 The Passionate Shepherd to His Love |
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Fur Coat
For Allegra....because she stirred the visions and meandering thoughts several days ago....
*******
We walked into I. Magnin's San Francisco past the perfume department to the rear where the elevators were. A door opened, a gentlemen held the door saying "Going up" and we walked inside.
"What floor ladies?" as he turned to those of us in the elevator. Up the elevator went and at every floor as the elevator stopped he would say what was on that floor.
We disembarked on the floor we wanted and I followed close on my mom's heels to where she led me. We were greeted warmly by a nicely dressed woman. My mother explained that she had been to a charity event and had bid on and won a fur jacket. Yes, we were in the fur salon. This was long before PETA began it's vocal anger towards those who bought furs and those who flaunted them when they wore them. This was when a mink coat meant something, especially a full length one.
We waited in the large open area that was the fur salon. There were white chairs and settee's to sit upon and an oval white coffee table with high end magazines on display. Oversize windows looked out to Union Square. There were short racks for items to be hung on but they were empty.
Another lady came out a side door greeting my mother. The lady asked a few questions and made some small talk with us and then went back through the door.
The intent was that I was to be given the won fur jacket. My mom did not know what it looked like but she thought it was youthful looking and would not be her style, hence the reason I was with her. The last place I imagined myself was in a fur salon. I always felt furs were for old women, wealthy older women like my mom, not someone barely in her 20's. Still I found it intriguing enough to go along.
When the lady came out she held out towards us on a padded hanger a shaggy sheep jacket. It was hideous. My mom took one look at it and was quick to ask if it was possible to choose a different jacket. The lady was restrained enough to not even give us a look that might have shown offense. She was cool and polite. She left us once again to speak to someone. My mom and I talked amongst ourselves about the jacket that she left out on the rack for us to look at. I would never wear this and felt like we should just give it to someone else. No, my mom was not leaving till I had a respectable fur jacket.
This time the lady came out and said that we could put this jacket towards another one. Fine. With that we were asked to sit down and she would bring out some items for us to view.
I had no idea what I was in for.
The variety of fur coats came out and put on the rack. I was asked to stand up and try them on. I should say that I was asked to stand and they were put on me. I have never had such a sensation as trying on fur. At once it feels decadent but the lightness of them surprised me. I had assumed they would be heavy. The silky satin lining slipped on my arms and shoulders easily followed by the brushing of fur near my checks and on my neck. Within seconds the warmth and unbelievable comfort of this upon my body made me reluctant to want to take it off. I can't remember how many I tried on, maybe four but the one I choose in the end was a white fox dyed to look like a lynx jacket. It was short, fun and I felt incredible in it. I felt like a different person in it, not the girl I was before I came to this salon.
They said we could pick it up in less than a week after my initials were sewn inside. Once I had this jacket I tried to wear it but where do I wear it? I lived in a modest town with lower to middle class blue collar folks. If any of the women in this town had a fur coat it was old and buried in the depths of their closet with moth balls. When my Love and I went out I tried to wear it but even then I felt extremely out of place. I wore it when we went to visit the parents until finally I just didn't wear it. It was clearly not me.
We have moved countless times and it is pushed to the back of the hall closet in it's protective cover. What can I do with it? I wouldn't get caught dead in it after I learned more about and understood the murder of poor little animals to make a fur coat. No I couldn't wear it. I thought of giving it to the Salvation army or to a homeless person in need of warmth but how would they be treated wearing fur? Would a PETA representative harass them for possessing such a coat? No, I couldn't do that to someone else. And so it hangs in the dark with other wool coats I no longer wear that came from I. Magnin's before they went out of business.
I am not a fur coat woman.
*******
We walked into I. Magnin's San Francisco past the perfume department to the rear where the elevators were. A door opened, a gentlemen held the door saying "Going up" and we walked inside.
"What floor ladies?" as he turned to those of us in the elevator. Up the elevator went and at every floor as the elevator stopped he would say what was on that floor.
We disembarked on the floor we wanted and I followed close on my mom's heels to where she led me. We were greeted warmly by a nicely dressed woman. My mother explained that she had been to a charity event and had bid on and won a fur jacket. Yes, we were in the fur salon. This was long before PETA began it's vocal anger towards those who bought furs and those who flaunted them when they wore them. This was when a mink coat meant something, especially a full length one.
We waited in the large open area that was the fur salon. There were white chairs and settee's to sit upon and an oval white coffee table with high end magazines on display. Oversize windows looked out to Union Square. There were short racks for items to be hung on but they were empty.
Another lady came out a side door greeting my mother. The lady asked a few questions and made some small talk with us and then went back through the door.
