So I am exhausted. My feet, knees, and back are killing me. But I want to start *trying* to be more consistent about blogging and today seems like a great day to stop and write a bit more than the 160 characters allowed by Twitter (just joined that today) or the slap and dash of Facebook.
Today I took the firm step into the heart of the sandwhich generation - again. My mom moved back in with us. I'm sure that I hardly have any of the readers I did in 2005 (when I blogged devotedly), but back then Grandma B moved in after my father passed away and she couldn't afford to keep her home. She lived with us for a bit over two years before we moved to Illinois.
Since that time, Mom lived in an apartment in Minnesota for two more years, then went to Arizona for two years, then two years ago we brought her here to Illinois. Until today, she lived in a Senior Citizen complex about a block from our home.
However, sometimes even a block is too great a divide if the need is great. My mom has Arterial Sclerosis, which is slowly closing off the flow of blood to her brain, causing memory loss and the beginnings of dementia. She doesn't take adequate care of herself; doesn't take her insulin, or any of her other medications with any regularity. She sleeps all day. She never left her apartment. It was Time.
The fork in the road I anticipated two years ago was finally here: either put Mom in assisted living or bring her to live with us. But in Mom's current mental state, assisted living meant, to her, "nursing home". She could not see this as anything other than "the last step" and if we had put her there (much further way from us than just a block away), she would have turned her face to the wall and died. You have to use it or lose it; so she's moving here so we can help her to use it.
This will be an interesting road for us. She fears that she will be a burden (she won't). I fear that I won't be able to meet all her needs (let's face it, I won't - but she'll still be better than living alone). I worry about my daughter getting lost in the shuffle while at the same moment I rejoice that she again has her Grandmother living in her home, teaching her the meaning of family beyond Mom and Dad. I fear that I will do something wrong and give Erin poor teaching on how to handle John and I when we're aged...
Yes, I am firmly back in the Sandwich generation. I hope it's not too much balonga or chopped liver!
Showing posts with label Grandma Lights. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grandma Lights. Show all posts
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Monday, September 13, 2010
The Sandwich Generation; Balogna and Cheese
I was born in 1965, a classic sandwich generation member. The Baby Boomers ended in 1964 and Generation X, while described as starting in 1965, didn't show its real defining characteristics until we got those born in the 70's starting to throw their weight around.
Now, like many my age, I am a member of the true Sandwich Generation; those of us who have our aging parents to the left, our burgeoning children to the right, and are gamely trying to balance the needs of both in the middle. I've written about this in the past when my mother lived with us in Minnesota.
Four years ago when we decided to move to Illinois, Mom decided to stay in Minnesota, then two years later moved to Phoenix. Now, 4 years into this odyssey, she has decided to move to Illinois. She will be here in October and is moving into a local Senior Citizen apartment complex. And I am glad - truly. Not so much because I deeply want to control any aspect of her life, but because my life is much easier when I am the one at her steering wheel.
My mom, though she would not admit to it, doesn't honestly want to be in charge of her life. She doesn't want the work, the worry, or the hassle. She's been this way since I was a child, and it wasn't that long ago that I finally realized that I've been raising my mom all along, in some ways. My sister and brothers are 6 - 9 years older than me and moved away from home when I was still in elementary school. They have never really related to Mom on the level I have, so they are happy to let me steer for awhile. I was the one who became a Christian when my mom did, the one who listened to her debate the merits of staying married to my father or divorcing him when I was in Junior High, the one who listened as she came to grips with her painfully abused childhood (even when I didn't want that role because it was too much like a mirror) and the one who helped her negotiate the road through cancer and widowhood when Dad died.
I may not have always wanted to fill that role, but it was there for me and I find myself filling it once again. For my mother who is older, now, and somewhat more selective in her memory, her hearing, and her tolerance, I am now the person in charge. I look at her now with a mixture of love and frustration. I miss the vibrant woman who loved to get out when I was younger, and I'm glad to have my daughter's sweet grandma back to where they can again be a vital part of one another's lives.
Yes, my mom can be frustrating and joyously funny at the same time. For me, the sandwich generation truly is one of bologna and cheese.
Now, like many my age, I am a member of the true Sandwich Generation; those of us who have our aging parents to the left, our burgeoning children to the right, and are gamely trying to balance the needs of both in the middle. I've written about this in the past when my mother lived with us in Minnesota.
Four years ago when we decided to move to Illinois, Mom decided to stay in Minnesota, then two years later moved to Phoenix. Now, 4 years into this odyssey, she has decided to move to Illinois. She will be here in October and is moving into a local Senior Citizen apartment complex. And I am glad - truly. Not so much because I deeply want to control any aspect of her life, but because my life is much easier when I am the one at her steering wheel.
My mom, though she would not admit to it, doesn't honestly want to be in charge of her life. She doesn't want the work, the worry, or the hassle. She's been this way since I was a child, and it wasn't that long ago that I finally realized that I've been raising my mom all along, in some ways. My sister and brothers are 6 - 9 years older than me and moved away from home when I was still in elementary school. They have never really related to Mom on the level I have, so they are happy to let me steer for awhile. I was the one who became a Christian when my mom did, the one who listened to her debate the merits of staying married to my father or divorcing him when I was in Junior High, the one who listened as she came to grips with her painfully abused childhood (even when I didn't want that role because it was too much like a mirror) and the one who helped her negotiate the road through cancer and widowhood when Dad died.
I may not have always wanted to fill that role, but it was there for me and I find myself filling it once again. For my mother who is older, now, and somewhat more selective in her memory, her hearing, and her tolerance, I am now the person in charge. I look at her now with a mixture of love and frustration. I miss the vibrant woman who loved to get out when I was younger, and I'm glad to have my daughter's sweet grandma back to where they can again be a vital part of one another's lives.
Yes, my mom can be frustrating and joyously funny at the same time. For me, the sandwich generation truly is one of bologna and cheese.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Slug Bug Blue
When I was a child - three, maybe 4 years old - my mother drove a baby blue Volkswagen Beetle. A blue bug. I have vague memories of riding around in the back seat of the bug, strapped into a blue vinyl and steel bar car seat that had as much chance of ripping the skin off the back of my thighs as it did of saving my life in the event of an accident.
My clearer memories of the bug - when I was, oh about 12 years old - are of pieces of the car scattered in various corners of our garage. Apparently the motor needed to be fixed. My father owned a gas station and was a mechanic, but like the proverbial shoeless children of the cobbler, our car was neglected in favor of more important things. Finally my dad pulled out the pieces and sold them off just to erase that project from his to-do list.
My mom is in town, and we've introduced her to the family obsession with playing "Slug Bug". One day on the road we saw a baby blue bug, which brought up our ill-fated beetle. And Mom told us a story.
When I was a baby, my mom had two Great Danes, a brother and a sister named Hercules and Sari. My mother's cousin, G Elaine, was a foster mother to 4 children with Down Syndrome. For some reason, these large dogs always charmed and calmed the kids when they were having a bad day. On such a day, G Elaine called my mom and asked her to bring the dogs over to help with the kids. Mom agreed, and not having the family sedan at her disposal, took me and the dogs in the bug.
After a successful day with the kids, we headed home - 25 miles away by freeway in rush hour traffic. When Mom was almost home, she saw lights in the rear view mirror; a cop was pulling her over! She checked her speed, her lane - anything she could think of, but everything was normal. When she got pulled over, she asked the officer what was the matter.
"Oh, nothing", replied the officer. "But when I saw this tiny car with these two big dog heads sticking out of the sun roof, I just had to see it for myself!" Slug Bug blue, indeed!
My clearer memories of the bug - when I was, oh about 12 years old - are of pieces of the car scattered in various corners of our garage. Apparently the motor needed to be fixed. My father owned a gas station and was a mechanic, but like the proverbial shoeless children of the cobbler, our car was neglected in favor of more important things. Finally my dad pulled out the pieces and sold them off just to erase that project from his to-do list.
My mom is in town, and we've introduced her to the family obsession with playing "Slug Bug". One day on the road we saw a baby blue bug, which brought up our ill-fated beetle. And Mom told us a story.
When I was a baby, my mom had two Great Danes, a brother and a sister named Hercules and Sari. My mother's cousin, G Elaine, was a foster mother to 4 children with Down Syndrome. For some reason, these large dogs always charmed and calmed the kids when they were having a bad day. On such a day, G Elaine called my mom and asked her to bring the dogs over to help with the kids. Mom agreed, and not having the family sedan at her disposal, took me and the dogs in the bug.
