Monday, March 30, 2015

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM?

All seems "fine" in Becket. Peg back to her usual routine: get up, sleep, get up, empty catheter bag, sleep, get up, eat and take pills and watch the weather channel, sleep, get up, see what time it is, sleep, get up, eat, watch the Italian channel, sleep, get up, make a mess on the desk, cut up a few important and irreplaceable things, sleep, get up, eat, sleep. The routine punctuated only by the odd foray to Tina the Hairdresser's, the bank, a doctor's appointment--or the arrival of the Porchlight nurse, physio therapist, occupational therapist, Lynette the foot person, or--this last Saturday night for instance, five gay men bringing dinner. 

Peg, with Terri and Bonnie's help, contributed devilled eggs. Which have always struck me as a summer picnic food, but my mother has never let the season, event or even menu interfere with what she feels like eating at the moment or hasn't "had for a while" or "would taste good". Hence, over the years, we have had numerous mother-daughter conversations along these lines:

"I thought I'd do Daddy a nice lamb stew for dinner tomorrow. He loves it."
"I'll help you. Want me to make that lime cheese salad?"
"What! No!"
"What are you going to have with the stew then?"
"Carrots! Leeks! Parsnip puree mashed potatoes! Or,  I don't know, maybe parslied new little red ones or---"
"I feel like the lime salad."
"A nasty cottage cheese and jello salad does not go with lamb stew, Mother, all the gravy and--"
"I haven't had it in ages."

So end of the day I let her make the salad or whatever because I finally realized that my father would eat whatever was put in front of him whether it "went" with anything or not, he'd pile stuff on his fork willy-nilly and afterwards tell me or Peg or indeed any hostess what a marvellous dinner it was. And he meant it. So I stopped worrying about whether he liked Wishbone Italian Dressing running through his pancakes or not. And became, I have to say, a much happier person for it. Although of course it still pisses me off, if I let it. Which I tend to.

Another thing about Peg's eating habits, while we're on the subject, is I've noticed the older she gets, the more her table manners have deteriorated. Not that they were ever faultless to begin with. Though she brought me up to have excellent ones and in fact frequently encouraged me to dip into Emily Post and Tiffany's Table Manners For Teenagers. I notice however that she's never waited to start eating until everyone else has his plate or is seated: no, if her food's there, she's digging right in. Plus she smells every bite before it goes in. Surreptitously, of course, but you can see it if you're looking for it. And she pushes her food around her plate as if it were some artist's palette and she's trying to mix the right shade --cutting and mashing stuff and adding more butter here, salt there, moving bits into little piles, all so that she "comes out even", meaning she has to have one little bite of meat left to go with the last little bite of potatoes, the last little bite of corn, the last little bite of cranberry sauce…it's a good thing she's such a genius in the writing and acting department because I tell you. It's difficult to watch. And remain silent.

And of course, having made deviled eggs last Saturday to go with Chicken fricassee or some Italian recipe one of the guy's was making for their main course, the BIG QUESTION worth two frantic phone calls was: WHERE IS HER DEVILLED EGG SERVING DISH, the brown ceramic one that has little egg-shaped indentations around it? The answer, which I could indeed provide, being "fuck knows", because I unloaded it with a lot of other ugly crap either at the tag sale last summer, or Goodwill, but who's whereabouts I had to act equally puzzled over, suggesting search areas like the top shelf in the bar?  Bottom drawer of the sideboard that sticks? And finally said if it isn't on top of the freezer in the laundry room where I last saw it then gee I don't know where it is. Sadly.

It's all the games I now have to play that are so exhausting.

And guess what, Peg has a brand new $59.00 mattress topper with waterproof covering, which she just loves. Seems the Easter Bunny, aka the UPS man had dumped it outside the front door and left, Bonnie found it waiting when she arrived.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

TROUBLE A' TMILL

First, I see the purchase of a mattress on Amazon for $59, which I query. This is a house that has eleven beds, most of them single. I couldn't think why a mattress was needed. 

Seems the visiting nurse from Porchlight asked Peg how she'd slept, Peg said not very well, it was always "so lumpy". The nurse suggested to Outside Bob--his day inside at the helm--that he might want to consider buying a mattress topper, and one which was also waterproof. He mentioned this to Bonnie the next morning and they ordered one from Amazon. Neither thought to check with me. Had they done so, I would have said there is a nearly new mattress topper on the bed up in Odd's old office and that a waterproof cover could be had from TJ's say, for $5.99. On top of which, speaking of toppers, Peg not only sleeps in her clothes including at least 2 sweaters and a heavy fleece jacket--even if the thermostat's at 78--and by morning it's all bunched up underneath her. She also sleeps on a leopard fleece blanket which is not tucked in and forms itself into a ball all night long. My point being: the existing mattress is fine, plus already has a waterproof "nappie" on it. 

I told them to cancel the order.

Nine thousand emails later, with everyone explaining WHY they did what they did or FEEL the way they do about mattress toppers, newly-purchased or otherwise, the long and short of it is the mattress topper with waterproof cover are due to arrive today and Bonnie will either meet UPS at the door and refuse to accept it--or she won't.

Nothing is easy, is it. 

