Wuz Goldilocks here?

In recent months, Peter has been much sleeping later in the mornings, sleeping downstairs occasionally, getting up in the night to go to the bathroom and then going to another bedroom to finish the night.

Oh yes, I’m aware when this happens — Leslie calls it “using my mommy ears” — though I’m not necessarily wide awake.

In the wee hours one night I woke up and realized Peter wasn’t in bed and hadn’t been. The sheet on his side was cool and still smooth. I didn’t look at the clock, but I knew from the hush on the street outside that it was about about four. Just then the floor creaked. Peter was tiptoeing along the hall trying not to wake me.

When he opened the door, I asked where he’d been…as if he’d remember. “I just went to the toilet,” he said, climbing into bed.

“Um, no, you haven’t been here at all,” I said, but he was already asleep.

After sunrise I got up and headed downstairs for coffee. Whoops, what did I just see, I asked myself as I reached the top of the stairs?

I backed up and looked in Carolynn’s room. The bed was slightly mussed and looked as if someone had been sitting on it.  Then I peeked into Leslie’s room where the bedcovers were turned back, the pillow squashed. Peter’s slippers were placed neatly beside the bed and his winter jacket was hanging on the bedpost. “Hm-m,” I said.

Leslie’s bed was just right.

The coffeemaker’s drips woke my brain and I soon solved the mystery. The pillows on the sofa were piled up in a way that told me my husband had tried to sleep there using the cushions and his jacket for warmth. Upstairs, he’d first tried the bed in Carolynn’s room and decided it was too hard, but in Leslie’s room the bed was just right and he no longer needed his jacket for warmth.

When he finally came down, he sat in his chair — just right — and I gave him his coffee. I was tempted to offer him a bowl of porridge, but I kept that thought to myself. He doesn’t have a sense of humor in the mornings.

Header: Carolynn’s bed, too hard.


2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

 

 

‘This high’ with no caffeine.

This morning, Peter and I had our annual back-to-back wellness check-ups, fasting check-ups, no caffeine, nothing to eat. Our stomachs growled menacingly.

For the first time in his life my husband has a “spare tire.” He weighed in at 145.5 pounds, up from a low of 128 a few years ago. (I’d have my other knee replaced if I were guaranteed another miraculous thirty-pound loss like the one, post surgery, in 2013.)

When the nurse asked my height, I answered 5′8″, but I think I’ve shrunk to less than that. When she asked Peter, he put his hand on top of his head and said, “This high.” She laughed and so did I. Then she listed three words for him to remember — “apple, penny, watch” — but he forgot all of them. I only remembered two!

When Doctor T bustled in, he asked Peter, first thing, if he was still walking his dog. “Oh yes, he walks me, twice a day,” he said, as he always does. I explained that they still visit nursing homes once a week. “Good, that’s good,” the doctor said. “Those old fellows must love you.”

“The old ladies love Peter and Nobby,” I said. “They both get their share of hugs and pats.”

“See, if you’d known that years ago, Mr. Clarke, you’d have had women swooning at your feet.” Peter has always had women swooning at his feet.

After our labs were finished, Peter asked where we were going next. “Home,” I said, although I was already plotting where to go for coffee and pastries. He started nudging me to the left like a Border Collie herding sheep. “What are you doing?” I asked, pushing towards my car on the right.

He laughed. “Silly me! I looked at that one and thought it was yours.” He pointed to the sleek black car next to my boxy blue one. Its license plate read C-L-A-R-K, while my plate describes my stern personality.

Later, Peter sipped his coffee and stared at the scrawl on the door across the alley. “I’m trying to figure out what that says.”

“Good luck.”

“Good luck?”

“No, I mean ‘good luck’ figuring out what it says!”

If the doctor had written a prescription for laughs prn, it would’ve already been filled by eleven this morning.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. screen-shot-2016-12-07-at-10-14-53-am

Sweet talk.

Valentine’s Day crept on me, but I decided not to rush out to buy a card for my husband. Instead we’d go to our favorite spot for coffee. Oh, yes, I did cut a big heart out of newspaper and put it in his chair this morning and, yes, I did leave a message on his little white board. He didn’t notice either of them.

When I suggested we go to Our Daily Bread, his eyes lit up. We walked so I could justify one of their beautifully decorated heart-shaped sugar cookies. The place was bustling, as always, and even at 9:30 we were too late to get Valentine cookies. Peter eyed a strawberry-studded chocolate gateau, but in the end, we settled on our favorite apple turnovers.

After repeating his usual questions several times — “any news from upstate? ” and “how’s the big guy?” — he wanted to know what he could say that wasn’t the same old thing.

“How about ‘Happy Valentine’s Day?'” I said.

“When is it?”

“Today.”

“I didn’t know,” he said. He patted my hand and shook his head.