The intent was that I was to be given the won fur jacket. My mom did not know what it looked like but she thought it was youthful looking and would not be her style, hence the reason I was with her. The last place I imagined myself was in a fur salon. I always felt furs were for old women, wealthy older women like my mom, not someone barely in her 20's. Still I found it intriguing enough to go along.
When the lady came out she held out towards us on a padded hanger a shaggy sheep jacket. It was hideous. My mom took one look at it and was quick to ask if it was possible to choose a different jacket. The lady was restrained enough to not even give us a look that might have shown offense. She was cool and polite. She left us once again to speak to someone. My mom and I talked amongst ourselves about the jacket that she left out on the rack for us to look at. I would never wear this and felt like we should just give it to someone else. No, my mom was not leaving till I had a respectable fur jacket.
This time the lady came out and said that we could put this jacket towards another one. Fine. With that we were asked to sit down and she would bring out some items for us to view.
I had no idea what I was in for.
The variety of fur coats came out and put on the rack. I was asked to stand up and try them on. I should say that I was asked to stand and they were put on me. I have never had such a sensation as trying on fur. At once it feels decadent but the lightness of them surprised me. I had assumed they would be heavy. The silky satin lining slipped on my arms and shoulders easily followed by the brushing of fur near my checks and on my neck. Within seconds the warmth and unbelievable comfort of this upon my body made me reluctant to want to take it off. I can't remember how many I tried on, maybe four but the one I choose in the end was a white fox dyed to look like a lynx jacket. It was short, fun and I felt incredible in it. I felt like a different person in it, not the girl I was before I came to this salon.
They said we could pick it up in less than a week after my initials were sewn inside. Once I had this jacket I tried to wear it but where do I wear it? I lived in a modest town with lower to middle class blue collar folks. If any of the women in this town had a fur coat it was old and buried in the depths of their closet with moth balls. When my Love and I went out I tried to wear it but even then I felt extremely out of place. I wore it when we went to visit the parents until finally I just didn't wear it. It was clearly not me. 
I am not a fur coat woman.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Middle Years
I have reached that point in life where it feels like the mid point of my existence. I am no longer the child with someone holding my hand, fixing my food, bathing me, tending to my every need.
I am not the young girl playing hide 'n' seek in the neighborhood, climbing fences or trees, playing make believe and pretending , or day dreaming as I lay on my back looking up at the clouds as they flew across the sky.
I am no longer the teen holed up in my room playing loud music, keeping to myself and only finding friends are the ones I wish to hang out with and not my family. I am not the teen riding my horse on long trail rides alone and in my thoughts wondering about my life and where it will go.
I am no longer 19, the age I was when I married. On our own, fixing meals packing my Love's lunch, nesting our home, working as well as in college. A lover, a companion. Working together side by side on our first home with steel wool pads and paint brushes. Carefree to do as we pleased.
I am not in my 20's giving birth to three adorable daughters, singing nursery songs, playing with dolls, pushing swings, tending to my family with a bursting heart of joy and overwhelmed at times of what I feel I do not do enough of for them. Learning, every day learning what it means to be a mother and a wife. Making a space for me to be alone where once again a horse comes into my days to ride, to groom.
I am not the woman of those days sleeping skin to skin curled up tightly to my Love as if he is all there is in the night to protect me, shelter me, adore me. The breathing in and out as we lay in quiet with our hands touching each other whereas in the day mine are on our children...running my hands over their heads and through their hair, over a cheek of so soft skin, holding little hands, rocking little ones as I rub their backs cradled in my arms.
I am not the woman in my mid 30's. Those years where my body craved another child in my womb. The ache of not wanting to let go of that part of my womanhood. The hope and the longing and at last the dream was fulfilled. I was able to give fully into this child growing within me. Rub my hands over my growing belly, feel the swimming and kicks of him. My son that I could hardly believe I carried. And when his day came to leave my swollen womb I cried because I knew that all this would be the last time. All that led up to my great longing to hold him close to me, breath him in and I did. Bliss had come.
I am not the woman of her 40's who finds her body going through the ups and downs of PMS. The nights of sleeplessness, mood swings, weight gain from nowhere. What does it mean when I don't know this body I have any longer? The changes so slight yet obvious over those years of perimenopause. Those years when the little things felt like big things, creating tension over any trial in my day. The strain of losing Papa and attempting to sooth my mother who was bottomless with her demands. Only my son gave me peace, only he gave me the illusion of my youth. My Love braved my moods, he new when to let me be and when to give me his warm arms.