We then had a staff issue--well, they did, I didn't--about WHO was allowed to be the one in charge who could say when Peg's leg looked swollen enough to warrent a Lasix pill. I then wrote an email back stating that it didn't MATTER who saw it first, whoever did do so was to: a) ring Porchlight nurse ; or B) the doctor; or C) if critical, an ambulance. Jesus H. 

This was followed by noses out of joint because Terri got breakfast bacon and eggs for Peg instead of Bonnie doing it, and then sat with Peg while she ate it. Terri always remains in the morning a few extra hours on her own time, and also arrives two hours early, not charging then either--because she cares about Peg. But Bonnie cares about Peg, too. So. Another email goes off to all four staff saying I don't care who fixes Peg's breakfast, just as long as she gets fed and takes her pills. Suddenly it's like being school monitor on a field trip. Thin skins, petty jealousies, and egos abound.

Meanwhile, Oslo the Owl observes it all silently from her perch on the bird feeder but does fuck all to help me besides eat the occasional squirrel.





Saturday, March 21, 2015

BACK ON COURSE

A tearful good-bye in Becket. Don't know how long Peg's lasted but I needed Kleenex until about Huntington on Rte 20 E. towards the Pike. Terri was there for Peg however, as was Bonnie, plus Oslo the Owl flew in, after three days gone a-hunting, to wave goodbye from atop the satellite dish. 

I can report a safe and smooth 11 PM Virgin Airways flight from Boston, three seats to myself, thanks to an especially kind Virgin guy at check-in. Flight preceded by a much needed and much appreciated lobster roll and glass of pinot grigio at Logan's branch of Durgen Park, major seafood restaurant which has been a feature of Boston for donkey's years. Lobster roll preceeded by a turkey sandwich from Starbucks I took one bite of and pitched in the bin. Revolting.

No sign of the eclipse, though we landed at the exact same moment apparently, Brit time. But, being Britain, a large dense cloud cover hung over Heathrow. Anyway I didn't even know about it, plus wouldn't have been over excited anyway, I was much more interested in the new Dreamliner plane which has all sorts of good new features including touch screen TV and touch screen windows that darken or lighten on demand, a new stylish kind of air vent, and better loos, although sinks still not big enough: in order to spit when you brush your teeth, you're still pressing your head against the mirror or towel dispenser. "Dear Richard…" 

Don't know about the food, had one small bottle of water, that's it. Only bad part was I think US Customs nicked my navy cashmere sweater. It was on top, in the bottom zippered part of my suitcase, but not there when I unpacked. I brought back a lot of Norwegian pewter this time so I suppose they were checking out all the metal. Next time I put mousetraps in.

We had a Happy Homecoming meal at the Anchor last night, all very cosy, and today Mabel and I had a long walk through the reed beds together. Kevin the electrician arrived at 8 this morning to finally put a light in the coat cupboard I've been swearing over the lack of for five years. I think I am more excited about this light that about Den's book coming out. 

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

FINAL CHORES

- Met with the Boundary Guy, here. His idea. Advised me for a good hour on how to market the house and property when the time comes. Good stuff. Have it all sorted now in my mind and a surveyor friend of his has now measured out 2 lots, a 4 acre and a 5, and prepared a map which arrived today, which I have now filed.

- Took some Treasury Bonds which had matured to the Berkshire Bank, Williams St., to have them stamped and filled out by the bank manager, who was so busy talking that she forgot to sign them, which I didn't see till I got home, so had to trot all the way back there and got stopped for speeding on the way home. I put on an English accent and apologized a million times and got off with a warning.

- Changed electricity providers, saving $287 per month here.

- Spent a good hour trying to send DK's memoirs Key Changes to a reviewer in London, only to discover I had not transferred the right file in the rush to leave England the other week so had to go through it all, chapter by chapter, putting in the revisions we've made since, then sent it to the wrong Kevin. Instead of zinging its way to our PR guy it went to Kevin the big deal banker son-in-law of an elderly woman in Walberswick. 

- Sent a case of Villa Maria to Tim, the guy who prepared the Press release for DK's TV themes album (I hope).

- Dealt with the U of Oregon, home of Peg's archive, who have been successful in getting a grant to enhance and digitize all Peg's TV shows from the 1950s. They have this idea of doing a big deal symposium on the early days of TV as well, and asked if I thought Peg would be up for going out there to answer questions, tell stories and so on. They're happy to pay for me and for Alex to go as well. The hitch is that it will coincide with Peg's 100th birthday, which is a year and a half from now. During which time a great deal can happen. (Alex already packed).

- Sent a heads-up to our financial guy at USB in Springfield. There's an issue here that has, er, arisen, which might be worrying but can't go into at the moment. I asked that he please advise me if a request comes in from Peg to send her an unusually large amount of money.

- Found a home, I think, for my great grandmother's wedding dress which I found in the trunk I had Outside Bob bring down from at the attic, along with my grandmother's baby shoes (which have heels! I knew I took after her.)

- Filled a collage picture frame for Peg that she's been trying to do since Christmas to send to her journalist fan in Minneapolis, James Lileks. She had cut all the photos too small and not a straight line to be found. I fixed it all and now  I am Golden Girl. I think she even likes me better than she likes Terri or Dominick tonight. Still, the night is young.

