Glad tidings to all...
It is extremely difficult to shop for a ninety year old. For Granny's birthday, I got her a set of paints I thought she might like. My thought process being: she can take up a new hobby, oh what an amazing granddaughter I am for being so considerate. That was six months ago, and the paints have never been opened.
My grandmother doesn't do much, so I thought a Christmas gift for her would be impossible. She sits in her chair all day, next to a pile of unopened hobbies we all mistakenly thought would benefit her. Here is what my grandmother does in lieu of these hobbies:
-schedules doctor's appointments
-tells us to do things for her
-schedules doctor's appointments
-repeat
Suddenly, the perfect gift hit me: a lapdesk. This will make all of the things she does just that much easier! So basically, I am making writing easier for my grandma. Now, she will basically put forth absolutely no effort into anything! AND it goes perfctly with the Wizard of Oz calander Joanna got her. So she can make annoying, pointless appointments with doctors she doesn't need to see, and that we have to bring her to-we just made all that easier. FUCK.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!
-Kat
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Kohl's Spell
Yesterday Joanna and I took granny to Kohl's so she could buy Christmas Cards. We had psyched ourselves up for this activity by doing all those things people do to prepare themselves for an afternoon of tedium and torture. Basically, we sat in Joanna's car and burned ourselves with cigarettes while listening to Billie Holiday.
It's a weird phenomenon, going to Kohl's with Alice. She is a sweet old grandmother before we get there, Hell on Wheels in the store, and then sweet again. It's psychopathic.
In the parking lot, use of a wheelchair is discussed. We decide it best to get one, and upon returning to the car with it, load her in. As we venture through Kohl's with Alice, wheeling her from place to place, a change takes place; a metamorphosis so astounding it would put the Incredible Hulk to shame. She starts to yell at us, saying that we are moving her too fast. She gets nasty, and puts her head in her hands like she is dealing with two bumbling idiots (us), when we are just trying to help her.
I am reminded at these moments of what my good friend Brian tells me about his mother. She is a lunatic who also, at the youngish age of 62 needs the assistence of a wheelchair, and who whines and complains when it is not being handled correctly.
"Sometimes," he says. "I swear to God, I get that urge to roll her down a flight of stairs, like in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. I don't do it, but I notice myself almost moving her fast on purpose. It's sick, I know."
No, Brian, it's not sick, it's natural. We as caretakers get a sociopathic thrill when it comes to control and perhaps controlling somebody who has made us feel that we have NO control over ANY situation. Now, I'm not saying we should all be throwing granny off a cliff, but there is that sick thrill that we should know EVERYBODY gets now and again. We are sorry for it, of course-but it's there.
After Kohl's, in the car, my grandmother is sweet as pie again. I then hope to God he forgives me for those evil thoughts I had while pushing Alice through the bra aisle. I just wonder-what black magic is it that Kohl's has? Or is it the twenty-somethings allergy to helping others? Let's hope it is all Kohl's fault, because I just can't deal with that type of guilt.
-Kat
It's a weird phenomenon, going to Kohl's with Alice. She is a sweet old grandmother before we get there, Hell on Wheels in the store, and then sweet again. It's psychopathic.
In the parking lot, use of a wheelchair is discussed. We decide it best to get one, and upon returning to the car with it, load her in. As we venture through Kohl's with Alice, wheeling her from place to place, a change takes place; a metamorphosis so astounding it would put the Incredible Hulk to shame. She starts to yell at us, saying that we are moving her too fast. She gets nasty, and puts her head in her hands like she is dealing with two bumbling idiots (us), when we are just trying to help her.
I am reminded at these moments of what my good friend Brian tells me about his mother. She is a lunatic who also, at the youngish age of 62 needs the assistence of a wheelchair, and who whines and complains when it is not being handled correctly.
"Sometimes," he says. "I swear to God, I get that urge to roll her down a flight of stairs, like in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. I don't do it, but I notice myself almost moving her fast on purpose. It's sick, I know."
