As good as it gets


I’m back less than a week from my last trip teaching in New York and I can see that the time apart has done both Miss Cathy and me a lot of good. Peace and harmony seems to have replaced the tension and resentments that just a few months ago permeated the space we share.

Last year was the first time I filled in for a friend teaching a summer fashion illustration course from mid July to early August. It was an experiment to see how Miss Cathy could get along without me for up to four days (with Tony talking over as primary caregiver in my absence) and Ron (our upstairs neighbor that Miss Cathy considers a third son) to help out, too.

All went well so I could confidently accept the position again when they offered it to me this year.

While I was in New York teaching I had time to write, relax, see friends and just forget all about what my life has become and focus on what it is-which ain’t so bad.

My absence was a nice change for Miss Cathy too. Not only did she get to spend time with her other sons, her girl-friends came to visit more often and I’m sure she liked having here condo all to herself (more or less) while I was away.

Since I’ve been back I have noticed a few things worth mentioning. She’s been initiating projects around the condo then just walking away from them or forgetting that she even started them. And then there are those times when I remind her that something was her idea and I see from the expression on her face that she had no clue. Those moments are tough and her refrain, “Oh, I’m just as crazy as shit” is pretty much a guaranteed reaction.

I deduced a while ago that she gets more forgetful and “nonsense-ical” (my term for those times when “what” she says has absolutely nothing to do with the situation or conversation) when she’s upset, excited, stressed or anxious.

Lately though her memory seems to come into question even on those days when she’s otherwise pretty sharp.

It’s in those moments when she forgets that I remember to stay calm and loving. I gently try to give her what she needs; be it a reminder of the word she’s hunting for, patience as she searches for it, help solving the puzzle that her mind can become or simply sitting with her while she ruminates.

This month is the two-year marker of my “leaving my life to join hers’”. I’m slowly starting to accept where I am and who I am in this moment. I don’t know if it’s time, attrition or surrender that is the reason for my newfound state of resignation.

Whatever the reason, it is good to wake up and not have that sinking feeling come over me that I’m trapped in a nightmare (of my own choosing). It’s far from ideal but it’s not what it was before, or what it’s likely to be in the future….for today, it’s enough to know that this may be “as good as it gets”.

The UPS man (should) always rings twice


I came back to Miss Cathy’s the other day after running errands to see a notice that UPS had tried to deliver a package. As I pulled the “ups-it” off the door I saw that the “No answer” box had been checked. I had been expecting the package (a pair of cargo shorts from Macys online-nothing work related or that couldn’t keep but “I wants wat I wants”). I was as disappointed as a kid on Christmas morning that gets socks instead of an Xbox.

My options for re-delivery were to reschedule (and wait) or pick the package up myself-not exactly Sophie’s choice but still….

I was pissed because I knew mom had been home when the UPS man came so there was no reason that the package shouldn’t have been there waiting for me. I sulked into my room-childish I know but hey, apparently there’s not much going on right now in my life if a delivery from Macys is what makes my day.

I realized I was being silly and was prepared to let the whole thing drop until later that day when Miss Cathy said something that annoyed me (quelle suprize) so (petty Mr. Pettington that I am) I brought up UPS. Without missing a beat she sidestepped any responsibility for the missed delivery like Wonder Woman deflecting bullets with her magic bracelets.

“I didn’t hear anybody knock,” she said dismissively, ”You know they just tap, tap, tap on the door anyway.”

Funny, I thought to myself, it’s awfully curious that she couldn’t hear the UPS man knocking on the door in the middle of the day when old eagle ears could hear me parking my car, walking up the steps and pulling out my keys when I come home late at night (and she’d been fast asleep).

I found it interesting that she was pleading Helen Keller when the last time this happened she had a completely different rationale. Back then she’d taken the position that she wouldn’t go near the door if she weren’t expecting someone. I tried to tell her that a robber or murderer wouldn’t be so polite as to knock so chances are whoever was on
the other side was harmless-or a Jehovah’s Witness.

Besides, the door is made of solid steel with a New York worthy Medeco lock so she was well protected as long as she didn’t open it.

I was annoyed about the whole thing but it’s not like I kicked the cat (and before you forward this post to the ASPCA I’m just joking and a) we don’t have a cat and 2) I’m still grieving the death of my 18 year best friend, Missy the cat.

I went about my day and later decided to call UPS to negotiate how/when/where I could pick up my package without having to wait another day (heaven for fend I deny the world the sight of my skinny calves).

Soon after I got off my cell Miss Cathy came to my door. “I have something I need to talk to you about” she said (Never a good opener where she’s concerned-right up there with the infamous relationship killer “We need to talk”).