- Inadvertantly let Terri's 14 year old beagle, Heidi, out, when I opened the door to bring in firewood, and had to go chasing her all around the property, Terri running after me in a T shirt and slippers, hysterical. No sign of Heidi. Finally went in and grabbed a handful of chicken and spent another 20 minutes outside sliding around on the ice-encrusted snow, yelling "Chicken! Chicken!" but pleased to report Heidi now back safe and sound (and tied up).

By my favorite part of the day by far is discovering that the cord on the hair dryer I bought a year ago is NOT eighteen inches long after all: it pulls out, and retracts. For one solid year I have been drying my hair squashed up against the bathroom tiles, practically sitting on the laundry hamper under the towel rail in order to do this, while ranting and raving about stupid hairdryer designers who put 18 inch cords on their appliances. 

That's it. 


Sunday, March 15, 2015

WEIRD THINGS HAPPENING

The first being that Peg, when she's awake, is watching non-stop soccer. I have come 3,000 miles to (still) have a stupid football game blaring out of a TV, the difference being Peg is watching it on her new RAI Italia Channel, so I get top volume commentary and crowd noise in Italian.

The second weird thing is AOL. For the past week or so, in fact even since I got here, it has kept making appearances when I haven't asked for it. Such as one or two tabs already open when I go to log in, sometimes more. An irritation at best. However. You know how with AOL it gives you your location when you log on? Well it does, right under your username. Pittsfield, MA, or Southwold, England and so on. I notice that many of these uninvited AOL tabs say "Weston, CT", which is too weird for words, since I haven't been there since mid August. Thoughts? Gremlins? Or?

The third weird thing is that I have been in the States almost two weeks now and have had no inclination whatsoever to buy a doughnut, oatmeal raisin cookie, or pecan sticky bun. The idea in fact seems to appall me. This is worrying. Normally I'm salivating in anticipation by about Iceland.
__________________
Peg managed to stand up without help from bed today and got off the toilet by herself. I'm sure her physical strength will return the longer she's in her own home--also with the rehab and physio the VNA (Visiting Nurses) will provide here for about six weeks. 

I can't say the same however for her mind. Maybe it'll improve but...she still asked what she was supposed to do when she woke up this morning (the answer being :"Get up! Get out of bed! Greet the day! Have bacon and eggs!")

And then last night when I got her up from her nap on the loveseat in front of the fire she was speaking almost total nonsense, kept trying to think of some word,  but couldn't describe it, said something about Norway and blankets.....it reminded me of the time I woke her up from a pre dinner nap back in Fairfield, I must have been about 10. I had to shake her a bit, after which she sat up, opened her eyes, looked at me, smiled, and I said "Mama, it's dinner time. We've been calling you. Come have dinner!" (My grandmother lived with us and cooked). 

Peg nodded and said, "Have you ordered the gondola?"

"What?" I said, pausing at the door.

"The gondola! How else will we get there?" 

At which point Peg stood up and went to the phone. "I'll call down to the concierge," she says, and a few other worrying phrases, by which time I was close to hysterics and thinking my mother had lost her mind and so started to shake her, sobbing "We're not in Venice, Mama, we're in Connecticut! Mama! Don't do this, please don't DO this!"

Meaning, Peg's confusion upon awakening is actually nothing too new and you'd think I'd be used to it. Nope!


Saturday, March 14, 2015

ANOTHER POPCORN DINNER

Peg kipping on one of the loveseats in the den in front of the fire. I make a fire every day, mostly because I want to use up the firewood on the porch. It's so bone-dry and seasoned you almost don't need kindling or newspapers to light it. One less thing to move, eventually. 

She woke for a few moments just now to pull at the blanket covering her and ask what it was called but before I could tell her she'd dozed off again. It's like that now. 

I had a fretful and fairly sleepless night worrying she would need me and I was all the way upstairs and wouldn't hear her call out. I left the doors open so I'd hear better. But the doors open meant the light from there hall spilled in, ditto heat, so off went the quilt and on with the eye mask, but then my nose stuffed up and I had to open the window. Seemed to be an owl convention going on. I turned on my noise machine (rain and fountain apps) but again worried I wouldn't hear Peg so turned them off again.

At 6:30am I gave up and, fed up, got up and went to put on my Becket robe, a black watch tartan flannel full length pullover turtleneck job--but it wasn't in the closet. I'd put it in the wash when I left last August. Clearly someone had put it back in the wrong place, or, as I became convinced, having looked in every closet and cupboard in the house--stolen it. Though why anyone would do this, I don't know. While tearing through Peg's closet, she awoke, and when I went in she was sitting on the edge of her bed.

"What are you doing in there?"
"Someone's stolen my robe! My robe, my favorite robe is gone, Mother! Gone!"
We discussed where I had looked for it i.e. everywhere and how it was nowhere to be found.
"What should I do?" Peg asked, after a bit.
"About what? It's gone! Gone!"
"No. Now. What am I supposed to do?"

I suddenly realized she meant should she get up, go back to sleep, put her teeth in, empty her catheter, go to the loo--she DIDN'T KNOW. 

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I can't think." She looked up at me, helplessly. Somehow I managed, just, to forget about my robe for a second. 

"Well. It's morning, Mama," I said. "I guess you could go have some breakfast? How would that be?"

She mulled this over, then nodded, put her teeth in, but then couldn't stand up so I had to give her a boost. I think we need to get a hospital bed in there for her. Anyhow, once latched onto her walker, away she went to the kitchen, grabbing two bananas en route through the bar.

