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FALL IS BUSTING OUT ALL OVER

Dear Diary,

Who doesn’t LOVE this exhilarating time of year? Watching the leaves in their various and startling colors come tumbling down.. is just so darn awe-inspiring. You think THAT’S cool.. Have you ever taken a walk through Happy Daze Assisted Living this time of year? OMG. I don’t know where to look first. I go INSIDE all humbled by the mammoth beauty of NATURE OUTSIDE— and FORGET. THAT. Inside is where it’s really happening. Puh-leeze. Who needs a cold and lonely park bench..when you can watch THELMA not lift her leg high enough OVER her walker and face plant (Ga. That’s gotta hurt)— from the warmth and security of the plastic covered bench up in ROAM (dementia floor). With Blanche.

I’m just guessing because it’s not like I’ve actually tried that fancy move you just did with the walker..but if you had lifted the foot and pointed the toe a bit more..yeah..and added some knee bend. Oh. Not bending these days? Then you SHOULDN’T be attempting the stunt in the first place. Should you? Who cares that Blanche was egging you on to do the flip over the top with a twist.

Mother pluckity plucker. That BLANCHE. Any chance she gets to stir up trouble or try to lead someone astray (or down the elevator and out the front door) she’ll do it. DON’T you dare deduct points for her dismount Blanche. I know how you THINK (animal planet you guys). How’s she supposed to concentrate when you’re talking trash about her mama? How would YOU like it (I maturely respond) if I taunted you with “YOUR mother has a nice thick growth of facial hair like MY father once did.”

Come on..let’s lift you off your face Thelms and see what kind of damage you’ve done. Blech. So not an attractive look we’re working with all that garish blue and purple around the eye girlfriend. You know what I could use right about now? Why I’m asking this question to.. of all people—Blanche I have no idea. That’s like asking, GUESS what gender you are sweetie? (checking watch) Quick. Only five more seconds to answer. Buzzzz. Times up.

Still, because we’re in the middle of half-time and there’s a lull in the action.

Do ya know Blanche? Huh? Huh? Some eats. THAT’S what I could use. What do you have wrapped up in all those little napkins? I’m yanking at wads of KLEENEX and GAWD only knows the places THEY’VE seen. I can only GUESS the reason for their use is for lack of a better way to keep the freshness in. Surprise. Out spills these— maybe nine and a HALF warm to the touch (No sir. I’m not touching) chocolate chip cookie with minute fuzzies adhering to them.

Let me take a second here to say that personally..NAPKINS are ALWAYS my first choice for this task, but SOMEONE has already emptied every last stinkin’ NAPKIN from the dispenser. Along with the SPLENDA and stir sticks. Leaving poor Blanche to resort to the dumping of the contents from the FREE cookies platter into facial tissue.

“Why hello Betty? Looking for THESSSSSE?” (Pulling out cookies from Blanche’s Kleenex) Bwahahaha. “How about a little trade? I’ll take a napkin and an artificial sweetener for one of these delicious chocolate chip cookies with the WHITE “frosting” (fuzzies) on it. Ummmm. Just as I became distracted with my awesome trade with Betty I hear—

OOOOHHHH. LOOOK at THAT.

What? We’re missing something? Walter is splatting himself on the unforgiving ground from his wheelchair while trying to pop a wheelie. Wally..aren’t wheelies done with the BACK wheels dude?

As I’m running over to where Walt’s wipeout took place I catch out of my periphery vision someone limping or TRYING to limp into the dining room to seek medical attention (and grab something to snack on like a.. ummm.. no cookies left takes a TEA bag?) while holding her pant leg up to reveal a massive (dime size) gouge in her left knee. Of course I don’t waste a moment running to her side to check for life threatening injuries.

Let me see your nails.. Did you ding the nails Ru? Ga. How did this happen? What were you trying to do? I told you to STAY AWAY FROM the LINEN closet. Did you go in there and try to get down that 50 gallon SCOPE by yourself? How many times do I h-a-v-e to tell yo.. OK majorly DUMB question.

Ru’s looking up at me with her sweet smile and apologetic eyes and begins to weave her tale of mystery and intrigue. The beginning of our story finds my MIL taking a nasty spill on the DANGEROUSLY slick carpet while walking from the bedroom to the living room (two inches round trip). Next thing she recalls (not saying a word regarding recollection abilities) she was flat on her back..arms flailing and legs all akimbo, screaming,

“Excuse me please. I’ve slipped on the ice. Could someone find a young man to help me up?”

FINALLY sick and bored of screaming on her bedroom floor..for like AN HOUR, gets up and goes in search of medical attention and runs into the door.

Yeah. So THEN what happens? Tell us granny.

Wellllll.. after THAT.. her younger (unmarried, good hair, no walker) neighbor Bert, finds her trying to get back into her room and points Ru in the right direction.

I’m examining the knee and I notice that the cut on her leg looks strangely suspicious. More like a shaving nick. I KNOW these legs. These are MY legs after I get done butchering them with my “LEFT it in the shower for six months to rust so I get tetanus” razor.

Ru? Were you trying to shave your legs? I can see her now. Trying to swing her leg up onto the bathroom sink counter. EEEEGADS.

RU: I don’t THINK that I was. Don’t I wax them? Or..do you pluck them?

I have to believe HER side of the story being that I wasn’t around to see the actual INCIDENT. You can bet if I was.. I would have cushioned her fall by throwing myself underneath her petite (size 16) frame.. or found something someone to put underneath her rather then risk unnecessary breaks or bleeds which I did not cause. This was a minor cut and we had a good medical team to slap a bandage on the tender spot and send Ru on her way. After the patient INSISTED that it got kissed. By the nice young man who rescued her.

And we all fall down.
A

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