“You know this wouldn’t have happened if you would have bought that doorbell like I asked you, too.”

So, now it was MY fault-touché, the best defensive is a strong offense (no matter how offensive).

“I can get it myself if it’s too much for you to do,” she said, meaning the doorbell-not the package. “I’ve asked you time and time again and you just ignored me and I know you heard me” Clearly, she was on a roll, “And I didn’t appreciate when you said, “you don’t need one-no one comes to visit you anyway”.

Why….I was stunned. First of all I didn’t know what had set her off since I wasn’t…even…talking…to…her and “bee” I don’t remember saying anything as catty (or mean) as “no one comes to visit you anyway” (not out loud at least…I mean, it did sound like something I would say).

Honestly, I don’t remember if I said it or not but that wasn’t the point. She went off and I went to my happy place. I agreed to buy a new doorbell “soon” and got the hell out as soon as was politely possible.

My trip to the UPS customer center was like being at the DMV; the line was long and the workers at the counter were surly and lethargic. An hour later I had my fashion in hand and headed back knowing that I was going to be getting several more deliveries in the days ahead (what can I say…online shopping is my new addiction).

The next day I put a post-it of my own on the door that read, “UPS: Please Knock loud and Knock twice, Elderly inside, Thank you”

Senior moments: Part I


Recently I’ve been driving Miss Cathy around to a few of the senior centers in the area because she expressed some interest in what they had to offer. Of course she didn’t just come out and “say” she wanted to go. Mom’s way of “asking” was to tell me how her sister-in-law, my Aunt Dorothy, who I’m related to as a cousin on one side of the family and a nephew on the other (hey, country folk…..what can I say) really “enjoys” the senior center in North Carolina where she lives and all it has to offer.

After listening to her I read between the lines, the same way I do whenever she asks, “do you like Popeye’s chicken?” (she knows I don’t). But, that just means that “She” does and she wants me to go get her “two pieces and a biscuit”. So I interpreted her chatter about Dorothy the same way, as interest in a senior center and I was right.

Unfortunately, I had thrown out all my brochures and research in a moment of disgust after keeping them for more than a year “just in case she changed her mind” and wanted to avail herself of all that was available to her as a senior.

When I first moved here I collected everything I could get my hands on about “what to do with an old person”. Back then I was eager to please and enthusiastic to share my findings with her (suffice to say it’s an entirely different story these days) my enthusiasm has waned and what I find is mostly apathy.

Back then she told me in no uncertain terms that she had no interest in being in a room full of “old folks” as she called “them”…which led me to wonder who the hell she saw when she looked in the mirror every morning.

But, the times, like underwear, do need to change and it seems that now she was ready for something new.

I was giddy with the prospect of getting her out of the house (even if it was for just a few hours a week) but I was unprepared and not knowing how or where to begin. But, not to worry, after a few clicks on the all-knowing Google I found what I needed and we were off.

I decided to sidestep the quaint facility that was located in Miss Cathy’s solidly middle class neighborhood for another more affluent area. So, our first stop was the Bowie Senior Center less than 10 miles away.

Tom Wolff aptly named this group of moneyed movers and shakers in his native New York the Masters of the Universe so this would be their Washington DC equivalent. If you’re searching for a place to park an old person better there be BMW’s and Lexus’ in the parking lot and not Civics and Ford Focus’s.

Casino..Royale…with cheese


Last week I took Miss Cathy to the new “Live Casino” that opened up about half hour away from her condo. She was ecstatic, gambling to her is what shopping is to me…. part cardio, part treasure hunt. Needless to say….she was dressed and ready to go forty minutes before our agreed upon departure time.

We arrived around two thirty; pre-early bird and post all-nighters. Even at that early hour the casino had that perpetual midnight thing going on. Since there are no clocks (who needs to be reminded of how quickly the time passes as one is losing ones mortgage money) and no windows (no need of fresh air either) the stale air and artificial light are your only indications that you’re indeed still alive and time is very much irrelevant.

Casinos seem to me to be set up to create an atmosphere that is part faux hope, tacky decorations and mostly desperation….not unlike New Year’s Eve.

Scientific studies have documented that the colors, lighting and especially the sounds (the music blaring, coins dropping, wheels spinning, bells ringing) all merge to create a cacophony of optimism that feeds the need to pull on the one armed bandit (or gambling of your choosing) in hopes of becoming king or queen for a day.

