At home on my OWN bed and NOT driving!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Stay Tuned!
The gang's all here but we're not finished yet! Mom officially moves to her new digs on Monday and I'll be posting all about it.
Watch "The Road Home" on YouTube
Some morning video before I started out today. I couldn't upload it earlier.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Sleep: The Miracle Cure
Well, what a difference a day can make.
Last night by the time I arrived at the hotel I was exhausted, which gave way to a full-blown anxiety attack about my mom. (Long story, suffice to say I get them periodically, let's move on.) All you faithful followers got a glimpse in my 3/24 post titled "Acceptance." I then dropped onto the hotel bed, read a string of supportive texts from various folks, called a friend and got everything off my mind (a.k.a. cried more), and, mercifully, fell asleep.
When I got in the car this morning, it really did feel like a brand new day. I had repeated assurances from my sister that mom was comfortable and enjoying herself. Mom texted me (yes, she's cool like that) that she had breakfast with my niece and nephew and the awesome family dog, Fozzie. With all these factors in place, I was ready (and hoping) to enjoy myself.
Aside from the impressive wind gusts, the weather was gorgeous and I made it all the way from Albuquerque, New Mexico, to my stop now in Kingman, Ariz. I felt alert and calm and even cheerful as I rolled along through New Mexico and Arizona. I set up my iPod with my travel speakers and proceeded across I-40 giving a vocal concert of magnificent skill and passion. I mean, that's what I thought. No one was there to contradict my review of my own performance, so you'll just have to trust me.
It was kind of a blast and it reminded me of the zillions of road trips I've been on in my life. I've never been to Europe or Mexico, but I've been to, or at least driven through, every state in the continental U.S. except Montana and Wyoming (I guess you guys are next). I've honestly been on so many road trips I don't remember some -- like the one to Dallas that Terry referred to in an earlier post. I had totally forgotten about it and then the image of her snoozing peacefully in the back seat came creeping back along with the memory of my resentment! But, hey, what's done is done.
I took the most road trips with my best friend, Lisa, until I moved to New York in 1997. I do remember that feeling of getting in the car and just taking off. Often we were hightailing it to some awesome stadium concert (The Rolling Stones, U2, The Police, etc.) or partaking of the Chicago Blues Fest or Mardi Gras. Sometimes we were going to a Kentucky State Park. We had instinctively coordinated bathroom stops down to a science. Lisa was usually in charge of the mix tapes (oh, my God, I just burst out laughing in the hotel business center thinking about mix tapes!) and we always agreed on the destination -- not that we cared so much. Anywhere was better than here.
There were moments today where I actually felt free and alive like that girl -- only without the wicked post-adolescent angst. As I drove along, I mentally visited events and people, some of which I haven't thought of in years: hanging out at Lisa's house watching MTV; how seriously I took being a hall monitor in 5th grade!; my first boyfriend and how much we adored each other; my sister and I drawing the Imaginary Line down the backseat of the car. The memories were all set to a soundtrack of my choice thanks to shuffle mode, so I pretty much had a great time.
There was also a really cool truck driver who managed to prevent me from getting a speeding ticket by sort of boxing me in between two semis. I wasn't really ticked because I was going with the flow anyway, but in just a few moments we rolled past a trooper waiting for some poor sucker to breeze by -- and thanks to that trucker, it wasn't me.
Tomorrow (Saturday) I should make it all the way to Los Angeles. I'm so excited! As much as I love a good road trip, there's no place like home.
Last night by the time I arrived at the hotel I was exhausted, which gave way to a full-blown anxiety attack about my mom. (Long story, suffice to say I get them periodically, let's move on.) All you faithful followers got a glimpse in my 3/24 post titled "Acceptance." I then dropped onto the hotel bed, read a string of supportive texts from various folks, called a friend and got everything off my mind (a.k.a. cried more), and, mercifully, fell asleep.
When I got in the car this morning, it really did feel like a brand new day. I had repeated assurances from my sister that mom was comfortable and enjoying herself. Mom texted me (yes, she's cool like that) that she had breakfast with my niece and nephew and the awesome family dog, Fozzie. With all these factors in place, I was ready (and hoping) to enjoy myself.
Aside from the impressive wind gusts, the weather was gorgeous and I made it all the way from Albuquerque, New Mexico, to my stop now in Kingman, Ariz. I felt alert and calm and even cheerful as I rolled along through New Mexico and Arizona. I set up my iPod with my travel speakers and proceeded across I-40 giving a vocal concert of magnificent skill and passion. I mean, that's what I thought. No one was there to contradict my review of my own performance, so you'll just have to trust me.
It was kind of a blast and it reminded me of the zillions of road trips I've been on in my life. I've never been to Europe or Mexico, but I've been to, or at least driven through, every state in the continental U.S. except Montana and Wyoming (I guess you guys are next). I've honestly been on so many road trips I don't remember some -- like the one to Dallas that Terry referred to in an earlier post. I had totally forgotten about it and then the image of her snoozing peacefully in the back seat came creeping back along with the memory of my resentment! But, hey, what's done is done.
I took the most road trips with my best friend, Lisa, until I moved to New York in 1997. I do remember that feeling of getting in the car and just taking off. Often we were hightailing it to some awesome stadium concert (The Rolling Stones, U2, The Police, etc.) or partaking of the Chicago Blues Fest or Mardi Gras. Sometimes we were going to a Kentucky State Park. We had instinctively coordinated bathroom stops down to a science. Lisa was usually in charge of the mix tapes (oh, my God, I just burst out laughing in the hotel business center thinking about mix tapes!) and we always agreed on the destination -- not that we cared so much. Anywhere was better than here.
