I didn't have to get up before the sun this morning.
No one had to go to work.
No one had to go to school, because it's a holiday.
Meaning my eyes did not open until 8.45 am.
And only then because Frankie and Tikka's bladders were belting out Ave Maria.
Yesterday started with Quaker meeting.
In the afternoon, I continued reading the thesis-I-was-asked-to-read-as-second-reader-at- the-last-minute.
And then I began the preparations for Easter dinner.
At least my end of the preparations.
My father brought the ham.
My cousin brought the most glorious fresh fruit salad, AND shared a tidbit of knowledge for any one interested in keeping their fruit salad fresh and crisp as the day it was made.
Diet 7-Up.
Once you're salad is made, pour Diet 7-Up over it.
The flavour stays the same. The soda keeps it fresh.
I was so excited to learn this!
Because summer = fresh fruit salad in this house.
Especially this summer.
The Summer of Simply for Life.
Dinner . . .right. . . .
I was in charge of venue and vegetables.
New potatoes, green salad, steamed broccoli, brown sugar carrots rounded out a wonderful, sumptuous Easter dinner.
Meredyth, who never misses a family dinner, more for the food and less for the company I should add, was in attendance.
Alas, Keith and Em were both working.
My cousin and her husband, along with my dad and Mum meant a full table and lots of wonderful conversation before, during and after dinner.
My other cousin, from the US called, and my mother was absolutely thrilled to talk with her.
She was more excited by hearing her niece's voice than anything else that day.
I love my family. . . .I am truly blessed.
Stephen and my father were in charge of collecting Mum from the Nursing home.
I was in charge of returning her.
The one thing I wish for more than anything during these dinners is that my mother would just relax and enjoy herself.
I'm sure she does enjoy herself to the extent that she's able.
But once the meal is over, dessert and coffee have been served, my mother begins her campaign to go back to the nursing home.
Especially if dinner has taken us anywhere near seven pm.
In spite of the nurses telling her to relax and have a good time, in spite of me reminding her that the nurses have told her to relax and have a good time, my mother is convinced that if she doesn't get back to the nursing home by 7.30 at the absolute latest, the nurses will withhold her pills.
Don't even ask me how she ever came to that conclusion.
Last evening, at 6.50 she turned to me, and mouthed, "Take me back to the Grove."
She always, always, always sits beside me at our family get togethers, so she didn't have far to turn, nor did she actually have to engage her vocal cords, as I have become somewhat adept at my-mother-lip-reading.
She's mouthed these same words to me from inside the car.
She's inside the car. I'm in the kitchen looking out the window.
She was angry because I didn't go and pick and her up, sending Keith and Stephen so I could finish preparing dinner.
I mouthed back NO!
Two can play at that game.
Knowing she had stayed as long as she was going to stay, I began the preparations for her leaving.
Which mostly consists of getting Stephen and my Dad to help me get her out of the house.
My mother has, among many other things, spinal stenosis.
Very, very painful.
It means that she walks at almost a 90 degree angle, and her back is shaped like a leaning-to-the-left-S.
I can help her if all we have to negotiate are flat surfaces, because she can walk with the assistance of her walker, for short periods of time.
However, we, of course, have three steps leading to our front door, a cement block walkway with a wonky block that has started to tip downwards into the three steps that lead to the driveway.
Six steps we walk or run or are dragged by the dogs everyday without a second thought.
But for my mother, those steps are the equivalent of Mt. Everest.
And she can't use her walker to negotiate them.
So it's me on one side, Stephen on the other and Mer moving the walker to all it's appointed places.
Mer?
Not Dad?
He was in the bathroom.
Getting her out of the house and to the car is only the first step.
Next is getting her in the car and buckled in.
When we first started taking her out, way back when she was still in the hospital, getting her into the car was absolutely the most challenging task.
But now, we've done it so often, that we actually have a routine.
Like dancers, we know the next move the other will make, thus ensuring a smooth and hopefully comfortable sitting in the seat.
And then, finally, we are ready to go "back to the Grove" where everything begins again.
But in reverse.
Minus the steps.
And with the wheelchair, which waits patiently for Mum in the nursing home foyer.
Once we were back, she gives me a list of directives:
Light over bed on.
Bathroom curtain drawn back.
PJs on.
Clothes laid out for tomorrow.
Stocking feet only rinsed with warm water and hung to dry in preparation for tomorrow.
Medication nurse informed she has returned, and if possible, cajole, bully or otherwise force said nurse to bring Mum her medications RIGHT NOW.
Cup filled with cranberry juice only to her Sharpie drawn line on the side of the cup.
Warm blanket from the blanket over to wrap around her shoulders, as her always 30 degree Celsius room is too cold.
Then, I check the TV for her the end of Antiques Roadshow and the following All Creatures Great and Small only to find out it's a PBS Membership Drive, meaning her shows are not on.
Once she was settled, everything done, her wanting for absolutely nothing other than her pills, which were something I simply was not getting for her.
One Sunday evening, just a few weeks ago, the medication nurse had the audacity, in my mother's mind, to start the medication at the other end of the hallway.
8.15 and my mother still hadn't had her pills.
I had to go to the bathroom and when I returned, I saw my mother wheeling furiously to the med cart, and demanded the nurse give her her pills because she normally gets them at 7.30 and now it's 8.15.
My mother has become institutionalized.
But I was not, under any circumstances, harassing the nurse for Mum's meds.
She can do that all on her own, as she has demonstrated more than once.
I said I was going to return home because if I didn't, Stephen would end up doing the dishes alone.
And there were a lot of dishes.
She was fine with this.
And I was able to return home to a few hours of conversation with my cousin, her husband and Stephen.
Where no one wanted a warm blanket or their stockings rinsed out.
Stephen is a wonderful man.
We know this.
But, he has a small challenge with the concept of moderation.
A challenge that was made even clearer twice yesterday.
After Quaker meeting, we have a coffee and nibblies.
Stephen brought tzatziki and his own homemade pita chips.
The tzatziki was store bought, and in my humble opinion, very tasty.
But Stephen thought it was lacking and he informed me that he added "a couple of cloves of garlic to it."
Given the size of the container, two cloves of garlic was more than reasonable.
After meeting, I took the tzaztiki out of the fridge, removed the lid, grabbed a spoon and took a taste.
Only to be met with the fiery taste of TOO MUCH garlic.
I should know by now.
This is not a road I haven't travelled before.
"A couple of cloves of garlic" translated into FOUR cloves of garlic.
Information I ascertained when I went back to where we were meeting, tonge on fire, steam pouring from my ears, and asked him EXACTLY how many cloves of garlic did you put into this SMALL container of tzatziki.
One of our Quaker friends had a terrible cold when he came to meeting.
When he left, after a couple of bites of Stephen's doctored tzatziki, he was cured.
But tzatziki was just the beginning.
Stephen also made coffee for everyone both during and after dinner.
Our coffee maker isn't used often, at least by us.
I'm the only one who drinks coffee, so I just use a filter thingy that sits on top of my cup and brews me a nice, hot cup of coffee every morning.
Last night, Stephen took charge of the coffee maker.
One tablespoon of coffee for every cup of water.
12 cups of water then, should equal 12 tablespoons of coffee.
I have no idea how much coffee Stephen added.
Somewhere around 24 tablespoons is my closest estimation.
But I do know that when I poured some for my cousin's husband, it was as thick and dark as over used motor oil.
It had to be halved with addition water added to make it palpable.
My cousin and my mother loved it.
Neither one of them will sleep for a week, but they loved it.
Moderation, Stephen, moderation.
Title Lyric: Strong Coffee by Cat Empire
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