THE GRANNY DIARIES

Welcome to THE GRANNY DIARIES new home. Wipe your feet and come on in. Sure hope you’re HUNGRY. Just look below!

Picture of the DAY: Lucky Charm

I am going to prove to you right here and now.. contrary to popular belief.. not ALL old people are the same. I know. I know. All the old folks that YOU’VE ever been around have been so sweet, loving and never EVER told you to SHUT THE HALLE UP cuz where do you think you are.. the boys locker room? Oh don’t YOU wish Selma.

Yeah. Good for you that y’all have such a healthy view of aging and so much freakin’ tolerance. Achhhh… You’re alllll a bunch of liars— cuz I’ve read your tweets and your posts and I KNOW you think old people are a cranky, mean spirited lot.. but you’re WRONG.

See that little leprechaun above.. the one with the gleam in her bad eye and the impish grin? THAT my friends is the NEW face of old. Radiant, happy and although a smidge forgetful at times.. Supremely fulfilled. Do you know why? Because she “gets lucky” THAT’S why.

Pardon me Ru.. might we rephrase that so there’s no misunderstanding?

“I’m the lucky one because I’m loved and have you by my side.. and..”

“and?”

“you’re the BEST sister a girl could have.”

Where’s the BEEF?

Dear Diary,

Talk about my MIL Ru being HAPPY to see me. I’m practically getting a swelled up head after this mornings visit. I was feeling full of (some sort of D word) DELIGHT as I rapidly proceeded through the automatic doors of Happy Days Assisted Living. Which in case you encounter them, I should tell you— it’s a TRAP. They’re secretly triggered to slam HARD and FAST when sensing movement or you know, signs of.. LIFE. I happened to be feeling pretty lucky today so I paced myself with another residents entrance.. the thinking BEING, that if WE were going to get smashed I’d let Mildred take the brunt of it with her metal walker to buffer her and I’d just drop and roll. Of course Mildred not being (much of) a dummy, knew something was up when I squished in with her all snug between the bars and tried to angle it so she went in first.

Then I bolt over to the elevator before Mildred can join me.. jump in and press the “door close” button, totally missing the fact that STANLEY (smacking forehead) was already in there. OMG. How screwed am I? You guys-this is S-T-A-N-L-E-Y. As in, FLAT (short for flatulence) Stanley.  Yuh huh. Gag. Gag. Why he feels that he’s entitled to BREATHE in the small confines of this elevator for two floors.. and I am NOT.. I do not know. But being the martyr that I am.. I say nothing and hold MY breath before I fling myself out the minute the doors open gasping for fresher “air”. Naturally the joke’s on me because.. Ha. So NOT going to find it.. HERE.

Bursting through the dementia floor faux bookcase I’m feeling ready to be completely accepted and loved by people I like to refer to as MY PEOPLE. Except TODAY.. MY people have pissy scowls on their faces and look like they want to scalp me when I let loose with,

“Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan, Chaka Khan.. let me rock you Let me rock you, Chaka Khan Let me rock you, that’s all I wanna do..”

All the while— doing that stupid thing that I do with my pretend mic and my uncoordinated jerky spasms. Johns yelling, “Would you turn that THING DOWN” and Blanche is all, “Would somebody HELP her.. I think she’s having seizures.” I blow them both off choosing instead to grab onto Marion’s hands and try to get her to do a little turn with a twist. But that went badly.

Then you guys.. out of the BLUE I hear this booming thunderous voice YELL, “Well? Did you BRING anyone with youuuuu? Like.. (slight fervored pitch) a MAN?”

Ru.. ummmmm. Did I KNOW I was supposed to bring a man today? Because if you TOLD me a MAN was DUE.. I guarantee he would be here and turned in promptly. Then for full effect, I creatively add something she would NEVER in a million years be able to DISPROVE, “like I ALWAYS do”.

Apparently granny wasn’t buying any of it because when I looked up around the point I heard myself lamely say, ” maybe the dog ate my homework”, I noticed Ru march around the corner by the dining room to search inside and upon being satisfied HE wasn’t in there.. immediately headed towards Sylvia’s room. Makes perfect sense to me. I’m going to s-n-e-a-k a guy onto a dementia floor and then be, “Quick dude! In here! I’ll hide you in Sylvia’s.. DEPENDS drawer?