After a successful day with the kids, we headed home - 25 miles away by freeway in rush hour traffic. When Mom was almost home, she saw lights in the rear view mirror; a cop was pulling her over! She checked her speed, her lane - anything she could think of, but everything was normal. When she got pulled over, she asked the officer what was the matter.
"Oh, nothing", replied the officer. "But when I saw this tiny car with these two big dog heads sticking out of the sun roof, I just had to see it for myself!" Slug Bug blue, indeed!
Monday, July 9, 2007
Happy Birthday, Mom!
Today is my mom's birthday. I've always joked that she can't lie about her age. She was 30 when I was born. I'll be 42 on my next birthday (ye gads!) so that makes her "72 years YOUNG!", as she likes to say. I think that's a pretty good label. I mean, she is 72 and has some of the inevitable slowing down to go along with it, but she's also very spry and full of life. Her favorite thing is to be everyone's friend and grandma. In fact, her nickname at her apartment complex is "Grandma Bobbi" and everyone here stops me to tell me what a sweetheart my mom is. Pretty cool, huh?
When Mom got pregnant with me in the wee hours of 1965 (or the waning days of 1964), she was a living example of the 60's riddle "what do you call a woman who misses the the pill one day? Mom!". At the time, she had three kids, the youngest of whom was 5 years old. She'd given away all her baby paraphernalia (against the advice of my aunts who predicted a pregnancy if she did so) and determined that her baby days were over, much to the relief of her doctor who told her she wasn't supposed to have any. more. babies. Ever. Needless to say, I was a bit of a surprise. Even though I was the classic "oops" baby, my parents never made me feel like a mistake. My mom, especially, told me over and over through the years how happy she was to have me. When the other three went out on her own, she was so glad not to have an empty nest... and told me all the time.
Back in 1989 when I was in my first year of bible college, I wrote Mom a poem for Mother's Day. I didn't have any money, but I had a friend in typesetting who printed the poem up with a lovely font and flowers (I went to Bethany College and worked at Bethany House Publishers, home of the "Love Comes Softly" series) and I'd found a pretty frame to put it in. What was true in 1989 is even more applicable today (especially since I have the daughter I wrote about 11 years before she was born), so I figured I would post the poem here as a birthday tribute to my mom.
Tender Hands
From the first day of my infancy
the dearest love I've ever known
has been one of gentle nurturing
which the kindest hands have sown.
These hands plowed a ground hard with folly
fallow from my earliest days
For Love's hard work has carefully sought
to break the ground and soften my ways.
With every gentle word Love spoke
with each unselfish deed
tender hands have reached out to plant
their promise in a seed.
Through many years and heartaches,
with laughter and with prayers,
diligently these hands have worked
to protect the promise from the tares.
As the years have passed, Love's watched me grow
to see the fruit I'll bear
and when you look at me closely you'll see
imprints of tender hands there.
As I am growing older,
Love's work is almost done.
The promise implanted in the seed
is who I have become.
Someday, it will be my hands
that plant a garden with godly fear.
And I will plant Love's promise seeds
in a little one so dear.
And as that child grows in love,
and the promise in her stands,
may I become to her what my dear mother is to me,
God's most loving pair of hands.
May 14, 1989
When Mom got pregnant with me in the wee hours of 1965 (or the waning days of 1964), she was a living example of the 60's riddle "what do you call a woman who misses the the pill one day? Mom!". At the time, she had three kids, the youngest of whom was 5 years old. She'd given away all her baby paraphernalia (against the advice of my aunts who predicted a pregnancy if she did so) and determined that her baby days were over, much to the relief of her doctor who told her she wasn't supposed to have any. more. babies. Ever. Needless to say, I was a bit of a surprise. Even though I was the classic "oops" baby, my parents never made me feel like a mistake. My mom, especially, told me over and over through the years how happy she was to have me. When the other three went out on her own, she was so glad not to have an empty nest... and told me all the time.
Back in 1989 when I was in my first year of bible college, I wrote Mom a poem for Mother's Day. I didn't have any money, but I had a friend in typesetting who printed the poem up with a lovely font and flowers (I went to Bethany College and worked at Bethany House Publishers, home of the "Love Comes Softly" series) and I'd found a pretty frame to put it in. What was true in 1989 is even more applicable today (especially since I have the daughter I wrote about 11 years before she was born), so I figured I would post the poem here as a birthday tribute to my mom.
Tender Hands
From the first day of my infancy
the dearest love I've ever known
has been one of gentle nurturing
which the kindest hands have sown.
These hands plowed a ground hard with folly
fallow from my earliest days
For Love's hard work has carefully sought
to break the ground and soften my ways.
With every gentle word Love spoke
with each unselfish deed
tender hands have reached out to plant
their promise in a seed.
Through many years and heartaches,
with laughter and with prayers,
diligently these hands have worked
to protect the promise from the tares.
As the years have passed, Love's watched me grow
to see the fruit I'll bear
and when you look at me closely you'll see
imprints of tender hands there.
As I am growing older,
Love's work is almost done.
The promise implanted in the seed
is who I have become.
Someday, it will be my hands
that plant a garden with godly fear.
And I will plant Love's promise seeds
in a little one so dear.
And as that child grows in love,
and the promise in her stands,
may I become to her what my dear mother is to me,
God's most loving pair of hands.
May 14, 1989
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Conversations
I should do a T13 today, but I figured instead, I would relate three conversations I've had in the last 10 minutes.
Last night we had Papa Murphy's take-n-bake pizza and I got a small cheesy bread, which I saved for tonight. After some deliberation, I made it into a chicken pizza and stirred up some brownies to bake while we ate. Near the end of dinner, I got up to check the gooey goodness and sat back down. "2 More minutes", I mouthed to Champs, not yet ready to divulge the surprise to the rest of the family. Sweet Girl looked at me and asked, "what's in the oven, Mom?"
"The thermometer", I said.
"What is it checking the temperature of?" asked mini me.
"The oven", quoth I
"Oh", she breathed... and asked again "well, what's in the oven?"
"The rack", I quipped.
"What's it holding?" she tried one last time to get me to give up the goods.
"The thermometer". Champs and Grandma laughed. She sighed and gave up. Sometimes trying to talk circles around mom just won't work!
+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Later, I walked into the living room, past a couple of baskets full of laundry which, to my dismay, were still in the living room and not put away in our bedroom, which is Champs' assigned household duty. I went over to the coffee table where Champs was lounging and playing a video game (or was he watching T.V.? I'm not sure). I bent down and said quietly, "you know what I did on Monday night?"
"No".
"I did laundry. And I finished it on Tuesday night. Now it's Thursday. Are you wondering what your part in this is?"
"No", he deadpanned.
"Oh", I answered. "And are you wondering how hard I am going to hit you?"
He just laughed at me and went on with his game, knowing that he can push my buttons just as well as he can Madden 2000 .
+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Finally, I went out to the kitchen to cut up the now cooled marshmallow-slathered brownies. Ala' Alton Brown, I had baked them in a pan lined with parchment paper, so I could lift them out of the pan to cut them up. With all the melted marshmallows on top, the knife got gunked up pretty quickly - all full of warm, yummy gooeyness. I contemplated the knife and raised it to wipe it off with my fingers. As I raised it, my mom yelped, "you're not going to put that in your mouth, are you?"
"No!" I scoffed. "Do I look that stupid?"
She looked at me for a moment with the unspoken comment that when chocolate is involved...
"Never mind. Don't answer that."
Here are some comments from this post:
princssis said...
MMMM - So, how were they? Would this happen to be the special box of brownies I bought?
K - I need a chocolate fix now. And I don't have any brownie mix. (darn!)
kenju said...
Mmmmmm....bownies! I had some last week. Champs is related to mr. kenju, I think....LOL. Laundry here can remain in the basket for days and days!
Linda said...
I will lick the knife...if it's only my family eating, chances are we've already shared all the germs, between kissing and coughing and sneezing and blowing raspberries (I have young'uns!)
And I lick SHARP knives too...and don't cut my tongue!
Now I have to make brownies....sigh. Maybe I'll give in and make healthier raspberry bars instead.
carli said...
What time do you want me for dinner tomorrow night?
Minerva said...
You have me SALIVATING...
Pass some over here, or at least the recipe...
Dribble.....
Minerva
Shannin said...
Thinking of you and hoping Champs finds something soon! Still keeping my ears peeled if anything comes up with The Company.