I found my robe, finally, in a drawer in the Tulip Room of all places, under the salmon pink sheets that go in there, no idea who put it there but thus clad, I returned to the kitchen, by which time Bonnie had arrived and took over the Pill Taking, Weighing, Blood Sugar and Oxygen Levels and in a far better humor than I would have.

I then reminded Peg for the nine hundredth time that luncheon guests were expected whereupon she began obsessing about her wardrobe so I got her changed and hair and eyebrows and lipstick on, chose jewelry, then took a shower myself, washed hair, and raced down to get lunch going, fire started, table set and was all ready for 12 noon when both sets of guests ring to say they're delayed. They arrived three hours later than planned, in the end, one due to oil trouble with the car and around Auburn and having to find a gas station and the other due to having inadvertently locked the keys and the dog in the car when stopping at a farm stand to buy a pie and maple syrup for me, as requested. So lunch turned into early dinner. They all just left. I don't know when to wake Peg to put her to bed. Decisions are getting me down.

________
OWL NEWS
Oslo was back on her perch today on the bird feeder by Bonnie's desk. I was looking at her, tapping the window to make her turn and give me her kinda sassy one-eyed wink, which she did, and we kept this up for quite some time, which I like to think we both enjoyed in our own way--until suddenly she whipped round, opened her wings, dive-bombed onto a squirrel and flew off with it, just as I was wondering if I should feed her a little something since she never appeared to have much luck catching anything and was in fact about to google owls to see if they ate chicken.

For the record, on the various bird feeders today we had: finches, chickadees, a tufted titmouse, a nuthatch, two doves, a woodpecker and a cardinal. I may have to re-think my hatred of all feathered things that fly. Seriously. I cannot believe I am spending even one second looking at birds eating seeds let alone caring about one species bullying another. This is what Becket does to you.

My friend Amy put this on my Facebook page.



Friday, March 13, 2015

DECLINE AND FALL

The fall involved me, not the 98 year old. Peg sat calmly at the butcher block making a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich on white toast and watching a movie called "Black Girls Are Beautiful" or something like that, while I slipped on the ice up in the rock garden after filling the bird feeder on the big pine tree and, unable to get my balance, charged on down the hill and landed on my butt. Up until then I was having quite a nice time. I realized I'd never in my life filled a bird feeder before. Peg has four here, and all needed replenishing. I also never knew all bird feeders are different, they all opened different ways. And getting the seed mixture out of bag and down into the feeder neatly, without spillage, appears to be something of an art, and one I have yet to master. Oslo the Owl flew off when I went outside but returned to Perch #3  (lower branch of the big maple) as soon as I brushed the snow off myself and hobbled back up into the porch.

Today I am upset for two reasons. Possibly more. Beginning with Peg telling me to shut up last night when I said goodnight to her. She asked when (her precious) Dominick was arriving today. I said he'd just called to confirm my request to be here at 9am. Her face crumbled and, tears in her eyes, she says:

"Why did he call YOU! I've been waiting all week for him to call!" 

I explained he was only answering my email, the one in which  I'd proposed staff hours this week. Dominick has been in NY since last Saturday, see, and Peg has been highly peeved by this.  

"He only works Wednesdays and Fridays, Mama, you can't expect him to be here every second. Anyhow we can't afford to have him here 24/7."

"YOU SHUT UP!" she says, and rolls over in bed.

Terri spent the night last night, in a room off the living room, to keep an eye on Peg, her first night back from rehab. Peg was fine but Heidi, Terri's beagle, woke Peg at 2 AM by standing next to the bed and howling. (Peg gives it treats all the time, much to Terri's annoyance.)

Then, this morning, in the dining room rubble, I happen upon a picture frame that's been torn apart, contents removed, and suddenly recognize it as something I'd had framed for Daddy for his birthday a year ago: the actual document detailing his release from Falstad concentration camp in Norway in 1942, all in German, and that I had discovered amongst his papers in the attic and taken back to England to have framed for £25. 

Peg has pulled off the backing and bent the frame oinher quest to get at the document to photocopy it FOR THE FUCKING BLUE BOOKS, which are no further along than they have ever been. I found the said document, just by chance in the appalling shambles of her desk to find she'd CUT IT UP. Cut down the 8 x 10 document, saved only the central typing, losing the heading and official stamp of the camp and the signature of the whatever he was, the oberstrumenfurherfuckknows. When I challenged her about this (when I could speak), she didn't even know what I was talking about at first. And she has no idea of the damage she's done. None whatsoever. I've been in contact with the curator of the Falstad Museum for a number of years--I'd given them a transcript of an interview I'd done with Odd's about five years ago about what life was like in the camp, and they were desperate for this document, which I said I had and would send a copy as soon as I got to Becket.  Peg finally FINALLY offered a million excuses including, my favorite: "It was taking up space!" meaning the frame. Please. 

I was in a state for most of the morning. Hard pressed to even hand her the half & half for her banana let alone give a fuck as to whether she took her pills or blood sugar count or blood pressure or pulse. Terri fortunately does all this. And weighs her. But Terri then left.