Oh PLEEEEEZE Ru’Mae. Look. Assuming I did indeed have prior knowledge of said MAN— I would’ve written it down on these (pulling gum wadded foils from coat pocket) SPECIAL note papers, “and I don’t see anything on here except nasty chewed Bubble Yum.. do YOU?” Oh Ru.. COME ON. Why the face? Is it Show and TELL day?

One really unwise move my friends.. is to ever mess around with my MIL and the topic of.. homework. If she THINKS she’s told me, then WHY oh WHY would I EVAH think to question?

“Why don’t you CALM down and tell me exactly what you said to me yesterday, word for word. K? Go.”

RU: Well, first I remember I said something about you having a gigantic spot on your pant leg that you’d tried to get out by dipping KLEENEX in water and rubbing it all around. I thought THAT was funny and I laughed at your stupidity. Then Blanche came in.. to see why I was laughing and she started to HOWL when trying to put powder on it you dumped it all over the floor.. and the girl came and..

You have five MORE seconds then I’m going to have to DQ you from the game and move on to the next question.

RU: I said something like.. Well.. Oh I don’t remember.

ME: Cognitus interruptus?

RU: Yup.

ME: No worries.

My Sandwich Generation newbies.. life can get dull at times for your senior. Remember when you go to visit, always have some sort of age appropriate entertainment on hand. It doesn’t need to be much, because, let’s face it when faced with the option of playing with your SPIN ART application on your phone or watching the paint flake off the wall with the rest of the group.. it’s a pretty sure bet she’s going to choose the arts and crafts option. If all else fails and YOU don’t want to.. arrange to bring up a little ENTERTAINMENT and sing along.

I FEEL for you..

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Life in a PISH bowl

Dear Diary,

This point can’t be stressed enough, in order to become really good at difficult tasks in life— talents that you really wish to obtain a high level of proficiency in.. it’s gonna take a great deal of fortitude and focus, hard work and a freakin’ fabulous attitude. So right now, if I feel so inclined to do a little victory dance over my successful pee-gathering mission involving my MIL Ru at the doctors.. then SOMEONE should let me revel in my happiness for all of five seconds, BEFORE totally peeing on MY PARADE by saying,

“So..seee? You do have some sort of SKILL after all.”

Thanks Ru. You know, I think I deserve just a teensy bit of credit here for making it look as easy as I do. When THAT my friends, is oh so very far from the truth.

I’m not going to brag.. but, all right.. maybe I will— It’s not EVERYONE that can identify a possible LIFE THREATENING urinary condition with the skill that I have demonstrated with a staggering amount of crap-shoot over these last (million) years. As your eldercare educator you guys, just a heads up, that WHEN your senior family member with dementia seems like she’s acting.. overly dementia like— don’t hesitate to haul her sorry ARSE over to the nearest Starbucks. You have a few drinks, calm her concerns and then and ONLY THEN.. do you ATTEMPT to sit her on the JOHNNY. It’s here that you might feel the need to expedite the process, by pointing your lightsabre phone app. at her threateningly to “put out” the necessary amount as INSTRUCTED on this poster (pointing strongly at measurement chart on door) or you’ll shoot. Works for me. Kidddddding.

You have to admit Ru.. I’ve come along way from the days I was all.. “OK. You can go. AAACK! STOP. I have to fix the HAT (thing you pee into.. not from the Chanel Kentucky Derby line) AND READY? SET.. GO! UGHHHHH. STOPPPP. You moved”, and so on and so on.. until at last, I was forced to fill her up with ANOTHER Venti, one pump vanilla, skinny mocha and go through the whole entire affair AGAIN. Not this time. I’m all.. Bam. Bam. Bam. Got it. Let’s blow this pop stand BAY-BE. Then “we” march out, not only five lbs lighter but intensely proud of MY huge important.. maybe even life-altering (doubtful) accomplishment now donated to medical science for closer inspection for any present signs of..

“backache”?

