Saturday, January 2, 2016

What to Do? Malingering Cat Ruins Christmas

While we're waiting for our staff musicians to tune their instruments...(*1),

Success is the best revenge.

...let's explore the origins of this quote (*2)

* Footnotes
(1) ...that is, killing time until the ad on Youtube finishes.

(2)Attributed to the Englishman George Herbert, a 17th century Anglican priest who also made significant literary contributions, the same sentiment is also expressed in a French proverb.

The exact wording of the George Herbert quote is:  "Right living is the best revenge." With the virtuous "right living" replacing the comparatively vulgar "success," it does indeed sound more sermonesque. If I really wanted revenge on someone, I'd mentally give them the back of my hand with a curl of my lip and a haughty "Le succès à tout prix." 

And then I'd show them. (**1) 

"Ahoy there, all my imaginary friends following me & my blog!
Hop right in!
All aboard?"
[Cracks whip.]
"Get ready for the ride of my life."

Friday, January 1, 2016

...but Your Mom Declines?

...Meanwhile, a 6 hour and 40 minute flight away my 87-year-old mother, formerly smart-as-a-whip, sits in a chair all day, probably asleep, and if she's not asleep, she isn't doing much of anything else. She can no longer read. Books had been her life-long joy, even when she'd gotten to the point where she read the same page over, and over, and over. Is she even thinking, I wonder, and if so, about what?   

Last fall, five years after the initial Alzheimer's diagnosis, my younger sister (with whose family she lives) was told to expect the end in six months or less.Last night, my sister texted that Mom's just had another major decline, and that death could come in a day or so, two weeks at the outside.

She may not recognize me, and more than likely, won't even acknowledge there's anyone in the room with her. I might fly out, stay longer than I think I should, fly back home before mom dies, and then have to turn right around the next day and fly out for the funeral. Your mom only dies once.I'm going to ask Dollar-Wise Husband about it. Can we afford this? I don't got the money, honey, but I got the time. Which is why I don't got the money.
I am uncharacteristically busy in the kitchen this fine New Year's Day 2016. My two grown children and husband can easily find me if they want to visit. It's just the four of us here, and everyone's in his or her room, doing his or her own thing, maybe sleeping.

I cleared all the crap off the dining room table and laid a lacy white tablecloth out. I am working on a special "can't tell the difference" vegan quiche for my daughter, who will be going back to grad school tomorrow.

Cooking, writing.... waiting.

What to do When Your Cat Rallies...

To anthropomorphize my cat: she's a smart-as-a-whip pill-cheeking 82-year-old grande dame whose appetite--if that is to be used as a gauge--while still dainty, is no longer indicative of imminent death. The pink flecks on the hairs of her chinny-chin-chin are testament to the fierce twice-daily battles she's been having with me, her amoxicillin-pushing live-in caregiver. 

The cantankerous old lady...eventually allowed as to as how she started feeling better a few days into the antibiotic ordeal, but there's no way she's going to let that bossy IreneAthena know she's been convinced. There's still a big show of running away in protest after the dropper is emptied, but she's to be found back in her favorite chair within the hour.

So the med-time struggles continue, but the medicine does go down. The amoxicillin bottle is nearly three quarters empty. The vile vials of denamarin and metronidazole, however, sit nearly untouched in the refrigerator because: no way, no how. And, she notes with smug satisfaction, she's none the worse for it.