Homage to Ruth

My sister just informed me that when she arrived at mom's Sunday there were only six packed boxes along this wall.
In about 48 hours, she managed to accomplish this much. (Apparently Speed Packing is a fine weight-loss plan because she reports that her new jeans are now falling off!)
I shudder to think what I would have walked into had Ruth not been here before me. Thanks, Sis!

Too Much & Not Enough

Oh, wow. Wow. Wow. WOW. Yikes.

That is my eloquent response to the status of mom and house upon my arrival here in Louisville this afternoon.

It's hard to even describe. My sister had only been gone a couple of hours when I arrived "on scene." All I can say is: THANK GOD SHE HAD BEEN HERE. I do not wish to imagine the state things were in before her epic effort to put some organization back into the madness.

This house is in chaos but that's to be expected with any move so it didn't phase me. But when mom started showing me the various things she was "going to take care of" or "look through," I began to feel a lump of dread building up in my throat. Everywhere I look, there are piles of things -- including but not limited to belongings, boxes (some empty, some not), linens, files, lists, furniture, clothing, cleaning supplies, vacuum cleaners (yes, more than one) -- that apparently are slated for some sort of action at what appears to be some mysterious point in the future.

Have I mentioned the moving truck will be here FRIDAY morning? This is TUESDAY evening.

And then there are the repeated utterances I hear as mom paces through the various rooms of the house brushing up against the physical evidence of her life, marriage and children. Little gems such as, "Oh, I really need to call these people tomorrow" or "I wonder if So-and-So would want that for their backyard." Statements that reflect plenty of speculation and possibility but not nearly as much action as we need.

I feel for my mom, I seriously do. She wants and needs some control over these events. Yet she can't seem to get it together enough to really manage the situation. She's done SO much but this is a task so enormous on so many levels, it's just too much for her. So when I came in this afternoon and immediately lowered the boom, she wasn't exactly happy. (Refer to my 3/15 tweet regarding the iron skillets.)

"Mom, there is no more time," I said. "You have to stop telling me about all the things you're going to do and just let me help you DO them."

Discussion ensued. She attempted to explain to me exactly why all of her plans and ideas were sound. I listened for a bit and then basically said that I knew that logic all made sense to her, it just wasn't going to get her furniture on the moving van on Friday and us in the car on Sunday. I pointed out some very concrete decisions that needed to be made. She completely shut down and didn't say a word or look at me for at least 10 minutes. I kept silent (by biting my lips so hard they bled!) and let her have her moment. I kept telling myself, "I can't fix this for her. She has a right to be upset."

After a bit she picked up the phone and called her brother who lives in a nearby apartment complex. They spoke a few minutes and resolved what to do with a family memento that mom will not have room for in her new residence. Then we went into the kitchen and organized some files that will have to go with us in the car. Then she went into another room and chipped away at her massive pile of letters, papers, photos, birthday cards to her from my dad, cartoon clippings, page-a-day calendar wisdom that seemed worth saving at the time, political bumper stickers, and many, many more items.

For the sake of our mutual sanity, I insist on perceiving those actions as progress.

Now she's in bed and I'm not far behind. Wednesday will be here in a flash.

Ruh Roh!

I've just hung up with my sister on the front lines. She flew to Kentucky today to help mom with the final push before the moving truck comes next week.

Except according to Ruth, there is "a lot left to be done."

*Gulp*

We didn't talk long because she wanted to check in with her family in Glendale, Ca., and then go back to the basement to sort more of mom's things. Apparently the distinct categories we left behind during our trip a few weeks back have been lost quite literally in the shuffle.

Then I spoke to my mom. She sounded disappointed and apologetic that she "hadn't made much progress." I reminded her that she's been doing a great deal, it's just that there is so much to be done. I encouraged her to wind down for the evening (it's her bedtime there) and tell me about anything other than her piles of stuff. It was a challenge but she managed to come up with a few topics of conversation (NCAA basketball and the weather).

My sister will be working her little fingers to the bone the rest of tonight, Monday and part of Tuesday. She will fly back to Los Angeles at the same time I am flying into Louisville -- like a baton pass in an Olympic relay race.

Stay tuned...

Saving Daylight

Tonight I lose an hour of sleep thanks to Daylight Savings Time. No biggie, really. I often lose hours of sleep. Or really I just misplace them. I tend to get my sleep whenever and where ever possible.