There were moments today where I actually felt free and alive like that girl -- only without the wicked post-adolescent angst. As I drove along, I mentally visited events and people, some of which I haven't thought of in years: hanging out at Lisa's house watching MTV; how seriously I took being a hall monitor in 5th grade!; my first boyfriend and how much we adored each other; my sister and I drawing the Imaginary Line down the backseat of the car. The memories were all set to a soundtrack of my choice thanks to shuffle mode, so I pretty much had a great time.
There was also a really cool truck driver who managed to prevent me from getting a speeding ticket by sort of boxing me in between two semis. I wasn't really ticked because I was going with the flow anyway, but in just a few moments we rolled past a trooper waiting for some poor sucker to breeze by -- and thanks to that trucker, it wasn't me.
Tomorrow (Saturday) I should make it all the way to Los Angeles. I'm so excited! As much as I love a good road trip, there's no place like home.
Do I Flatter Myself?
Folks are still trying to get their kicks on Route 66...or something like it.
I'm pretty sure a guy tried to pick me up (wait, is that the right phrase when traveling by car?) at a gas station just outside of Flagstaff, AZ. He pulled up to the pump right beside me, although I didn't notice him until he said, "Hey, you come from Kentucky?"
I was fueling the car and since the gas pump didn't have one of those little stopper things on the handle I had to stand there in the wind and the cold while the tank filled. So I was already a little unhappy but I smiled and said, "Yep, sure am." (For those of you not from The Bluegrass State, allow me to translate: "Yes.") Then he asked where I was going, which immediately sent up my Freak Radar.
"California," I said.
He said he had just come from Kentucky, too, which surprised me since he didn't seem, well, Kentuckian. But I said, "Really?" He said he had driven all the way (um, major red flag there because he's either lying or hopped up on meth) and he was headed to Phoenix.
Then he started groaning about how tired he was and how much farther he had to go. And how much farther I had to go to get to California. As if we might commiserate on our mutual fatigue -- and, what, decide to take a room together at a friendly inn?
Now when I lived in New York City, some guy in a business suit on the 1/9 caught my eye by smiling at me and I smiled back (give me a break, I was new to the city). Then he ever so slightly glanced from me to the doors of the train and then back at me. I didn't quite get what he was doing (give me a break, I was new to the city), so he motioned again with his eyes. THEN I caught on (give me a little credit, I wasn't THAT new). I must have looked like a deer in headlights and since he was just apparently a guy seeking to fulfill a fetish and not Ted Bundy, he got off the train at the next stop. I later read in a women's magazine that there are people who ride the NYC trains with the sole objective of picking someone up for a tryst. Eeeyuuuu! But who am I to judge?
My gut tells me, however, that this guy was looking for an easy mark. I wasn't it. Not only am I naturally cautious, I took one of those self-defense classes where you beat the living daylights out of a guy in an ultra-padded suit. I also used to be a crime reporter. And I wrote a dating colum for a while. If you think on it, you'll see the connection.
Anyway I handled it very well, if I do say so myself, with just the right mix of friendly attention and firm disinterest. I let him ramble on, repeating himself about how tired he was, and after about a minute I said evenly, "Good luck with that."
Allow me to translate this message for various groups of readers:
Kentucky: Back the f*** up, motherf****r!!
California: Wow. Really.
New York: HEY! Move it along, a**hole!
My loved ones in the yoga community: "Don't be so sweet that people want to eat you up or so bitter that they want to spit you out." (words of wisdom from Yogi Bhajan, Kundalini yoga master)
Anyone working 12 steps: You know, everyone is doing the best they can. Peace out.
Before I could even put the gas cap back on, he jumped in his car and sped off. He might have been a serial killer, he might have hoped for a little Interstate Nookie, or maybe he was just a very stupid man (because it's just a bad idea to approach a single woman traveling that way). Whatever he wanted, he was wasting his time with me. Now just in case he was some poor dude who was tired: good luck and Godspeed.
(P.S. If you are female and you have never read "The Gift of Fear," by Gavin DeBecker, do that soon.)
I'm pretty sure a guy tried to pick me up (wait, is that the right phrase when traveling by car?) at a gas station just outside of Flagstaff, AZ. He pulled up to the pump right beside me, although I didn't notice him until he said, "Hey, you come from Kentucky?"
I was fueling the car and since the gas pump didn't have one of those little stopper things on the handle I had to stand there in the wind and the cold while the tank filled. So I was already a little unhappy but I smiled and said, "Yep, sure am." (For those of you not from The Bluegrass State, allow me to translate: "Yes.") Then he asked where I was going, which immediately sent up my Freak Radar.
"California," I said.
He said he had just come from Kentucky, too, which surprised me since he didn't seem, well, Kentuckian. But I said, "Really?" He said he had driven all the way (um, major red flag there because he's either lying or hopped up on meth) and he was headed to Phoenix.
Then he started groaning about how tired he was and how much farther he had to go. And how much farther I had to go to get to California. As if we might commiserate on our mutual fatigue -- and, what, decide to take a room together at a friendly inn?