No, Brian, it's not sick, it's natural. We as caretakers get a sociopathic thrill when it comes to control and perhaps controlling somebody who has made us feel that we have NO control over ANY situation. Now, I'm not saying we should all be throwing granny off a cliff, but there is that sick thrill that we should know EVERYBODY gets now and again. We are sorry for it, of course-but it's there.
After Kohl's, in the car, my grandmother is sweet as pie again. I then hope to God he forgives me for those evil thoughts I had while pushing Alice through the bra aisle. I just wonder-what black magic is it that Kohl's has? Or is it the twenty-somethings allergy to helping others? Let's hope it is all Kohl's fault, because I just can't deal with that type of guilt.
-Kat
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Not Really Anything to Do With This But...
I did my grandmother's shopping today, which was totally fine, but I noticed, while in Stop & Shop, they were playing that song that Buffalo Bill dances to in Silence of the Lambs. This doesn't have anything to do with Granny, it was just weird. That song just doesn't fit in a grocery store.
-Kat
-Kat
Monday, November 21, 2011
The Asshole Award
My sister and I were planning on doing our grandmother's shopping today. Of course, when we called Alice to tell her we were coming over, she said that she hadn't even thought about her grocery list yet. Joanna and I got very irritated over this fact..."What ELSE is she doing?" we both said, huffing and puffing in the car. We decided to still go over and visit with our grandmother, who used pretty much the entire visit hemming and hawing over if maybe she ACTUALLY DID want us to pick some things up for her. We all decided against it, instead choosing to watch "The Real Housewives of Atlanta." The thing was, when we were leaving, my grandmother says:
"Wait...do you need money?"
I felt like an asshole because now I am painfully aware that our grandmother probably thinks the only reason we ever go to see her is to get money. This simply is not true. I visit my grandmother a lot with my mother, and Joanna visits her a lot on her own time. It just so happens that usuall,y when Joanna and I are together visitng our grandmother, it is to take her to an appointment or do her shopping, and our grandmother will usually pay us for gas or what have you. Her offering up money today, however, for a visit? It made me feel awful, I instantly felt bad about talking shit in the car, even though it was out of aggrevation. I guess it kinda makes Joanna and I look like granny hookers. "$50 bucks for your laundry, $100 to sit and chat, and 60% goes to T-Dog."
-Kat
"Wait...do you need money?"
I felt like an asshole because now I am painfully aware that our grandmother probably thinks the only reason we ever go to see her is to get money. This simply is not true. I visit my grandmother a lot with my mother, and Joanna visits her a lot on her own time. It just so happens that usuall,y when Joanna and I are together visitng our grandmother, it is to take her to an appointment or do her shopping, and our grandmother will usually pay us for gas or what have you. Her offering up money today, however, for a visit? It made me feel awful, I instantly felt bad about talking shit in the car, even though it was out of aggrevation. I guess it kinda makes Joanna and I look like granny hookers. "$50 bucks for your laundry, $100 to sit and chat, and 60% goes to T-Dog."
-Kat
Thursday, November 10, 2011
The Grandma Equation
My sister yells at me sometimes because she says I get too impatient with our grandmother. I yell at her about the same thing. I lecture her about the importance of just saying “no” when it comes to some of our grandmother’s more ridiculous demands. Joanna handles my grandmother a little differently than I do though. Like, right now, Joanna is currently going to school for graphic design, and interning at a graphic design firm. My grandmother will call asking for a favor of some kind, and Joanna will behave the exact same way each and every time. Basically, she will huff and puff, and look extremely put out, but eventually, and very begrudgingly do whatever it was she was asked to do. I tell her this will just end up building resentment and she should just say no when she can’t do something. She tells me to go fuck myself.
The reason for our differences, I am told, is because Joanna had a much different “grandma” experience than I did. Her memories are of staying up late on Saturday nights, watching 227 and Saturday Night Live. I don’t think my grandmother ever let me stay up late to watch SNL. I vividly remember once, when both me and my sister were sleeping over, she let Joanna watch it, and not me. I was in the bedroom across the hall, listening longingly to Jennifer Aniston’s monologue.