Where am I now? Menopause brings a lull...my womb silent, no longer a vessel to be filled with life. I find this a relief and yet I want so much to do all of it over again. In my dreams I sometimes give birth. I can remember the feeling a a 'let down' of my breast, the tingle that comes before the release of my milk. I can remember my children at my breast looking up at me with drowsy eyes, their fingers curl and uncurl or hold my finger in our quiet hour. I can quiet the desire easier now. I find myself looking at children remembering the roundness of a two year old's rosy cheeks. The smallness of little feet and ticklish toes while I sang "This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home". Reading a bedtime story curled up next to me tucked in their bed. I do miss those times. I have the urge to go up to mothers and tell them to absorb all this time with their children. It passes all too soon, a mantra mothers past mothering say in tender voice. 
These are the days where my daughters are all grown up and away making their own lives. They come in waves to see us and my Love and I feel that the older they become the less we see them and know them. How can that be? These are the days my teen son pulls back from my Love and I, not because he is mad with us but because he needs to become himself separate from us. I miss and don't miss the teen years. I want to still be needed. I want to be a part of their lives. I don' want them to come see us because they feel they should but because there is something worthy in being with us. I want them to understand that we cannot be exactly as we were because we aren't in some ways. Our minds may not be as sharp, we may repeat, we may get tired more easily, we may forget. We have much on our minds with the aging of our parents. Life simply passes by faster with each day that greets us.
I don't give in. I may be in my middle years but I have much to still learn and to offer. I may not be able to go back and be the younger version of myself but I may be the wiser more patient woman I could not be before. It takes time, years to gain that privilege. I am on a path of humility. A path a woman of 50 takes is a path one doesn't wish to take alone. I am amazed and feel so blessed that my Love and I are together after 34 years. Our love bends and pulls to each other. Our hands still find each other, entwined and comforted by knowing we will be here for each other through whatever comes our way.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Days of Wine and Roses
I woke up this morning knowing what I was missing. I felt a bit of guilt in this revelation I had. (I hate that word guilt.)
*Disclosure: While I have been writing some utterly honest difficulties with my mom and our relationship....there have been some amazing, wonderful times as well.
I miss the dinners out. Oh how I miss the fine food and expensive wine. My mom pretty much stopped fixing dinners at her home, except for Christmas dinner every now and then after Papa passed away. We went out a lot when he was alive but after he was gone there were no casual family dinners at her home. No BBQ's. She gave the BBQ away even though my Love had offered to do the BBQing for her at her home. She wanted to go out and she would call us to do this almost every other week. No wasn't really an option. If we had plans she would make it clear that by not going we had disappointed her and surely we could alter our plans or go the next night to dinner. Frankly I became unable to make plans. Just knowing my mom would call me and want to go out prevented me from making plans. Over months and years I just expected her to call to tell us we were to go out to dinner on the weekend. Looking at it now, I know I should have just said No and let her deal with it, but you would have to know my mom to understand how hard this is to do. No is not a part of her vocabulary.
On one hand you could say what a treat to be able to go out to these wonderful restaurants, but all the invitations to dinners were annoying because I would have much rather gone to her house like we use to. I would have liked her to come to our home for dinner which she didn't really want to do if she could help it. She would tell me "You don't want to cook. We'll just go out". Here we could have relaxed and not have to get fussed up in fancy clothes. Following her stroke, her speech was much softer making it quite hard to hear her at a restaurant. She would be talking but unless I sat right next to her with my ear next to her head I couldn't really understand her. I attempted to explain to her that if we were at home I could hear her better but that didn't amount to enough reason to not go out for her. Sometimes we would go back to her house after a dinner out and sit downstairs, try to talk though most of her talking centered around her life and friends. We listened, nodded our heads and tried to be good company. After an hour we would leave. Our bellies full but our thoughts muddled.
*********** ************ ********** ************
The food, the glorious food at some of the best restaurants in the Bay Area! We couldn't afford these places she would choose to go to. She always paid the bill, always. If we wanted to go to some place less expensive she would blow it off and say that she would rather go to a place she had in mind. We tried, because at some point we would have liked to take her out to dinner but well, we do have to pay our mortgage and electric bill. Paying the tab at her choices would have put us on the street. If she resented that we didn't pay she never said a thing. I felt like she wanted us to go as her chaperones so she had company. All we could do was thank her profusely for taking us out. Of course there were times we did get her to go to a less expensive place but one still in the Zaget book of which she wanted to consult.
It must be hard for a widow to still want to go places when you no longer have your significant other. She would go out with her friends and pick up the tab at their evenings out too. Her friends claim they tried to pay but she would insist that she was paying. It was non-negotiable. Sometimes she would slip the credit card to the waiter before the dinner was over. Sneaky mom.
