The shouts, the yelps, the quiet

I've always been sensitive to noise--I'm easily startled.  And when alarmed by sound, my muscles contract and electricity runs through me, actually causing pain. My classroom had  always needed to be relatively quiet, elementary students (and their voices) made me crazy, and loud music sends shutters through me.  Give me soft violin music anytime. That I find calming, relaxing. So one would think I'd have welcomed Mom's relative quiet yesterday.  When I dashed through the door of the care center, I found Mom and her good pal Maryann already at the table sipping coffee.  I scooted up to the table, deposited my things, and grabbed a coffee for myself. It's so entertaining to chat with Maryann, and we carried on for awhile until I realized Mom really wasn't saying anything.  In fact, she seemed to be staring off into space much of the time, her face lax and eyes dim.

"So you're not saying much today," I teased Mom.

"Oh, really?" she asked, seemingly unaware of her nearly wordless presence.  I assessed things:  her face was a bit flushed, and she was wearing...not one but TWO knit tops under her sweater.

"You have two shirts on under your sweater," I noted.  "I wonder why."  Good grief, I thought.  I laid out one white knit shirt and yet she has two on under that sweater?  Oh well--at least she was clothed and actually didn't look too bad.  The bright pink shirt layered atop the white one gave Mom color.  Yet that quietness...it concerned me.

After Maryann left, we wheeled back into Mom's room, and after grabbing the dirty clothes to take home and wash, I solved the mystery of the extra shirt.  Apparently the pink shirt had been taken off the night before but not dropped into the dirty clothes bin with her slacks and sweater.  It must've remained draped over the chair with the other clothes for the coming day.  When the morning staff came, they probably thought I'd laid out two shirts, one long sleeved and one short sleeved.  I laughed at what they must've been wondering...

I drove home, my mouth already tasting the glass of wine I'd enjoy as I played a game of cribbage with Pete.  I turned onto our street, approached the driveway, turned to back into the garage, slowly...slowly... and YELP!  My god!  The dog!  I'd run over the dog!  She occasionally  lies outside on the driveway sunning herself, but...really Pete?  How could you let her out and forget her?  I had no way to see her.  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!!!

After springing out of the car, I relaxed as I saw Gracie walking normally toward me, head lowered as if she (not I ) had performed the heinous act.  Apparently I'd surprised this nearly deaf mongrel as my bumper grazed her.  Whew.  I was shaking as I let her into the house, that yelp still resonating.

Cribbage was postponed until after the news.  For some reason the evening news has become a staple in Pete's life, and from 5:30-6 pm, ABC World News is his focus.  Well, I thought, I'd enjoy a glass of wine and watch the news as well--in Sarah's room on the opposite side of the house not far from the kitchen.

I enjoyed my wine, multi-tasking with the paper and the on-screen news when I heard Pete shouting from the kitchen, "Jane!  I need help!"  It was the cry of panic, and consequently I panicked and dashed into the kitchen wondering if he's cut himself, if the dog were now puking up blood or...?!  "My TV is screwed up!" Pete shrieked. "I dropped the remote and now I can't get the news! Can you fix it?"

Oh my god, I thought again to myself.  Really?  It's just your TV?  Not a giant sink hole in the back yard?  Not a tree falling through the roof?  Just a blank TV?!!!  Relieved, I scurried into his room, grabbed the remote, spent five minutes pushing buttons until finally...picture and sound. Now the two of us had missed a bit of news.

Still shaking from Pete's shouting, I walked back to the kitchen, past the now peaceful, snoring dog, back to my wine and the type of quiet I so desperately seek.