I’m not much of a gambler. Personally I think it’d be more fun to just throw money off a balcony and watch below as people scrambled to pick up a few Washington’s as I “made it rain”. At least that way you could actually see where your money was going as opposed to the casino where the house always wins and your money just gets disappears off the craps table or in Miss Cathy’s case inside of one the fifty-cent slot machines.

Miss Cathy is and has been a devotee of “the slots” for some time now. Once inside a casino she is like a kid at Disney or one of those lost souls at Willy Wonka’s and being seventy-four with dementia and a knee replacement has changed nothing. She was so excited she didn’t know where to go or what to do first.

She’d visited the casino with a girlfriend once before soon after the opening and said she was determined to find “her” machine but abandoned that quest almost as soon as it came out of her mouth in favor of whatever big, bright, shiny box caught her eye.

She insisted that I register for a casino card “just in case” I wanted to play. Apparently the card logs you into the casino’s system and keeps track of how much you spend, giving you points in exchange for your “cash donations”. Being the trooper that I’m not I agreed to get a card but stupidly told her to not wait for me, to go find “her” machine and that I would catch up to her.

Moments later, with my new casino card and lanyard in hand I went in search of my mother. Much to my horror (and humor) I quickly found that it wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought. Truth was….I wasn’t thinking. As I looked up and down the rows of penny to dollars slot machines all I could see were old people.
Every other stooped over, gray haired, little old lady in a loud oversized tee and elastic waist pants could have been Miss Cathy…quelle horror!

What did I expect….diversity? This place was about as diverse as a Mitt Romney rally. I’m sure I sidestepped a lot of his base as I made my way past walkers, wheelchairs and canes. Where was my mommy? I didn’t know if I was panicked or pissed.

I almost presented myself to security to have them make an announcement over the loudspeaker for a “lost child”. After more trips than I care to admit walking up and down the aisles I finally found her.

And there she was, in that gambler’s haze; one hand on her purse and the other on the pulley, brows furrowed as she watched the wheels turn, oblivious to anything or anyone else around her as she looked at the screen hoping the wheels would land on whatever it is they’re suppose to stop on for a big pay off…they never did….so pull she continued.

So, I held her purse and handed her twenty dollars bills one a time as she fed the machine and fattened the coffers of the casino, like so many of her geriatric playmates.

It’s been awhile since I’ve been in a casino, everything is computerized now and you get slips of paper with barcodes on them showing your winnings (if you’re lucky enough to get any). I actually liked it better in the old days when the slots used to spit coins out when you won and you greedily scooped them up and put them in a plastic bucket that the casino provided.

Back then Miss Cathy would sit transfixed in front of a slot machine (Okay, so not everything has changed) and I’d hold her bucket for her and if/when she got lucky and her bucket would fill with coins that we’d later redeem for paper money. This would last until the spell was broken, and by “broken” I mean that she stopped when she was broke.

But, as I was “helping” her by holding her bucket it was easy to skim a little (or a lot) of her earnings and put them aside (in another bucket) so she’d have something to show for her efforts at the end of the night (or day). I would quietly hold onto her winnings (unbeknownst to her). As long as she could reach down and grab another coin to feed back into the machine she had no interest in how much was actually in her bucket.

I would do this until I was content that I had (at least) enough of her original investment in a bucket and then I would take a break. I would go to one of the many eating establishments in the casino for what John Travolta’s character; Vincent Vega in Pulp Fiction would call a “Royale with cheese” (French for “Quarter Pounder”). Casinos are a lot like the sandwich that Vega’s craved and coveted; over the top for what it is, the hype offering more than the product can ever deliver and even though you know that you have to have it anyway. It’s greasy, addictive and not good for you no matter how you dress it up a give it a fancy name, French or otherwise.

I could relax for a little while knowing that it wouldn’t be long before Miss Cathy was out of L’Argent and ready to go home.

But, those days are gone and with paper replacing coins I can no longer hide her money from her so easily. I have to contend myself with just standing around and bearing witness to her losing (but in fairness to her she does win sometimes..but more often than not she just gambles that all away too).

None of it really matters though, because, like my shopping excursions where I may come home empty handed I’m still happy to have gone. So, even though she may be “busted and disgusted” as she so often says at the end of one of these outings, I know that she’s happy, too and she’s already looking forward to the “next time”, dreaming of her big pay day from the casino while I have thoughts of the casino, royale….with cheese.

For whom the pain tolls


It amazes me what we (I) let our (my) LWA (loved one with Alzheimer’s) get away with in the name of the disease. Not only are we chauffer, cleaner and go-fer; we’re also expected to morph into the occasional doormat-ter.