She loved putting a dinner party together at a restaurant. She has done so many special evenings for her friends as well as for her family from time to time. She gave me several very large surprise birthday parties at Trader Vic's with one time having Hula Dancers with their musicians. We had the entire back of the restaurant with waiters all over the place, cocktails and wine flowing. It was quite a show she would put on. She would give one of her speeches and all of us would be captivated by her ability to create such an evening so effortlessly. For my 5oth she did another big birthday bash but it wasn't my 50th but my 49th. It was really funny for me to have to tell everyone that I loved being with all my family who were flown in for the event as well as friends I had not seen in awhile, but that I was not 50 yet. We joked that we could repeat it the following year. All of her friends thought her so generous, and she was without a doubt just that. Still it was almost embarrassing with all her extravagance.
Even if it was just the four of us she insisted we order a bottle of red and a bottle of white wine. Now R. can't drink and most time she was the only one drinking white wine. No matter, we must have a full bottle. Never just any bottle either. My Love made the sad mistake once of just ordering her a glass of white wine and she made it clear that it was not good wine.
There were the dinner parties that she had the chef especially prepare a multi-course meal for friends and us. She would call ahead to plan the entire meal from appetizers to dessert and several varieties of wine for each course served. Yes, it was good. Very, very good! Still, inside I just wished she could just contain herself and let us order from the menu. The chef would come out and ask us how the meal was and both my mom and the chef would ingratiate each other.
A stroll down memory lane of dining....Lalimes, Prima, Trader Vic's, Tourelle which became Postino (which was just as delicious) K. celebrated her 16th birthday with a special birthday dinner along with a magician, One Market, Mudd's, Citron, Garibaldi's, Tommy Toy's, Pican, Oliveto, Big 4 Restaurant before we saw and met Ravi Shankar and Anoushka perform, Clift Hotel's Redwood Room before we saw Phantom of the Opera, Fleur De Lys for her birthday one year, ......some still here and some gone....but what glorious food we had.
Pican....E. and I thought we had died and gone to heaven with the Fried Green Tomatoes with sheep’s milk feta cheese, radish salsa and spicy buttermilk dressing...(we have tried to duplicate because we had to!), their tasty Buttermilk Southern Fried Chicken served with smoked gouda "mac and cheese", and heavens for the Sorghum Lacquered Duck...mmmmm.
Tommy Toy's....Seafood Bisque ~ Oven baked in a fresh coconut, with puff pastry on top...it stood out because of the uniqueness of it...but every dish incredible....
Lalimes.....fresh organic food perfectly prepared...delicate Black Cod served with a luscious broth and perfectly trimmed petite carrots and fresh green beans....
Trader Vic's....we went there so much...every special occasion. Harry waited on us hand and foot...making our dinners feel sort of like home because we usually had our own room. Pupus...of Cheese Bings, Crab Rangoon, BBQ Spareribs and Crispy Prawns. Crispy Duck with mu shu pancakes, fresh fish from the wood fire, Halibut or Mahi Mahi, Won ton Soup, Chicken Chow Mein with almonds... and always tea with fortune cookies, almond cookies and Trader Vic's mints. It seemed like we went here so much we all finally burned out on it, but I know the memories of our "special times" will remain...Papa's big 80th Birthday Party a stand out in my mind. Those years when the men had to wear a jacket to get in. My Love had to 'use' one of the restaurants early on since he didn't own one. You see all kind of dress there now. No dress requirements except maybe shoes.
Our last dinner with my mom was last May 2010. Two weekends in a row we ate at Oliveto. I don't really see the fuss in the place personally. I don't know why she decided that this was her new place to go back to. Because it is upstairs we need to use the elevator which is down a long corridor of trash containers and such. It was a long walk for her to go using her cane. Parking is difficult to obtain as well. She was convinced that Trader Vic's had closed down though it was just being renovated. Those last dinners were sad for me. I would sit across the large round table and straining to hear her and looking at her silly wig that was put on crooked. I knew that her future was heading down a path none of us would know or be prepared for. We were together and that was what meant the most to her I believe.
She goes out to dinner with her caregivers or her friends now. We don't. My mom can't call me anymore. She doesn't have the ability to do this. I call her. Eating out never comes up and I don't ask. I don't want her to take us out. I don't think I can handle the change in her nor that fact that there is all the pretending that nothing 'really' has changed in her manner.