So I then got my mother into the shower, after cranking the laundry room temperature up to about 205 degrees, and emptying her catheter bag. After which Dominick massaged her feet for an hour and I gave her a bowl of soup and then we got her into the car and off we go to her urologist's appointment for a catheter change. Followed by a quick dash to the safety deposit to collect the bonds I'd mistakenly not collected the day before, then, yes, I'm afraid to say, Price Chopper again. Left Peg in the car. Came out, panicked, didn't see a head, thought she'd been stolen, then saw this tiny little doll-size figure with a red scarf over her head, way down in the passenger seat. Nap time.

My second upset today is that after working tirelessly to get Peg's video done for Comic Relief and getting it OUT THERE, and my friend Claire working tirelessly, and my friend Simon, and going through hoops trying to get footage of Peg last week at the nursing home for the intro--it's like, why did I bother? I mean it. Over 500 invites went out, plus Facebook postings, plus postings to fans--and how many people have gotten back to me to say "Wow, isn't she great !"? Four. And how many kind wonderful people have actually managed to donate on her GivingPage? Eight. Eight wonderful terrific people. I am discouraged, saddened, appalled and annoyed. 


Thursday, March 12, 2015

HOME AGAIN

Left Berkshire Place at 10am, Peg installed in the front seat at the Kia Fart or whatever it's called Hertz rental. First stop: Tina the hairdresser's. No mean feat getting Peg over the ice in Tina's parking lot and up the 4 rickety wooden steps. Had to lift Peg's left leg onto each step (doesn't bode well for Becket, trying not to think about it). Tina washed and blow-dried Peg's hair. It looks lovely. Peg hates it. Onwards to Becket. 

The drive is now mostly clear and the 6 foot icicles hanging off the roof have melted, leaving only the foot thick ice block running around the roofline like fringe, to crumble and drop down at will onto the heads of unsuspecting visitors, homeowners, or personnel. The way to do this is you get out of your car, then pause at the top of the stone steps leading down to the lake in front of the front door, look up, say "Jesus H", splash towards the door as fast as you can, key ready in outstretched hand,  flatten yourself against the stones while you haul open the screen/storm door, then slide into the safety zone within the doorframe and, with a sigh of relief, stick your key in the lock, then wonder why it doesn't fit, then see you're trying to use the car key so have to do the whole thing in reverse, retrieve the house key from the well in the Kia Fart, and go through it all again. Getting a 98 year old and her walker into the house in one piece complicates things but, am pleased to report, can be done.

I gave Peg curried leek and potato soup and crab cakes for lunch.  She is now snoozing on her bed, sideways. We had a small difference of opinion over lunch at the butcher block regarding RAI ITALIA, the Italian Satellite TV channel Tina the hairdresser says she loves and Peg then insisted on getting, for $12 a month.

Bonnie, at Peg's request, tunes into it. 

"It's all in Italian!"
"It's the Italian Channel, Mama. You wanted it."
"Why I did no such thing. Tina had it on the radio, NOT the television, she listens to Italian music and opera!"
"Yes, but you get the Channel through DISH satellite, on the TV."
"Where's the weather Channel?"

Bonnie tunes in the Weather Channel.

"It's in English!"
"It's the Weather Channel, Mama. It's always in English."
"Are all the other channels in Italian?"
"No, just the Italian Channel."
"Lets see what's on it."

We return to the Italian Channel. A cooking show.

"But it's in Italian, how can I understand it?"

__________________
It is not surprising, given my state of mind, that I did an entire Price Chopper shop yesterday afternoon without noticing I didn't have my purse with me. I got to the check out, stuff already bagged, went to pay: no bag. Panicked. Had I left it on the cart when I went racing down aisles to get stuff? I often leave the cart at the end of an aisle and run up and down for stuff because I can't be bothered to push it. Christ! And Price Chopper's full of workmen, the whole place is being remodeled---it's been stolen, I was positive. 

But of course, it wasn't. It was on the front seat of the car where I'd left it, carrying only my shopping list and car key into the store.

Peg has requested a disgusting recipe for Chicken Chow Mein she got out of the Life Magazine Cookbook about a hundred years ago. A can of this, a can of that...But she'll love it. And I will eat last night's delicious leftover eggplant provencale from Elizabeth's restaurant on East Street in Pittsfield.



Wednesday, March 11, 2015

A LIQUID MORNING

..beginning at 6:30am with the discovery that the pink scatter rug in front of the toilet in my bathroom felt wet. Had to go get my glasses. Discovered the rug was not just wet but soaking, as was half the bathroom green carpet. Toilet area dry, moisture seemed to be emanating from the direction of the radiator on that side of the bathroom. Radiator however seemed dry. I emailed Outside Bob. No reply. I phoned him. Woke him. Bob thinks it's ice melt from the roof. But not his day to come in. So I found boots and a torch and went up to the attic. I could hear some dripping going on, no question, but couldn't see exactly where, somewhere down the eaves and anyhow nowhere near the bathroom area below. Can't figure it out. The walls are tile, the floor under the (ugly mint green) carpet is terrazzo. 

So I changed into outside boots and opened the front door to have a look at the upper walls and discovered a lake had formed overnight. There had been merely a manageable puddle the day before. Now the three square yards between the house and the first stone step up to the driveway is underwater. Think Lake Superior. The ice and snow is dripping off the roof and has nowhere else to go, see, because there's still so much snow on the ground (also melting) that the water can't find it's normal run-off path down the hill. So I guess a path needs to be excavated through the drifts but as I said, not Bob's day to come in. So I am using the back garbage door to go in and out. And wellies in the bathroom.