Now when I lived in New York City, some guy in a business suit on the 1/9 caught my eye by smiling at me and I smiled back (give me a break, I was new to the city). Then he ever so slightly glanced from me to the doors of the train and then back at me. I didn't quite get what he was doing (give me a break, I was new to the city), so he motioned again with his eyes. THEN I caught on (give me a little credit, I wasn't THAT new). I must have looked like a deer in headlights and since he was just apparently a guy seeking to fulfill a fetish and not Ted Bundy, he got off the train at the next stop. I later read in a women's magazine that there are people who ride the NYC trains with the sole objective of picking someone up for a tryst. Eeeyuuuu! But who am I to judge?
My gut tells me, however, that this guy was looking for an easy mark. I wasn't it. Not only am I naturally cautious, I took one of those self-defense classes where you beat the living daylights out of a guy in an ultra-padded suit. I also used to be a crime reporter. And I wrote a dating colum for a while. If you think on it, you'll see the connection.
Anyway I handled it very well, if I do say so myself, with just the right mix of friendly attention and firm disinterest. I let him ramble on, repeating himself about how tired he was, and after about a minute I said evenly, "Good luck with that."
Allow me to translate this message for various groups of readers:
Kentucky: Back the f*** up, motherf****r!!
California: Wow. Really.
New York: HEY! Move it along, a**hole!
My loved ones in the yoga community: "Don't be so sweet that people want to eat you up or so bitter that they want to spit you out." (words of wisdom from Yogi Bhajan, Kundalini yoga master)
Anyone working 12 steps: You know, everyone is doing the best they can. Peace out.
Before I could even put the gas cap back on, he jumped in his car and sped off. He might have been a serial killer, he might have hoped for a little Interstate Nookie, or maybe he was just a very stupid man (because it's just a bad idea to approach a single woman traveling that way). Whatever he wanted, he was wasting his time with me. Now just in case he was some poor dude who was tired: good luck and Godspeed.
(P.S. If you are female and you have never read "The Gift of Fear," by Gavin DeBecker, do that soon.)
The Heart Grows Fonder
I don't know if we have any plans to rename this blog, but if we did, it might be called something like, MarysMissingMom.
Readers, you can see from Mary's earlier post called Acceptance that Patricia just wasn't well enough to make the cross-country trip. She'd wanted to do it, and they'd both been looking forward to a journey of laughing, bonding and sightseeing. They'd never kidded themselves that driving some 2,200 miles would be a cakewalk, but they had made the decision, chuckled at my "Thelma and Louise" references and readied themselves for a long haul.
As it turned out, Pat's pre-trip injury -- she hurt her knee, making it really tough to walk and uncomfortable to sit for long stretches -- slowed them to a crawl. At the rate they were traveling -- about 250 miles a day -- it would've been a week or more before they'd arrived in Los Angeles from our hometown in Louisville, Ky.
Since Pat was worn to a nub after the first few days, Mary knew it wasn't feasible for her to keep going. She put Pat on a plane Thursday, and now she's finishing the trip alone.
She's trying to make up a little time today (Friday), planning to go from Albuquerque N.M. to Williams, Ariz. She may push it a bit further, depending on weather conditions, on-board snacks and potential second wind.
No doubt some of this final leg will be calming and freeing for Mary, which is part of the rationale behind taking a road trip to being with. And her mind is eased knowing that Pat's now happily ensconced with her daughter, Ruth, hanging out with the grandkids and truly chillaxing. She'll be here when Mary gets home, and that's mighty comforting, whether Mary'd just spent six hard days on the road or not.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Acceptance
My mom is now in California with my sister.
I cried off and on all morning getting mom ready for the plane. I felt like I was sending my child off to camp and she didn't want to go.
After I left the airport, I pulled over, called my sister and cried more. If I think about it all very much (which I'm about to do in order to post), I'll start crying again.
My tears are complicated. I feel mostly sorrow but also fear, guilt and anger.
As far as I can tell, most of the fear and guilt stem from second-guessing myself. Maybe I should have planned smarter. Maybe I should have bullied her into the move last November for her own good. Maybe I should have known a car trip was never wise and planned all along to fly her. Maybe I was being selfish and I somehow pushed her -- and what if I've permanently degraded her health by dragging her across the country. Whatever those feelings are, they will pass -- and then, perhaps, return. But I've had more therapy than a human being might need in five lifetimes, so I'm going to trust that I will cope with those emotions as they ebb and flow.
The sorrow and anger feel like they come from a deeper place and are actually mixed up together a little bit. I'm mostly feeling the sadness (hence the crying), but I know anger is there as well.
It was especially hard to watch my mom struggle the past few days with increasing levels of weakness, disorientation, pain, and confusion. I never expected us to leap tall buildings, but she was truly handicapped on our journey -- and not just physically. As we discussed the plan for her to fly the rest of the way, she responded with reasoning that implied she was actually unaware of how hindered she was. For example, she suggested that her presence was necessary in the car to help me with the remainder of the drive. I didn't know what to say except, "It's become too hard on me."
In fact, she often mixed up east and west, she teetered and stumbled whenever she tried to walk, and repeated herself often. She also could not read the maps due to her vision and her disorientation, which I found especially sad since she reminisced about her role as navigator/co-pilot on trips with my dad. I didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't helping but she probably figured it out.
I feel like I've been walking on eggshells the past 48 hours while the situation became progressively worse and mom mostly denied it. She told me several times as she argued against the flight that she could walk on her own, or travel another hundred miles a day and get started earlier in the morning. All I could do was shake my head and say, "No, mom. You can't." To the extent that her denial may be a defense mechanism against feeling humiliated or useless, it felt pretty awful to be in a position where I had to concretely state how disabled she was.