I well remember those days of trying to get the kids 'dressed' for dinners out. So much hassle, so many times running around telling them to hurry up and put something nice on. Someone asking where are we going, why do we have to dress up, why can't we eat somewhere else and so on. So many times I just wanted to scream. I just wanted to stay home. I just wanted to be a normal family who ate at an ordinary place where I could wear my jeans. I would do it for Papa....I don't know why but I would and did. I liked watching him choose a wine for the evening. Watching him taste it as it was poured into a wine glass..."Yes, it's fine" he would say. I liked him smiling at the kids asking them what they were up to. They would answer him with faces smiling. He had this way of making everything better.
Eating together as a family is the most important tradition I stand by. We always eat at the table together in our home. No phone calls. If it was quiet so be it. It there was a discussion so be it. If there was laughter all the better. These days with most of children elsewhere or caught up in their own lives, eating together still holds a specialness to looking into each others faces and eyes. Listening to what is new or going on in their lives. Sometimes I catch myself just absorbing the time together. Photographing it in my head.
Maybe we can't go to all those places we use to but hey, maybe once in awhile, for a special time we could if we really wanted to. Times change, people age, places close, new places open. Forward we go....I could use a bit of dessert now. Can't forget about the desserts.....
*Disclosure: While I have been writing some utterly honest difficulties with my mom and our relationship....there have been some amazing, wonderful times as well.
I miss the dinners out. Oh how I miss the fine food and expensive wine. My mom pretty much stopped fixing dinners at her home, except for Christmas dinner every now and then after Papa passed away. We went out a lot when he was alive but after he was gone there were no casual family dinners at her home. No BBQ's. She gave the BBQ away even though my Love had offered to do the BBQing for her at her home. She wanted to go out and she would call us to do this almost every other week. No wasn't really an option. If we had plans she would make it clear that by not going we had disappointed her and surely we could alter our plans or go the next night to dinner. Frankly I became unable to make plans. Just knowing my mom would call me and want to go out prevented me from making plans. Over months and years I just expected her to call to tell us we were to go out to dinner on the weekend. Looking at it now, I know I should have just said No and let her deal with it, but you would have to know my mom to understand how hard this is to do. No is not a part of her vocabulary.
On one hand you could say what a treat to be able to go out to these wonderful restaurants, but all the invitations to dinners were annoying because I would have much rather gone to her house like we use to. I would have liked her to come to our home for dinner which she didn't really want to do if she could help it. She would tell me "You don't want to cook. We'll just go out". Here we could have relaxed and not have to get fussed up in fancy clothes. Following her stroke, her speech was much softer making it quite hard to hear her at a restaurant. She would be talking but unless I sat right next to her with my ear next to her head I couldn't really understand her. I attempted to explain to her that if we were at home I could hear her better but that didn't amount to enough reason to not go out for her. Sometimes we would go back to her house after a dinner out and sit downstairs, try to talk though most of her talking centered around her life and friends. We listened, nodded our heads and tried to be good company. After an hour we would leave. Our bellies full but our thoughts muddled.
*********** ************ ********** ************
The food, the glorious food at some of the best restaurants in the Bay Area! We couldn't afford these places she would choose to go to. She always paid the bill, always. If we wanted to go to some place less expensive she would blow it off and say that she would rather go to a place she had in mind. We tried, because at some point we would have liked to take her out to dinner but well, we do have to pay our mortgage and electric bill. Paying the tab at her choices would have put us on the street. If she resented that we didn't pay she never said a thing. I felt like she wanted us to go as her chaperones so she had company. All we could do was thank her profusely for taking us out. Of course there were times we did get her to go to a less expensive place but one still in the Zaget book of which she wanted to consult.
It must be hard for a widow to still want to go places when you no longer have your significant other. She would go out with her friends and pick up the tab at their evenings out too. Her friends claim they tried to pay but she would insist that she was paying. It was non-negotiable. Sometimes she would slip the credit card to the waiter before the dinner was over. Sneaky mom.
She loved putting a dinner party together at a restaurant. She has done so many special evenings for her friends as well as for her family from time to time. She gave me several very large surprise birthday parties at Trader Vic's with one time having Hula Dancers with their musicians. We had the entire back of the restaurant with waiters all over the place, cocktails and wine flowing. It was quite a show she would put on. She would give one of her speeches and all of us would be captivated by her ability to create such an evening so effortlessly. For my 5oth she did another big birthday bash but it wasn't my 50th but my 49th. It was really funny for me to have to tell everyone that I loved being with all my family who were flown in for the event as well as friends I had not seen in awhile, but that I was not 50 yet. We joked that we could repeat it the following year. All of her friends thought her so generous, and she was without a doubt just that. Still it was almost embarrassing with all her extravagance.
