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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ As I type this, the dementia-patient’s aide is doing laundry. To protect our geriatric cesspool, she’s been instructed to use only the short wash setting that runs about 25 minutes. I passed by the washer to see there’s still one hour and 36 minutes left to go on her load of laundry.


~~ This past Saturday, I walked into the kitchen to see her setting up her rice cooker on the cutting board. I say, “Before you start, I just need 10 minutes to make the dogs’ lunch and prepare some vegetables for roasting.” She looks right at me, turns around, plugs in her cooker, and walks away. Yes, I should have got in her face at that point, but I didn’t for a few reasons. I waited until the cooker’s setting turned from cook to warm, then waited some more before I went to find her sitting on the couch watching TV. I reiterated how inconvenienced I was, at which point she silently walks into the kitchen, grabs her rice cooker, and (inadvertently, I believe) knocks a bunch of Brussels sprouts I’d just washed onto the floor. She looks at them and walks away.

~~ One more: I see her go up the stairs to her bedroom while she’s supposed to be watching her charge. The shower turns on, so I ask my son to “babysit” for a bit. Fifteen minutes later (and I believe solely in response to my banging on her door yelling, “Are you OK?”) she emerges. I blurt out how we’ve been watching her very-much-awake patient. In response, she says “Oh.”

~~ My house smells like a latrine, the screams of “SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT” and “HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!” are the earworms of the week, and I am an outcast in my own home. Having a dementia-saddled person and a full-time aide occupying my house 24/7 is akin to the worst case of PMS that anyone, anywhere has ever experienced.

~~
I’ll move on now just to protect my sanity and probably yours as well.

~~ I was heartened to read the research debunking flossing as a life-prolonging practice. Actually, I do floss regularly, but the smug dental hygienists I’ve encountered in my life will now need to shut up.

~~ If I were a novelist, I’d get great plots and twists while at yoga. Sometimes I eavesdrop on juicy story snippets, other times people tell me things I’d never imagine. Like the poor woman whose grown daughter and grandchild got stopped at customs in London on their way back to France after visiting her in NY. Seems her daughter didn’t have a document attesting that her son was traveling with his father’s knowledge so they were detained by the authorities. The father was in China and unreachable, and my friend couldn’t do anything here. Since there had been no issues departing Europe and she was now on her way home, the daughter couldn’t understand the fuss. And the 12-year-old boy couldn’t convince officials that he was with his mom and his dad knew they’d just visited his grandparents. The nightmare resolved, but I’ll save some of the intrigue in case I ever get inspired.

~~ Or how about the woman who shared that she knew she wasn’t bisexual when a friend’s girlfriend tried to kiss her while they were making tuna salad sandwiches? There was a beach trip, the part where an attempted smoocher got in a van with three guys, and a lot more. Again, if I ever do write a novel, you might read it all play out.

~~ Perhaps I’ll write an autobiography instead of a juicy novel. In that case, my working title might be, Why are there Carrots in the Foyer? I just uttered this ridiculous question to my dogs, who — like the aide — looked at me with a blank expression and did zip.

Have a great weekend!
LET’S GO METS!
GO USA!

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