I (thought) I learned how to let comments roll off my back like water off the proverbially duck as advised by all the doctors and everything I’ve read but after the tongue-lashing Miss Cathy unleashed with such fury a few months ago I was left feeling emotionally eviscerated.

The details of which I’m hoping my best to forget and have repeated enough so suffice to say my entire purpose for being came into question. Unfortunately, it’s something that I don’t think I’ll ever forget (and I’m someone who never says never-even though I just said “ever”).

After it happened I was confused and shell-shocked. We’ve had arguments and disagreements in the past but her reaction to the situation was so much bigger than the size of the incident and it was just too much.

I don’t know (which adds to the confusion) if it’s the Alzheimer’s, old age, fear or a combination of it all but emotional boundaries were crossed and her filter (which at best was barely there) was completely gone so she said things I never imagined I’d hear, the venom viscous with hate.

The only thing I could think to do was to get in my car and drive. I stopped at a park nearby and sat there trying to take in what had just happened. I got on my phone and first turned to my brother, who listened and was some comfort but could offer little else.

It was my friends, Brian and William that really came through for me. They gave me the words that turned into actions that helped me go back (which in and of itself was pretty powerful because every fiber in my being was screaming for me to just drive; where I didn’t know-anywhere but back there).

But, what they said (each in own way) has kept me and keeps me here/there to this day.
Brian reminded me that I’m not alone and that I’m not “stuck”, I can always get professional help for her and leave. William told me, “much will be said” (and he should know-he has challenges of his own caring for both his parents. He shared some of the things that have been said to him and he’s still there, everyday caring for them both.) He also told me to just get a thicker skin, “apologize to her” (even if I didn’t mean it or understand why it was important) and to just……“go on”.

So, I took their advice and went back.

Oh, don’t worry; Miss Cathy is fine (she hasn’t been stuffed and propped up in a rocker somewhere waiting to be discovered in the last reel like Norman Bates’ mother) in fact, she’s better than ever actually. She unleashed, I “apologized” and now she seems all the better for having gotten (whatever) off her chest.

I haven’t shirked my obligations either. I go through the motions day to day but something has shifted in me and when my day is done (more often than not) I find that I question my role as caregiver and my continued commitment to stay here. I have tried my best to show up for my duties (both as son and caregiver) but my heart (what’s left of it) isn’t into it anymore.

It’s humbling but I’m almost ready to concede that the Alz wins.

I confess I thought I was made of stronger stuff; having survived heartbreak, the death of friends to AIDs, domestic abuse, bankruptcy, alcoholism and career suicide…to name a few) but I guess I’ve met my match.

I was thinking I might have some more fight left in me (or at least a few more ounces of blood to give) but that changed the other day when it happened again. While it wasn’t the bloodletting that occurred before, once again Miss Cathy vented her anger. But this time I wasn’t taken totally of guard, the surface was sliced, old wounds were re-opened and there was a little pain, an emotional paper-cut if you will.

Unfortunately, the people closest to us can hurt us the most because while they love us for our strengths they also know our weaknesses and have to power to turn that against us. Alzheimer’s has a way of releasing the person suffering with the disease from the responsibility of keeping that trust.

Sometimes, you can see that the LWA knows they’ve over-stepped and are remorseful and other times they seem to know not the destruction they’ve wrecked and the emotional damage done. They seem just as pained and confused as the person they’ve hurt.

And while it’s forgivable (hopefully) to the one who’s boundaries have been broken, it’s like the bell that once rung cannot be un-wrung and they are left to decide for whom the pain tolls.

F-bombs


Miss Cathy is no stranger to how shall I say ……”salty language”. Let’s face it, she can make a truck driver blush but since her diagnosis she’s even made me wince and I’m about as vulgar as they come (I guess the foul-mouthed apple didn’t fall very far from that tree).

Last week with the redecorating and remodeling half way finished I was excited that when the ice maker for the new refrigerator was delivered that would at least signal the end of things to do in the kitchen for a while.

All of the new stainless steel appliances; stove, over the counter microwave and refrigerator came from the same big-box, discount electronic store and for the most part I was happy with the purchases.

On the day the ice maker was delivered I was surprised to see two guys at the door and not one and I was further puzzled that one of them didn’t just hand me the package and leave. The one holding the box said that they were here to “install” the ice maker so I proceeded to let them in.

Like everyone who now visits I asked them to please take their shoes off in the foyer before coming any further into the apartment. To my surprise they balked, one saying that we were their first stop of the day (as if that immunes them from bringing outside dirt inside) and that the installation wouldn’t take long. Since I wasn’t expecting them to install the ice maker (I hadn’t paid for that service-just the ice maker) I decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth and allowed them in (for some reason only the one who spoke came in and the other went back outside).

