Sunday, July 30

I could tell something was happening at the apartment complex as I drove in--all but one parking spot was taken, and that usually means a celebration of some sort is happening in the dining room.   Entering the apartment complex, I saw how right I was. Several dozen people of all ages occupied the territory Mom and I usually enjoy for coffee.  Probably a birthday celebration for a resident. I knew Plan B was in order--so I grabbed Mom's coffee carafe, and after filling it amidst the hoopla in the dining room, retreated to Mom's apartment for a quiet cuppa with her. Still dressed in her church clothes (which I'd chosen yesterday and laid out for her), she looked more fit and able than she actually is.  Given Mom's near blindness from macular degeneration, I chose several articles from the Star Tribune to read to her--some of those I'd enjoyed this morning on the porch. One focused on the diary of a MN Civil War drummer boy.  We appreciated his rhetoric--such word choice  for a kid in those days not yet 20.  I can imagine few at that age who now would possess such eloquent speech.  And we both laughed as I read Gail Rosenblum's column about the new female pill to enhance sexual desire.  Gail wrote, "It's hard to put a number on how many American women suffer from a sexual 'disorder,' and how many of us are just damn tired." Gail's outlook had us chortling.  Fun to see Mom "get" it.

As we drank coffee, Mom wondered aloud if one of her friends hadn't called to announce a "Casa" event for evening--"Casa" being half-century tradition with her group of having drinks and then eating at their favorite haunt in town, Casa Zamora.  Because Mom's memory is so cloudy, I called to verify that yes, Casa was on, and Mom would be picked up.  This type of information is so hard for Mom to retrieve.  She ruminates on it, wondering aloud time and again whether Casa will be held.

Then of course after establishing the event was "on," the question of "cash in my wallet" came up.  In the past I've put cash in her wallet, only to have it suddenly disappear when she needed it.  Where those dollars went is still in question, but suffice it to say, today I encouraged her to use her credit card at the restaurant. But for the first time, she didn't know what I meant by "credit card."  I found her purse, brought the wallet to her and showed Mom her Mastercard.  "Here it is," I told her.  "Just use it tonight."  She took the card in her hand and asked how to use it, what it was for.  Another step, I thought to myself--another step back.  Just a month ago she'd used the card at the market.  Now she didn't know what it was for.  Heartbreak.

I attended to my usual chores for the day at Mom's--washing up the breakfast dishes, checking to see she had food for dinner (in the fridge--left-overs from her communal noontime meal), setting the TV to her favorite PBS channel for her evening viewing, and laying out an outfit for the coming day.

Then because fall is coming, we decided to begin going through Mom's closet to weed out clothes too big, too worn, too out-of-date.  As Mom lay on her bed resting, I whipped through items in the closet--taking some off hangers and folding those for Goodwill and the consignment shop.  Several tops still had tags, and Mom's inquiry, "Where did that come from?" made me smile.  

I swapped over all the wire hangers for plastic ones and after kissing her good-bye, reminding her of Casa and who would pick her up (and when), left it to chance that Mom would be ready and waiting for Casa.  Her group, her people, still care for her so generously.