I dreamed I washed my mother's feet.
She passed away about six weeks ago and in the dream she seemed so glad to have me do this for her - the feet were very dirty as if she'd been walking, walking a lot! Barefoot!
Enjoying herself, I could tell, she had the silliest grin on her face. She didn't dialogue with me, she just let me scrub the dirt off.
I realize, in a dream, I am everything in my dream. I am my mother, I am the dirt, I am the feet, and the grin and the water; I am also the person giving.
I have not found much information yet about the dream meaning of washing your mother's feet. I know the rite of foot washing has religious symbolism: a humble attitude by one participant to another; taking away grief, sadness, and sorrow; an act of giving comfort and love, as well as being able to accept the ministrations of another.
Showing posts with label My Mom is So Funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Mom is So Funny. Show all posts
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 8, 2012
I've Made Peace with the Gay Philosopher
Are you familiar with this character, this painting, "The Gay Philosopher" by Henry Major?He was a ubiquitous presence in my life growing up - he scared me. Grandma had to move this painting, actually a tintogravure of the original, from the upstairs bedrooms to the dining room because I couldn't sleep with him hanging there.
Grandma hated it, too, but I didn't know that until I brought mom home to live with me.
I knew she was crazy about the painting, though, so I brought it here with her, and hung it where she could see it with all the other pictures and memories; memories of her wedding, her children, holidays, family and friends.
She loved telling the nurses and aides and volunteers her stories, her life history, cataloged in those pictures, as well sharing her delight in a snapshot of her life, held in the painting of Uncle Herman.
“Uncle Herman?” ?!!? !! Yes, I remember her calling The Gay Philosopher that, and I do remember that I thought he was a real relative, and how much that dismayed me. The man is a bum – a slope shouldered, wrinkled coat, squashed hat hobo, but with a string tie and a sassy single-bud yellow boutonniere.
There was a real uncle of mom’s in the family stories, a sort of hobo, Uncle Bill, a transient who had left her a few dollars and a trunk full of stuff her kids could paw through in the 1950s; was this him?
If I hadn't brought her here, if I hadn't had all these pictures, and that print, I probably wouldn't have heard half her stories.
I thought I had, but we didn't get along most of my life. I was lucky to have those last two years with her.
Mom had bought The Gay Philosopher from The Minature Shop, 526 Union Street, in downtown Seattle; as a young woman she was a bookkeeper for a mortgage company - it was a Father's Day present - and Grandpa loved it. He and mom shared a finely tuned sense of humor that often had me laughing into silliness.
If you look into the eyes of “Uncle Herman” you can see what they knew – that teasing look and sly smile inviting you into the joke, the brilliantly-honed edge of their sarcasm and satire, the cutting remarks that were, nonetheless, harmless but hilarious to family and friends.
The solid brush strokes and strong red coat but muted colors of orange and yellow and brown and black create an unassuming portrait of this gentleman who doesn't worry even as he doesn't seem to labor at anything.
The bum was a fine character in Grandpa's repertoire of scalawags. Hallelujah! I'm a Bum was a song he sang to us all the time. In my mind, The Gay Philosopher is the Hallelujah Bum in Grandpa's song.
I'm positive there were two paintings by Henry Major in the house - but no one agrees with me on that memory. I called the other creepy painting, "The Sergeant," because this one had "Major" on it (I was five, I didn't know about artist signatures, so what can I say?).
I had no idea its real name was "The Gay Philosopher" until I hung it up here - the story line is attached to the back, titled, "Why Worry."
Henry Major was born in 1889, ten years before Grandpa, and died in 1948 before the age of 60. He came from Hungary, and worked in Vienna and London as a caricaturist before coming to America in the 1920s. He took up painting in his later years. He was buried in the dunes on the East Coast. I don't know the copyright date for The Gay Philosopher – but today I like it.
I think mom was more like him than I ever imagined, certainly more than what she could imagine she would become, at the time she brought it home to Grandpa.
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Aug 14, 2011
My Mom is So Funny, page 6, Reunion
Mom got a phone call from a classmate, Mary Alice, who had attended the All School Reunion this weekend back in their old home town. Mom & her classmates are so up in years this small-town school doesn't hold a reunion for the class year, but for all students who wish to attend.
We heard the only ones from her class there were Marge, Mary Alice, and Edith.
I said I had never heard of Edith before (I thought I knew all her classmates) she said I wouldn't want to know her. This shocks me a bit because my mother, albeit adroit with her sharp tongue, has always been polite about people. She said Edith has no personality. I don't know what that means. More surprising, this is someone mom has remembered over all these years yet never mentioned.
