STUCK FOR GOOD
Dear Diary,
Today was out to lunch day with Ruth’s BFF’s. These are the amazing “we knew her when” girls. They pinkie swore to be together forever.. through thick or thin and they sure as heck weren’t about to let a little Alzheimer’s STAND in THEIR way. No. There would be no wavering from their solemn pre-teen twelve year old promise, to do the monthly lunch and analysis. Sure, the analysis part or the conversation has changed a bit, from: “Did YOU see that man Sylvia was with? I think his name is Ted. I heard he’s quite the dresser; an amazing guy in..bridge. Now, it’s more apt to sound like: ” You recall who Sylvia married? I think his name was Fred. Well, he married a girl MUCH younger and now he’s nearly dead.”
I look back fondly on that song from Girl Scouts that we used to sing at Camp We-pee-woods? We’d raise our young soulful voices in unison, as we sat around the fire scorching marshmallows..”Make new friends, but keep the ol-d-d-d. One is sil-ver and the o-th-er’s gold.” We’d sing it again.. over and over. Each refrain with even more strength and conviction than the next. It touched us deeply and then we were OVER it. It’s amazing the killer instinct that surfaces when fifteen girls are forced to compete for three sinks?
This latter instinct is alive and well over at Camp Dementia. One minute Ruth’s all “Wanda is my new best friend. We sit for hours pouring out our hearts to one another about very deep and personal issues.” Fast forward one hour, “I can’t STAND that WANDA..who does she think SHE is anyway? All she talks about is her son the doctor this..and her son the doctor that.”
ME: (stupidly) So, why don’t you talk about your kids? (Here I go, setting myself up for the ego buster blow to the chops.)
RUTH: Why? What have THEY done? They’re NOT doctors.
Already, I know I am not going to win this. If there is one thing I have learned over the years is DO NOT approach a detonated TIME BOMB. I have a little feeling that this might escalate if I don’t go in for the diffuse and dash. How can I describe this technique..it’s a little like that game we used to play in the days when we could run around in our neighborhoods UN-supervised without threat of kidnapping. The game was called DING DONG DITCH.
“Ruth! Lets go get dressed to see Barb and Bell?” Good..she’s taking the bait. Slowly granny shuffles down the hall, but luck is not with us today. Guess who’s set to pass us on the right? Harriet.. arch nemesis to the Ruthster. The-day-just-got Suck-ier. Feh!
I’m not sure how the black with white stripe sweater got over Ruth’s head but it was not going to come off. I’m sweating and pulling and stretching that knit to try and gently inch it over big hair girl to NO AVAIL. Ruth has her hands up in the air with her face covered by garment and guess who walks in? Yup!
It was a nice sweater may it R.I.P. I ended up having to CUT Ruth out of it.
Ah..the joys of eldercare are to numerous to count.
Girlfriends of MY SANDWICH GENERATION we have to pinkie swear..right here and now..that we promise to stick together forever and ever. Let’s always look out for one another and make each other giggle..not only during the peaks..but in the deepest valleys. Together we can face adversity and remember to look for the sweetness in all that we do.
You’re all precious GOLD!
A