Yup Ru. Precisely. THAT will be addressed too. But by allllll means, if you FEEL like you want a second opinion from that sometimes friend of yours across the hall Selma, the QUASI dental hygienist from 1714.. then we’ll ask her when we get back to the ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) floor. K? OOPS. Maybe a tad snippy for granny’s taste, judging by the body language of her.. FACE with her tongue sticking out.

“Oh come on. We had f-u-n today didn’t we? I got you out of Happy Hands class and that amazing trivia game conducted by the cute new activities girl in.. POLISH.

“YOU would think it was YOUR urine the way you’re carrying on about it blah blah blah..(Uncomfortable pause.. to adjust tight waistband) Do you have a tic-tac?”

Ohhhhhhh.. I get it. YOU want recognition for your role in this don’t you sweetie.

Ru?

“Yes.”

Ru?

“you already said that.”

Right. Hey! Will a mint tea bag work.. I have one of THOSE to suck on?

Not being able to resist what I KNOW I most certainly will come to regret later.. I’m thinking for PURELY entertainment value purposes o-n-l-y, to probe deeper into the (unknown) thinking behind the tic-tac request. This is what I was able to squeeze out of her.. see if you can follow. This morning Ru was seated at breakfast next a HOSTILE man named George, who had no desire to allow her to “test for doneness” his glazed cinnamon roll and when he finally got around to shoving the gooey morsel in his mouth, my always impeccably mannered MIL claims to have SUBTLY mentioned, that he need not SPRAY the food stuffs all over the table while he gums his cud like a farm animal and he BLEW her OFF. The nerve. Then she gets up out of her chair and ACCIDENTALLY touches the top of his foot with the bottom of HERS.. and he’s screaming something about being LITIGIOUS and his dad’s a lawyer. Oh so what Georgie? I’m practically a.. DOCTOR.

As Ru and I are walking down the hall to her room.. you know we pass that fish tank with the adjacent bench’s where Blanch and Marion always hang.. which the new guy Herman pronounces, BITCHES. “Let’s all go sit on the bitches while we watch them fishy’s swim in circles until they eventually float up to the surface and die from boredom. You girls’ game?” Ru starts to slow her gait WAYYYY down and kind of distance herself from me for no OBVIOUS reason that I can see.. until HE emerges from behind the fish tank all sweaty and muscular. With his big strong hands grasping his huge and glorious.. fishing net. WHY.. Hello there Mr. Tank cleaner dude. I’m Ru’s DIL and I take really goood care of… OUCH! Why’d you hit me?

“I didn’t HIT you. I nudged you. Can’t anyone else get a word in edgewise?”

Then Ru.. starts to totally do her flirty routine on this.. no older then (that Starbucks guy LAST week) 19 year old and she’s PUSHING me against HERMAN sitting on the BITCHES. At last the reason for her sucking on that mint tea bag all the way home.. Jonathan. Let me tell you.. I’m really big on allowing the freedom of choice to remain for as long as the individual shows a smidge of interest. But, there was no WAY.. so I’m basically shoving her in the direction of her room and all the while she’s shouting her room number in his direction and making the “call me” sign with her fingers. Yup. Don’t hold your breath little fishy.

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the DAY: Best Actress in a Leading Role

I’m getting positively teary watching my MIL Ru sit there all humbly (as if) in her recliner.. thanking the ACADEMY for awarding her these.. TROPHIES. Cue the music. 

Hairy

Dear Diary,

Once in awhile, a girl.. we’ll call her my MIL Ru, feels the pressure n-e-e-d to switch up the old hairstyle a bit. You know.. because come onnn. She needs to stay current with the trends of the TIMES. Of course one never knows what time it actually IS here on the ole floor DEMENTIA. But I’ve noticed the trend these days starting to lean towards something reminiscent of a look I like to call.. DISTURBING. It’s this bushy, tosseled, overly texturized screaming 1974, I’M A CUTE LITTLE TROLL DOLL LOVE ME WON’T YOU, look:

So what do I do? Just like I did with MY troll doll (sigh). I bring her into the bedroom, close the door, pull out the scissors and hack away. Then when I’ve given aforementioned troll a Mohawk and I get busted, I simply go and do what any ONE of you would do in a heartbeat.. blame it on my sister.