“Oh well, this is better than a card anyway. Two apple turnovers and two coffees for only eight dollars and forty-six cents.”

“Cheaper than a card,” he said.

“You’re a cheap date,” I told him.

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Header photo: My mom’s heart-shaped dish always holds “sweethearts” in February.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist. 

Be gentle with yourself, you’re doing the best you can.

Notices for books by, for and about caregivers show up in my email every day. I follow blogs by women  who are caregivers, and by experts who advise them…advise us. The common thread is, be kind to yourself and remember, you’re doing the best you can at a very hard job.

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Monday, Leslie collected Peter at ten for Christmas shopping and lunch. She volunteered for the job. She, and Carolynn too, always lift his spirits and make him laugh with their teasing. I’m sure he enjoyed the day, even though he didn’t remember where they’d been.

After they’d gone, I spent a long hour on the phone straightening out a niggling problem, the sort of thing I despise doing. After that, I thought, I should go to the grocery. But, no, dammit, I would get coffee at Our Daily Bread, a favorite haunt. I’m so glad I did. While I dawdled over coffee and cranberry/orange scone, I read two excellent story drafts by writer friends. Un-in-ter-rupt-ed. I felt a bit guilty that I enjoyed being there without Peter, but I confess, I savored it.

As I was about to leave, a young woman waved from across the room. Stephanie, a gardener friend, worked her way to my table and gave me a hug. “So nice to see you out like this,” she said. “I know how hard things must be, but obviously, you have ‘time off’ today.” She’d just been to Florida visiting her father who has Alzheimer’s too. “I understand what you’re going through,” she added.

Stephanie, with her million-dollar smile and twinkling eyes, helped make my day.

After that, I did get a few things at Kroger’s. While in the card aisle, looking for an anniversary card for my husband, a wheelchair-bound, sweet elderly lady asked me to help her find a Christmas card for a dear friend. I picked out several, but cost was an issue. She really liked an eight dollar one, but wanted something in the five dollar range. I found one with a message she loved. She thanked me over and over.

I hope I helped make her day.

Leslie stayed for a cup of tea after she brought Peter home even though I knew she had lots to do at her house.

She made my day all over again.

This morning, both daughters texted, Today is the shortest day of the year. Won’t be long until time to cut the grass, as my dad always said on the Winter Solstice.

Their reminders made me chuckle and made this day.

 

Header photo: Christmas cookie selection at Our Daily Bread.

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A down day turned up.

Early morning and already there were signs that it was going to be a down day. The salt and pepper shakers were in the butter compartment of the fridge, mustard, in the silverware drawer, and we were nearly out of bread. Nothing gets my day off to a worse start than having to do without toast. Lately, Peter has been eating almost a loaf a day — two pieces of toast, three sandwiches for lunch, and at least three slices with jam at various times during the evening.

Down.

But I eked out two slices from the end of the loaf.

Up.

When Peter came downstairs, he turned the television on first thing, as usual, but the growling that followed was not on “Today.” I ignored him for a few minutes hoping he’d figure out that if he stopped pushing all the buttons the remote would “catch up” to his impatient demands.

Down.

But I gave in. He looked up with a silly smile and continued jabbing buttons. “Um, were you actually going to call somebody? That’s the phone!”

He shook his head and laughed and so did I. Might as well.

Up.

Later I asked if he wanted to go shopping. He was waiting by the door before I changed into my best jeans. My husband is always ready to “go to the shops.” No sooner did I back out the drive than he started asking, “Any news from upstate?” Even though I’d said no, he continued, “Do they have snow?” The same questions six times in seven  miles. I counted.

Down.

I parked midway between TJMaxx and Barnes & Noble. A way to get in my morning walk and finish Christmas shopping in one. I found what I wanted quickly and checked out. We headed in the general direction of the car to stow my purchases. Ah, but where had I parked? Peter really enjoyed that laugh — up — as we sloshed and searched — down.

Version 2At the bookstore, I found what I wanted so fast that Peter was disappointed. He loves to wander at Barnes & Noble. “How about a coffee?” I asked to make up for my quick trip. I ordered a java chip frappacino — up — and asked if he wanted his usual cappuccino? “Yes, whatever that is,” he said. For the twenty minutes we sat over coffee he asked, four more times, “Any news from upstate?”

Down.

When we got home, Peter looked at the clock and yelped, “It’s gone one! Have I had lunch?”

Down.

“No, just coffee, nothing to eat. Make a sandwich.” He liked that idea. I went to the basement to wrap Christmas presents. When I came up, he had his Santa hat on and was working on a 500-piece puzzle. He’d marked out its one-by-three foot dimensions carefully, correctly.

Up.

img_4517Header: Peter puzzles.

2016 National Society of Newspaper Columnists’ contest finalist.