The fact is: I require plenty of rest. I know there are people in the world who can go on very little sleep. I am not one of them. I believe in napping and our culture tends to peg that as lazy or self-indulgent. In fact, we have been conditioned to expect ourselves to function well on little sleep, high stress and lousy food -- but that is simply absurd. And in my case if I don't get enough rest, I become a bit insane. Okay, QUITE a bit insane. I get in this state where I'm cranky or weepy or spacey or some combination of all three. Trust me, it isn't pretty!

Which is why I'm so pleased to be spending the days before my departure immersed in my yoga practice. I'm flying to Kentucky on Tuesday and the list of things I have left to do before leaving makes concentrating on anything other than errands pretty much unjustifiable. Yet halfway through my weekend of downward facing dog and meditation, it's obvious to me that this is the best possible use of my time.

Instead of loading up on travel sizes at Walgreens or mentally packing the car over and over again, I'm doing something as radical as sitting on a mat and BREATHING. Pretty revolutionary considering how much "sense" it makes to get my ducks in a row before I get on that plane. This activity is going to do a lot more than any last-minute errand possibly could to support my mom and me in the move. I'm balancing myself with breath and movement, cultivating a state of relaxation and regaining a sense of perspective that I will greatly need in the days to  come.

I expect at times I will still feel frustrated, lose my patience, become overwhelmed with anxiety and experience plenty of other feelings. But I'm setting my baseline at a level of calm that can only improve my chances of making this trip with my best foot forward.

Now remember I said this when I tweet "Get out of my lane you *&#!**!!!!" from somewhere in Texas.

Choosing Change

I was having trouble falling asleep last night (not uncommon) when the news broke about the massive earthquake and tsunami that has struck Japan.

Looking at all that devastation while preparing for mom's move reminded me again how capricious life can be. We walk around thinking we have control and there are plenty of little choices we make all day long. Stuff like whether to have a donut or oatmeal for breakfast, if we should get gas on the way home from work or wait til morning (my tip: don't wait; gas prices go up every time you blink right now) or whether the kids should do soccer and music lessons or pick just one.

But the truth is we have no real control. As John Lennon said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." Most of us know from personal experience how true that is. Heaven knows when folks in Northern Japan started their week, they didn't know they would end it facing thorough devastation.

Our family knows, and has known for a while, that mom is moving to an independent/assisted living facility in Burbank, Calif. In that respect, we have had the luxury of planning and preparation that those suffering a natural disaster or sudden tragedy do not. We are not facing massive loss of life and property, desperate pleas for international aid, and concerns about nuclear meltdown.

I am deeply grateful for that difference. You don't get to choose when the tsunami or heart attack or job loss hits. But there are times when you do have the option of choosing aspects of your major life changes.

Right after the doctor told my mom she could no longer live alone, she went into a formidable state of denial. Mercifully, that didn't last too long. For a variety of reasons, she soon accepted the reality that it was time to make the change she always knew she would eventually face. It's a complicated experience and she has slipped in and out of various degrees of acceptance, all of which are perfectly understandable.

My sister and I were quite frightened during those initial days of denial. We are a determined (okay, stubborn) bunch. It seems to be in the DNA. My mom is one of the sweetest people you will ever meet in your life -- but don't mess with her if she's made up her mind about something! Even though her reaction was typical, I was scared out of my mind. In addition to having wild visions of her tumbling down the stairs of her three-story townhouse, I was getting a disturbing bit of feedback as I began researching possible residences for her.

When I shared about her resistance, the staff at these various homes raised their eyebrows and all said the same thing in the same tone of restrained urgency: It sounds like you and your sister are going to have to make the decision for her.

Huh? What the hell does THAT mean?

I was told that if she was in "that much denial" and her health was at risk, her daughters would have to step in and force her to move.

"Um, you haven't met my mom," I said to one staff member. "That is NOT going to fly." She looked at me and gave me one of those kind, almost pitying looks and said, "Well, if it's a matter of her safety, you're going to have to do it."

Those were some of the darkest days yet in this process. Terrified my mom was going to die in her house and faced with the possibility of...what, binding and gagging her before throwing her on a plane against her will? Taking her to court to declare her incompetent? Good God. My mom couldn't live alone anymore, but she was FAR from incoherent or demented. I felt helpless, anxious and frustrated.

