long afterward that my dad's health started to decline. I know the coming days, weeks, and months will be difficult for my mom, and she will have many decisions to make. I'm continually grateful that there are so many kind and helpful neighbors in her retirement community, since we don't live close enough to see her on a daily or even weekly basis, but we will call her often and see her whenever we can. Ideally, I would like her to move closer to me, but that's one of those tough decisions she will need to make for herself. In the meantime, I hope to bring her to our house for a weekend in a few weeks--it's been quite a few years since she was able to travel due to my dad's health problems. I know she will always miss my dad, but I hope that she will realize her own life can and will go on, and that she's surrounded by people who love and care for her.

Sad Day!

I talked to my mom this morning; she called to let me know that my dad's time was approaching. A little while later she called back to say he had passed. As you may imagine, it's been a sad day for us, but at the same time, it's been something of a relief. I understand from the nurses I talked to this past week that my dad was in some pain which was relieved by morphine, but of course that left him barely conscious much of the time. The last few weeks have been hard on everyone; we had really started our grieving last weekend when we knew his death was inevitable. Both my parents made arrangements some time back for cremation, and neither of them wanted a memorial service, so there's really not much that needs to be done other than informing relatives and taking care of the business end of things. I'll be going to work tomorrow and clearing up what I can, and then I'll probably take the rest of the week off, and spend some of that time with my mom.

My mom seems to be holding up fairly well. My brother and I have both talked to her several times today, although she didn't want us to come up just now. I'll go on Tuesday for the day, and my brother will come up near the end of the week.

In the meantime, between telephone calls, I did some sewing today and finished a small quilt top from a Jo's Little Women's Club pattern--photo above. I'm grateful to have my quilting to give me something to do at times like these. Even our weather here was somber with the sun peeking out only occasionally and a huge downpour around dinner time with thunder and lightening. My dad would probably joke that it was the sound of St. Peter slamming the gates shut when he saw my dad coming, but I'm sure that's not the case. I'll sure miss him and his great sense of humor and his smile!

Just in Case I Disappear . . .

Do you ever read someone's blog and see that they've posted something about family or health problems and then they just seem to disappear for quite some time? You check back every day or so, and they still haven't posted? If you're like me, you probably wonder what's happened and whether everything's okay--even if you don't really know that person very well or haven't read their blog for very long. But I think we quilters tend to be pretty compassionate and caring people, so we're just made that way, don't you think? Or are we just nosey?! LOL!

I've had some sad news today that may take me away from blogland for a bit; or maybe it won't take me away long enough for anyone to notice. I debated with myself about whether I should post something just in case you came looking for me and I wasn't here, and I finally decided I would.

You may have followed my posts about my parents' car accident and know that they were in a nursing home for awhile. I'm pretty sure I mentioned sometime this week that my mom was discharged home. Well she called today to tell us my dad has a bleed in his brain and has been moved back to the hospital. At his age and in his physical condition, there's really no way to treat it, so it's just a matter of time before he passes away. It may happen this weekend, or he might linger for a week or two.

While I am very sad to see my dad's life coming to a close, I've seen his health deteriorate over the last several years. He has constant back pain and cannot stand up straight. He's had quadruple bypass surgery, and he's had surgery for prostate cancer. He's so hard of hearing, he barely knows what's being said around him. In the last year or so, I've seen his mind start to deteriorate as well. He's 81 years old and has lived a good life. I think it's time. Or at least my brain is resigned; my heart is another matter. But I'll be alright. I know it's really a blessing, because I don't think he would have ever gone home again, and I know he would not have been happy living in a nursing home without my mom.

My husband, daughter, and I will be going up to visit him and spend some time with my mom tomorrow (Saturday); my brother and his wife will join us, and they'll stay there for at least a few days. We should be back home tomorrow evening, but after that, I don't know how frequently I'll be traveling back and forth or what will happen. I'll post when I can, and I'm sure I'll be checking in on everyone's blogs to see what you all are doing. I suspect I'll quilt when I'm home and have time, because it's about the best therapy I can think of! If I find any time for quilting, I'll share with you whatever I'm up to. Meanwhile, if you notice I'm gone, at least you know why.

Moving Along

Today my main focus was on seeing my parents settled into their nursing home. The drive was long and the high winds buffeted my car around on the flat stretches of the highway. A stop at a Starbucks in a small town that marks the halfway point made the journey a little more pleasant. (Have I mentioned that I love Starbucks' iced lattes? I wish I owned stock in Starbucks!)


I was happy to discover that my parents seemed to be doing reasonably well. My dad was dozing on and off while I was there, but he seemed more alert, and I could see that spark in his eyes that told me he was "there." My mom is bruised all over and has discovered a new problem with her hip, but x-rays don't show any fractures; presumably it will just take some time to heal. We had a good visit and talked over financial and other matters, which I'll take care of while they're in the nursing home. Just before I left, a neighbor arrived to say hello: George plays the banjo and his "band" was performing for the residents when I arrived. I left thinking that my parents are in good surroundings, being well cared for, and should do just fine.


The drive home didn't seem quite so long, and by the time I reached the halfway mark, I was ready for another latte. This little town is laid out kind of oddly in that the main street where all the shops are parallels the main road through town but is a block or two over. Along the old downtown street, old fashioned lighted metal framework criss-cross each intersection. I haven't driven down this street often, but it's charming and I found myself thinking that I ought to stop and do some exploring one of these days. Of course, once I saw there was a quilt and yarn shop amid the other little stores, my mind was made up: this is a little town I need to become more familiar with! Although the sign on the quilt shop door said "open," it was just after 6 p.m. and I figured they were probably on the verge of closing for the evening. I also knew I had a husband waiting at home who would be wondering where I was if I was delayed, so I continued on but mentally marked the location of the shop so I can treat myself next time with a stop and a little exploration. Don't you just love "discovering" quilt shops that you didn't know existed?!