Unfortunately 45 minutes later the installer tells me that he was given the wrong ice maker at the warehouse for our refrigerator and another would have to be ordered.
I looked over at Miss Cathy on the couch after letting him out and she was fuming-not about the mistaken ice maker but about the fact that the guy didn’t take off his shoes.

I was on the phone with the store making arrangements for the correct item to be shipped and I made a point to complain about the installer’s objection to my request. When mom heard me mention the incident I could hear her in the background saying, “Let me talk to them.”

I ignored her, finishing up the conversation in my room and then I came back into the living room to tell her that I had handled it.

This seemed to calm Miss Cathy a bit but she was still worked up. “Well good”, she said, “that’s good that you know how to talk to people and get things done because I was ready to tell that fucker off and the people on the phone, too.”

“I don’t know who the fuck he thought he was saying he wasn’t going to take his shoes off, this is my house-not his!” “Makes me hot, I want to get that fucker fired!”

Alrighty then I thought, after stepping out the way of the last of the f-bombs and sitting next to her on the couch. Her reaction was kinda over the top but that’s par for the course lately so I just listened. She didn’t go on much longer and seemed appeased when I told her that the store apologized for the installer’s behavior and they were going to refund my money for the ice maker and ship and install the correct one for free.

That made her happy, crisis averted. The f-bombs are tucked away for another day, ready to drop at the next battlefield whether real or imagined.

Design in time for New Years Part IV: “Magic carpet ride” concluded


The carpet guys started in Miss Cathy’s room, which meant putting ALL of her furniture into my little room (no bigger than Anne Frank’s domicile) while they ripped up the (blood) red carpet and padding. As they worked from room to room, hallway to closets the old flooring gave way to the new. The carpet had lain there for decades so I was surprised that it surrendered so easily, I thought it would be like prying a riffle out of Charlton Heston’s cold, dead hand but it came up without a fight.

During that marathon day the installers only took a half hour break for lunch, otherwise pretty much working straight through from 11:00 am till 7:00 pm. I did give them ice water and cut up some apple slices that I shared with them (I guess a little of the suburban hostess lives deep down inside of me).

I helped move furniture and when not needed I (deep) cleaned everything (when else was I going to have a chance to clean behind (and sometimes the bottom of) such heavy furniture.

By 4 pm I was ecstatic to see the carpet go down in the living room-no more baby blue carpet to ignore and design “around” as if it didn’t exist. At 4:30 pm I got a call from Miss Cathy asking if I was on my way to pick her up. In her defense I should have called her earlier (but forgive me I was trapped behind all of the living room furniture piled into the dining room and forgot about her).

She was none too pleased when I told her that the “surprise” was taking longer than I thought, I asked if she could just “hold tight” for a little while longer and I would pick her up “soon”. She grumbled a bit but I wasn’t really listening I was so focused on getting off the phone so I hurry the guys up.

By 6pm there were still finishing touches left to do on the hallway, closets and my little room. I was starting to get overwhelmed (evidenced by the sweat that started early in the day but was now full on flop sweat) with helping the installers finish, cleaning, putting things back and now having to contend with a mother anxious to come home. I was not looking forward to calling her back.

When I called the first thing she said was that she was “ready”-I told her I wasn’t, that it would be more like 7 pm before I got there and by her reaction you’d think I was the governor denying her appeal from getting the electric chair- I wondered if the other Ty felt like this when he was getting a home ready to view on Extreme Makeovers.

At 7:30 pm the installers were finished laying all the carpet and then they helped me put the heavier pieces of furniture back and the mattresses and beds back in place. As they left I gave them each a $10.00 tip- keeping twenty dollars in my pocket that I’d originally planned to give them but I was still miffed about being kept waiting so I kept the money as my own “Ty tip”. With them gone, I couldn’t do a barefoot happy dance on the new carpet; no I didn’t have time for any of that.

I spent the next half hour putting the bric back as best I could, giving up on opening another box after I noticed time ticking away on a clock I’d unpacked. I settled for trying to “dress” the living room so that at least there would be one space intact for the “reveal”.

With no time to shower and change, I splashed some water on my face and without so much as a spritze of cologne I was off to pick up Miss Cathy, dust and sweat my only accessories. True to form, she was sitting outside in a lawn chair in her friend’s garage waiting for me. I took a deep breath, reminded myself that this day was (in fact) all for her and pinned on a nice smile as I got out to greet her.