Last night we had Papa Murphy's take-n-bake pizza and I got a small cheesy bread, which I saved for tonight. After some deliberation, I made it into a chicken pizza and stirred up some brownies to bake while we ate. Near the end of dinner, I got up to check the gooey goodness and sat back down. "2 More minutes", I mouthed to Champs, not yet ready to divulge the surprise to the rest of the family. Sweet Girl looked at me and asked, "what's in the oven, Mom?"
"The thermometer", I said.
"What is it checking the temperature of?" asked mini me.
"The oven", quoth I
"Oh", she breathed... and asked again "well, what's in the oven?"
"The rack", I quipped.
"What's it holding?" she tried one last time to get me to give up the goods.
"The thermometer". Champs and Grandma laughed. She sighed and gave up. Sometimes trying to talk circles around mom just won't work!
+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Later, I walked into the living room, past a couple of baskets full of laundry which, to my dismay, were still in the living room and not put away in our bedroom, which is Champs' assigned household duty. I went over to the coffee table where Champs was lounging and playing a video game (or was he watching T.V.? I'm not sure). I bent down and said quietly, "you know what I did on Monday night?"
"No".
"I did laundry. And I finished it on Tuesday night. Now it's Thursday. Are you wondering what your part in this is?"
"No", he deadpanned.
"Oh", I answered. "And are you wondering how hard I am going to hit you?"
He just laughed at me and went on with his game, knowing that he can push my buttons just as well as he can Madden 2000 .
+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Finally, I went out to the kitchen to cut up the now cooled marshmallow-slathered brownies. Ala' Alton Brown, I had baked them in a pan lined with parchment paper, so I could lift them out of the pan to cut them up. With all the melted marshmallows on top, the knife got gunked up pretty quickly - all full of warm, yummy gooeyness. I contemplated the knife and raised it to wipe it off with my fingers. As I raised it, my mom yelped, "you're not going to put that in your mouth, are you?"
"No!" I scoffed. "Do I look that stupid?"
She looked at me for a moment with the unspoken comment that when chocolate is involved...
"Never mind. Don't answer that."
Here are some comments from this post:
princssis said...
MMMM - So, how were they? Would this happen to be the special box of brownies I bought?
K - I need a chocolate fix now. And I don't have any brownie mix. (darn!)
kenju said...
Mmmmmm....bownies! I had some last week. Champs is related to mr. kenju, I think....LOL. Laundry here can remain in the basket for days and days!
Linda said...
I will lick the knife...if it's only my family eating, chances are we've already shared all the germs, between kissing and coughing and sneezing and blowing raspberries (I have young'uns!)
And I lick SHARP knives too...and don't cut my tongue!
Now I have to make brownies....sigh. Maybe I'll give in and make healthier raspberry bars instead.
carli said...
What time do you want me for dinner tomorrow night?
Minerva said...
You have me SALIVATING...
Pass some over here, or at least the recipe...
Dribble.....
Minerva
Shannin said...
Thinking of you and hoping Champs finds something soon! Still keeping my ears peeled if anything comes up with The Company.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
What you Ask For Vs. What You Get!
Or, be careful what you ask for; you may get it!
Tuesday morning I awoke with the weatherman's warnings ringing in my ears: Snow. Lots of Snow. All Day. OK, I can handle that, I figured. But as I was brushing my teeth and encouraging Sweet Girl to get her clothes on, I groaned to Champs, "Oh, I don't want to go to work today!" Roughly three minutes later the phone rang; it was my mother-in-law, who we call Grandma Dee. She explained that her tracheostomy had become clogged and she had to remove it. In order to get it reinserted, she needed to see her Otolaryngologist in Springfield - 85 miles away. Guess what? I didn't go to work, but I also didn't curl back up in bed like I really wanted to do.
Since we had to wait for Grandma Dee's doctor to get out of surgery, we didn't need to leave until 10:30. All the while, the snow was blowing and piling up. I picked up Grandma and off we went. Now, I am a Minnesota girl and snow doesn't faze me, but this was amazing! For the first hour of our trip, we were in white out conditions. As we hit the highway, I prayed that God would give me wisdom as I drove, help us to arrive safely and keep our wheels on the road.
Within a few minutes, I was smack dab behind two semi trucks which added to the whiteout problem. They had the outside lane to themselves, while the left inside lane was covered in blowing snow and ice. I had no choice; I had to pass the trucks on the left if I wanted to be able to see anything. I tried for at least 15 minutes, but I couldn't seem to get past them. Finally, I dropped back. I couldn't see the trucks ahead of me or any vehicles behind me. Another car came up and braved the left lane and I went right behind, following their ruts. It was hard work; the car was vibrating with the wind and snow. My muscles got so tight, but finally I got past them. The difference was amazing; I could see!
We continued on the trip and the snow thinned out as we neared Springfield. I passed two tankers and was in the left lane. Thankfully, there were no other cars near us. That's good, because about three miles out of town, I suddenly hit a patch of black ice. In an instant, I went from driving to ice skating. The car spun 180 degrees to the right, careening across the highway. Just as we neared the right shoulder, the car turned and spun to the left, this time going a full 360 degrees. The whole time, Grandma Dee was whispering "JESUS!" (since screaming won't work when you have a temporary treacheostomy in your throat) and I was silent, just doing my best to steer into the skid and hold it together. We flew across all the lanes, back and forth as though the car were hitting invisible bumpers and bouncing off. After about 1500 or so yards, we finally came to a stop, facing forward, on the edge of the highway at the left shoulder. The car was fine. We were fine. Amazingly, we didn't go into the ditch. After a few moments of just breathing and thanking the Lord, the two tankers went by and honked as if to say "good show!"
Grandma Dee broke the silence by reminding me, "well, you prayed that He would keep your wheels on the road. He did." Yeup. I got what I asked for - kind of. Next time I'll pray that, in addition to keeping my wheels on the road, He keeps them going forward! As I eased the car back onto the road, we marveled at how we had been protected. I drove around a bend where we could see a horrible sight; a state trooper and a tow truck were flanking a van resting on the right shoulder with the side completely crumpled in and the door ripped off. Truly, we had no words. We shook with gratitude, fear and wonder the rest of the way to the hospital, knowing that the hand of God had kept us safe.
When we got to the hospital and clinic, I had the car parked by valet parking (a very nice service for patients) and we went up to see her doctor. We got in right away, but the doctor explained that, in order to insert the proper trachea tube, she would have to put Dee under general anesthesia; surgery - and not until sometime after 4:00. Ugg! With the weather we were facing, I had wanted to be back on the road home in daylight. No way that was happening. I called Champs and we decided that, rather than heading back home in the dark and bad weather, I should stay in Springfield. I hadn't brought anything for an overnight, but oh well. I made a reservation at a local hotel and planned to stay with Grandma through the surgery.
Now, this part is a bit complicated, but basically, prior to yesterday's issue, Grandma Dee has needed to have a new special type of trachea tube inserted. The surgery was planned for some unspecified time in the future. I asked the doctor if, since Dee had to go under anyway, she could go ahead and insert the special tube - kind of a "two birds with one stone" approach. The doctor agreed that this would be a good idea and planned for it. Problem: that tube is a special order, costing over $1000.00. The surgical staff scoured the supplies for the special Montgomery tube. They thought they finally found one at a nearby hospital, but it turned out to be the wrong tube. You guessed it: No surgery today. The doctor could have put in a different tube, but then she would have had to operate again anyway to put in the special tube. By the time the decision was made, however, it was nearing 7:00. The doctor admitted Grandma to the hospital to await surgery on Thursday and to monitor the condition of the temporary tube. See, there it is again. Be careful what you ask for. Now, I know the doctor would have figured it out herself, but I am the one who asked her to use the special tube and you see - I didn't get exactly what I asked for! Thankfully, Dee understood that the wait will give a better return in the long run and was able to deal with the delay with a great attitude.
I called Champs and told him I could come home then or wait until morning. I explained that I would have to go to CVS and buy some toiletries and a tee shirt to sleep in. He said that was fine; in the end, it was better to spend some money and get home safely than it was to risk coming home in the dark - especially after my double-donuts experience earlier in the day. He told me to go to the hotel, crank up the heat, say my prayers, get some sleep, and come home to him in the morning.
And that's exactly what I did.
And here are some comments from this post:
Star said...
Thank goodness you are okay. That whole experience must have been frightening.
Geekwif said...
I didn't realize from your text messages that it was that bad! I'm so glad you made it safely!
Linda said...
God comes through when we least expect it...
and He always gives us what is BEST for us...not what we want, but what we need.
Glad you're safe...hope you and Grandma Dee don't have any more problems....
kenju said...
WHOA! You are much braver than I am. I stay home in snow and ice, so as not to stress God out with incessant praying...LOL
Pat said...
