40 Reflections – #13: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season
I began sewing when I was nine. Mom guided my sisters and me as we stitched everything from duffle bags and terry cloth shorts to Gunne Sax dresses. She was a champion of whatever we wanted to tackle. One year I had my heart set on making a very fashionable ribbon dress. As I pinned and matched every notch, I was sure everything would look just like the picture on the McCall’s pattern. I was wrong, and I quickly learned the importance of a “ripper” the handy tool used to take out stitches and start again, and again and again. My ruffled sleeves puckered in the wrong places, and I even sewed one on completely upside down. Another do-over. Then I sewed on the gazillion pastel ribbons unevenly, so Mom helped me try again. She reassured me and encouraged me through every misstep, letting me trip a little and then helping me up. She built my confidence one stitch at a time.
I thought of this story the other day when Mom and I were making tortillas. The dough was a little sticky and Mom had the most gentle way of telling me the water I used to make them was too warm. She said, “Let’s see, did my recipe say warm water?” I reached into the cabinet for the weathered tortilla recipe she started using again to remind her about the 2 teaspoons of salt and baking powder.
“Yes, Mom, it says warm, not hot”, I replied.
“Okay, well, maybe you discovered something new,” she said.
“And look at all the different sizes of the tortillas! You know if you get the feel for how big each one will be, they’ll turn out the same size…but these are very colorful and creative.”
It was like I was 12 years old again and mom was reassuring me that I could rip out the stitches and start again. Everything would be okay.
40 Reflections – #12: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season
I’m not sure when we transitioned from the word “forgetting” to Dementia when referring to Mom’s sweet mind. “My memory is not so great anymore,” she’ll say. My three sisters and I learned tips to lessen her pain of not remembering. Things like: Don’t start a sentence with “Remember when…” or ask”What did you eat for breakfast?” or “How many teaspoons of salt in tortillas?” It’s a process. My sisters are pros; I, on the other hand, plop in for intermittent visits and say the wrong things, but in that sense, dementia will work its black magic and present her mind with a clean slate.
I wrote a few quick essays about my most recent trips to see my parents, which I’ll share here. They are simply passing moments in my experience with them. Now 86 and 89 years old, they have been married 65 years next month. I reminded them separately of the milestone date, and they both had the same reaction, “That’s all!!!!?”
Here’s to Another Good Day with Mom and Dad
Wednesday 11:00 pm –
I arrived home late, too late for Mom to understand it was me, so I led with my blanket line, “It’s your daughter Lucretia”. I realized there was a good chance she was too exhausted to get it because sleep is critical for every age and in all functioning. They were clearly exhausted. Dad was trying to run out and give our friends who picked me up from the airport carne seca (jerky), but they had already headed home. Dad just wants to thank and give and be a part of the world. When your mind rarely rests, like his, activity and social stimulation are healing.
It’s sobering helping your mom figure out which end of the toothbrush gets the paste because now toothbrushes are huge or helping her find the back of her PJs. This is the same mom who could solve the puzzle of Simplicity sewing patterns, notches, and all. She could sew anything, measure, adjust, and add zippers, ruffles, and sleeves with ease. She’s my hero. She wanted 10,000 times more of what she had for us. And by God, she made it happen. Looking back, I bet with every application she typed (real-deal typed) for us, whether for a college, scholarship, award, or 4-H whatever, she probably thought, you know what, these girls are going to devour this world and spit it out when they are done. Totally crush it.
What I learned:
Dementia stinks. But I am so grateful for every visit to see my parents.
Tonight I dialed my parent’s cell phone to check in. As the youngest and furthest away from them I have few tasks other than feeling guilty that I am so far away. So tonight it was my job to make sure they ate their dinner. My sister had sent a picture of the roast, potatoes, and carrots she had left and all I had to do was remind them to eat. The first attempt to call ended with a lot of ringing and no response. Then I called the land line knowing out of nostalgia and habit, they usually pick this one up. Dad with a cheery, “Hola!” or “Howdy!” hoping whoever is calling has a lot of time to chat, or Mom with a stern “Hello” – an edge in her voice that says – I may be older, but don’t you dare try to scam me into giving you any personal information or money!
“¡Hola!” dad bellowed. “Luc-did you just call Mom’s little iPad? She was playing Solitaire and we heard it ringing.”