Even if it was just the four of us she insisted we order a bottle of red and a bottle of white wine. Now R. can't drink and most time she was the only one drinking white wine. No matter, we must have a full bottle. Never just any bottle either. My Love made the sad mistake once of just ordering her a glass of white wine and she made it clear that it was not good wine.
There were the dinner parties that she had the chef especially prepare a multi-course meal for friends and us. She would call ahead to plan the entire meal from appetizers to dessert and several varieties of wine for each course served. Yes, it was good. Very, very good! Still, inside I just wished she could just contain herself and let us order from the menu. The chef would come out and ask us how the meal was and both my mom and the chef would ingratiate each other.
A stroll down memory lane of dining....Lalimes, Prima, Trader Vic's, Tourelle which became Postino (which was just as delicious) K. celebrated her 16th birthday with a special birthday dinner along with a magician, One Market, Mudd's, Citron, Garibaldi's, Tommy Toy's, Pican, Oliveto, Big 4 Restaurant before we saw and met Ravi Shankar and Anoushka perform, Clift Hotel's Redwood Room before we saw Phantom of the Opera, Fleur De Lys for her birthday one year, ......some still here and some gone....but what glorious food we had.
Pican....E. and I thought we had died and gone to heaven with the Fried Green Tomatoes with sheep’s milk feta cheese, radish salsa and spicy buttermilk dressing...(we have tried to duplicate because we had to!), their tasty Buttermilk Southern Fried Chicken served with smoked gouda "mac and cheese", and heavens for the Sorghum Lacquered Duck...mmmmm.
Tommy Toy's....Seafood Bisque ~ Oven baked in a fresh coconut, with puff pastry on top...it stood out because of the uniqueness of it...but every dish incredible....
Lalimes.....fresh organic food perfectly prepared...delicate Black Cod served with a luscious broth and perfectly trimmed petite carrots and fresh green beans....
Trader Vic's....we went there so much...every special occasion. Harry waited on us hand and foot...making our dinners feel sort of like home because we usually had our own room. Pupus...of Cheese Bings, Crab Rangoon, BBQ Spareribs and Crispy Prawns. Crispy Duck with mu shu pancakes, fresh fish from the wood fire, Halibut or Mahi Mahi, Won ton Soup, Chicken Chow Mein with almonds... and always tea with fortune cookies, almond cookies and Trader Vic's mints. It seemed like we went here so much we all finally burned out on it, but I know the memories of our "special times" will remain...Papa's big 80th Birthday Party a stand out in my mind. Those years when the men had to wear a jacket to get in. My Love had to 'use' one of the restaurants early on since he didn't own one. You see all kind of dress there now. No dress requirements except maybe shoes.
Our last dinner with my mom was last May 2010. Two weekends in a row we ate at Oliveto. I don't really see the fuss in the place personally. I don't know why she decided that this was her new place to go back to. Because it is upstairs we need to use the elevator which is down a long corridor of trash containers and such. It was a long walk for her to go using her cane. Parking is difficult to obtain as well. She was convinced that Trader Vic's had closed down though it was just being renovated. Those last dinners were sad for me. I would sit across the large round table and straining to hear her and looking at her silly wig that was put on crooked. I knew that her future was heading down a path none of us would know or be prepared for. We were together and that was what meant the most to her I believe.
She goes out to dinner with her caregivers or her friends now. We don't. My mom can't call me anymore. She doesn't have the ability to do this. I call her. Eating out never comes up and I don't ask. I don't want her to take us out. I don't think I can handle the change in her nor that fact that there is all the pretending that nothing 'really' has changed in her manner.
I well remember those days of trying to get the kids 'dressed' for dinners out. So much hassle, so many times running around telling them to hurry up and put something nice on. Someone asking where are we going, why do we have to dress up, why can't we eat somewhere else and so on. So many times I just wanted to scream. I just wanted to stay home. I just wanted to be a normal family who ate at an ordinary place where I could wear my jeans. I would do it for Papa....I don't know why but I would and did. I liked watching him choose a wine for the evening. Watching him taste it as it was poured into a wine glass..."Yes, it's fine" he would say. I liked him smiling at the kids asking them what they were up to. They would answer him with faces smiling. He had this way of making everything better.
Eating together as a family is the most important tradition I stand by. We always eat at the table together in our home. No phone calls. If it was quiet so be it. It there was a discussion so be it. If there was laughter all the better. These days with most of children elsewhere or caught up in their own lives, eating together still holds a specialness to looking into each others faces and eyes. Listening to what is new or going on in their lives. Sometimes I catch myself just absorbing the time together. Photographing it in my head.