As soon as I got to Berkshire Place, while taking off my coat I knocked Peg's ginger ale all over the floor, which is now sticky.

Soon after, Sherry, the Activities Director, made an appearance to ask if Peg wanted to come join Group Activities, Sherry who talks like a parody of an overly patient social worker talking to elderly halfwits. We declined the invite but accepted the quiz sheets so as to have a go ourselves.  One is entitled "In the Neighbourhood" and has 16 questions such as "Kids made these ride-on toys or 'bugs' out of old apple boxes attached to roller skates. What were they called?", the answer being "go-carts".  The other quiz is all about "Main Street, USA", answers being things like "parking meters", "fair", "parade", "town hall" and so on. Peg only managed about one third of the answers. I felt like crying. I understood, I SAW, in action, clearly, for the first time, how her brain was simply not working anymore, how the synapses weren't connecting. Scary. And not only couldn't she think of the word "hopscotch", when she finally put it together after my clues "Mama, what do you do on one foot when you jump but on one foot?" and "Ok, so what do you call those people who live in Scotland?" and so on--she couldn't even remember what the game was, although I know she played it endlessly in her youth, she's told me so, many times, and the loser, always her cousin Junior, had to then go do some penalty task that Peg set for him, such as jumping off the barn roof with bed springs tied to his feet (which I believe resulted in a broken collar bone).

Then it was Pill Time. They are now ground up in ice cream, except for two which are time-release, which are sneaked into the ice cream, and which Peg gags on. Always. Today she went further and threw them up, along with the banana and half & half she'd just had for breakfast, but it was so fast I didn't have time to grab the garbage can and so she puked into a plate of cold scrambled eggs and toast.

It's not even noon, who knows what wet delights the rest of the day will bring.

Oh. Peg's dream. 

"Did I tell you I dreamed of St. Peter?"
"No, what about him?"
"Well, I bawled him out! 'What's so great about Heaven?' I said to him. 'There's all these people up here with nothing to do! Nothing to eat, no jobs, no where to sit--I think you need to figure this thing out a little better!'"




Monday, March 9, 2015

WHILING AWAY THE HOURS

"Doctor, You've Got To Be Kidding", starring Sandra Dee and Celeste Holm. Seen it? This afternoon's feature film on Turner Classics. Peg lasted 30 seconds and is now kipping in the chair. We've had two walks today, to the elevator and back. Two meals. Cut-up banana with half & half and sugar. Minced barbecued chicken, mash, and grey spinach, followed by a strange version of strawberry shortcake using frozen strawberries and what looked like a bread roll. Peg ate the whipped cream.

Yesterday she asked me whether I thought her old secretary Toby Sutton was still alive. Actor Frank Sutton's widow (he was the sergeant in Gomer Pyle). Peg said their son taught at Dartmouth, so googled him, emailed him, he answered immediately, gave me Toby's number in NYC, said his mom would be thrilled to hear from Peg. So today Peg rang her and they chatted forever, Peg with tears in her eyes the whole time. Toby worked for her in the 1950s. She's now 91. And will be renting a car and driving up to see Peg "when the snow melts".

Outside Bob was at the house today, his tasks being to chip away the iceberg from outside the front door (ice on roof melting then freezing into a lake), re-set all the clocks to Daylight Savings, fix two lamps in my room, and start making copies of all the DVDs I made of Peg's TV shows in case Peg again decides to bury them in her office again, gone forever until someone discovers them in a time capsule full of odd socks and catheter bags 500 years from now.

Terri has now arrived for the next shift so I now head to Berkshire Bank safety deposit box for bonds that have matured, then fill out the 900,000 forms and have a few arguments with bank managers who will want Peg in there to sign them herself in front of them--I can see it all now. Then hit Price Chopper again, which is in the process of remodeling and you're roaming around behind ladders looking for stuff. Then home to continue shoveling. Peg's office crap, that is, not snow.

______________
Home now. Eating popcorn for dinner and I'm sorry to say the TV is on, CNN, after having had a short go with the Weather Channel for old time's sake while I cooked ford inner guests tomorrow. It's just noise while I work, am not really listening. Still immersed in final edits for DK's memoirs, Key Changes. Still getting info to the wonderful Claire in the UK who is putting together a video of Peg for Comic Relief. Should be done by tomorrow. Watch this space.

Meanwhile, have discovered boxes full of file folders filled with Peg's old business accounts dating back to 1940. What do I do with these? Oregon, methinks, straight into her archive. But need to go through it all first in case any hidden treasures are lurking.

I don't like Paul Newman popcorn. No taste. Not buying it again. (Not that it stops me from finishing it.)

Still a bit peculiar being in the house all by myself. I don't really mind it. In fact am finding it rather soothing, in a way. I miss hubby and son but not having a Man U game blaring nonstop in the background makes a nice change. 

Sunday, March 8, 2015

SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH PEG

Well when I say "park", think more like a corner room in a rehab facility overlooking Rte 7. My shift began at 4 PM. I arrived with, as requested, Peg's (freshly done) laundry, Laughing Cow cheese, Keebler Club Crackers, an emory board, a Coke, and Depends Fit-Flex Protection, Size Large.
Dinner this evening was onion soup and chicken salad sandwich on white bread cut in 4 triangles and garnished with, for some reason, a tortolini. Tapioca Pudding to follow. Peg ate 4 bites of everything.