Your Grandma is blessed to have a dear grand-daughter like you. But you shouldn't have to go through an ordeal like that. I have had some experience with tracheostomies and there should be a closer emergency facility. I'm assuming you are in the States?
Anyway you are a brave girl. Well done!
Madame Courtney Whiny Complainy Pants, Esq. said...
There's a comedian, Brian Regan, who has a bit about how hospitals should have valet parking. He'd be pleased to know that one exists out there.
Glad you made it through the snow. Hope Grandma's ok. Here via Michele.
Paul said...
Holy cow!
Springfield?
Missouri?
That's the kinda weather we had here in Pancake Flats, which is only a few hours from Springfield. It's Tuesday. We got 5 - 8 inches of snow last night. No fun on the roads this morning, but there's been so much wind today that the roads are almost dry. Go figure. It's brutally cold!!! Where's my coffee???
I'm glad you're home safe with your Champs. God bless.
Tuesday morning I awoke with the weatherman's warnings ringing in my ears: Snow. Lots of Snow. All Day. OK, I can handle that, I figured. But as I was brushing my teeth and encouraging Sweet Girl to get her clothes on, I groaned to Champs, "Oh, I don't want to go to work today!" Roughly three minutes later the phone rang; it was my mother-in-law, who we call Grandma Dee. She explained that her tracheostomy had become clogged and she had to remove it. In order to get it reinserted, she needed to see her Otolaryngologist in Springfield - 85 miles away. Guess what? I didn't go to work, but I also didn't curl back up in bed like I really wanted to do.
Since we had to wait for Grandma Dee's doctor to get out of surgery, we didn't need to leave until 10:30. All the while, the snow was blowing and piling up. I picked up Grandma and off we went. Now, I am a Minnesota girl and snow doesn't faze me, but this was amazing! For the first hour of our trip, we were in white out conditions. As we hit the highway, I prayed that God would give me wisdom as I drove, help us to arrive safely and keep our wheels on the road.
Within a few minutes, I was smack dab behind two semi trucks which added to the whiteout problem. They had the outside lane to themselves, while the left inside lane was covered in blowing snow and ice. I had no choice; I had to pass the trucks on the left if I wanted to be able to see anything. I tried for at least 15 minutes, but I couldn't seem to get past them. Finally, I dropped back. I couldn't see the trucks ahead of me or any vehicles behind me. Another car came up and braved the left lane and I went right behind, following their ruts. It was hard work; the car was vibrating with the wind and snow. My muscles got so tight, but finally I got past them. The difference was amazing; I could see!
We continued on the trip and the snow thinned out as we neared Springfield. I passed two tankers and was in the left lane. Thankfully, there were no other cars near us. That's good, because about three miles out of town, I suddenly hit a patch of black ice. In an instant, I went from driving to ice skating. The car spun 180 degrees to the right, careening across the highway. Just as we neared the right shoulder, the car turned and spun to the left, this time going a full 360 degrees. The whole time, Grandma Dee was whispering "JESUS!" (since screaming won't work when you have a temporary treacheostomy in your throat) and I was silent, just doing my best to steer into the skid and hold it together. We flew across all the lanes, back and forth as though the car were hitting invisible bumpers and bouncing off. After about 1500 or so yards, we finally came to a stop, facing forward, on the edge of the highway at the left shoulder. The car was fine. We were fine. Amazingly, we didn't go into the ditch. After a few moments of just breathing and thanking the Lord, the two tankers went by and honked as if to say "good show!"
Grandma Dee broke the silence by reminding me, "well, you prayed that He would keep your wheels on the road. He did." Yeup. I got what I asked for - kind of. Next time I'll pray that, in addition to keeping my wheels on the road, He keeps them going forward! As I eased the car back onto the road, we marveled at how we had been protected. I drove around a bend where we could see a horrible sight; a state trooper and a tow truck were flanking a van resting on the right shoulder with the side completely crumpled in and the door ripped off. Truly, we had no words. We shook with gratitude, fear and wonder the rest of the way to the hospital, knowing that the hand of God had kept us safe.
When we got to the hospital and clinic, I had the car parked by valet parking (a very nice service for patients) and we went up to see her doctor. We got in right away, but the doctor explained that, in order to insert the proper trachea tube, she would have to put Dee under general anesthesia; surgery - and not until sometime after 4:00. Ugg! With the weather we were facing, I had wanted to be back on the road home in daylight. No way that was happening. I called Champs and we decided that, rather than heading back home in the dark and bad weather, I should stay in Springfield. I hadn't brought anything for an overnight, but oh well. I made a reservation at a local hotel and planned to stay with Grandma through the surgery.
Now, this part is a bit complicated, but basically, prior to yesterday's issue, Grandma Dee has needed to have a new special type of trachea tube inserted. The surgery was planned for some unspecified time in the future. I asked the doctor if, since Dee had to go under anyway, she could go ahead and insert the special tube - kind of a "two birds with one stone" approach. The doctor agreed that this would be a good idea and planned for it. Problem: that tube is a special order, costing over $1000.00. The surgical staff scoured the supplies for the special Montgomery tube. They thought they finally found one at a nearby hospital, but it turned out to be the wrong tube. You guessed it: No surgery today. The doctor could have put in a different tube, but then she would have had to operate again anyway to put in the special tube. By the time the decision was made, however, it was nearing 7:00. The doctor admitted Grandma to the hospital to await surgery on Thursday and to monitor the condition of the temporary tube. See, there it is again. Be careful what you ask for. Now, I know the doctor would have figured it out herself, but I am the one who asked her to use the special tube and you see - I didn't get exactly what I asked for! Thankfully, Dee understood that the wait will give a better return in the long run and was able to deal with the delay with a great attitude.
I called Champs and told him I could come home then or wait until morning. I explained that I would have to go to CVS and buy some toiletries and a tee shirt to sleep in. He said that was fine; in the end, it was better to spend some money and get home safely than it was to risk coming home in the dark - especially after my double-donuts experience earlier in the day. He told me to go to the hotel, crank up the heat, say my prayers, get some sleep, and come home to him in the morning.
And that's exactly what I did.
And here are some comments from this post:
Star said...
Thank goodness you are okay. That whole experience must have been frightening.
Geekwif said...
I didn't realize from your text messages that it was that bad! I'm so glad you made it safely!
Linda said...
God comes through when we least expect it...
and He always gives us what is BEST for us...not what we want, but what we need.
Glad you're safe...hope you and Grandma Dee don't have any more problems....
kenju said...
WHOA! You are much braver than I am. I stay home in snow and ice, so as not to stress God out with incessant praying...LOL
Pat said...
Your Grandma is blessed to have a dear grand-daughter like you. But you shouldn't have to go through an ordeal like that. I have had some experience with tracheostomies and there should be a closer emergency facility. I'm assuming you are in the States?
Anyway you are a brave girl. Well done!
Madame Courtney Whiny Complainy Pants, Esq. said...
There's a comedian, Brian Regan, who has a bit about how hospitals should have valet parking. He'd be pleased to know that one exists out there.
Glad you made it through the snow. Hope Grandma's ok. Here via Michele.
Paul said...
Holy cow!
Springfield?
Missouri?
That's the kinda weather we had here in Pancake Flats, which is only a few hours from Springfield. It's Tuesday. We got 5 - 8 inches of snow last night. No fun on the roads this morning, but there's been so much wind today that the roads are almost dry. Go figure. It's brutally cold!!! Where's my coffee???
I'm glad you're home safe with your Champs. God bless.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Grandma Bobbi, the Bypass and the Roadtrip
Carmi just dropped by to ask how my mom is doing. I got the biggest smile to think that someone outside of the family is thinking of her. Thanks, Carmi! I am happy to answer that question and to share some encouraging and hopeful news.
My mom's surgery went well. Without going into a too medically detailed explanation, she had an artificial graft inserted into the left side of her neck to connect her carotid artery to her brachial artery, thus bypassing a large clot at the head of the brachial artery and restoring blood flow to her right arm and the back side of her brain. This has helped to stop both the pain her her arm and the dizzy spells she was enduring. She met with her surgoen last week. He is very pleased with the outcome of her operation and has given her the approval to travel. Woo HOO!
First stop on her interary? Well Blond Girl and company, of course! As of today, her plan is to leave on Thursday and stay with us for at least a month - and hopefully until after Easter. After that, she'll travel on to Texas to see friends and then to my sister's home in Phoenix to see my niece graduate from high school. Then she'll reverse her direction and head back to us. When she goes home in the spring, she'll have another bypass operation - this time in her leg. The surgoen wants to wait so that she can have the surgery when the weather is warm and she can get outside to walk slowly. When she goes home, she'll leave her small dog, Lucy, with us and then we'll take Lucy back to her when we go home to Minnesota to visit.