Even now I don't know what her perception is of herself. I think she agreed to fly mostly because she could tell Ruth and I were worrying. And she could see my face as I welled up describing the worst-case scenarios I feared if we continued by car. I told her how exhausted I was and that I didn't think I could do it the way we planned any longer. So she agreed and got on that plane.
She sent me a text at the connecting airport: "...tired u were right xo"
I think all in all, my tears today have to do with the fact that this was necessary at all and what that implies about mom's wellness. I love my mom and I still need her. I don't like what I saw, however much it validates the plan for her move to assisted living. I feel a deep fear blooming again -- the fear that I have held in tight check just waiting for the day until she gets proper care. But, then again, I'm pretty sure after I get some rest, I won't feel so discouraged.
At least she's with Ruth now, in a house that's familiar to her, and with her grandchildren. I'll get back to Los Angeles sometime Saturday. Monday mom will head over to the facility to officially move into her new home.
For now, good night from Albuquerque.
I cried off and on all morning getting mom ready for the plane. I felt like I was sending my child off to camp and she didn't want to go.
After I left the airport, I pulled over, called my sister and cried more. If I think about it all very much (which I'm about to do in order to post), I'll start crying again.
My tears are complicated. I feel mostly sorrow but also fear, guilt and anger.
As far as I can tell, most of the fear and guilt stem from second-guessing myself. Maybe I should have planned smarter. Maybe I should have bullied her into the move last November for her own good. Maybe I should have known a car trip was never wise and planned all along to fly her. Maybe I was being selfish and I somehow pushed her -- and what if I've permanently degraded her health by dragging her across the country. Whatever those feelings are, they will pass -- and then, perhaps, return. But I've had more therapy than a human being might need in five lifetimes, so I'm going to trust that I will cope with those emotions as they ebb and flow.
The sorrow and anger feel like they come from a deeper place and are actually mixed up together a little bit. I'm mostly feeling the sadness (hence the crying), but I know anger is there as well.
It was especially hard to watch my mom struggle the past few days with increasing levels of weakness, disorientation, pain, and confusion. I never expected us to leap tall buildings, but she was truly handicapped on our journey -- and not just physically. As we discussed the plan for her to fly the rest of the way, she responded with reasoning that implied she was actually unaware of how hindered she was. For example, she suggested that her presence was necessary in the car to help me with the remainder of the drive. I didn't know what to say except, "It's become too hard on me."
In fact, she often mixed up east and west, she teetered and stumbled whenever she tried to walk, and repeated herself often. She also could not read the maps due to her vision and her disorientation, which I found especially sad since she reminisced about her role as navigator/co-pilot on trips with my dad. I didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't helping but she probably figured it out.
I feel like I've been walking on eggshells the past 48 hours while the situation became progressively worse and mom mostly denied it. She told me several times as she argued against the flight that she could walk on her own, or travel another hundred miles a day and get started earlier in the morning. All I could do was shake my head and say, "No, mom. You can't." To the extent that her denial may be a defense mechanism against feeling humiliated or useless, it felt pretty awful to be in a position where I had to concretely state how disabled she was.
Even now I don't know what her perception is of herself. I think she agreed to fly mostly because she could tell Ruth and I were worrying. And she could see my face as I welled up describing the worst-case scenarios I feared if we continued by car. I told her how exhausted I was and that I didn't think I could do it the way we planned any longer. So she agreed and got on that plane.
She sent me a text at the connecting airport: "...tired u were right xo"
I think all in all, my tears today have to do with the fact that this was necessary at all and what that implies about mom's wellness. I love my mom and I still need her. I don't like what I saw, however much it validates the plan for her move to assisted living. I feel a deep fear blooming again -- the fear that I have held in tight check just waiting for the day until she gets proper care. But, then again, I'm pretty sure after I get some rest, I won't feel so discouraged.
At least she's with Ruth now, in a house that's familiar to her, and with her grandchildren. I'll get back to Los Angeles sometime Saturday. Monday mom will head over to the facility to officially move into her new home.
For now, good night from Albuquerque.
Checking in
Mom about to go through security in a Southwest Airlines wheelchair. I'll have to say goodbye soon.
Thursday morning
Mom packing up to head out to airport. Very slow progress but we're gonna get there.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Mixed Feelings
We've made the only decision that was safe and smart for all involved: Mom will board a plane in Amarillo, Texas, tomorrow afternoon and arrive in Burbank at 4:15 p.m. She will then stay at my sister's house until she can officially move into her new place.
I will continue on with the car (and many of mom's belongings) and arrive in Los Angeles sometime Friday.
This change of plans is, without question, for everyone's greatest good. The farther we have come on this journey, the more fragile mom seems to become. I think (I hope) she can improve once everything settles down. But for now, I was becoming very afraid that our desire to continue on the road could actually jeopardize her overall health (mostly by way of a fall).
As for me, I am completely exhausted. If we'd had a pack horse tethered to the back of the car, maybe it would have saved some energy. Probably not since the most fatiguing part for me had become worrying about mom.
When we all agreed to this new plan, I cried. I wanted for mom and I to see it through on the road, together, as we envisioned. But this trip was supposed to be fun along with some difficult stuff rather than difficult and occasionally fun. Somewhere in the last 24 hours, it all turned upside down. We aren't taking our time across the great USA because we keep stopping to sightsee or explore. We are barely moving because it is physically impossible to go any faster under these circumstances. So I feel many things, most of all relief that mom is going to get safely to her new home. That's the point.
Tomorrow I will take mom to the airport and head for Albuquerque. She will worry about me until she sees me again in Los Angeles.