Living with my mother the last year-and-a-half, I've learned more gossip about my parents' cohorts than I ever imagined possible.
She is so animated and happy tonight hearing about the reunion - expressing her regret to her friend that she now lives with me and could not attend. I was happy that she knows where she's at - that we couldn't go, but then she asked Mary Alice if the chairman had read her letter.
I asked what letter is that?
She says she wrote a letter on her computer to the chair, and had mailed it, but she wasn't surprised that he hadn't read it because the only people he cared about were the football players. Now I'm wondering what that implies.
Somehow, I think the social idiosyncrasies we are concerned about these days are not new.
Perhaps more scandalous in days gone past, perhaps not; it appears they were just tolerated a different way.
We heard the only ones from her class there were Marge, Mary Alice, and Edith.
I said I had never heard of Edith before (I thought I knew all her classmates) she said I wouldn't want to know her. This shocks me a bit because my mother, albeit adroit with her sharp tongue, has always been polite about people. She said Edith has no personality. I don't know what that means. More surprising, this is someone mom has remembered over all these years yet never mentioned.
Living with my mother the last year-and-a-half, I've learned more gossip about my parents' cohorts than I ever imagined possible.
She is so animated and happy tonight hearing about the reunion - expressing her regret to her friend that she now lives with me and could not attend. I was happy that she knows where she's at - that we couldn't go, but then she asked Mary Alice if the chairman had read her letter.
I asked what letter is that?
She says she wrote a letter on her computer to the chair, and had mailed it, but she wasn't surprised that he hadn't read it because the only people he cared about were the football players. Now I'm wondering what that implies.
Somehow, I think the social idiosyncrasies we are concerned about these days are not new.
Perhaps more scandalous in days gone past, perhaps not; it appears they were just tolerated a different way.
Aug 7, 2011
My Mom is So Funny, page 5
“Did anyone tell you they love you today?” I’m on my way out the door for a long motorcycle ride, saying goodbye to Mom. I ask her this every day.
Just a habit I have. I learned from my grandparents when I was 19 and very, very ill, being told I was loved made a tremendous difference at a difficult time.
My parents were too caught up in their problems to tell us they loved us – I’m sure they did but it wasn’t verbal and there weren’t any hugs, wah-wha-wah. In a past, less-charitable frame of mind I have believed they were both too selfish and self-centered – which has some basis, since they were both “only children,” coddled; their parents did an excellent job indulging and loving us grandkids, though, and well made up for it. A little bit goes a l-o-o-o-n-g way.
“Did anyone tell you they love you today?”
“No, probably not gonna happen.”
“I love you, Mom.”
Just a habit I have. I learned from my grandparents when I was 19 and very, very ill, being told I was loved made a tremendous difference at a difficult time.
My parents were too caught up in their problems to tell us they loved us – I’m sure they did but it wasn’t verbal and there weren’t any hugs, wah-wha-wah. In a past, less-charitable frame of mind I have believed they were both too selfish and self-centered – which has some basis, since they were both “only children,” coddled; their parents did an excellent job indulging and loving us grandkids, though, and well made up for it. A little bit goes a l-o-o-o-n-g way.
“Did anyone tell you they love you today?”
“No, probably not gonna happen.”
“I love you, Mom.”
My Mom is So Funny, page 4
I woke at 5 AM to a squirt of Canadian Geese staging a flight – there were 17 in formation squawking out of the northeast – young ones have about two months left to build flight muscles for the long trip south. Good stuff, watching from my bed, the backyard trees bent by a strong wind, seeing the geese push against it; I like dramatic climate.
Mom has a huge vocabulary for wind and weather. I always thought she was a weather-witch – some people are just sensitive. Once the sky darkened, the air got thick – nearly green – she shivered, “it needs to rain to break the spell.”
She says, “Red sails at night, sailors’ delight; red sails in morning, sailors take warning,” and, “a ring around the moon means rain will come tomorrow.”
Sunshine and heat melt her, she reads whitecaps on the sea, she has no use for ice and snow; she loves rainbows, who doesn't?
I showed her a picture I took, “see the wind,” I said; her answer, “You can’t see the wind!” But she watches anyway, every day.
Mom has a huge vocabulary for wind and weather. I always thought she was a weather-witch – some people are just sensitive. Once the sky darkened, the air got thick – nearly green – she shivered, “it needs to rain to break the spell.”
She says, “Red sails at night, sailors’ delight; red sails in morning, sailors take warning,” and, “a ring around the moon means rain will come tomorrow.”