I made a detour to Kentucky Fried Chicken, thinking a bucket of the Colonel’s greasiest and finest would distract my passenger-I never saw Pennington and the like have to placate their families with a chicken wing but so be it.

She actually thawed out a little in the car-she was probably thrown by my actually talking to her on the ride home. Once we arrived I raced ahead (well, I didn’t have to race because after all this is “toddle along” Miss Cathy we’re talking about) to “fluff” and “tszuj” before she got to the door.

Once she was at the threshold I had her take her shoes off, close her eyes and hold my hand as I led her into the living room (by her halting steps you’d think she’d never set foot into her own home before). I felt just like the TV hosts leading the unsuspecting homeowners inside.

She opened her eyes and then…….nothing, like the book case that I “revealed “ to her a few weeks previously she didn’t quite get what she was suppose to see immediately but unlike the bookcase (where I had to tell her what was new in the room) she looked around, then down and said, “Oh…my….God!” Her face was a mix of wonder, shock, (horror?) and pure pleasure at what she as seeing.

Her reaction for the next half hour or so made all the sweat, pushing and pulling worth it. She walked from room to room looking at the carpet as if it might morph back into the old flooring, saying that now she knew what had taken so long and was surprised that so much was done in so “little” time. She was stunned and just so happy hugging me that I no longer cared that I smelled like the old, rolled up carpet that earlier lay like a corpse outside ready to be carted off to wherever they end up.

I reminded her that this was a present from both Tony and I (mostly me) and I could hear her telling the story of her surprise and how “blessed” she was for the next several hours as she called everybody she could think of.

The new carpet was by far the most dramatic of the changes that were to occur. Since that day there have been new custom faux-wood blinds installed to go with the silk drapes, new furniture for her bedroom and stainless steel range, over the counter microwave and refrigerator in the kitchen just in time for New Years’.

Currently I’m in the process of removing all the old wallpaper and painting the entire apartment. The dining and living rooms are painted and I’m working my way down the hall to the bathrooms and bedrooms.

She’s been a trooper with all the chaos, adapting quickly to the changes as I box up her things, peel, prime and paint around her.

With each new “reveal” Miss Cathy’s reaction has only grown and she seems happier with each change that I’ve made. I’m not done yet but we’re still early into the “New Year”. At present I’m under budget and over joyed with the results.

Design in time for New Years: Pt II ” Ty-Tips”


With the carpet installation scheduled it was time to take a moment to re-think my approach to all the work I’d intended to do in the apartment. And with about two-thirds of my money spent it was time to re-evaluate my budget.

I had $ 500.00 left and there were still two to four things left on my “Design on a Dime” wish list. There were the appliances for the kitchen yet to buy plus all the paint and accoutrements. So I talked to my brother and we increased the budget by a thousand dollars, which would give me the option of shopping for an appliance (or two) as well buying all the paint and supplies I needed to tackle the kitchen.

Sometime in the 1980’s Miss Cathy got the idea that she wanted an all white kitchen cabinets, appliances, etc. Well, she had white GE appliances, which was a good start, but her cabinets were all dark wood with heavy brass hardware and handles. Since she couldn’t be bothered to paint all of the cabinetry, she bought white shelf liner contact paper and rolled it out over all the doors and drawers only, leaving the cabinets themselves dark wood. Suffice to say, the overall effect was not very appealing.

Since I couldn’t afford to replace/re-face all of the cabinetry I decided, “Design on a Dime” style that I would change the appearance of the existing kitchen with paint and new hardware.

So, bright and early one morning I’d gone to the local box hardware store and spent close to $50.00 on brushes and trays to get started. Soon after I got home it dawned on me to take a look around the house to see what we already had that I might be able to use.

A “Ty-Tip”: BEFORE starting any project always check your basement, garage or wherever you may store things from past projects, there may be items there that you can use and you’ll save yourself a lot of money in the process.

We live in a condo, not a house so I went to the storage unit instead of the basement to scrounge for things I could use. The good news is that I found brushes, rollers, trays, etc. Everything that I needed was there in a box among my late Pop’s things.

The bad news was that I had this brainstorm “after” I’d already spent the fifty dollars but, that’s why we always keep our receipts for at least 90 days after each purchase (another “Ty- Tip”).

No matter, I just returned everything on the next trip to the hardware store when I needed to shop for more of something else that I needed. That’s the thing about home renovation or decorating projects-you become a “regular” at your local box hardware store.