“Ru.. I want to make you look fresh and snappy— make the eyes POP and your cheekbones crackle” I say, as I’m running my fingers through a head of hair TO. DIE. FOR. Thick, delicious, crispy.. Crap. Ignore me. I’m hungry. I’ve been standing over Ru for like an hour and forty-five minutes trying to cut flakey CHUNKS into her hair. At least I think that’s what they said I should do during my 5 minute 56 second instructional hairdresser licensing video on You Tube. Ummmm. Uh oh. Now I’m thinking the “flaky chunks” reference might have been bandied about by Ru and her table-mates while enthusiastically shoving tuna fish in their mouths. Feh.

I’m telling you guys— you HAVE to see this video but be warned.. it’s in Japanese only. So in case you don’t recall your quarter of High School language class.. You might be confused. I’ll help you out. First they’re all, “THIS is how you put your willing volunteer in the chair..” Wait. Bu-hut what if I don’t H-A-V-E one of THOSE.. “a willing” what you said? I refuse to resort to administering meds for PERSONAL reasons.. so will you be addressing THAT? Apparently I’ll need to turn towards OTHER methods to entice my “client” to be willing. Which brings us to the OFFERING of the beverage of her choice.

“Ru..?”

“What do you want me to do now? Jump out the window with my bat cape on?”

“Ha ha. You’re sooooo funny. Just sit down here Madam and make yourself comfortable. May I bring you a drink.. some tea? Maybe a nice chilled prune juice..or judging by that LOOK on your face some.. STOOL SOFTENER. KNOCK IT OFF granny. Don’t you trust me?”

“I’ll have the tea.”

and I’LL have..

Once I got Ru in the chair, it became all about my stance behind my “models” chair. You have to make sure that you have the correct posture and stance in order to do a superior cut I found out. Alrigh-ty. Left leg slightly turned out like THIS and the right foot kind of behind the left leg.. ummmm.. like urrrrr… like this. Ohhh. It’s like a lunge. Yeah. So I need to bend the left knee EVER so slightly. Voila! I see how this is going to SO set me up for absolute FAILURE. But I comfort myself in the knowledge that I’m so DRAT blessed with my UBER supportive and forgiving MODEL who at this very second is craning her neck around to comment that HER regular “guy” doesn’t do a dance before HE cuts her hair. As if I care what he does because I (snip) am going to ROCK (snip) his world (snip snip) with my natural GAWD given talent (snip). Can I have you hold my scissors while I run to the potty?

“Ru.. look down at YOUR lap.. not my lap. Turn around.”

I’d like to blame the amount of time it took to create my masterpiece on the problems I had with my VOLUNTEER not following directions. Like when I say, please Ru.. I’d prefer if you didn’t shout at passers by, who have popped in to see if you’re.. dead here, “HELP! HELP! She’s scalping me.. can you find someone?” Now, what are they supposed to do with that? I have FEELINGS too. Besides.. It’s not like you’re going to TIP me now is it? Sit still.

I must admit.. at about the hour mark I chose to spit in the eye of caution and completely approach Ru’s head as a (6 year old) artist approaches his coloring book— reckless, wild and totally outside of the lines of REASON. Big bold strokes of the scissors saw hairs floating hither thither. I became one with my inner (hungry as all get out.. beeotch) to chip away as the higher powers that be saw fit. Until.. at last. I stepped back (out of my lunge in fifth position a la ballet kindergarten) to see this..

And who’s going NEXT? Heading home to pull my boys out from underneath the couch..

A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the DAY: Everything’s coming up ROSES

I have problems.. Oh you guys stoppppppp it. As I was saying— I’m having a problem convincing my MIL Ru that it’s still WINTER when certain indicators brought to you by Mother Nature are messing with her head (as if I don’t have enough to contend with) and causing her to think to the contrary. As we were driving home from having Ru’s corn removed at the foot doctor. Who by the way.. was so ADORABLE that we hardly minded at ALL that after he clipped Ru’s nails.. he completely spaced and forgot to file or apply polish. What’s with that? I KNOW. Ga. Medical schools.