She is now kipping next to me while we wait (she waits) for her favorite TV show to come on at 7pm, something called The Middle. There would appear to be 3 episodes in succession, which will bring us to 8:30, and then it's into night attire and beddy bye and I get to go home over the mountain in the dark again.

Needless to say, the volume is at its highest, and I think if you crane your necks and listen very closely, you can probably hear Peg's TV too, wherever you are. There are three other TVs on simultaneously in the three other occupied rooms on this corridor.

However, my headache began last night, when, after a local dinner party, snow and ice prevented me from returning to my cozy bed in Becket and I had to stay over in a neighbouring town in a friend's barn. Think barn converted to house, with no interior walls. In fact you can't get more open plan than this barn. There is one bedroom, which I insisted the owner retire to, while I climbed two flights of stairs about a mile away down the other end of the barn to a recently built third level, in which sits a stair master machine, a rowing machine, a child's desk, and a single bed you can't sit up in or your head hits the oak roof beams. 

Could I sleep? No. At first it was too quiet, not counting the Australian shepherd's toenails on the wooden floors tick tick ticking away, back and forth and up and down, clearly pissed off by my presence in the upper balcony and trip trip tripping up to stare at me, chin on bed, about every twenty seconds. So I turned the other way. Then remembered the Noise Machine on my phone ("Gentle Rain" mixed with "Fountain") but it ran out of juice in about half an hour and I hadn't brought my charger (or indeed toothbrush), not having planned on staying over.  Then mine host's snores,  from Level Two, North Wing, began reverberating around the barn. Then I had to pee about 12 times (two flights down). Then decided to put a chair across my staircase to keep the dog out, which started whining. Then it was too hot but didn't know how to open the window, which in any event was up at the top of a long step ladder, which I thought I probably should't try on my own. Then it was too light, for some reason the outside floodlights were on. So I  tied my scarf over my eyes. Then the dog saw or smelled a coyote and went demented. Then I took half a sleeping pill. Didn't work. 

I was up at 6, in a filthy mood, it was snowing to beat the band, and I was on the back road to Becket sliding my way home ten minutes later.

Where I threw open the drapes covering the doors to the front porch and an owl flew out and up to the big maple tree, where it sat until I left, four hours later. Rather than being any sort of omen, I now understand it to have it's eye on the flocks of chickadees and juncos that frequent the bird feeders. I then took 12 pictures of it with my phone, like Bonnie did, all of them looking like bad photos of branches as seen through mesh squares and you can't tell it's an owl.

I then pitched a big container of 2 week old short ribs out, asparagus, and scalloped potatoes, also in fridge growing stuff, answered 300 emails,  signed checks left for me because Peg is not up to it, tried to kip, couldn't, showered, ate some cheese, and headed to Marshalls on the Pittsfield-Lenox road to buy a suitcase because mine died, and then to CVS for Depends, loudly explaining they were for my mother.

The bad news is that The Middle is not on, because it's Sunday, and we will have to move on to Turner Classics or the Weather Channel.




Saturday, March 7, 2015

PEG-SITTING

Noon. On my fourth coffee of the day, one good one from home, three crap ones from the kitchenette here at Berkshire Place. For a nursing home, it's nice. Brand new. No smell of urine-soaked carpets yet or strange stains on things. Wood floors in Peg's room, no nasty lino. Lovely view of Main St. in Pittsfield (well, as lovely as it's possible to be), quiet, and Peg only 1 of 4 patients here on the rehab floor which can hold 14 and which only just opened last month. I got here at 7 AM. My "shift" ends at 3, when Terri comes in. Am trying to save some dosh by taking over as much of the Peg Sitting as possible. I can't tell if Peg is pleased about this. She asks where "whatshisname" is, about three times an hour. She means Dominick, whose name she has never been able to remember. Dominick who is only scheduled to do Wednesdays and Fridays, but who has been coming in every day, I find out, because she's been asking for him and makes them ring him to come in. He's fun and lively and gives her foot rubs, which he used to do for my father, I recall.

 I am not fun and lively and don't do foot rubs.  

We watched a Frederick March movie until 9 about a woman (Florence Eldridge) who had a fatal brain tumor. Then I got Peg washed and dressed. She weighs 109. Her limbs are bones with a bit of flesh hanging off. She ate a cut up half a banana and fresh cantaloupe for breakfast, then the other half of the banana with some half and half. Three sips of Chocolate Ensure. Her pills crushed up in Lactaid vanilla ice cream. Then I got her to the toilet. Helped wipe her bum.

She's now in a chair, hair combed, earrings and lipstick on, kipping. After talking non stop for two hours, all stories I'd heard, stuff I knew. I behaved well. I nodded and laughed and tutted at appropriate moments. Aunt Frank falling into the furnace (it wasn't on). Peg being sent to Aunt Aggie's funeral to represent the family, aged 8.  Peg rushing next door to Mrs. Greenslit's, aged 10, to discover the chief of police lying on the bed with his throat cut. Macabre Anecdotes Inc.

All I really wanted was to go curl up on a bed in a vacant room. 