I expect that during the 30-45 days that she is here with us I will have my hernia repair operation. In 2003 - 2005, when I had my gastric bypass and resulting 3 surgeries to repair problems from the surgery, she lived with us and was a huge part of my recovery. I have to admit that having her here will be a great comfort to me and to Sweet Girl.
Oh, Sweet Girl! Just today we were driving around talking about something in Minnesota. I can't even remember what, but it triggered in Sweet Girl a great wave of homesickness for her Nana. I comforted her as best I could through her tears. I didn't tell her that Grandma is coming next week, because I don't want to say anything until she's on the road, but it made me so happy that she will be here. I miss her, Sweet Girl misses her and, yes, even Champs misses his mother-in-law.
So to answer your question, Carmi, she is well and heading this way! Yeeeeehaw!
Here are some comments from this post:
Sarch said...
Blond Girl I meandered in via Micheles and am glad I did.
What great news that is about your mother. You and Sweet Girl are very blessed to have her in your life. I am glad to hear you are aware of just how special she is. Being around you and the love you obviously have for her will help her in her recovery process much like she helped you in the past.
Good for her and good for you and Sweet Girl!
indigo said...
I'm glad to hear that your mom has recovered from her op, and that she's travelling to you soon.
srp said...
Here from Michele.
So glad to hear that your mom is doing well after surgery. And well enough to travel your direction. That little girl will have so much fun with her grandma.
Take care and good luck in your new venture.
PI said...
My goodness what a lot you and your Mum have been going through. All my best wishes and prayers for you both to make full recoveries and that the rest of the year will be a happy one.
I got entwined with you and Dave on Michelle's site:)
kenju said...
Not only will Sweet Girl enjoy your mom - I think it will help your overall state of mind to have her there too! Such good news, BG, and I happy for you!
I hope the snow doesn't impede your mom's progress!
margalit said...
What good news and such a fast recovery. Heart surgery has changed so much that it's just not the huge deal it once was. And that's from someone with in ICD implanted in their heart!
utenzi said...
I work in a cardiology department so I hear about operations like that frequently since they do other types of vascular surgery as well. Even when the surgeon considers it a routine surgery it's anything but routine to the patient and their family. I'm glad your mom pulled through her surgery with flying colors, BG, and I hope that she does just as well when she has her leg surgery too. Good luck with your hernia repair operation too, BG.
Carmi said...
Thanks for sharing the good news, BG. I'm so glad she's come through with flying colors. Kudos to her for heading out on the road and living life as it's meant to be lived. Sounds like you inherited her spunk.
Dave put it best, and he echoed my thoughts when our daughter had surgery at the age of 2: to the surgeons, it's routine. But when it's your [child, mother, close relation...] it's anything but routine.
I'm so glad your daughter will be able to spend so much time with her Nana. I'm so glad she'll be there for you, too. That's why we cherish family so much.
Toni said...
Hi Blond Girl! Hello from Michele, and she sent me!
This is great news that your mom is doing well. I may not know you, nor your mother, but I have a mom whom I love deeply. I hope her good health carries on!
Shannin said...
Glad your mom is recovering nicely and that she will be with you for the next several weeks...
My mom's surgery went well. Without going into a too medically detailed explanation, she had an artificial graft inserted into the left side of her neck to connect her carotid artery to her brachial artery, thus bypassing a large clot at the head of the brachial artery and restoring blood flow to her right arm and the back side of her brain. This has helped to stop both the pain her her arm and the dizzy spells she was enduring. She met with her surgoen last week. He is very pleased with the outcome of her operation and has given her the approval to travel. Woo HOO!
First stop on her interary? Well Blond Girl and company, of course! As of today, her plan is to leave on Thursday and stay with us for at least a month - and hopefully until after Easter. After that, she'll travel on to Texas to see friends and then to my sister's home in Phoenix to see my niece graduate from high school. Then she'll reverse her direction and head back to us. When she goes home in the spring, she'll have another bypass operation - this time in her leg. The surgoen wants to wait so that she can have the surgery when the weather is warm and she can get outside to walk slowly. When she goes home, she'll leave her small dog, Lucy, with us and then we'll take Lucy back to her when we go home to Minnesota to visit.
I expect that during the 30-45 days that she is here with us I will have my hernia repair operation. In 2003 - 2005, when I had my gastric bypass and resulting 3 surgeries to repair problems from the surgery, she lived with us and was a huge part of my recovery. I have to admit that having her here will be a great comfort to me and to Sweet Girl.
Oh, Sweet Girl! Just today we were driving around talking about something in Minnesota. I can't even remember what, but it triggered in Sweet Girl a great wave of homesickness for her Nana. I comforted her as best I could through her tears. I didn't tell her that Grandma is coming next week, because I don't want to say anything until she's on the road, but it made me so happy that she will be here. I miss her, Sweet Girl misses her and, yes, even Champs misses his mother-in-law.
So to answer your question, Carmi, she is well and heading this way! Yeeeeehaw!
Here are some comments from this post:
Sarch said...
Blond Girl I meandered in via Micheles and am glad I did.
What great news that is about your mother. You and Sweet Girl are very blessed to have her in your life. I am glad to hear you are aware of just how special she is. Being around you and the love you obviously have for her will help her in her recovery process much like she helped you in the past.
Good for her and good for you and Sweet Girl!
indigo said...
I'm glad to hear that your mom has recovered from her op, and that she's travelling to you soon.
srp said...
Here from Michele.
So glad to hear that your mom is doing well after surgery. And well enough to travel your direction. That little girl will have so much fun with her grandma.
Take care and good luck in your new venture.
PI said...
My goodness what a lot you and your Mum have been going through. All my best wishes and prayers for you both to make full recoveries and that the rest of the year will be a happy one.
I got entwined with you and Dave on Michelle's site:)
kenju said...
Not only will Sweet Girl enjoy your mom - I think it will help your overall state of mind to have her there too! Such good news, BG, and I happy for you!
I hope the snow doesn't impede your mom's progress!
margalit said...
What good news and such a fast recovery. Heart surgery has changed so much that it's just not the huge deal it once was. And that's from someone with in ICD implanted in their heart!
utenzi said...
I work in a cardiology department so I hear about operations like that frequently since they do other types of vascular surgery as well. Even when the surgeon considers it a routine surgery it's anything but routine to the patient and their family. I'm glad your mom pulled through her surgery with flying colors, BG, and I hope that she does just as well when she has her leg surgery too. Good luck with your hernia repair operation too, BG.
Carmi said...
Thanks for sharing the good news, BG. I'm so glad she's come through with flying colors. Kudos to her for heading out on the road and living life as it's meant to be lived. Sounds like you inherited her spunk.
Dave put it best, and he echoed my thoughts when our daughter had surgery at the age of 2: to the surgeons, it's routine. But when it's your [child, mother, close relation...] it's anything but routine.
I'm so glad your daughter will be able to spend so much time with her Nana. I'm so glad she'll be there for you, too. That's why we cherish family so much.
Toni said...
Hi Blond Girl! Hello from Michele, and she sent me!
This is great news that your mom is doing well. I may not know you, nor your mother, but I have a mom whom I love deeply. I hope her good health carries on!
Shannin said...
Glad your mom is recovering nicely and that she will be with you for the next several weeks...
Sunday, June 25, 2006
The Last Heartbeat
My grandmother, who I loved more than anyone can imagine, passed away of pancreatic cancer when I was 17; one week before Christmas. My mom and my aunt were with her when she passed. Mom told me later that she laid her hand on Grandma's chest and felt Grandma's last heartbeat. She described it as incredibly peaceful as Grandma's pain and suffering were over.
The image has never left me and 23 years later I still feel the impact. Most people I know find it comforting to lay their head on someone's chest and hear the strong heartbeat of their loved one. Not me. When I lay my head on my husband's chest, it isn't long before I begin to think of the last heartbeat. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to feel it. So I move my head to the crook of his arm and rest my ear on his shoulder. His shoulder can't pull any surprises on me, right?
I have no fear of death in terms of what will happen to me after I die; Jesus is my Lord and I am confident of His promise of Heaven. I have to admit, though, that the process of getting there does scare me a bit. The thought of my husband or daughter dying scares the bejeebers out of me. So much so that my best friend, Geekwif, convinced me that I needed to stop watching "ER". All those emergency room scenes had me completely worked up over my family!