I’m not trying to paint myself as a little Cinderella here. I realize that by the time I came around, my grandmother was a little older, and probably just didn’t feel like trying to please a bratty little kid. I guess in a really odd way, this frees me from the pull of feeling guilty if I am simply unable to do something for my grandmother. Of course, if I can do something for her, I will. Basically, it frees me from all the huffing and puffing that Joanna does.
My grandmother and I actually have an all right relationship when it comes down to it. The formulas go like this:
ME + GRANNY=GOOD
JOANNA + GRANNY=GOOD
MY MOTHER + ME + GRANNY=GOOD +/- TENSION
JOANNA + ME + GRANNY=RAGE+ANNOYANCE+HURT FEELINGS(^2)
It occurs to me that, a lot of the times, it is almost completely dependent on who you are with that will equal a good or bad time. If you are with somebody who will react to any aggravation you have with annoyance, then you are fucked. Joanna has a pretty short temper, and she will tell you that I have an anger problem, but when we aren’t together, visiting granny can be a pretty nice experience. For the record, I don’t have an anger problem. I am just one of those people out there who says things like “I’m gonna kill him” or “I’m gonna rip her head off in front of her children.” Good old facetious fun.
I don’t know why, but whenever Joanna and I go into my grandmother’s house together, I am reminded of an acting class I took. I remember the teacher; an impish, overzealous voice-over actor telling us the rules of blocking. He spent one class explaining how the way a person is positioned on stage can set the tone for the whole scene, and moreover, tells the audience which character has the power. According to him, if there are only two people in a scene, one of them always has to be more powerful than the other. I’m not sure of how this tactic would work in say, a production of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, but I never did take anything this man said seriously. What I do remember him saying that really stuck with me though, was that if a person in seated, and another one is standing, then the seated person is the one with the power. It didn’t make much sense to me then, but nowadays I am beginning to understand it. Whenever Joanna and I walk into our grandmother’s house, she is always seated. We are always standing there, waiting for her next command. I also notice that when you sit down with her to have an actual conversation, the tension eases, and you start to see how silly it looks when a grown woman is standing in front of a little old one, screaming. I think this means that the power of mind over frustration lies with the person who is willing to take a seat.
-Kat
The reason for our differences, I am told, is because Joanna had a much different “grandma” experience than I did. Her memories are of staying up late on Saturday nights, watching 227 and Saturday Night Live. I don’t think my grandmother ever let me stay up late to watch SNL. I vividly remember once, when both me and my sister were sleeping over, she let Joanna watch it, and not me. I was in the bedroom across the hall, listening longingly to Jennifer Aniston’s monologue.
I’m not trying to paint myself as a little Cinderella here. I realize that by the time I came around, my grandmother was a little older, and probably just didn’t feel like trying to please a bratty little kid. I guess in a really odd way, this frees me from the pull of feeling guilty if I am simply unable to do something for my grandmother. Of course, if I can do something for her, I will. Basically, it frees me from all the huffing and puffing that Joanna does.
My grandmother and I actually have an all right relationship when it comes down to it. The formulas go like this:
ME + GRANNY=GOOD
JOANNA + GRANNY=GOOD
MY MOTHER + ME + GRANNY=GOOD +/- TENSION
JOANNA + ME + GRANNY=RAGE+ANNOYANCE+HURT FEELINGS(^2)
It occurs to me that, a lot of the times, it is almost completely dependent on who you are with that will equal a good or bad time. If you are with somebody who will react to any aggravation you have with annoyance, then you are fucked. Joanna has a pretty short temper, and she will tell you that I have an anger problem, but when we aren’t together, visiting granny can be a pretty nice experience. For the record, I don’t have an anger problem. I am just one of those people out there who says things like “I’m gonna kill him” or “I’m gonna rip her head off in front of her children.” Good old facetious fun.
