Turnabout is Fair Play

Mrs E and Mrs L are constant companions, but none of us other residents can understand why. It seems to us that Mrs L would eventually kill Mrs E.

Mrs E constantly berates, nags, and scolds Mrs L.   Mrs L, through stroke or advanced age has lost most of her expressive speech and is somewhat confused. But Mrs L seeks Mrs. E’s company. She’ll walk into Mrs E’s room.

Mrs E: Good Lord, you scared the pee out of me. What do you want? Why do you walk in like that? Do you think I want to be scared? If I wanted to be scared I would look for a roller coaster. What do you want?

Mrs. L: Come on.

Mrs E: Come on where? Where do you want to go? Why don’t you say where we are going? Tell me.

Mrs. L: Down there.

Mrs E: Down where. Speak. Tell me where down there is. Am I supposed to guess? Jabber, jabber. All you do is jabber. I don’t know what you are saying.

…and it goes on like this for hours. It is a strange symbiotic relationship. Mrs E needs to scold, and Mrs L needs to be scolded.

Mrs L comes to breakfast but Mrs E likes to sleep in and have her morning coffee in her room.

Mrs E sent Mrs L to fetch her coffee this morning.

Mrs E: Go get me a cup of coffee.

Mrs L was going down the hall with a cup in her hand and Mrs E was standing in her doorway waiting. Halfway down the hall Mrs L stopped, holding the cup, looking confused. Mrs. E waited a moment, then grew impatient and stormed down the hall in her nightgown to where the bewildered Mrs L was standing.

Mrs E: Where’s my coffee? This is empty. I asked for a cup of coffee and you brought me a coffee cup.

Tags: Life in the old folks' home

Rare Whine

   If I whine rarely it is times like this when a whine is in order.  I've done it again: spent an hour carefully typing an entry with quotes and tabs and fussy spellings.  And then erased it all with a careless keystroke.

   I am swearing too, as well as whining. 

My Dog Spot

I am amused by things that are named for something they are NOT. A television salesman used to include his dog in his commercials. His dog was named Spot. Of course, Spot was a German Shepard and didn’t have spot on him. He was called Spot because he was spotless.

Even more amusing are the people who don’t “get it”. They look at the dog and say incredulously, “He hasn’t got any spot.” Right. It’s a joke. See?

My parents lived on a rural road which was often used by thoughtless people who wanted to get rid of their pets. They would drive along, see my parents’ place and say, “Here. These people look like they will take care of you. OUT.” And they would dump their pets on the roadside, leaving them to find someone who would care for them. And my parents did. They had several pets who arrived that way.

A pair of unwanted kittens who grew to cat-hood being loved by my parents were named This-one and That-one.. Worked well enough but I don’t remember if they knew their own names.

Later another orphan arrived and my mother looked in the encyclopedia to see what breed she was. It said, “Common Domestic Shorthair“. So that kitten became Common. That worked too because it was fun to say, “Come on, Common.”. That’s pronounced “Common Common”.

A Collie named Gale, not Gail, arrived the same way. They also had a Boxer named Bouncer. Another waif was Ittybit. Ittybit is baby talk for Little Bit, and Ittybit was tiny when she landed on the roadside near Parent’s gate.

My daughter and her husband got a Pit Bull puppy as the family pet. Knowing that Pit Bulls have a bad reputation they wanted the most benign name they could think of. The considered Blossom but settled on Possum. For a couple of years Possum lived up to her name and was the calmest cutest pet one could want. Then she started growling at the children in the family. Possum came to me. Possum and I got along well together, and I always felt safe in the car when she was along. It was like having a loaded gun on the seat beside you. When strangers approached the car, Possum’s growl would warn them not to touch the car or me.

Having a Pit Bull is like having a loaded gun. It is protection but it is an awful responsibility You don’t know what might set it off. Possum with the benign name eventually had to be put to sleep because she became vicious. A vicious dog with a sweet name is a joke, but not one to laugh at.

Naming things for something they are not is fun. If I had a Mexican Hairless I would call him “Harry”. (Hairy-- get it?) And one fond memory is of the lady who had the tiniest Chihuahua in the world with a squeaky little bark. His name?

