Perceptions

On my first visit, Ma seemed to be settling into the nursing home. I expected her to demand I take her home, the usual routine when she's been in and out of the hospital and rehab settings.

We had a nice visit in the solarium. From there we had a good view of the goings on of the floor. We could see the nurses' station, aides running up and down the hall, and a group of ladies parked in wheel chairs across from the front desk.

"I may be 92, but I look a lot better than most of them." Ma nodded her chin at the wheelchair ladies.  Ma does look good. You know she's elderly, but wouldn't peg her age in her 90s.

After sitting in the solarium, she took me on a tour of the facility. 

She stopped to give me a peek of the dining room. It was close to lunch time and the dining room was setting up for the noon crowd. The dining room is well appointed, bright and airy. A little too Victorian pink for my taste, but pretty. Small tables of four were set with stemware, silver, and linen napkins folded into fans.

I asked Ma if she was going to eat in the dining room.

"Oh, no. I don't eat in there. I eat in my room or across the hall." (Across the hall from Ma's room is a small break room.)

"How come you don't go down to the dining room to eat?"

"That's where the old ladies eat," she said with some impatience. "I want to eat with the young kids."

I think she means the 70-somethings.

Good Excuse

   

 This past year has been a difficult year for the Weebles as age has declined their mental health. It became necessary to put Ma into a nursing home. For the time being, Dad is living by himself.

Ma has been in the nursing home for two weeks. On a recent visit from Dad, she was worried about the state of the house.

"I bet the house is a wreck," she snapped at Dad. "I bet you haven't even mopped the kitchen floor." (He hasn't. Himself or I have been over to clean.)

"Well, I'm old," said Dad. "I can't do that kind of work anymore."

That will be my story if you come to visit, and my house isn't as tidy as you think it should be. I'm old. I can't do that kind of work anymore.

Occupations

Just a little back story and a tease. Dad assigned us occupations for things that happened around the house. If The Brother or I broke something we were "blacksmiths". Actually @!$#$%#$ blacksmiths. If you rummaged through someone's stuff, you were a fisherman.

Wordless Wednesday

The Apple

While waiting in line at the WPI orientation barbecue, a woman standing next to us remarked how the Young One and I look like twins. We smiled politely and when she went ahead, we just looked at each other and shook our heads. Other than height and color of our eyes, we don't look a thing alike. The Young One has fair skin, a sprinkling of cinnamon freckles across her nose, and auburn hair. My skin tone is swarthy Italian. My hair is dark brown bordering on black with a fair amount of silver, and I don't have freckles across the bridge of my nose. The Young One is a carbon copy of Himself. The Young One and I do enjoy some of the same activities. Art, movies, electronics, sense of humor

"You don't look a thing like me." We laughed.

"No, but I have your soul."

"Poor you."

"No, poor you. It means that Grandma's curse that you would have one just like you came true."

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.