I contemplated these horrors, talking to my mom on the phone each day to reassure myself that she was still alive, wondering if I would find some magic word or phrase to make her see what had to be done. Then one day she told me she knew it was time to go. She confessed that a part of her felt a relief that the doctor had made the determination. The house, as much as she loves being in it, had become too much for her to keep up. The prospect of a more simplified existence actually held some appeal.

I was surprised and relieved -- and tremendously proud of my mom. She's one tough cookie. She drives me nuts sometimes (oh, you'll be hearing about that as we roll across the highways), but I admire and respect her for finding her way to accepting the doctor's news.  As a result of that courage, I believe our family averted a disaster.

As much as anyone can ever can.

Thursday (or "How I Blew My Cool At The AAA Office")

My first mistake was leaving the house without having breakfast. Oh, it made sense at the time, but I really know better than that. I come from a long line of people who tend toward hypoglycemia and, therefore, become quite nasty when hungry.

I was running a bunch of errands -- you know, more stuff to do before I leave -- one of which was to go to the local AAA office and get the maps and guide books for the driving route back from Kentucky. How complicated is that?

Well, usually, it isn't. Today, however, I checked in and took my "seat in the middle," the group of chairs that amounts to the waiting area. I sat and sat and sat some more. And then I sat a little longer. I was keeping myself busy texting and reading stuff on my phone when I realized I had been waiting a full 20 minutes. I should have gotten up right that minute but I waited some more, a poor judgment call no doubt influenced by my lack of nourishment. So I started getting annoyed.

Finally I walked over to the check-in desk and tersely informed them that I had been waiting 30 minutes (it actually may have been more but 30 was enough to make my point). The receptionist dialed a few numbers and told me someone would be with me shortly. Hmmm. Could those numbers not have been dialed 30 minutes ago?

I again took my "seat in the middle" and waited. Two names were called before mine -- they needed other services so it's not like they were bumping me but I was still peeved. I decided enough was enough and that if my name was not the next one called, I was leaving.

Guess what...my name was not the next one called. I stood up and muttered, "I am not waiting" and marched for the exit. I was almost through the door when I thought I heard...no, could it be?...MY NAME BEING CALLED!!!

I turned around and walked up to the window in the travel section but the woman there said she hadn't called me. "It might be Window 10," she said. Okay, hello Window 10, did you call me? Nope. Try Window 8. Seriously?? I take the few steps to Window 8 as that clerk is calling a man's name. I stare at her. She stares at me and my membership card. "Did you call my name?" Yes, she did. "I'll take care of you right after I help this man."

KA-BOOM!

No, no you won't. I stormed out in a state of subdued fury (is there such a thing?). Although there is some good news: I left without tearing anyone a new you-know-what, which is what I would have done in my younger, less humble days. I'm so glad I didn't take it out on anyone because I really do not wish to be that person anymore. It's not someone else's job to be my punching bag because I was inconvenienced. Besides, I was the one who decided to skip breakfast and wait too long before speaking up to the check-in desk.

When I got in the car I felt so angry that I called a friend to vent. After a little discussion I could see that I'm trying to do to much. I'm trying to prepare for every possible need or situation my mom and I could encounter during the move. As soon as I said it out loud, I realized how absurd that really is. My heart is in the right place, wanting to make things as easy on my mom as possible. But the truth is I don't have that kind of power. This move is going to be challenging and messy and overwhelming. I can't protect her or myself from that fact. I can accept the reality or drive myself (and others) crazy trying to make everything work out, which it won't anyway. At least not the way I think it's supposed to.

Instead of trying to fix the world, I'm going to make a sandwich now.

Going Viral

Soon my mom will know about this blog. So will her family and friends. And anyone on the world wide web who finds our little sojourn an interesting read.

She'll be surprised and curious and thrilled. She's always been a big fan of my "work," all the way back to that decorative Thanksgiving plate I made in Brownies with my drawing of a turkey saying, "Goble" (sic). Awwww! (And, yes, it made the cut of mementos slated for packing and moving.)

But this is a wee bit different. This blog is in large part about impressions of HER life and I'm about to spend a considerable amount of time, energy and megabytes commenting on that, exposing it and (let's not forget) laughing about it. Although I don't want to sell my mom short. The truth is one of her most outstanding qualities is her ability to REALLY laugh at herself so she may not mind at all. I guess we'll soon find out.

Mom, how about we make a deal:. If you end up hating all this publicity and wanting revenge on me, I promise I will teach you how to blog once you're settled into your new pad in California. Then you can set the record straight!

Love, Mare