Killer.

Here's a Thoght

May 3, 2008

       EXPECT

          SOMETHNG

              GREAT

                TODAY

Expecting good helps make it happen

Proud as a Peacock

   Pardon me while I spread my tail feathers and strut.  Angie, Guest Editor of Magic Smoke (<- LINK) this week paid me a wonderful compliment. 

   She said I was funny, to the point, and an inspiration. Whew, that is a load to carry and a lot to live up to. She said she found no whining here.  I guess she hasn't read my back issues... I whine plenty about my health, my age, and especially about my printer. And that doesn't even take into account my reports about AOL.

   You can find a link to Angie's Journal there in Magic Smoke and links to her other recommendations. 

   Thanks, Angie.  I think you're pretty neat yourself.

 

Tags: Magic Smoke

Latest Sign on My Door

  The latest sign on my door is handwritten and says...

 I WILL HAVE

TO WRITE THESE

SILLY SIGNS

BY HAND

UNTIL MY

PRINTER IS FIXED

Yes, It was Lovely

   My mother wanted to live, to go places, to see things.  Her husband, my step-father, had been places, seen things, had lived through WWII on a tanker in the South Pacific, seen neighboring ships torpedoed.  He wanted to stay home.

   Mother wanted to go to Hawaii, but not alone.  So she took my daughter, her sixteen-year-old grand daughter, with her to tour Hawaii.

   They met people, and saw things, lots of things.  But no matter what they saw, there was always someone who had seen something else, that they liked better. 

   A conversation might go like this:

MOTHER AND GRAND DAUGHTER: We saw the Grand Canyon of the Pacific.

OTHER TOURIST: But did you see the soaring Nene birds which never land?

MOTHER AND GRAND DAUGHTER: Well, no..but..

OTHER TOURIST: Oh, too bad, you have seen those.

MOTHER AND GRAND DAUGHTER: We saw the spouting blow hole shoot water fifty feet into the air.

OTHER TOURIST: Um-hmm, Did you see the Minihuni Trail? Wasn't that wonderful?

MOTHER AND GRAND DAUGHTER: Well, no, I guess we missed that.

OTHER TOURIST; Oh, what a shame.  It was lovely.

  Mother and my daughter soon learned what to say when asked if they had seen this or that sight, tasted this or that food at a luau, or sipped this ot that drink on the lanai.  They learned to answer all such questions with, "Yes.  It was lovely."  With that response they were spared the details of something they had missed.  They had a wonderful time, and they saw, tasted, sipped plenty.  They didn't feel they had missed anything.

   Today the old folks were invited to go on the bus to a fabulous restaurant in town, one that all the local folk used to gather at. It was a famed gathering spot, and "be sure to taste the cole slaw.  They are famous for their cole slaw." I went, and I was pretty hyped up about this local legend.

   We arrived.  The entrance was through the parking lot in the rear. To this out of towner it looked pretty ordinary. It looked to me like any non-chain burger joint.  It had a ranch theme and had some pictures of horses around the walls, and had a "saddle room" adjoining, whatever that is. The menu looked good, but...

   "Do you have ribs," I asked.  No, they didn't.  One sandwich sounded good -- Our Special Ranch Sandwich, with sauteed onions.  I ordered the special.

    "How do you want it cooked?"

   "Huh?"

   "It is a burger. How do you want it cooked?"  The so-called special was a hamburger.

   "Do you want fries or cole slaw with that?"

   "Cole slaw," I ordered immediately.  I wanted to try their famous cole slow.

   After a while the hamburger came.  It was served with a huge pile of cole slow.  Happily I dug into the cole slaw.  It was quite ordinary. Nothing special about it.  One bite was plenty.  The hamburger was okay, but t was just a hamburger.  I pushed the sauteed onions out of the way and ate the burger patty with A1 sauce.  At least they had genuine A1 sauce on the table. I rate the burger the same as the McDonalds and Carls Jr burgers I reported on in earlier entries here.  Four golden pickles out of five.

   The activity Director of the old folks home came bay and asked, "Did you try the cole slaw?"

   "Yes, It was lovely."

   "Did you have a sandwich?"

   "Yes, It was lovely"