Maybe we can't go to all those places we use to but hey, maybe once in awhile, for a special time we could if we really wanted to. Times change, people age, places close, new places open. Forward we go....I could use a bit of dessert now. Can't forget about the desserts.....
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
The itchies have my dogs
It has been a long itchy time for our Golden Annie. LONG...
Three weeks ago I finally took her to the vet since all I tried did not help.
Since October she has had a slew of hot spots and has had to wear a cone pretty much the whole time. I did what I could which is to cut the hair away from the hot spot, clean it well and put the cone on till it has healed. One would heal, I would take the cone off and within days a new one appeared. Repeat this over and over. I took her in for baths with the groomer since it was too cool to do it at home. I had hoped that maybe the cleanliness would help but it didn't.
She itched all over. At night while we watched TV she would come up and rub her tush on the sofa which made her look like she was doing the rumba. All we needed to do was add some good music. Just touching her she would start the scratching with her skin crawling under your hand.
I would spray her with Relief, a topical spray that is suppose to sooth the skin but that did nothing. I started giving her Benedryl which helped because it makes her drowsy but doesn't last long.
The holidays were tough. Wearing her cone gives her a satellite dish look about her which we can laugh at but the itching isn't funny. Aside from my Love and I, who wants to have a large dog rubbing her body on any passing person? Our poor Annie was miserable.
Over the years Annie has had many skin issues. In the past it was seasonal....Late Summer / Fall and then a brief Spring fling. There were many times I would bring her in because her belly was so red and irritated that she was prescribed antibiotics and steroids which always did the trick. Hot spots have been a problem in the last three years. Disgusting and ugly. The last one was on the cheek of her head. I couldn't figure out how she could even get one there. I dutifully cut the hair away to promote healing and checked it daily to make sure there was no oozing. The hot spots seem to take anywhere from 2 to 4 weeks to be healed with the drying of the scab to be around week three. Hair regrowth doesn't come back for several months.
This has been by far the worst she has ever had. Our visit to the vet we talked a lot about the causes of potential skin problems. A) Fleas.....no fleas on her at all so we can't blame this on the cats. B) Seasonal allergies....this has lasted 3 months!....not sure, but this is what I first suspected. The vet. tech. said they have had a bad year for seasonal allergies for dogs. C) Food allergies.....
Years ago with our previous vet who retired (darn....) we tried the food change to rule this out. I put Annie on Lamb and Rice food....I tried several brands over the course of 4 months. At the same time we did antibiotics and a dose of steroids and she was clear in less than a month. I kept her on that food for many months but it was so expensive that I found a different food of high quality and she seemed fine on it all these many years. It was only this past August that I thought I should put her on a Senior food because of her age.
I had already changed her food right after Christmas just to rule out a food allergy. She had only been on it for one week when we saw the vet. He gave Annie a steroid shot but since she had no sign of any bad rash on he did not give her any antibiotics. For two weeks she didn't itch. One day after the two weeks had passed and I had told the vet she was fine....what should happen? She started getting itchy!!! About this time I noticed in her food bin the old food at the bottom mixing in with the new food. I asked my Love why he didn't completely take out the old food because if that is the problem she can't be eating it. Oh.....So....is the itching back because she was eating food that was causing the problem? Great.
I went down to the pet store and bought a new bag of dog food, trying Duck and Potato this time by Natural Balance. $34 dollars for about 17 pounds of kibble! Now we have to wait to see if the mixed food upset the skin and started the scratching or rule it out as food related. Next step will be back to the vets if she stays itchy or gets worse. Prescription medication? Oh I hope not. In the meantime I will get her bathed again and keep my eye on her closely. We don't want any hot spots surprising us.
Now to really stir the pot.....Stewie who never, never gets itchy started getting itchy five days ago. What gives? I gave him a bath today since he can fit in the kitchen sink. He is itchy on his tush.
And the cats....they are doing just fine. No fleas, no scratching...nothing. Lucky kitties.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
A walk on a day in January
Went for a gentle hike today. First hike since my broken wrist in August. I asked my Love to please let us go on something I won't fall down on. Feeling wimpy yet knowing I need to do this.
What a lovely sky of blue with long sweeping clouds. The header is another photo from today. My Love and Annie way ahead of little Stewie and I....sorry no photo of Stewie. Long shadows from the bare Oak trees on the East facing hills. Quiet and alone except for a family out with their Golden. I think I will go here with the poochies on my own during the week while the weather is clear.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Closets in our hearts
There she was coming down the lift while I looked up from the back stairwell. Gliding down in slow motion. Her caregiver walking down just ahead of her descent.