Ru was noticing that we were sure having a “nice hot summer” because first YES.. the sun was out, but I also had the heat cranked up to EIGHTY and I was all.. OK. No. Would you believe it’s actually STILL winter? Then she’s “Well.. if it’s w-i-n-t-e-r, explain why that fella in the car next to us has his convertible top down?” Oh you mean the gentleman trying to peer over the steering wheel why he peals down the street going 25 mph with his stylish comb over blowing in the wind? That guy? How the heck should I know?

As we pull our car up to Happy Daze Assisted I caught the most amazing scent wafting past.

“Ru.. did you smell THAT? It smells like HAWAII.”

Yup. That was dumb because.. HELLO? You KNOW exactly what’s coming next don’t you?

“Is THAT where we are? Hawaii? I can’t REMEMBER the last time we were here.”

I said it SMELLLLLLS like Hawaii.

Ru looks at me and without missing a beat says, “What do you expect? You dumped half a bottle of gardenia perfume on me. Rememberrrrr?

I WILL tell you this.. Summer will be here soon enough so stop and take time to smell the.. ummm.. ROSES?

Sugar Lips

Dear Diary,

I’d like to see you top MY day. There we were.. my MIL Ru and I sitting in the car on our way to the oral surgeons office for our (eyes looking at spot on the ceiling) unscheduled BOTOX session. Oh COME ON you guys! What would’ve you HAD me tell her? Here Ru. Now we’re going to stick you on this really cozy couch that only RESEMBLES a cosmetic surgery lounge but in fact is a place that you’ll have a needle the size of someones something (nothing nothing) injected into your facial.. FACE.

You know darn well that if YOUR MIL had dementia and she had this craggy rotten half a tooth waiting to get extracted— you would SO tell her she was going in to have some work on her lip lines with some dramatic plumping of the Nasolabial fold area, followed by a fair amount of swell.. ummmm enhancement to the right side of her mouth region. Sorry.. there has to be some big pouty lips associated with the procedure or No. Can. Do.

In order to pull this off I’m obligated by chapter three, section five of the full disclosure to “old persons with cognitive impairment who will be pissed if they find out the truth” act, to reveal that the “procedure” might have some slight discomfort and residual numbness and drooling associated with it. But who cares right? Bah.

Ru.. d-u-d-e. EVERYONE slobbers up at your place. Who the HALLE’S gonna notice if you’ve joined right in for the day? I promise.. it will be so worth it (wink).

“But why are you telling me they’re only doing the RIGHT side of my lips?”

Ah yes Ru.. that is the million dollar question isn’t it. Why?

“BECAUSE.”

“Yeah..?”

“Because— EVERYONE’S wearing them that way. It’s like a come-hither smirky trout pout thing. Men LOVE it.”

The thing is.. we couldn’t HELP but be put completely at ease, as we walked into the office because A. It was a luxurious office and B. we were encouraged to help ourselves to these yummy peppermint pillow candies sitting on the receptionists counter. UUURKKKK. Wait. A thought doth cometh. Isn’t it kind of o-d-d that a dentist or for that matter a PLASTIC SURGEON would offer sugar laden treats to his victims before he pulls out there TEETH? Except maybe if that’s all part of the BIGGER PLAN. Odd that the dentist would frown on my perfectly sound idea to hide in granny’s bedroom and scream her name and when she shuffled to her room (eventually) I’d jump out of my hiding place causing her to turn around, jumping real high (ankle height) thus smacking her face on my head and OUT would fall the tooth. We’ve done it like a HUNDRED times people.. it’s not THAT big of a deal. But THEN someone (eyes narrowing) might not be able to afford pepp-er-mint pil-lo-ws.

My MIL has a habit of becoming observant (for lack of a better word) at all the wrong times. Like when she senses I’m messing with her mind more then I usually would. Could it be possible that because all the OTHER pathways in her brain have “road closed” signs on them that suddenly the part responsible for smelling.. DECEIT— ramps up a notch? Or perhaps it’s the antiseptic saturated sponge being swabbed around her gum area while her calm and rock like DIL shrieks, “If it looks like she’s in any kind of pain in the slightest.. you have my permission to knock her senseless. Got that.” Yup. That could’ve tipped her off.