I will continue to blog...we may have changed our methods but this journey is far from over. Please keep following us.
I will continue on with the car (and many of mom's belongings) and arrive in Los Angeles sometime Friday.
This change of plans is, without question, for everyone's greatest good. The farther we have come on this journey, the more fragile mom seems to become. I think (I hope) she can improve once everything settles down. But for now, I was becoming very afraid that our desire to continue on the road could actually jeopardize her overall health (mostly by way of a fall).
As for me, I am completely exhausted. If we'd had a pack horse tethered to the back of the car, maybe it would have saved some energy. Probably not since the most fatiguing part for me had become worrying about mom.
When we all agreed to this new plan, I cried. I wanted for mom and I to see it through on the road, together, as we envisioned. But this trip was supposed to be fun along with some difficult stuff rather than difficult and occasionally fun. Somewhere in the last 24 hours, it all turned upside down. We aren't taking our time across the great USA because we keep stopping to sightsee or explore. We are barely moving because it is physically impossible to go any faster under these circumstances. So I feel many things, most of all relief that mom is going to get safely to her new home. That's the point.
Tomorrow I will take mom to the airport and head for Albuquerque. She will worry about me until she sees me again in Los Angeles.
I will continue to blog...we may have changed our methods but this journey is far from over. Please keep following us.
Options?
Watch "Rerouting?" on YouTube
Today the knees were no better and that seems to be a game-changer. We have to consider alternatives.
Today the knees were no better and that seems to be a game-changer. We have to consider alternatives.
The Lives of Others
Open letter to my mother, Peggy Stanley, and the rest of my family:
I have a confession to make: I've talked trash about you. A lot.
Sometimes it came from anger, confusion or frustration. Other times I just needed to vent -- with love, of course! -- about that year you dramatically cancelled Christmas because no one was getting along, fought with each other until someone nearly drew blood and played a juvenile game of phone tag with predictable results.
There, now you know.
But if it makes you feel any better -- and it should -- I was talking to Mary when I unleashed those tirades. And no one understands me -- or, by extension, you all -- better than she does.
It's a gift in this life to have a friend so close that she can finish your thoughts and your sentences. Mary's always been that friend to me. And since we've known each other for so long -- we were college roommates back, oh, a few years ago, and have been tight now for a couple decades -- she's had an equally long relationship with my family.
That gives her a unique perspective, a bird's eye view, if you will, where she knows the personalities, the motivations, the history, the quirks and the neuroses. She's involved without being "one of us," which means she can be a good deal more impartial than I can. Oh how valuable that's been over the years.
So if I ever launched a blog about the Stanley clan, I'd want her perspective included.
That hasn't happened -- yet -- but there was no question in either of our minds that the reverse would be true for MarysMovingMom. As a friend of the family and a longtime fan of Patricia's, I have a point of view that's intimate without being tethered. In other words, I can say what I want -- kindly, of course -- and I'm not likely to get rapped on the knuckles for it or be written out of the will.
Not that I've ever been shy about throwing in my two cents, but in this case it seemed logical and natural to both of us. And it's always nice, as writers, to have someone else's work to bounce off because, as close as we are, we definitely have different voices.
I'm not in the car with Mary and Pat on this cross-country odyssey from our hometown in Louisville, Ky., to Los Angeles, dealing with thunderstorms in Tulsa or trip tik lost on the way to Amarillo. (That was one of Mary's latest Tweets, by the way. Check the feed on the right for more). That means I'm probably a lot less stressed and exhausted than they are, and I can help steer the ship (that would be the blog) with a fairly clear head.
Mary and Pat are doing the best they can from the road, though it's a trial, made more difficult by an injury that Pat suffered right before they left Louisville. Her knee's achy and sore, so sitting for long stretches in the car isn't comfortable. Pat's not much on riding and napping, so their progress has been exceedingly slow.
It could take them a week or more to arrive in Burbank, where Pat has a lovely apartment waiting for her at an assisted living facility that's about equidistant from Mary's place, her sister Ruth's home and my house.
As Mary's said from the beginning, she has to be nimble enough to alter this journey, whether that means only driving a few hundred miles a day or considering scrapping it all together out of concern for Pat's health.
From the start, it's been a joyful and painful trip, filled with instant memories of a lifetime and aggravations large and small. I'll be hearing a lot more about it, if only because I know where I'd turn to share all those details.
So go ahead, Mare, let it rip. I'm listening.
Independence?
Mom getting her own coffee this morning. I agreed because she didn't need the cane inside the room earlier. We'll see if it's a sign of improvement as the day unfolds.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Where's the Peanut Butter?
So, mom & I can't find the jar of peanut butter we ate from last night, prompting speculation as to its whereabouts.
We assumed I had mistakenly thrown it in the trash. Then mom rightly pointed out, "It could be anywhere."
Some possibilities: the bottom of the cooler (no, we both looked); the bottom of the laundry bag, which is really a brown paper sack so you can appreciate the opportunity for error; or on the floor of the car having tumbled out of the bag en route (not like we were making donuts in the parking lot or drag racing today).
But my personal favorite is the idea that the jar of PB may be at the bottom of mom's suitcase, safely packed away.
For some reason the whole thing made us howl with laughter -- so at least we're entertained while deprived. Mom says if the peanut butter doesn't show up in somebody's underwear soon, we'll have to get more tomorrow.
We assumed I had mistakenly thrown it in the trash. Then mom rightly pointed out, "It could be anywhere."