A” Ty-Tip”: Speaking of hardware stores, it’s a good idea to befriend a sales associate who knows the store, the products and how to use them. It’s not always easy since most hardware stores don’t require much of their employees besides a pulse so many have little in the way of knowledge, you’re lucky if you can find someone to help you that speaks standard English and doesn’t have an attitude (like a postal employee). But, usually there are one or two people who really like appliances, paint and everything else” hardware” and they are gems-but like most semi-precious stones you have to “pan” for them.

Once you have your hardware store advocate find out his/her schedule (not in a stalker kind of way) just casually ask, ”Oh, and when are you here next in case I have anymore questions” and try to shop when you know they will be there. It helps to build up a rapport with one person who knows the merchandise, can help you compare and contrast generic vs. name brand, can help you with returns, knows about special deals and can help you locate hard to find items.

My go-to guy is “Mike”, I found him quite by accident when I was shopping in the appliance clearance center looking for bargain appliances when he revealed that the paint department was really his “wheel-house”-Eureka! I struck gold in Lowe’s.

Mike was able to advise me how to remove the contact paper (a spray solution similar to wallpaper remover if the paper didn’t peel off by itself-luckily it did). And he was able to help me select a primer and line of paint that were similar in quality to the “name” brand (the “name” being the nom de plume used by one Mr. Ralph Lipschitz). So, I found top of the line quality products at a better price point. Ah yes, I could see that this was “the beginning of a beautiful friendship”.

Since the condo hadn’t been painted since Reagan was in office (and was in as many colors as could be found in a jar of the jellybeans he so loved) Mike strongly suggested priming every surface first. The primer not only absorbed odor, it covered stains and when dry creates a foundation for the paint color to lay on top of and not be absorbed into decades old walls thirsty for moisture.

With a bagful of supplies and new knowledge I went home to tackle the kitchen. It took me one week, two coats of primer but in the end the kitchen cabinetry was freshly painted the white that Miss Cathy always intended, with new brushed, nickel hardware (to match the stainless steel appliance that were on my wish list) and the pulls removed to add a cleaner, more contemporary look.

Miss Cathy was surprisingly quiet during all the chaos in the kitchen during the week. True to her word she asked no questions and just reached into cabinets that had no doors as if that were normal until they were put back up.

Most of the work I did in the afternoons when she was down for her nap and again in the evenings after she “went under” (her expression for sleeping). I started on Sunday the 19th and was finished on the 24th in the evening. I went to Miss Cathy’s room where she was laying down watching TV and asked her to come into the kitchen for the second “reveal” (the first being the ladder bookcase that I replaced her black lacquer and chrome monstrosity which housed the family pictures in the living room.)

It was then that I told her that her Christmas present would be a “revealed” over time and that there were many to come.

As she rounded the corner to the kitchen I had her close her eyes (just like they do on TV) and after a pregnant pause (those TV hosts ain’t got nothing on me) I said, “Open your eyes!” and by the look on her face it was all worth it.

“Ohhhh my goodness!” she explained as her hands fly up to her face in disbelief, “This is Gorgeous!”

“I had no idea you were going to do all this!”

I smiled to myself thinking,” Two down and more to come…..”

Next, Design in time for New Years Pt III “A magic carpet ride”

Bed(time) Story


One day last week I was walking from the laundry room when I spied Miss Cathy pulling the sheets off her bed. Seeing me she asked, ”Do you have anything you want to go in the wash?”

“Isn’t that funny” I said, “Great minds think alike. I just took my bed things in to wash.”

I told her that I was going to do my laundry the day before but kept putting it off, leaving it till the traditional “wash-day” of old.

“I don’t think about what day it is to wash my things”, she said,” I just do laundry whenever I get ready. It used to be when I had a utility bill when we lived in the house that I would think about things like when it was cheaper to run water but now that I’m in a condo I just run water when I like.”

“Yeah, I know”, I say having heard what was coming a thousand times before, so I started walking again, “I wasn’t subscribing to any particular day to wash -I was just talking.”

“I use the water whenever I want because I pay my condo fees and there’s people here that don’t.” (At this point I could feel a rant coming on….)

“Makes me sick that people can do that! How can they do that and get away with it?” (And …there’s she goes….)

She went off on a tear about people who didn’t pay their faire share to the condominium association and how it made it hard on everybody else. So, to insure that she was NOT taken advantage of and got her monies worth she leaves lights on in rooms she’s not in and runs water without a thought to conservation-Miss Cathy logic.

Thankfully I had reached the laundry room and (small space that it is in a not very large apartment) it wasn’t far enough away so I could still hear her. I turned on the washer and the rushing water drowned out the sound of her negativity as it filled the machine with just enough water to clean my clothes (somebody around here has to be conscious of natural resources).