“Do you have something to give her?” asks my dear Ru as she gazed compassionately upon her OUTSTANDING shiny example of advocacy, hiding her face in her sweaty hands and rocking back and forth mumbling.. urrrrr. Let’s see if I can even remember what I was blubbering about. Oh yeah.

1. Did you stab her with the thing yet?

2. Is she gushing blood?

3. OH GAWD THE PAIN. THE PAIN.

Apparently I wasn’t NEEDED in the room for comfort measures and shortly after my outburst was hastily dismissed. WHATEVAH. I’m just going to sit in the fancy shmancy living room (that I paid for) and eat tons of candy— while tweeting all kinds of updates to my dear followers who will totally lend waves of support and prayers for my.. SELF.

Not five minutes had passed.. when the dental hygienist comes marching in to inform me of my patients stats.

“So. Is she.. alivvvvvve? Because she would so kill me if she had to go through all of this for NOTHING.”

Don’t you hate when people in the KNOW, just figure you have some sort of.. intellect? It’s not my fault Ru has all her teeth and we’ve never had to do this before. The girl ushers me back to the exam room and I swear to you— all I could see were two stabby furious eyes and these mega HUMONGO lips (on the right side) protruding out of my MILS face.

“Angelina? Is that youuuu? Oh my heavens (slaps self’s cheek). I forgot. You were gonna have your tooth pulled today.”

Then for effect I add..

“remember?”

It was amazingly insightful thinking on my part to clean out the entire stash of Earl Grey and Chai tea bags from the “free cookies and tea” room at Happy Daze Assisted Living. Because according to an authority named Selma.. who also happens to live on the ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory) floor with Ru and is adamant that she was THE dental hygienist behind George Washington’s wooden bridge work. I know..right. She says— what you want to do is shove one of these puppies into Ru’s rather large gaping head gaping HOLE to help ease the pain and swelling. Naturally.. if one is to suck on a tea bag you want to choose your flavor. So.. I begin to get my bags ready by wetting them both and presenting Ru with the option.

“I don’t WANT tea right now. I want to go to my hospital room and lie down. Doctor.. can you DOOOOOO something?”

“Now Ru.. Selma says this will help you.” (Prying miffed Ru’s lips apart)

“Utts ELMA ot ewww ewww iff it?”

“Shhhhh. Don’t talk. Here.. let’s give you CHAI (shoves wadded up tea bag in). No? You don’t like Chai? Here’s the Earl Grey option.”

Yeah. Ru had quite the look going on as we returned to the halls of ROAM trying our best not to careen into Beth the Bawler who was dragging an eighty pound mahogany dining room chair behind her into oncoming hallway traffic. Um. Beth. Entertaining? Just be careful when you move the table sweetie.. wouldn’t want anyone to trip over it. Beth looks up at me.. then shifts her attention to Ru and snidely remarks, “Maybe she’d like a cup of WATER to go with her Earl grey? Ever think of that? Excuse me ma’am.. She’s gagging.”

What’s the matter with Earl Grey Ru? I thought you liked it?

“Yeah. But not to CHEW on.”

So I did what any compassionate member of My Sandwich Generation WOULD do. I shoved the Chai one in instead and took my drooling MIL to show off her pouty lip look at lunch.

Another HOT look.. off the runways of ROAM

-A

Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.

Picture of the DAY: Stunning

I’m going to completley stand by my decision to go running onto the dementia floor with my iphone lightsaber app. set on Rahm Kota the Jedi Master and start zapping away like a total lunatic all the while shouting, STAND BACK or I’ll blast the crap out of you bwhahahah. All the commotion MAY have caused some s-l-i-g-h-t paltry increase in confusion for a few individuals who were startled awake and started shrieking, “GAWD! They’re letting in ALL kinds up here aren’t they? Who are you supposed to be.. BATMAN? Hey batman! Why don’t you make yourself useful and help me find a bathroom PRONTO.

Awwww. TAKE THAT Selma (zap) and THAT (zap zap).

“What about me?” came the familiar cry of my MIL Ru.

“What about YOU? You wanna try.. is THAT it? Why don’t you wait a minute and when I’m done shooting Roger.. I’ll put the SPIN ART app. on. That would be fun.”