I wonder what my life would be like without the assurance of Heaven? Without the bone-deep awareness of God's grace? My niece is right; life is short - the promise of each heartbeat fleeting. How wonderful that we can look beyond our last heartbeat on earth... to our first in Heaven.
The image has never left me and 23 years later I still feel the impact. Most people I know find it comforting to lay their head on someone's chest and hear the strong heartbeat of their loved one. Not me. When I lay my head on my husband's chest, it isn't long before I begin to think of the last heartbeat. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to feel it. So I move my head to the crook of his arm and rest my ear on his shoulder. His shoulder can't pull any surprises on me, right?
I have no fear of death in terms of what will happen to me after I die; Jesus is my Lord and I am confident of His promise of Heaven. I have to admit, though, that the process of getting there does scare me a bit. The thought of my husband or daughter dying scares the bejeebers out of me. So much so that my best friend, Geekwif, convinced me that I needed to stop watching "ER". All those emergency room scenes had me completely worked up over my family!
I wonder what my life would be like without the assurance of Heaven? Without the bone-deep awareness of God's grace? My niece is right; life is short - the promise of each heartbeat fleeting. How wonderful that we can look beyond our last heartbeat on earth... to our first in Heaven.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Insanity is herediitary
Insanity is herediitary.
Yes, it is.
You get it from your parents.
Really.
My mother picks my daughter up from school every Monday afternoon. She takes her to school every morning, but she only has to pick her up on Monday afternoons. I think she may need to have more days per week to pick Sweet Girl up so that the repetition will help cement it in her brain.
Mom is supposed to pick Sweet Girl up at 3:50. She has to be in the building at 3:50. At 4:05 my phone rang and I figured it was Mom calling to tell me that she picked up the girl and was heading to my house (Mom likes to make obvious calls like that. "Hi Honey. It's Mom. I just wanted to let you know it's raining out." "Really Mom? So that's this water on my face! Thanks for clarifying that - I was wondering!").
No, instead, she says to me "Honey, I just got out of the doctor's office." "Did you call the school?!?!?" I asked. No, she hadn't. She started to explain and I cut her off to say that I would call the school and call her back. I called the school and they said that, yes, Sweet Girl was waiting and yes, she was wondering where her ride was. I explained that Mom was about 2 miles away and would be there shortly.
I called Mom back and told her everything was fine - just get to the school right away. She said. "OK, I will. But 100 is a bear." (Now, to truly appreciate this story, you need to understand that my mom was at a the doctor's office on 69th Avenue and Brooklyn Boulevard. The school she was going to is about 3 blocks off of 48th Avenue and Brooklyn Boulevard. To get to the school, she would cross over highway 100. ) "Mom", I asked her, "what does 100 matter?" "well, the traffic is really backed up", she said. "Mom", said I, "You aren't supposed to be on 100."
Well, that really set her off. "This is what happens when I get nervous!" she said. So I gently talked her off the roof and back into the car seat and told her to turn around. Then I bowed out and told her I'd talk to her after she got home with Sweet Girl.
Later I spoke to her and asked her how Sweet Girl was when she got there. She said that she was pretty upset, but not because she was late. It was because another kid socked her in the eye. Then she said, "even if I had hadn't had to turn around twice, I still wouldn't have been there in time to stop him". "Um, Mom, twice? Waddya mean?" She explained that she missed the Brooklyn Boulevard exit and had to turn around on 36th avenue (3 exits away from the school) and turn around and go back again.
So she got there about 4:20. Just 30 minutes after school gets out. Sigh. I'm glad the school staff is patient.
Yes, it is.
You get it from your parents.
Really.
My mother picks my daughter up from school every Monday afternoon. She takes her to school every morning, but she only has to pick her up on Monday afternoons. I think she may need to have more days per week to pick Sweet Girl up so that the repetition will help cement it in her brain.
Mom is supposed to pick Sweet Girl up at 3:50. She has to be in the building at 3:50. At 4:05 my phone rang and I figured it was Mom calling to tell me that she picked up the girl and was heading to my house (Mom likes to make obvious calls like that. "Hi Honey. It's Mom. I just wanted to let you know it's raining out." "Really Mom? So that's this water on my face! Thanks for clarifying that - I was wondering!").
No, instead, she says to me "Honey, I just got out of the doctor's office." "Did you call the school?!?!?" I asked. No, she hadn't. She started to explain and I cut her off to say that I would call the school and call her back. I called the school and they said that, yes, Sweet Girl was waiting and yes, she was wondering where her ride was. I explained that Mom was about 2 miles away and would be there shortly.
I called Mom back and told her everything was fine - just get to the school right away. She said. "OK, I will. But 100 is a bear." (Now, to truly appreciate this story, you need to understand that my mom was at a the doctor's office on 69th Avenue and Brooklyn Boulevard. The school she was going to is about 3 blocks off of 48th Avenue and Brooklyn Boulevard. To get to the school, she would cross over highway 100. ) "Mom", I asked her, "what does 100 matter?" "well, the traffic is really backed up", she said. "Mom", said I, "You aren't supposed to be on 100."
Well, that really set her off. "This is what happens when I get nervous!" she said. So I gently talked her off the roof and back into the car seat and told her to turn around. Then I bowed out and told her I'd talk to her after she got home with Sweet Girl.
Later I spoke to her and asked her how Sweet Girl was when she got there. She said that she was pretty upset, but not because she was late. It was because another kid socked her in the eye. Then she said, "even if I had hadn't had to turn around twice, I still wouldn't have been there in time to stop him". "Um, Mom, twice? Waddya mean?" She explained that she missed the Brooklyn Boulevard exit and had to turn around on 36th avenue (3 exits away from the school) and turn around and go back again.
So she got there about 4:20. Just 30 minutes after school gets out. Sigh. I'm glad the school staff is patient.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
You're No Spring Chicken!
My mom is a child of the depression. She likes to remind me of this. Generally the time she starts to remind me is when I am telling her to throw something away that I think is not needed but she thinks is still usable. We tend to have this discussion quite often. It goes something like this: "Mom, I'm throwing this bread away. You bought it three weeks ago." "No!, I'm going to eat it!" At which point I gently tell her that if she was planning to eat the item in question, she could have eaten it while it was still food.
Another case in point: Yesterday she bought some file folders, which came in a bag with a little adhesive strip, thus rendering it "resealable". Mom asked if I wanted it. I told her that, no, I didn't have any use for it and she could just throw it away. Out came the depression again. She explained that, when she was a kid in the depression, nothing was thrown away until it was determined that no one in a 4 block radius could use the item in question. After determining that neither of us wanted to canvas the neighborhood to see if anyone wanted a "resealable" bag, she agreed to throw it away.
Champs and I saw just how prevalent this trait is in my mom when she went to Phoenix last winter. When she moved in with us after my dad died, she brought with her a small chest-type deep freezer and gave it to us. Champs and I decided to clean it out and find out what was in it and make room for new food when she was safely out of state. We emptied the unit, depositing various frozen items on two card tables in the sun room. We found a lot of interesting stuff. Pea soup from 2003. A bag of turkey stock from the New Year's before. Something like 15 one-pound boxes of butter. Each layer was like another historic period in my parent's life. We saw the Crustatous era (a three year-old pie shell) , the Cenozoic era (a beef roast from 1998 ) and finally, at the bottom, a perfectly preserved specimen from the Mesozoic era; a fifteen year-old whole roasting chicken.
This chicken riveted us. The skin had turned leathery and white (and red where some popsicles had melted some time back). There were small items placed around it much like the treasures in Tut's tomb. The chicken itself was permanently adhered to the freezer floor. It took us three pots of boiling water to disengage it from it's frozen nest. When we finally got it free and read the label, we saw that it was from a store that has since gone out of business. We realized that this chicken was born before our high-school senior nephew started kindergarten. This chicken had been through three presidents. It had been around for all of "Friends" and "Everybody Loves Raymond". The freezer was in its third location since the chicken was brought home. How it had managed to remain undisturbed all that time was a mystery to us.
It was almost with a sense of awe combined with an amazingly strong sense of revoltion that we put it in the garbage. I wish we had thought to take a picture of the label as proof. Mom didn't believe us when she came home and saw the "new" clean freezer. She really didn't believe us when we told her about the chicken. But it is the truth, I promise.
Now, I don't care how much of an impact the depression has had on someone - no one is going to use a chicken that old. So, in an effort to keep the food in the freezer fresh and on a rotation, we have a system. We've bought a magnetic wipe-off board where we write down the food items that are stored in the freezer and erase them when they are used (no more 15 pounds of butter!). The system is working well. I think it is because we are all following the rule at the bottom of the board:
"15 year-old chickens are NOT allowed!"