As I neared Sacramento, driving along the freeway with rice fields stretching out on either side, I could see the downtown area off in the distance, seemingly stuck out in the middle of flat farm land and looking a little like the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz. I thought about the evening ahead and, as it usually does, my mind wandered to the quilt project I'm working on. For the first time in several days, I felt that flutter of excitement and the lightening of spirit that quilting seems to bring. And I was nearly home . . . .

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

I haven't written much about my folks for the last couple days, but I'm worn out tonight and they're still on my mind, so I thought I'd mention what's been going on.

The Good: The folks were transferred today, together, to a nursing facility. From what I understand, they are both Medicare approved and if they exceed the maximum covered stay, their supplemental insurance will kick in. I've reported the auto accident to their insurance company, and the property damage and auto inspection/disposal aspects are being resolved; my dad has med pay which will help with any medical expenses that are not covered. My mom seemed alert and in less pain the last time I talked to her. I'll be going up to see them tomorrow. The neighbors in the retirement community where they live are just wonderfully helpful with everything, and I'm very grateful for that.

The Bad: I'm told the healthcare people expect my folks to be in the nursing facility for quite possibly more than 100 days. 100 days! And I was anticipating two weeks! I had to deal with the phone company's automated phone system THREE times before I managed to get my folks' telephone transferred to the nursing home. Have you ever talked to an artificial man-voiced robot who asks you questions about stuff like ZIP codes that you can't answer, and when you say, "I don't know," he says, "I'm sorry, I didn't understand your response. Please repeat that number slowly, one digit at a time"? Grrrrr! I really wanted to give him one digit in particular, but I'm sure he wouldn't have understood my response! My folks need a TV--21" I'm told. Not sure where to get one, and the rental centers don't seem to have anything under 27", so I don't know what my dad's going to stare at until I can get a TV to them. He likes to turn on CNN and watch the headlines. And complain about the Republicans. Since he's hard of hearing, he talks really LOUD and his political opinions are frequently punctuated by swear words. (Yep, that's my dad; they're gonna love him at the nursing home! 100 days? I bet it's more like the two weeks I was expecting!) My brother seems to think the folks might have a TV in their home that's the right size; the only one I remember is the GIGANTIC set we bought them for Christmas the year before last. I didn't see a smaller one when we were there the other night--probably because of the sweat pouring down my face, plastering my hair to my eyeballs. But I'll look again tomorrow.

The Ugly: Me. I'm feeling like the guy on the right in the photo above LOOKS. I'm also getting really tired of being asked about my dad's medical history, explaining that he has dementia, and having people say, "And he was driving?!" Yes, he was diagnosed in the fall as having mild dementia and was on medication to slow the progression; this is the first indication that driving might not be such a good idea, and he'll never do it again--I promise! I kind of feel like I should have done something BEFORE the accident, but most of you probably know that getting your parents to change their ways may well be harder than convincing a 15-year-old kid! LOL! No quilting time tonight, which is liable to make me real ugly too. I need my fabric fix! And now it's time for bed--gotta get my ugly sleep.

Ugh!

When I started blogging, I had a goal of trying to post something every day. Well, of course I haven't been blogging for very long and I don't want to break this little promise to myself so quickly, so post I will!

I'm tired. It's been a very long day. If you read my post yesterday, you know my parents were in an auto accident and are in the hospital. This morning I talked by telephone with my dad's doctor and the Social Services Discharge Planner. Both told me my dad was fine and was being discharged; I told them that my plan was to take him back to his home and check on him and bring him food every other day; the neighbors would also look in on him. That was just fine. Not so, as I discovered when I actually got to see him and found out he cannot care for himself and requires 24 hour care and/or supervision. Of course, this all comes down to healthcare assistance, insurance coverage, and finances, and it seems my parents fall into a category where they have just enough income to disqualify them for most assistance but don't have enough to pay for anything themselves. Yes, they have supplemental private insurance, but that's no help in this situation. Catch-22. In the end, the hospital kept my dad and will probably transfer him to a nursing care facility on Monday, but no one knows quite how this will be paid for. My mom isn't likely to face discharge for some time and will probably be sent to a nursing home as well before she goes home. I have to go back on Monday with all the financial documents I was able to hunt down at my parents' place. Their house was about 85 degrees inside. It was dark outside, and the lighting was poor inside. Nothing was precisely where my mom had said it would be. Did I mention that I'm tired?!

I know that trying to care for aging parents is a huge concern for my generation and yes, it's tough. I know that my husband and I are not the only ones to experience it. Yes, I know that, but it's not much comfort. It's hard to know what needs to be done when you're being asked to make decisions about something you've never really thought seriously about. I think eventually we'll have to sell my parents' place and move them into an apartment close to us, where we can help them and check on them regularly, and that's fine with me. Whether it will be equally fine with them is a question to be asked later.

What I'd really, really LIKE to be doing is quilting. I was hoping that by now, I'd be able to share a photo of my finished St. Patrick's Day tabletopper, but it's still half quilted, no further along than it was on Tuesday night--eons ago, it seems! Since both my parents are being cared for this weekend, I won't make that trip up there again until Monday. In the meantime, I need to read and sort through their financial and legal paper work and I hope to get some quilting time in as well. With quiting therapy, maybe by tomorrow's blog, my attitude will be better and I'll have a photo of something to share!