Aren’t you gonna let ME tase her?” Ru is patiently waiting her turn and it is then that I notice all the residents start to roam (quickly) toward the hallway with pushing and shoving and shouts of  “we’re all gonna die and we haven’t had lunch”. The lightsabre had fallen into the wrong hands.. of none other then— the ultra scary.. Darth Ru.

Excitedly grabbing the weapon out of my hands granny starts to furiously wave it around till she finds her mark.. Selma. Then she’s all “Selma.. the front seat on the bus belongs to WHOM?” and Selma get really nervous and starts to sing like a baby, “I didn’t know you were coming back from the bathroom when I took it (zapppppp) (zappppp) (zapppp).

“Is she gone yet?”

Way to add a little excitement through the wonders of technology to an otherwise dull day. You know what THIS proves.. forget the Happy Hands class’ people. The iphone applications are easily used by people with ALLLLL sorts of declining cognitive abilities and can be a useful learning tool (Angry Birds and Brick Breaker Revolution on EASY).

There was one problem.. Ru was concerned that she might cause serious injury to someone.. when she throws it.

DELICATE ISSUES

Dear Diary,

Oh ho hum. Just your average incredibly dull and boring day up on my favorite dementia floor of ALL. FREAKIN. TIME.. ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory). Why yes. Yes— I do believe that IS the shrill pleas for help I hear emanating from somewhere in the vicinity of my MIL Ru’s bedroom. Now shhhhhh. If I listen really carefully from where I stand at the faux bookcase door I can almost make out what she’s s-a-y-i-n-g..

“I NEED TOILET PAPER. I NEEEEEEED TOILET PAPER! COULD SOMEONE BUY ME TOILET PAPER OR AM I JUST GONNA STAND HERE ALLLLLL DAY AND DRIP DRY?”

Yup. That was my girl.

This is the part where you look at me and say.. don’t just be all lolling around. Do what any normal person would do and FIND a roll of Charmin and get on with the rest of your unbelievably life affirming DAY. Hey, there’s a staff person. Ask THEM if they can perhaps SELL you a fist full at black market price. Ahhh— if it only were that easy. You see.. there WAS no toilet paper on the dementia floor at Happy daze Assisted Living. You heard right. They were O.U.T. I mean it’s only toilet paper right? It’s not as if it’s actually something NECESSARY like.. hand soap or DEPENDS.

Meanwhile Ru is getting tired of the same PEOPLE magazine she’s been reading for… GA. I don’t know.. the last thirty, maybeeeee FOURTY minutes. I catch her sneaking looks at the stack of brown paper towels generica in the holder next to the sink reserved exclusively for wrapping up last minute hostess gifts (for the neighborhood all night shindigs) or shoving residual food stuffs in for future nourishment.

“Granny.. I talked to the head guy and he said that they had a supplies ordering glitch and the toilet paper you requested should be here anytime.. within two to three working days. That gonna work for you? Now I k-n-o-w this might be a slight inconvenience but the nurse said we have to be flexible. So please carefully maneuver back here (walking straddle legged) and sit down and let me think this out.”

Breathing heavily and sweating profusely I nervously motioned for the male nurse to join me in the deserted back kitchen area. First, making sure that no witnesses existed.

“Mildred. Pssssst.. Mildred. You mind (tilting head towards the door)?”

“No. I don’t mind at all. I mixed Metamucil in there so be careful..it’s POTENT (handing me her glass).”

You’ve HAD enough prune juice.. please don’t make me do something (else). Take your walker and make yourself scarce would ya?”

I explained our situation calmly. One might even say that I appeared to be RATIONAL.

“What the (KAPow!) d-u-d-e is going ON in this joint? I need you to score me some good sheet man. I’m willing to pay you major (KAPow!) cash. (pulls out a dime with gum smooshed on it and Kleenex fuzzies adhering) Think you can get some? I’ll be your best friendddd.”

After the goods arrived and were put to use— Ru and I hastily pushed our way through the unruly throngs that had formed at her door. Stopping only momentarily to nod, smile and collect.. the mandatory SUGGESTED tax-deductible donations from each and every one of the girls (and Walter) who had been dancing in line— BEFORE dashing out to purchase bulk TP for our new start up venture.

Have a square to spare?

-A

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