Some possibilities: the bottom of the cooler (no, we both looked); the bottom of the laundry bag, which is really a brown paper sack so you can appreciate the opportunity for error; or on the floor of the car having tumbled out of the bag en route (not like we were making donuts in the parking lot or drag racing today).
But my personal favorite is the idea that the jar of PB may be at the bottom of mom's suitcase, safely packed away.
For some reason the whole thing made us howl with laughter -- so at least we're entertained while deprived. Mom says if the peanut butter doesn't show up in somebody's underwear soon, we'll have to get more tomorrow.
3 Days, 762 Miles, 2 travelers
Something I've always loved: the wacky animated trail that Bugs Bunny leaves behind him when he's a) running from Elmer Fudd; b) foiling Elmer Fudd; c) heading toward Albuquerque; d) ending up at the North Pole because he didn't take that left turn at Albuquerque.
I'd love to be proficient enough at charts and graphs to make a Looney Tunes-style visual that would help all the readers of this blog keep up with Mary and Patricia's progress on their cross-country trek. Alas, I'm not. (And I'm no Bugs Bunny, but I'll do what I can on the hijinks front).
So far, the intrepid travelers have logged about 762 miles. They left Louisville, Ky., on Sunday and they're in Oklahoma City, Ok., tonight, according to Mary's latest Tweet. (See Twitter feed on the right).
I'd estimated a bit high in previous posts when I said it was 3,000 miles between point A and point B. (That would be from Louisville to Los Angeles). It's more like 2,180, according to a couple web sites I just checked.
I'm sure Mary has this number stuck in her head already. It has to have been frightening to think of how much distance that was to cover with Pat before they hit the road. It may be kind of overwhelming now, since Pat hurt her knee just before the trip started and needs a lot of extra time and help in navigating rest stops, hotels and restaurants.
Not that it was ever a quick jaunt, but it's become vastly more complicated. At this rate, it'll take about a week for them to arrive in L.A.
I shared Mary and Pat's coordinates this morning with my dad back in Kentucky, who instantly did the math.
"They might as well be in a covered wagon," he said.
Please, Mary, take that in the spirit in which it was intended. He's commiserating with you, and so am I.
Keep checking back, readers, and keep your fingers crossed for good weather, sturdy tires and unending patience. Mary and Pat will need all these.
From the Frying Pan into the Fire
Leave it to my buddy, Mary, to make a John Steinbeck reference at a time like this.
One of her early Tweets, just after she'd arrived to finish packing up her mother's house for a gargantuan cross-country move, reads as follows:
Yep first head butt: a brief tussle re iron skillets. She wants them in car not moving van! Huh??? We're not the Joads!
Well, Mare, it worked for Jed Clampett.
Note to self: ask for Patricia's rationale for lugging about a thousand pounds of cookware in the car. Traction? Weapons?
At any rate, guess who won that argument?
If you're not following MarysMovingMom on Twitter, allow me to wholeheartedly recommend it. My dear friend since college, where we were roommates, is Tweeting her experiences as she and Patricia make their way -- s-l-o-w-l-y -- across country from Louisville, Ky., where we're all from, to Los Angeles, where Pat has a lovely assisted living apartment and an entirely new life waiting for her.
There's a whole lot of ground to cover between there and here. Keep checking back for all the gory/funny/painful/joyful details.
-- T.L. Stanley
Road Trip of a Different Stripe
Road trip!!!!
Remember the last time you said that with genuine enthusiasm? In college, maybe? Or was it more recently? Before or after gas hit $4 a gallon?
In spite of what "Repo Man" told us -- among that flick's many truisms, "The more you drive, the less intelligent you are," has really stuck with me all these years -- I love to get behind the wheel and just take off. The feel of the open road, the rush of forward momentum, the promise of new scenery -- it's an escape that a time-pressed control freak like me can understand. No seat on an Airbus has the same effect.
My friend, Mary (of this blog's title), has always had an affinity for the road, too, and a sense of adventure that's taken her across the country multiple times. She's even been smart enough to make pit stops in historically or geographically significant locations, while I whipped by all that so fast on my one Kentucky-to-Los-Angeles drive that I might've missed the Grand Canyon if it hadn't been so, well, grand.
Mary and I come from a car culture in the South, where you are what you drive, and motoring long distances was just part of the fabric of the place. It's no surprise that it's ingrained in both of us.
In my case, if my family wanted to see our cousins or grandparents, we had to pile into the station wagon -- the one with missing seat belts, mind you -- since we lived in the "big city" of Louisville, Ky., and our kin was out in the country.
Those daylong jaunts involved lots of two-lane roads and some "Dukes of Hazzard" driving by my dad, but we all survived. My mom's lecture about keeping our hands and feet in the car had been unusually effective. Never mind that any wreck would've sent us shooting around like missiles inside that wood-paneled Ford. Ah, the '70s.
We'd venture further away from home during spring break and sometimes summers, but those trips would involve only a subset of my large family. The travel party would consist of my mom, my aunt, a random sibling and me (the youngest). Usually that sibling hadn't been sly enough to talk his or her way out of the "vacation" that would include constant rest stops for the little sister with a pea-sized bladder and no roadside diner that didn't have an orange roof.
Since sitting still had never been my strong suit, I was always just thrilled to be going somewhere, anywhere. Gary, Ind., the home of a relative, was no garden spot, quite the opposite, but I didn't care. Give me a bag of sourballs to stave off the motion sickness, and I was ready to roll. (I had none of the responsibility or stress of driving, navigating, paying, so of course it was one long line of Howard Johnson's banana split for me).