“I did!” I said loudly, joining Dad’s energetic banter.
“Can you call it again?” Dad asked. “Sure thing Dad”. “Thanks!” He said. I called again and there they were – well all I could see was the top of Mom’s freshly permed white hair and half of Dad’s face. But I loved it.
Dad started in, “Wow! Look at that picture! Nice and big! How did you call the iPad? Luc, can I pick up the cell phone and use that for the call too?” Dad was curious, always trying to figure out how things worked, and loving the fact that they could see a big picture. “It’s all connected” I explained. “All the devices will respond when someone calls if you’re using them.” He seemed satisfied with my not-so-technical answer and continued, “So what’s going on there? How’s your weather?”
I caught them up on the kids – the boys popped into the room to say hi to them and they commented on Zavier’s curly hair. Mom said, “You used to have hair like that Dad!” Dad chimed in, “When I HAD hair!” Then I pointed out Dexter’s new mustache. “He’s already shaving?” asked Dad. “He’s 19,” I told him. “Hmm, was I shaving at 19?” He asked himself.
We went back and forth for a bit and I asked if they ate. “Did we eat, Dad?” Mom asked. “We ate a late lunch.” He confirmed. “And you know mom, she eats 5,000 bowls of cereal in the morning. Then we eat a big lunch and snack for dinner.” Mom confirmed. “Yes, Lucretia, I guess we already ate.”
“Okay, well I’m in charge of reminding you to eat dinner. I have a picture of what you have to eat.” Dad jumped in, “What is it?” I pulled up the picture – “looks like roast, potatoes, and carrots…yum!”
“Okay,” Dad said, “Just tell the girls we ate. Maybe we’ll have some Cheerios.” Mom jumped in, “Yes! Dad just discovered he loves the Honey Nut Cheerios so now I have to share.” They went on to tell a story about a bent-up box of Cheerios they got at the Commissary for $2.00. My hubby Justin suggested they might want to “bend” some other boxes and try and get them at a discount also. Dad said he was thinking the same thing. Mom interjected saying, “Well we were planning on going to heaven, but I’m not sure about it if we will now.” We all chuckled and Mom said her stomach would be sore from all the laughing.
Always melancholy at the end of our conversations, I said – “Alright, don’t forget to eat! And Dad, take your medicine. (Dad tends to put all the medicine in his shirt pocket and carry them around all day, considering this his way of “taking them”.)
You need your multivitamin, your eye stuff, and the baby Aspirin. Always the jokester Dad said, “I can’t hear her anymore, can you Mom?”
“Daaaad! You stinker!” I said laughing.
We signed off, “Love you mija, time to light the fireplace.” Dad said.
“Love you, say hi to everyone,” Mom said calmly.
“Bye guys, I love you.” – I blew a kiss and made a loud kissing sound hoping somehow they felt my love for them coming through that little iPad that not only can be used for Solitaire but also talking to us. I’ll remind them again the next time they answer my call on it, as I always do. I sat back on the couch praying there would be many more calls ahead. Because every day is better after talking to them.
What I learned:
I share this story because this is my takeaway from the day. This conversation. Yes, out of the 1,440 minutes in one day, the 30 minutes on the phone with Mom and Dad will keep me optimistic and give me comfort knowing I have these two people still out there rooting for me, laughing with me, and even though they are forgetting to drink their Pedialyte and can’t remember their neighbor’s name, they still know who I am, their youngest gal. What a blessing they are.
It is so worth it to take the time to talk, listen, and share with people. Especially the ones who make you feel loved.
Also, take the time to pray. For yourself. For everyone. Pray for the family who just lost their son to a freak accident on the football field, pray for the second grader who just found out her little sister has leukemia, pray for the single mom who just lost her job and is starting from scratch, pray for the guy driving the Camaro who cut you off this morning, pray for those who appear to be happy but you just know that somewhere in their heart they are ailing.
Remember to take at least 30 minutes today (out of 1440) and exercise, pray, and connect.
I’ve been thinking about the word SHOULD and all the undone tasks that follow that word. I SHOULD figure out a blogging schedule, I SHOULD learn more about growing my audience, I SHOULD work on my husband’s blog: Keeping Kids in Motion.
I SHOULD write a blog about the word SHOULD.