Here are some of the comments from this post:
Heather said...
What a hysterical story! It is my theory that there is so much credit card debt in our society because so few remember the Depression.
Sandy said...
THAT is a fantastic story! Thanks for sharing it.
Thumper said...
Sounds like my Great Aunt Eleanor. When she died my mom and her sister and brothers gathered to clean out the house...she hoarded *everything.* They found years-old meat, hundreds of skeins of yarn... they did take pictures, mostly because as sad as they all were, they knew they'd want proof and even then it was so fricking funny to them...
princssis said...
I love stories about your mom! How funny! 3 pots of water to free the nearly permanent chicken? WOW!
This story reminds me of when we bought our house from AR's grandparents. Certain items were agreed to be left (like the picnic table), but upon our arrival, they were gone. The grandparents even took all the toilet paper and light bulbs - out of the fixtures! Maybe not ALL the light bulbs, but there were quite a few missing!
Geekwif said...
You could write the date on your freezer items with a sharpee marker too. Then you'd always know how long they'd been in there.
I've heard this story before, but it was fun to read some of the details I missed last time. I'm a bit of a packrat myself, but I hope I never stoop to saving ancient chickens!
kenju said...
She is just like my Mom, who NEVER threw anything away. She would give it away, but never throw it out. When she died, my Dad and I cleaned out the freezer, which had stuff 3 years old in it, and the kitchen cabinets, which yielded spice cans so old they were already collectors items!! They now reside in my kitchen - but on shelves - as display.
yellojkt said...
My father-in-law was a Depression era person also. The first time I visited their house I thought he was either a survivalist or a Mormon because there was at least a year's worth of canned goods in the house. When he passed away about five years ago, my wife had to hire a hauler to take away the entire garage full of stockpiled cleaning supplies. It could have served as a Proctor and Gamble logo museum. There was a box from every style change ever.
I think part of his problem was also that he bought off of a mental grocery list that never adjusted for existing inventory.
Peri said...
haha, that is so funny. My grandmother was a teen in the depression and the same way, Never could throw food out....... later when no one would eat it, at least the dog would. Her favorite line, "now, if you don't eat this, I'll have to give it to the dog".
Another case in point: Yesterday she bought some file folders, which came in a bag with a little adhesive strip, thus rendering it "resealable". Mom asked if I wanted it. I told her that, no, I didn't have any use for it and she could just throw it away. Out came the depression again. She explained that, when she was a kid in the depression, nothing was thrown away until it was determined that no one in a 4 block radius could use the item in question. After determining that neither of us wanted to canvas the neighborhood to see if anyone wanted a "resealable" bag, she agreed to throw it away.
Champs and I saw just how prevalent this trait is in my mom when she went to Phoenix last winter. When she moved in with us after my dad died, she brought with her a small chest-type deep freezer and gave it to us. Champs and I decided to clean it out and find out what was in it and make room for new food when she was safely out of state. We emptied the unit, depositing various frozen items on two card tables in the sun room. We found a lot of interesting stuff. Pea soup from 2003. A bag of turkey stock from the New Year's before. Something like 15 one-pound boxes of butter. Each layer was like another historic period in my parent's life. We saw the Crustatous era (a three year-old pie shell) , the Cenozoic era (a beef roast from 1998 ) and finally, at the bottom, a perfectly preserved specimen from the Mesozoic era; a fifteen year-old whole roasting chicken.
This chicken riveted us. The skin had turned leathery and white (and red where some popsicles had melted some time back). There were small items placed around it much like the treasures in Tut's tomb. The chicken itself was permanently adhered to the freezer floor. It took us three pots of boiling water to disengage it from it's frozen nest. When we finally got it free and read the label, we saw that it was from a store that has since gone out of business. We realized that this chicken was born before our high-school senior nephew started kindergarten. This chicken had been through three presidents. It had been around for all of "Friends" and "Everybody Loves Raymond". The freezer was in its third location since the chicken was brought home. How it had managed to remain undisturbed all that time was a mystery to us.
It was almost with a sense of awe combined with an amazingly strong sense of revoltion that we put it in the garbage. I wish we had thought to take a picture of the label as proof. Mom didn't believe us when she came home and saw the "new" clean freezer. She really didn't believe us when we told her about the chicken. But it is the truth, I promise.
Now, I don't care how much of an impact the depression has had on someone - no one is going to use a chicken that old. So, in an effort to keep the food in the freezer fresh and on a rotation, we have a system. We've bought a magnetic wipe-off board where we write down the food items that are stored in the freezer and erase them when they are used (no more 15 pounds of butter!). The system is working well. I think it is because we are all following the rule at the bottom of the board:
"15 year-old chickens are NOT allowed!"
Here are some of the comments from this post:
Heather said...
What a hysterical story! It is my theory that there is so much credit card debt in our society because so few remember the Depression.
Sandy said...
THAT is a fantastic story! Thanks for sharing it.
Thumper said...
Sounds like my Great Aunt Eleanor. When she died my mom and her sister and brothers gathered to clean out the house...she hoarded *everything.* They found years-old meat, hundreds of skeins of yarn... they did take pictures, mostly because as sad as they all were, they knew they'd want proof and even then it was so fricking funny to them...
princssis said...
I love stories about your mom! How funny! 3 pots of water to free the nearly permanent chicken? WOW!
This story reminds me of when we bought our house from AR's grandparents. Certain items were agreed to be left (like the picnic table), but upon our arrival, they were gone. The grandparents even took all the toilet paper and light bulbs - out of the fixtures! Maybe not ALL the light bulbs, but there were quite a few missing!
Geekwif said...
You could write the date on your freezer items with a sharpee marker too. Then you'd always know how long they'd been in there.
I've heard this story before, but it was fun to read some of the details I missed last time. I'm a bit of a packrat myself, but I hope I never stoop to saving ancient chickens!
kenju said...
She is just like my Mom, who NEVER threw anything away. She would give it away, but never throw it out. When she died, my Dad and I cleaned out the freezer, which had stuff 3 years old in it, and the kitchen cabinets, which yielded spice cans so old they were already collectors items!! They now reside in my kitchen - but on shelves - as display.
yellojkt said...
My father-in-law was a Depression era person also. The first time I visited their house I thought he was either a survivalist or a Mormon because there was at least a year's worth of canned goods in the house. When he passed away about five years ago, my wife had to hire a hauler to take away the entire garage full of stockpiled cleaning supplies. It could have served as a Proctor and Gamble logo museum. There was a box from every style change ever.
I think part of his problem was also that he bought off of a mental grocery list that never adjusted for existing inventory.
Peri said...
haha, that is so funny. My grandmother was a teen in the depression and the same way, Never could throw food out....... later when no one would eat it, at least the dog would. Her favorite line, "now, if you don't eat this, I'll have to give it to the dog".
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Is The Sky Red Where You Are?
It is July. I can hardly believe that 2005 is now half over. How in the world did that happen? Of course, I always feel this way when I start to think about how fast time flies. In fact, it seems like just yesterday that we told Grandma Bina that I was pregnant. This will take awhile, but it's worth the read. Every word is true, I promise.
You will need three important pieces of information first to truly understand this story:
1. My mom is the original blond girl... She doesn't celebrate blond moments any more, but she does have more than her fair share of "senior moments". She is well known for being a lot like Edith Bunker. Lovable and somewhat ditzy.
2. I didn't meet Champs until I was 32. I am the youngest of my mom's 4 children and even though she already had 4 grandchildren, she wanted them from me, too. In fact, the first thing she said to us when we got out of the sanctuary after the wedding was "when do I get grandbabies?" We told her to let us enjoy our wedding dance and then we would worry about procreation.
3. My father was still alive at the time of this story, which takes place in 1999. He died of lung cancer in 2003, but played a small but important (and pretty darn funny, too) role in this narrative.
On a Friday morning in mid January of 1999, I realized that after 2 1/2 months of marriage Champs and I were going to be parents. I waited all day for Champs to come home so I could share the news with him. It took until about 8:00 that night before he knew everything and we could begin calling the family. Of course, my mother had to be first on the call list, so I called over to her home. Dad answered. "Hi Dad, can I talk to Mom?" Dad gave a little grunt (he grunted to mean just about anything from "whatever" to "oh my word, that's exciting!") and told me she wasn't home and would be gone until Sunday afternoon.