Later, we made it all the way to Florida so I could see Disney World, palm trees, the ocean, copious amounts of road kill and scenic Interstate 95. It never occurred to us to fly, or at least I never heard any discussion of it, and I doubt we could've afforded it. And anyway, "Have car, will travel" could be part of the family crest.
Mary and I have made a number of road trips of varying distances together, the longest was a weekend in Dallas when we were in college in Louisville. Packed into the car with some friends, mix tapes, junk food and pillows, I slept the entire way there and back. And if I didn't appropriately apologize before, allow me to do so now. Sorry, Mare, that I was such a house afire. I think I violated any number of rules in the unofficial road trip handbook, like, "Thou shalt stay awake long enough to play a raunchy version of the license plate game." Glad there were conscious people there to keep you company.
It's been decades since then, and times certainly have changed. While I do still love to get up and go, I'm good these days for about two, three hours in the car, tops, before I'm bored and stiff, annoyed and road ragey. I don't need an antsy kid in the back seat, since I'm the one constantly chanting, "Are we there yet?"
I've done the cross-country drive from Kentucky to Los Angeles only once, as I mentioned before. It was not a leisure trip. I was traveling at breakneck speed, driving a U-Haul with all my belongings and my travel-ready gray tabby, Ellie, and towing a car crammed with more junk, to get to a new job.
I've sworn I'll never do that again, under any circumstances.
When Mary told me she intended to make the drive with Patricia, I'll admit to being completely stunned. It's a long, tedious, exhausting trip under the absolutely best conditions. With an aging parent on board, what would that even mean? An estimated week in the car, for starters, with backup plans for a slower journey if Pat has any health issues or Mary, the sole driver, needs extra breaks.
I've already joked about their "Thelma-and-Louise"-style trek, and I know there will be plenty of laughs as Mary and Pat bond across 3,000 miles. But it won't be easy for either of them: for Mary, the weight's all on her to safely make it across country with Pat, who, as you'll learn from earlier posts on this blog, hurt her knee just before the trip and needs help walking. And for Pat, it's exciting to come to a new life in L.A., where both her daughters live, but it's bittersweet to leave the home she's known for 40-plus years.
So it's a road trip of a different stripe, not the kind we took as kids or as students. From what I've already seen from Mary's photo posts, the food's definitely better this time around. But so much has changed about the logistics and the day to day.
The goal, of course, is the same. See the country, put one place behind and wrap your arms around another, feed the wind (maybe metaphorically) in your face. Sourballs optional.
Keep up with Mary as she and Pat inch across our fine country -- you'll find the Twitter feed to the right of this blog (up top). And say a little prayer for their journey.
-- T.L. Stanley
Trip Legs and Trip Knees
My sister sent me an email with the breakdowns of where our road stops might be in four-hour increments. Last night I charted three-hour legs, so I was really excited to see this layout instead.
Until I took stock of our status this morning.
Mom has had a little breakfast and her morning meds. She's now lying down and working a crossword. She will probably nod off while she's doing the puzzle. She actually looked kind of peaceful when she said she wanted to do one, unless, she said, I was in a hurry to get going. I honestly didn't have the heart or the will to say, "Look, do it in the car." Getting started on the right foot each day makes a huge difference in both our lives.
So I could try to get her all loaded up in the car (SO much easier said than done, by the way) to puzzle and nap there, while we churned out some miles, but it's not that simple. She also really wants to take a bath this morning (or some facsimilie of it) and that is going to be quite the project. Hopefully it will go off without a hitch, but it will only be if she moves at a snail's pace to avoid wobbling or falling. And if she skips a nap to try to be more efficient regarding the bath, forget it. That's a scenario I don't even wish to entertain.
Her medicine knocks her out and if she doesn't get that nap, as she often hasn't in the past few weeks, she's more disoriented and weak than usual. Those are not aggravations we can afford. She needs all her available strength to negotiate walking -- and it takes a lot of thought. She stopped for a full minute at the curb trying to figure out which foot should go first to best support her. She's already stepped off numerous curbs since she hurt her knee but she confessed (with some embarrassment) that she can't remember the formula that works each time she has to do it. So it's like starting all over again. If she picks the wrong foot, she crumples and/or winces and goes forward even more gingerly.
I told her it was okay that she had to take the extra time. I'm not sure she can believe me because she feels like she's a burden at this point. I'm hoping that she can find some enjoyment out of the day, but that surely can't happen if we're operating under tension.
On the other hand, when she came out of the bathroom this morning, she pointed at her head and said, "Look at my hair," and we both cracked up. Her bed head was most impressive! I would have snapped a photo but my phone was charging...and she might have killed me!
Having those chuckles is worth the extra time. Going three hours or four hours each day will add up to how long the trip takes overall, but I don't feel like forcing a system. So I'm going to take a few minutes to set myself, probably meditate a little, ponder all the ways I am deeply grateful mom and I can do this (even in strained conditions) and then let go of any notions of how this day could or should unfold.
It is what it is. I'd like to enjoy it.
Until I took stock of our status this morning.
Mom has had a little breakfast and her morning meds. She's now lying down and working a crossword. She will probably nod off while she's doing the puzzle. She actually looked kind of peaceful when she said she wanted to do one, unless, she said, I was in a hurry to get going. I honestly didn't have the heart or the will to say, "Look, do it in the car." Getting started on the right foot each day makes a huge difference in both our lives.