WAIT! I DID ALREADY. I’m reposting it here:
Ever wake up, glance at the clock, and say, “I SHOULD have gotten up earlier”? Only to follow it with I SHOULD have gone to the gym, prepped dinner, called my parents, run with the dogs, played with the kids, or checked the pockets for that pen before I tossed everything in the wash.
The “S” word is verifiably toxic, yet to avert our gaze away from what our lives would look like if we accomplished all of the SHOULDS is nearly impossible. Haven’t you marveled at the early birds who amble into work chatting about their early morning run, seamless commute, or the dinner menu they prepared for the month? Oh, and if you need the template, it’s on their blog.
When our minds harp on these unaccomplished actions, we sadly allow the only NOW we have to circle the drain.
Here are three ways to shake the SHOULD NARRATIVE:
BE YOURSELF: Change the lens through which you see yourself, and celebrate who you are and where you are today.
ACCEPT AND ALLOW: Your reality may be vacant of the plans you slated for your self-years ago, but by clutching onto the people we love, our “SHOULD HAVE” world dissipates. Some say, “Let go, Let God”. Maybe it’s worth a shot.
SET YOUR INTENTIONS: Our deepest hopes are shaped by our intentions. Step out of the noise, serve others, find your passion, and share it!
As I finish this post I think about how I SHOULD have gone to bed earlier, cleaned the toilets, emptied the dishwasher, and bathed the dogs, but this time I’m going to “Let go and let God.”
P.S.: Dear God, the bowls go in the cupboard on the left.
On faith and fitness:
Go for the walk or run, then call someone you love.
I recently watched an episode of Ellen with Henry Winkler as a guest. He’s a lovely man. Kind and soft-spoken. Simply said, he’s more Arthur than Fonzie in the “Arthur Fonzarelli” character he played on the TV show Happy Days. He’s the side of Fonzie on Happy Days who was sweet and bashful when he thanked “Mrs. C” for dinner, as she endearingly served him more mashed potatoes and called him Arthur. (For anyone born after the year 2000, Henry Winkler is “Barry” on Arrested Development).
What I learned in the quick interview with Henry Winkler is his love for writing fan mail. “I think if you see a performance like Sam Rockwell as Fosse [in ‘Fosse/Verdon’], you have to write a letter…if you see Patricia Arquette in ‘Escape From Dannemora’, you have to write a letter. I write fan letters.” Yes, he writes real-find a stamp and put the letter in the mailbox with the flag up- mail. And more importantly, he writes because he wants to let someone know he admires them. He’s just a good guy.
Back in the ’80s, I was a big fan of the TV show Silver Spoons, a time when goofy kids like me called Ricky Shroeder “The Ricker”. After unearthing the show’s coveted address in a
Teen Beat magazine in our school library, I wrote my first piece of fan mail to Ricky. Months later, I received an autographed (stamped!) picture, which, when your 12, was life-changing. Unfortunately, if you google “The Ricker” today, as I just did you’ll realize he didn’t pan out to be an upstanding guy. Nonetheless, at the time, I wrote a letter.
I come from a generation of letter writers. Starting with my mom. Once, when I was about 11, the cashier at Sears was abrupt with my mom when she pulled out her coupons…so, mom asked the woman her name, went home and wrote a letter to Sears. When mom didn’t want to receive the ten donation envelopes every month from St. Anne’s Catholic Church, she put pen to paper and let them know she and my dad donate quarterly. If she enjoyed a restaurant? Letter. Strongly disagreed with the editorial in the Tribune? Letter. Even today, after reading an article in her Gluten-Free Magazine, she wrote a letter telling the editor about the gluten-free hosts she and her dear friend Toni make for their church so mom can receive communion every Sunday.
Writing a letter is most certainly a lost art. Receiving a letter (other than bills) is always a joy. Just yesterday I received a thank you note from our family friend Connie. She wrote the kindest note thanking us for our Christmas card and my detailed update on our family.
Connie just turned 87 and is faithful to the written word. She sends our kids birthday cards with crisp dollar bills inside and a handwritten message in cursive that throws their brains into shock. She’s a gem.
So whether you’re thanking someone for the Instapot you probably won’t use, wishing your parents a happy anniversary, or opining about an editorial in the newspaper, write a letter. If you don’t, not to worry, Henry Winkler and mom have their pens ready.
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