Managed to get out for dinner last night and was home in bed by 9:30. But couldn't sleep. 

Bonnie's big news is the owl is back. Terri's news is she's moving apartments to somewhere cheaper and Peg upset because Terri not moving into the Becket house. 

That's about it for Staff News.

Ah. She's awake. Lunch has arrived. Meat loaf and gravy and carrots. Her favorite. Lemon pudding and whipped cream.

Will now return to being sociable. Sort of. 

Am trying not to be annoyed with her. When I was shoveling out her office yesterday afternoon I came across the 32 DVDs Alex and I had spent a month transferring from VHS cassettes--all Peg's old TV shows. They had been stored, carefully, in the cupboards in the den along with all the other archive material for Oregon. Peg, having been told not to touch anything in there, that it was all in order and catalogued, had gotten into them. The DVDs were strewn all over her table by her bed, some out of their protective covers, all buried under the usual mountain of magazine subscription reminders, socks, catheter bag ties, earrings, emory boards and so on.





Thursday, March 5, 2015

ALONE IN BECKET

A first. But not as unpleasant as I'd imagined. At least, so far. Maybe I was just tired. Returned here about 8 PM yesterday after seeing Peg at Berkshire Place. House cold and dark. Convinced those 6 foot icicles hanging off the roof way above the front door were going to come down and spear me.
All curtains drawn, inside. Kind of spooky but as I said, too tired to care. Bonnie had my bed made with the cozy flannels, which lived up to all expectations.

When I arrived at Logan after the world's bumpiest flight--the kind where you're thrown in the air; I'd had 3 seats to myself so was lying down trying to kip, with TWO seat belts around me, like being on an ambulance gurney which itself was on a trampoline someone else was jumping on--there was a message from Terri, to call her, Terri who has hardly left Peg's side. Seems Peg woke from a  nap unable to breathe and was desperate for Terri to ring me and tell me she was dying.

Just what you need to hear driving on the Mass Pike at night in a snowstorm.

They did  a chest x-ray, Peg has a low grade infection in her lungs: pneumonia. So is now on antibiotics.

Anyhow by the time I arrived she was sitting up in the lobby, hair freshly done, pretty jumper on, and looking like she had when I'd last seen her. And repeating herself all over the place with the stories we'd heard nine thousand times, the only difference being she no longer remembers names or places or punch lines, so the stories have lost a bit of their punch. Also, who asked? But she can't stay in the present for long, anymore. It used to be about 50-50, this jumping around from the here and now to something that happened in, say, 1934.  Yesterday it became so relentless that after about an hour of it I was almost sorry I'd come. What a nice thing for a daughter to say.

Am going in today after Bonnie gets here. She's working on Peg's taxes. I need to sign about two dozen pay checks for staff, too, since Peg hasn't been up to it. Money continuing to flow out of this place at an alarming rate. Plus more General Stuff has accumulated in my absence, much like the 10 foot snowdrifts outside the house. Depressing. I will have to roll up my sleeves later. Peg's quarters are the usual shambles, worse than I've ever seen. Also, all the Christmas decorations are still up (or were, until I yanked everything down about an hour ago), decorations which are clearly new, because I had taken everything to Goodwill last summer.

Onwards to Berkshiure Place, via Wal Mart to buy a new phone charger for my USA cell I seem to have lost. 

Monday, March 2, 2015

READY TO ROLL (HOPEFULLY)

Tried ringing Peg three times yesterday, she was either sleeping, nauseous, or had visitors or physio person in the room. The Gay Brigade's there every day. God love'em. Spoke to Peg today, finally. She cried. Terri says she has photos of me all around her room. I suddenly realized my mother's been putting on a brave front all these months, saying she's fine, I am not to worry, she is being well looked after, that I should stay and do what I have to do, my work in important---I don't think she's been fine at all. You miss your child, don't you. Especially if you're old and sick and not long for this earth. And you do so even if your child has a tendency to be impatient and short-tempered and full of angst and recriminations and better ideas. I feel badly when I hear her so tearful, saying how much she misses me. I feel the pressure is on again. But it's better than having her not miss me, I guess. 

Today I edited the press release for DK's memoirs, then went through the audio book, paragraph by paragraph, trying to find 1 -2 minute sections for podcasts "that show DK and the book at it's best" (the directive). Got a few more quotes from celebs in, for the back cover and the press release. Walked the dog. Went to the store for cucumber, salad and scallions, came back for my wallet, went again, they only had salad. Came back, got the car, went to the Anchor to get the sign laminated that I made for the gate that says PLEASE CLOSE GATE OR MAD DOG ESCAPES, and for cucumber and scallions. No scallions. Came home, fuck the scallions. Not driving to Southwold at 5 PM. It will be Sezchuan duck minus scallions.

Still more work to do before bed tonight before finalizing press release. This is hard. Am glad I don't do this every day.

Bonnie saw an owl on the windowledge in Becket and then it stayed on a branch by the house all day Saturday and Sunday. I'm finding this exciting for some reason, normally I don't give a toss about birds, in fact openly dislike them as a rule--but an owl. Hey. Am scared now to look up what seeing an owl signifies in Native American folklore in case it's something sinister and that I should maybe not hear. 

Off tomorrow, Alex kindly driving me to Heathrow (well, am paying him £35). Not packed yet. Soon, soon.