So I could try to get her all loaded up in the car (SO much easier said than done, by the way) to puzzle and nap there, while we churned out some miles, but it's not that simple. She also really wants to take a bath this morning (or some facsimilie of it) and that is going to be quite the project. Hopefully it will go off without a hitch, but it will only be if she moves at a snail's pace to avoid wobbling or falling. And if she skips a nap to try to be more efficient regarding the bath, forget it. That's a scenario I don't even wish to entertain.
Her medicine knocks her out and if she doesn't get that nap, as she often hasn't in the past few weeks, she's more disoriented and weak than usual. Those are not aggravations we can afford. She needs all her available strength to negotiate walking -- and it takes a lot of thought. She stopped for a full minute at the curb trying to figure out which foot should go first to best support her. She's already stepped off numerous curbs since she hurt her knee but she confessed (with some embarrassment) that she can't remember the formula that works each time she has to do it. So it's like starting all over again. If she picks the wrong foot, she crumples and/or winces and goes forward even more gingerly.
I told her it was okay that she had to take the extra time. I'm not sure she can believe me because she feels like she's a burden at this point. I'm hoping that she can find some enjoyment out of the day, but that surely can't happen if we're operating under tension.
On the other hand, when she came out of the bathroom this morning, she pointed at her head and said, "Look at my hair," and we both cracked up. Her bed head was most impressive! I would have snapped a photo but my phone was charging...and she might have killed me!
Having those chuckles is worth the extra time. Going three hours or four hours each day will add up to how long the trip takes overall, but I don't feel like forcing a system. So I'm going to take a few minutes to set myself, probably meditate a little, ponder all the ways I am deeply grateful mom and I can do this (even in strained conditions) and then let go of any notions of how this day could or should unfold.
It is what it is. I'd like to enjoy it.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Bend, Don't Break
"It's hard to speculate at this point because our situation is evolving on the ground."
Isn't that how the government describes delicate military operations when asked to predict an outcome?
And that's basically what I told my sister when we stopped here in Joplin, Mo., and I called her. She wondered when I thought we might arrive in Burbank. I officially have no idea.
Thursday...no way. Friday, she asked. I seriously doubt it. Sunday?? I'm not comfortable speculating.
We have traveled about 500 miles in 2 days, which is 300 miles less than my most leisurely estimate for travel. We just can't move normally right now.
Example: Usually we might stop for gas & take a bathroom break as well. Just pick an exit off the interstate, roll up to the pump & take turns in the loo. One person might even stroll through the mini mart for chewing gum or snacks. Then we pile back in the car and take off. Well, that is quite literally NOT how we roll in this case.
Instead, whether or not either of us actually needs a bathroom, I notice that my mom is trying to get comfortable and can't. She can't stay in one position too long without her knee getting worse. When we stop, it's a huge effort for mom to get out of the car without tweaking her knee. She has to use the car door, the cane and a boost from me to stand up. Only then can she tell if her knee is stable or not. Now begins the painstaking walk to the restroom. This afternoon, her OTHER knee buckled along the way. Fortunately a chair was only a few steps further so she was able to sit.
She still hadn't even made it to the bathroom. I think you're getting the idea, right?
I feel myself about to cry watching her try so hard. Then I want to clobber her because she starts speeding up to get out of someone's way, jeopardizing her own safety so she won't be a bother. *sigh* Does anyone else smell the irony?
This evening I had to break it to her that we are not going to make it to LA as soon as I thought. It freaked her out for many reasons, among them the added costs of more hotels. She's also feeling nervous about her destination residence after we discovered a logistical glitch regarding her anticipated date of arrival. It appears we worked it out but it rattled her.
Even still we had a couple of chuckles over dinner (apples, string cheese, celery, carrots and potato chips -- we were both quite content). I'm hoping that tomorrow, having accepted our revised plan, mom can resume having fun on her trip.
I guess we'll see. After all, our situation is evolving on the ground.
I Love Holiday Inn!
OMG! The folks in this hotel have been SO kind & they just made my life a million times easier. They are letting us have an extra hour to check out at no extra cost!
Thank you, Holiday Inn Express in Fenton, Mo. (off I-44)!
Monday Morning
It's 8 a.m. in St. Louis. I slept 8 hours. I've had breakfast in the hotel lobby. I'm back in bed & in no hurry to beat the 11 a.m. checkout.
I've been trying to find words to describe how the trip has changed because of mom's knee.
I don't mind the extra effort. I don't feel angry or resentful that mom needs more help. But I do feel a perpetual tension & fear that mom could fall. And I'm constantly making mental adjustments for every detail affected by her new limitation.
She's off balance anyway because of her meds and the conditions they are intended to treat. The demands of the move have deprived her of her regular medication-induced naps, which has a huge affect on her stability. But now she can't put any weight at all on her left knee, which requires compensation by her right side. Yet she's fairly weak in general anymore and the more tired she gets, the less ability she has to support herself on the cane.
So I am extremely grateful that she is back in bed taking a post-breakfast snooze. That gives me a little time to think about the day ahead realistically.
I originally thought we would get to Oklahoma City on this leg of the trip, or we could stop in Tulsa if we couldn't make it that far. Now I'm hoping we get to Tulsa but preparing to stop in Joplin if necessary.
I guess I'll find out when we get there. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to more giggle fits. I'm hoping to capture one on video so all you followers can share in the fun!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Cut Me Some Slack!
I have just discovered that my video is posting sideways. I think I now know why but I have one more 2 post that way. So hopefully after that, they will appear the right way.
After just facilitating a miracle (getting my mom out the door), I am not feeling hypercritical of myself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)