Sunshine and heat melt her, she reads whitecaps on the sea, she has no use for ice and snow; she loves rainbows, who doesn't?
I showed her a picture I took, “see the wind,” I said; her answer, “You can’t see the wind!” But she watches anyway, every day.
Aug 3, 2011
My Mom is So Funny, page 3
We are training a new aide, a certified nurse assistant (CNA) for EM, my quadriplegic, 85-year-old mother who came to live with me 18 months ago.
Our new CNA is from Nigeria, so I see her pause and translate in her mind the things I tell her to do, or details about EM's care or preferences. I admire people who can come to a new country, learn a new language, and I assume a new profession. There are enough challenges in daily life without adding that whole lot to it.
I'm also looking forward to learning about her and what brings her here, and how she lived before.
EM is reticent with the new aide. People with her diagnosis (multiple sclerosis) I've been told, have difficulty with transitions, but I don't believe it, I think my mother is just stubborn, sedentary and set in her ways. She's always been like this. She also has a fast tongue which is how she tests you.
If you don't get the joke, if you can't take the insult, she'll just ignore you.
Well. We don't have a choice about it when aides change out. The agencies who provide the helpers through Medicare funding make the choices about rotating their people. I am grateful for the help because EM cannot be left alone anymore; it's a long story of why I do not want to put her back in a nursing home - I'll save that for another day.
So EM argues with me today in front of our new CNA. She insists the woman will get along with her, or she'll get along with me, but not with both of us. She's telling me to buzz off.
I'm wondering why she is being crotchety when she has refused to eat much the last few days. A family member had a birthday yesterday and well, we kinda-sorta had ice cream and cake over several days, so EM is full of what she prefers: sweets. Of course she doesn't want real food.
Our new aide is good, though, coaxing "Mum" into eating one more bite of breakfast egg, one more spoonful of soup at lunch.
When it is time for her to leave, she says goodbye, I'll see you tomorrow, and mom says,
"Is that a promise or a threat?"
"A promise or a threat!" Our new CNA, Gloria, laughs.
Her eyes sparkle and I know she's going to work out fine.
Our new CNA is from Nigeria, so I see her pause and translate in her mind the things I tell her to do, or details about EM's care or preferences. I admire people who can come to a new country, learn a new language, and I assume a new profession. There are enough challenges in daily life without adding that whole lot to it.
I'm also looking forward to learning about her and what brings her here, and how she lived before.
EM is reticent with the new aide. People with her diagnosis (multiple sclerosis) I've been told, have difficulty with transitions, but I don't believe it, I think my mother is just stubborn, sedentary and set in her ways. She's always been like this. She also has a fast tongue which is how she tests you.
If you don't get the joke, if you can't take the insult, she'll just ignore you.
Well. We don't have a choice about it when aides change out. The agencies who provide the helpers through Medicare funding make the choices about rotating their people. I am grateful for the help because EM cannot be left alone anymore; it's a long story of why I do not want to put her back in a nursing home - I'll save that for another day.
So EM argues with me today in front of our new CNA. She insists the woman will get along with her, or she'll get along with me, but not with both of us. She's telling me to buzz off.
I'm wondering why she is being crotchety when she has refused to eat much the last few days. A family member had a birthday yesterday and well, we kinda-sorta had ice cream and cake over several days, so EM is full of what she prefers: sweets. Of course she doesn't want real food.
Our new aide is good, though, coaxing "Mum" into eating one more bite of breakfast egg, one more spoonful of soup at lunch.
When it is time for her to leave, she says goodbye, I'll see you tomorrow, and mom says,
"Is that a promise or a threat?"
"A promise or a threat!" Our new CNA, Gloria, laughs.
Her eyes sparkle and I know she's going to work out fine.
Jul 28, 2011
My Mom is So Funny, page 2
Some days it is fun to sit with her to get her started talking - days are long for me, so concentrating on getting her dinner and into bed is exactly the same process it would be with a preschooler. A bright and busy preschooler, let's say, Calvin, of Calvin & Hobbes fame.
Just to be clear, it should be important to balance nutrition with nurturing, right?
So I ask her about her day.
She explains to me a problem she is having with one of her aides.
Tonight, she says about my daughter, "I am not that girl's grandma - she keeps calling me Grandma. "
I say, she's my daughter, so, she is your granddaughter.
EM (my mother) says, "I am not your mother "
I say, that's good! then DingDong is not my brother.
She's laughing her head off, she gets the joke, says, "you'd like that!"