"Your daughter is here to see you Mrs. L."
My mother looks at me, her eyes scanning down at figures below her. The caregiver says she has much going on today with a previous visitor and what else I do not find out.
"Ellen", she says it clear as a bell. My name. The name I have not heard her say in ever so long. I am surprised and delighted all at the same time.
She reaches the bottom, rises from her seat with the aid of our hands and stands facing me. Her words that flow from her mouth so odd. Her face shows a glimmer of being happy to see me.
I see she is wearing the black pinstripe jacket that she wore on Christmas day and black slacks in need of being taken in as they are too large for her now.
I direct her to her chair that she always sits in at her breakfast table and sit in the chair nearest her. She reaches for my hand and I to her.
"Love you...." those words I understand that come from her lips. My thoughts come to how she says these words to me now so often. Whereas before it was I who would tell her "I love you" at the end of our phone calls or saying goodbye from a visit. A desperate attempt from me to want to have her understand how much I needed to know I was truly loved by her. I had to tell her to let me know. What an odd thing for me to have thought? Does she not love me? Does she love me the way I love my children?
I look at that jacket. How is it that her mind goes to this jacket and the need to wear it? My mom has three very large closets in her bedroom, one being a walk-in. Two other bedrooms have large closets with one room having a walk-in as well. Down on the lowest level of her home she has another walk-in closet. All are filled with her clothes.
When Papa was alive he surely had a closet in their room. I know this to be true, I know he had the two smaller ones though it is hard to see it that way now. I remember after he passed away seeing his handsome jackets, suits, dress shirts, slacks, and sweaters all neatly hanging in one near the armoire. I see his grubby clothes as well. The ones he wore to do "work" around the house. The puttering that men do so well. I see those pale khaki ones that he would wear with an old polo shirt. They were the kind one doesn't wish to let go of because they are comfortably broken in.
When a spouse passes away, while they leave our presence their belongings, clothes, personal items remain. How long does one hold onto the clothes, shoes, hats and such? For my mom is was a bit by bit passing on of his things. A long raincoat to a friend who might use it. His belongings of day to day passed on. Yet in the top drawer of the armoire his watch, wallet, keys and small items such as these remain. I only found this out while trying to figure out where she might be hiding her jewelry before we insured them and put them in her new safe. I wanted to gather them up and put them in my pocket. I wanted to still feel like he might put his watch on. I never noticed, though I know it doesn't, if the watch still ticked. No, I know it has stopped as surely as his heart did.
How long does one leave their loved ones closets empty once they have taken those clothes away? How hollow to see a room still in the living yet a closet empty. Moved on. How long before one chooses to not open the door to see that emptiness? The wanting of it to not be empty of their loved one and the comfort they once had.
I can imagine my mom filling each closet more full to somehow fill her emptiness she had within herself. More items added till it no longer looked like it held a man's life of living. Yet now filled with clothes never worn, tags still on, alone hanging mutely. I have looked at these items remember how my mom enjoyed shopping. She often shopped alone, getting to know the store personnel who kept their eyes open for things she might like. She bought to buy for no other reason except to buy. She didn't need these things. It just was her way to fill the empty spot in her closet. When it became too full she started to give those clothes away only to go and buy more to once again fill the space that to her was still empty. She did not know that while one can fill a space it does not fill your soul of the loneliness that creeps in. No matter how her family tried to help fill in the space we were not what she wanted.
I have clothes with stories. Memories of a time and place that make them hard to let go even if they were out of style, worn out or do not fit. Most are of my children clothes. The tiny layette gown they wore, so small but once worn by my babies with curled up legs that kicked and moved in them. Receiving blankets I made of flannel so soft and cozy. I have a dresser filled with childhood sweaters, dresses, knit baby hats and such. A trunk with baby toys, handmade blankets knit and crocheted. In the attic more clothes of each of theirs to someday hopefully to be passed on to a grandchild. Two of my daughters closets hold boxes of each child's life, school days, drawings, cards, report cards, stories of their growing up. The inside walls of the closets covered with their personal touch of photos, fortune cookie fortunes, magazine pictures. I can't remove them though my Love would like to clean the walls up. Stories, so many stories I know nothing of but they do. Those are my closets, drawers of my heart. Held there that keep me whole as the mother I am. Dreams, sweet dreams. Though I hold these treasures of days gone by my soul is full. I know I need not fill a visual space to know what I have.
The closets in our hearts to keep full, to hopefully overflow. To spill into our arms, hands, fingers, eyes, to softly graze our skin with the life memory of times well spent. A lifetime to fill, to share, to open.
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