After the laundry was washed and dried I’d laid her linens back on her bed. Later that same morning on my way to my room to work I looked in on her in her room and saw her standing over the bed, thinking she was going to make the bed I went in to help.

“Where are you going?” I asked puzzled when she took the fitted sheet out of my hand. She’d gathered everything up was about to walk past me out of the room, “Don’t you want to make your bed while the sheets are still warm from the dryer?”

“Oh”, she said startled and confused, “I’m so crazy, I was headed for the laundry room. I thought I still needed to wash them.”

She came back into the room and I made the bed for her while she went into the living room to sit and watch television for a little while. It wasn’t much later than noon but I knew she’d be back and ready to lie down for a nap soon.

Blowin’ in the wind


Thanksgiving was over a week ago but a conversation I had with my sister-in-law, Suemi still lingers in my mind-like so much leftover turkey you don’t know what to do with.

We found ourselves alone in the kitchen the morning after the holiday, everyone else was still passed out from turkey overdose, so we had a chance to have a private chat.

“Mom surprised me,” she said.

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen her and she looks so old, I’m surprised that she’s still walking so slow and using a cane. She doesn’t seem sure of her balance, always reaching out to grab onto something, like she thinks she’s going to fall. She’s how old? Seventy-three? Wow, by the way she walks and acts she looks ten years older.”

“It’s not only that”, she continued, “I can tell that she’s not the same, she’s not as confident as she used to be. I can see when I look into her face that something has changed.”

I listened, well aware of her metamorphosis into an “old lady”. Just a few years ago-before her diagnosis, she was active, independent and fearless, people were surprised when they found out how old she was. I listened, remembering who she was and quietly judging myself and wondering if I was being judged for her decline.

Suemi was surprised when I told her ho much Miss Cathy slept.

“Oh wow, that’s a lot!” she said eyes wide with amazement, “she can live another twenty years like that……just sleep, no work, no stress. A lot of old people live a long time that way.”

“Believe me I know,” I said nodding that I felt the same, “she’s like a bear hibernating through the rest of her life.”

But, she’s not completely stress free I reminded her, she still has her temper. Then I regaled my sister-in-law with some of the highlights of Miss Cathy’s rants against enemies and evils real and imagined.

I was kind of surprised that Suemi had seen so much change in Miss Cathy in just the space of three or four months.

She reminded me of the reason why I started this blog in the first place. I was very aware when I moved here that it was important to record the progression of her disease. I knew that change when come when I was busy tending to her and before I knew it ‘who she is’ would be the new normal and l would have forgotten how she ‘used to be’.

Tough as it is, these are the Halcyon days of Alzheimer’s, she’s still stage one dementia but the curtain can lift on stage two at any time and those challenges will make the previous diagnosis seem ‘quaint’ so I wanted to be sure to write it all down so that I could remind myself that it wasn’t all bad.

With caregivers, it seems that you deal with the person as they are “that day” and quickly you forget how it’s different from yesterday’s issues and challenges.

Some things, like the love you feel for them-and they for you are constant but everything else is kinda up for grabs. But knowing that, hell, and even writing about it doesn’t prepare you for an outsider’s observation (an outsider being anyone that isn’t their caregiver and hasn’t seen your loved one for awhile-be they friend or family) that validates your purpose.

Suemi held up a mirror so that I could see Miss Cathy (and myself) and it hit me that Thanksgiving this year is yet another marker of change in our family. We’re not a particularly sentimental bunch (well, I am but I’ve long maintained that someone made a scramble with the babies when I was born and I was left with the wrong people-all evidence and my striking familial resemblance to the clan aside).

Anyway, Thanksgiving became important to us as a family back in1997. It was the last time my pop was healthy enough to celebrate the holiday before cancer took him away the following spring. He’d been in the hospital just days before and the doctors weren’t holding out hope that he’d ever leave (alive) but he proved them wrong buy not only getting better, he sat at his place at Tony’s holiday table and ate like a man half his age and filled the room with his deep Barry White baritone and laughter. Since then we’ve made it a point to get together on the last Thursday in November.

And now, after not being at Tony’s last year because Miss Cathy just didn’t want to go we were all together this year but it’s different now. Not only do we have the memory of pop at the thanksgiving table to top our list of thanks, this year we add Miss Cathy’s joy and spontaneous “Star spangled banner”.

We will come together next here but the reality is that she probably won’t be the same but who knows, maybe she’ll surprise us and sing her favorite Bob Dylan song:

“How many roads must a man walk down before they call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail before she sleeps in the sand?
How many times must the canon balls fly before they’re forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind”.