I hadn't realized she was going to be out, so I asked him where she was. He didn't know. "Dad", I asked, "what do you mean you don't know where she is? What if there is an emergency?" Dad calmly replied, "there won't be any emergency. She's not here. She is the emergency." Well, you can mess with logic like that, so I asked if he had any information at all. He knew she was somewhere in White Bear Lake for a church conference, so I went into detective mode.
After calling about 10 hotels, I found the one hosting the church conference and found the room of the friend my mom was staying with - success! I asked to leave a message and was patched through to voicemail. I asked Mom to call me, no matter how late. There was no emergency and nothing to worry about; I just wanted to talk to her.
Fast forward to midnight. The phone starts ringing and when I answer, Mom frantically asked " what's wrong?!?!" I assured her everything was fine and I had just wanted to talk to her. "Oh", she replied. "I just got a piece of paper that said "call your daughter no matter what". So much for the voicemail and the friendly hotel staff. After I got her calmed down, I got Champs to pick up and extension and we called Dad to get him on the line with Mom.
Once we were on the line, I explained that the reason I was calling so late is that I wanted to share some special news. "You're going to be grandparents again!" My dad, typically, grunted. I think there might have been an "oh, ok" in there too. My mom, who moments before was so fantastically frantic, said, "oh, that's nice honey. Is the sky red where you are?"
What?!?!?!
"Mom", I said, "your youngest child just told you she is pregnant. You've been waiting for this for years! What do you mean 'is the sky red'?" "Well", she replied, "the sky is just so red tonight. I've never seen anything like it at all!" Seeing that this conversation was a lost cause, Champs and I were soon off the phone and scratching our heads.
Unfortunately, 2 months later, we lost that baby. It was very sad and my parents (and everyone else) were very supportive. It took awhile but eventually we were ready to try again. The following October, we found out that I was pregnant again.
This time, I tested myself at 4:00 in the morning. I couldn't wait to tell Champs, so I woke him up. He was ecstatic! Out of courtesy we waited until 6:00 a.m. to call my mom. Champs got on one phone line and stood in the hall where he could see me on the bedroom phone. The phone rang and rang, and finally a muffled voice said, "mello?"
"Hi Mom!" I sing-songed (remember, I'd been up for 2 hours and was pretty pumped). "Is the sky red where you are?", I asked. She drew a deep breath and said, "I don't know. Hang on" and proceeded to drop the phone with a chunk! Champs and I looked at each other in wonder as we listened to her footsteps shuffle away and then shuffle back to the phone.
"No honey, the sky isn't red. It's black. It's night out", Mom explained, still clearly asleep. Barely containing my laughter, I decided to give her a hint. "No, Mom. I know the sky isn't red right now. Remember the last time we talked about this very same thing, all you could say was how red the sky was? Remember that?". "Ohhhh....", she said. Champs and I thought she might understand now. Then she showed us that she still wasn't quite tracking with us yet when she said, "I do remember. The sky was just so red! I've never seen the sky that red before!"
By this time, Champs and I were torn between astonishment, laughter, disbelief and a myriad of other reactions. I spoke very clearly; "no, Mom. Remember? The last time we spoke about THIS. VERY. SAME. SUBJECT.... You were more concerned about the sky than my news. Remember?"
Just as the sun broke over the horizon into our window, the light dawned on Mom. "Oooohhhh! A baby?" Champs busted out laughing. "ding ding ding ding ding! Tell her what she's won, Johnny!"
Well, Sweet Girl was the happy outcome of that pregnancy. We warned Mom that if we ever called and asked "is the sky red where you are?", she'd better know what we meant! Unfortunately, I'm having my tubes tied, so I guess we won't be asking that question again. But the memory and the story are just as sweet and funny each time we tell it.
You will need three important pieces of information first to truly understand this story:
1. My mom is the original blond girl... She doesn't celebrate blond moments any more, but she does have more than her fair share of "senior moments". She is well known for being a lot like Edith Bunker. Lovable and somewhat ditzy.
2. I didn't meet Champs until I was 32. I am the youngest of my mom's 4 children and even though she already had 4 grandchildren, she wanted them from me, too. In fact, the first thing she said to us when we got out of the sanctuary after the wedding was "when do I get grandbabies?" We told her to let us enjoy our wedding dance and then we would worry about procreation.
3. My father was still alive at the time of this story, which takes place in 1999. He died of lung cancer in 2003, but played a small but important (and pretty darn funny, too) role in this narrative.
On a Friday morning in mid January of 1999, I realized that after 2 1/2 months of marriage Champs and I were going to be parents. I waited all day for Champs to come home so I could share the news with him. It took until about 8:00 that night before he knew everything and we could begin calling the family. Of course, my mother had to be first on the call list, so I called over to her home. Dad answered. "Hi Dad, can I talk to Mom?" Dad gave a little grunt (he grunted to mean just about anything from "whatever" to "oh my word, that's exciting!") and told me she wasn't home and would be gone until Sunday afternoon.
I hadn't realized she was going to be out, so I asked him where she was. He didn't know. "Dad", I asked, "what do you mean you don't know where she is? What if there is an emergency?" Dad calmly replied, "there won't be any emergency. She's not here. She is the emergency." Well, you can mess with logic like that, so I asked if he had any information at all. He knew she was somewhere in White Bear Lake for a church conference, so I went into detective mode.
After calling about 10 hotels, I found the one hosting the church conference and found the room of the friend my mom was staying with - success! I asked to leave a message and was patched through to voicemail. I asked Mom to call me, no matter how late. There was no emergency and nothing to worry about; I just wanted to talk to her.
Fast forward to midnight. The phone starts ringing and when I answer, Mom frantically asked " what's wrong?!?!" I assured her everything was fine and I had just wanted to talk to her. "Oh", she replied. "I just got a piece of paper that said "call your daughter no matter what". So much for the voicemail and the friendly hotel staff. After I got her calmed down, I got Champs to pick up and extension and we called Dad to get him on the line with Mom.
Once we were on the line, I explained that the reason I was calling so late is that I wanted to share some special news. "You're going to be grandparents again!" My dad, typically, grunted. I think there might have been an "oh, ok" in there too. My mom, who moments before was so fantastically frantic, said, "oh, that's nice honey. Is the sky red where you are?"
What?!?!?!
"Mom", I said, "your youngest child just told you she is pregnant. You've been waiting for this for years! What do you mean 'is the sky red'?" "Well", she replied, "the sky is just so red tonight. I've never seen anything like it at all!" Seeing that this conversation was a lost cause, Champs and I were soon off the phone and scratching our heads.
Unfortunately, 2 months later, we lost that baby. It was very sad and my parents (and everyone else) were very supportive. It took awhile but eventually we were ready to try again. The following October, we found out that I was pregnant again.
This time, I tested myself at 4:00 in the morning. I couldn't wait to tell Champs, so I woke him up. He was ecstatic! Out of courtesy we waited until 6:00 a.m. to call my mom. Champs got on one phone line and stood in the hall where he could see me on the bedroom phone. The phone rang and rang, and finally a muffled voice said, "mello?"
"Hi Mom!" I sing-songed (remember, I'd been up for 2 hours and was pretty pumped). "Is the sky red where you are?", I asked. She drew a deep breath and said, "I don't know. Hang on" and proceeded to drop the phone with a chunk! Champs and I looked at each other in wonder as we listened to her footsteps shuffle away and then shuffle back to the phone.
"No honey, the sky isn't red. It's black. It's night out", Mom explained, still clearly asleep. Barely containing my laughter, I decided to give her a hint. "No, Mom. I know the sky isn't red right now. Remember the last time we talked about this very same thing, all you could say was how red the sky was? Remember that?". "Ohhhh....", she said. Champs and I thought she might understand now. Then she showed us that she still wasn't quite tracking with us yet when she said, "I do remember. The sky was just so red! I've never seen the sky that red before!"
By this time, Champs and I were torn between astonishment, laughter, disbelief and a myriad of other reactions. I spoke very clearly; "no, Mom. Remember? The last time we spoke about THIS. VERY. SAME. SUBJECT.... You were more concerned about the sky than my news. Remember?"
Just as the sun broke over the horizon into our window, the light dawned on Mom. "Oooohhhh! A baby?" Champs busted out laughing. "ding ding ding ding ding! Tell her what she's won, Johnny!"
Well, Sweet Girl was the happy outcome of that pregnancy. We warned Mom that if we ever called and asked "is the sky red where you are?", she'd better know what we meant! Unfortunately, I'm having my tubes tied, so I guess we won't be asking that question again. But the memory and the story are just as sweet and funny each time we tell it.
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