I say, see, two can play that game.
She's laughing so hard, then she says,
"I'm not that girl's grandma."
Just to be clear, it should be important to balance nutrition with nurturing, right?
So I ask her about her day.
She explains to me a problem she is having with one of her aides.
Tonight, she says about my daughter, "I am not that girl's grandma - she keeps calling me Grandma. "
I say, she's my daughter, so, she is your granddaughter.
EM (my mother) says, "I am not your mother "
I say, that's good! then DingDong is not my brother.
She's laughing her head off, she gets the joke, says, "you'd like that!"
I say, see, two can play that game.
She's laughing so hard, then she says,
"I'm not that girl's grandma."
Jul 27, 2011
This category is: My Mom is So Funny.
My mind has been afire tonight - Mom (who doesn't recognize her granddaughter, my daughter) wanted me to go through one of the picture albums the two have been putting together.
It is amazingly sorted to pictures of me and my grandparents. My sister had sent three large boxes of pictures from Mom's house last year, and volunteers and granddaughter have been working on this project, filling albums, for a while. She seemed to be able to gather memories and identify people in a way tonight that was more vibrant than it has been in some time. She was full of beans. Fiesty. We joked and laughed and made fun of the posers in the pictures. When she gets going, she makes me laugh harder than anyone can. Snark & Snide & So Refined.
Tonight Mom asked something about my paycheck. I said why, do you need some money? She says, only a couple of hundred. I said, why, did my brother call?"
She cracked up. Then she said I was mean. It is a long-standing joke about my ne'er-do-well brother. The woman is very witty - the original sharp tongue.
She may have an entirely non-functional body but her mind is cunning.
And cutting.
My mother doesn't brush her teeth in the morning, she sharpens her tongue, a stiletto tongue. This has been known to me at least since my first day in kindergarten.
I inherited my mother about 18 months ago, when my dad was dying. She is a quadriplegic due to multiple sclerosis - I am positive she has lived so long due to dad's diligent, attentive care.
Why he thought I was the proper choice of several offspring to take her on is beyond my ken. Mom & I never got along - no love lost here - but, we seem to manage now. Wonder of wonders.
Caregivers take on a hero's quest.
It is impossible, with no reward.
People will make up stuff about how blessed you are, but in their minds the real thought is, "glad it is him/her and not me."
Fact is, my parents have done me a favor, getting me to take this on, but more about that at another time.
This category, My Mom is So Funny, is going to be a blog chronicling her witticisms, but mostly it is about caregivers, caregiving, and any issue associated with eldercare, that is, the whole panoply of managing America's aging population.
The whole situation is just too crazy: the most reasonable thing to do, instead of growing infirm in the U. S. of A., is drive off a cliff.
It is amazingly sorted to pictures of me and my grandparents. My sister had sent three large boxes of pictures from Mom's house last year, and volunteers and granddaughter have been working on this project, filling albums, for a while. She seemed to be able to gather memories and identify people in a way tonight that was more vibrant than it has been in some time. She was full of beans. Fiesty. We joked and laughed and made fun of the posers in the pictures. When she gets going, she makes me laugh harder than anyone can. Snark & Snide & So Refined.
Tonight Mom asked something about my paycheck. I said why, do you need some money? She says, only a couple of hundred. I said, why, did my brother call?"
She cracked up. Then she said I was mean. It is a long-standing joke about my ne'er-do-well brother. The woman is very witty - the original sharp tongue.
She may have an entirely non-functional body but her mind is cunning.
And cutting.
My mother doesn't brush her teeth in the morning, she sharpens her tongue, a stiletto tongue. This has been known to me at least since my first day in kindergarten.
I inherited my mother about 18 months ago, when my dad was dying. She is a quadriplegic due to multiple sclerosis - I am positive she has lived so long due to dad's diligent, attentive care.
Why he thought I was the proper choice of several offspring to take her on is beyond my ken. Mom & I never got along - no love lost here - but, we seem to manage now. Wonder of wonders.
Caregivers take on a hero's quest.
It is impossible, with no reward.
People will make up stuff about how blessed you are, but in their minds the real thought is, "glad it is him/her and not me."
Fact is, my parents have done me a favor, getting me to take this on, but more about that at another time.
This category, My Mom is So Funny, is going to be a blog chronicling her witticisms, but mostly it is about caregivers, caregiving, and any issue associated with eldercare, that is, the whole panoply of managing America's aging population.
The whole situation is just too crazy: the most reasonable thing to do, instead of growing infirm in the U. S. of A., is drive off a cliff.
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