I don’t know why, but whenever Joanna and I go into my grandmother’s house together, I am reminded of an acting class I took. I remember the teacher; an impish, overzealous voice-over actor telling us the rules of blocking. He spent one class explaining how the way a person is positioned on stage can set the tone for the whole scene, and moreover, tells the audience which character has the power. According to him, if there are only two people in a scene, one of them always has to be more powerful than the other. I’m not sure of how this tactic would work in say, a production of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, but I never did take anything this man said seriously. What I do remember him saying that really stuck with me though, was that if a person in seated, and another one is standing, then the seated person is the one with the power. It didn’t make much sense to me then, but nowadays I am beginning to understand it. Whenever Joanna and I walk into our grandmother’s house, she is always seated. We are always standing there, waiting for her next command. I also notice that when you sit down with her to have an actual conversation, the tension eases, and you start to see how silly it looks when a grown woman is standing in front of a little old one, screaming. I think this means that the power of mind over frustration lies with the person who is willing to take a seat.
-Kat
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
"And How Does That Make You Feel?"
Joanna and I took Alice to the foot doctor on Monday. I never thought that this would be a standing date for me in my twenties, but-there you have it. Every two months, Joanna and I find ourselves in the waiting room of our grandmother's foot doctor's tiny office. His receptionist is a tiny little lunatic who hums, talks, and cackles to herself at an alarming volume. We are subject to her conversation with the voice in her head for a good 20 minutes each time. I suppose that on Monday, it was slightly more annoying than usual, as Joanna and I got into a fight right there in the waiting room. Basically, I said I thought one of our distant ex-relatives looked old, and she told me that I sound like I am trying out for a Tennessee Williams play. It doesn't make much sense, but I guess you could blame it all on PMS and that crazy receptionist-something just snapped in both of us.
Driving Alice home, there was still a lot of tension in the car, and it lingered there up until walking Alice to her apartment. While sitting there, the tension exploded into a shouting match, and this made my grandmother upset.
"I don't want to hear it! Just don't respond to her, Joanna!"
The shouting continued, and so did Alice.
"I don't want you here if you are just going to be shouting!"
"FINE!" Joanna said, "THEN WE ARE LEAVING!"
And off we went. Joanna and I settled things in the car, and we then had a lovely day at the craft store. What occured to me, however was this: Joanna and I were just doing what sisters DO-we fight, yell, swear, and destroy somebody completely, then go to Starbucks. All in a day. Having sisters enables you to say hurtful things without the fear that you burned a bridge. All is forgotten in the time it takes to brew a latte. The sad thing was that our grandmother, who herself had four sisters, couldn't deal with the stupid bickering that comes with the territory-forgoing a nice visit because she couldn't just be a tiny bit empathetic. I have noticed that this is just the way she is-the opposite of my mother, who NEVER passes up the opportunity for a good verbal battle, (ask my fifth grade teacher). If one of her sisters said something nasty about my mother, my grandmother wouldn't stand up for her daughter, it was as though she was always afraid to counter them. Today, while at her house, my mother asked her why she doesn't change something about her life if she wants to-for example, moving around more to get more mobile, and my grandmother changed the subject; something she always does when she just doesn't want to answer an honest question. This makes me think, do I know Alice's true personality? IS this her personality? I feel like there must be something else there, but that it is never shown. I know little things; she likes Ashton Kutcher, for example, but I wonder what pent up opinions or answers are there that she has been sitting on for 90 years? I'll probably never know, so Ashton Kutcher will do for now.
-Kat
Driving Alice home, there was still a lot of tension in the car, and it lingered there up until walking Alice to her apartment. While sitting there, the tension exploded into a shouting match, and this made my grandmother upset.
"I don't want to hear it! Just don't respond to her, Joanna!"
The shouting continued, and so did Alice.
"I don't want you here if you are just going to be shouting!"
"FINE!" Joanna said, "THEN WE ARE LEAVING!"
And off we went. Joanna and I settled things in the car, and we then had a lovely day at the craft store. What occured to me, however was this: Joanna and I were just doing what sisters DO-we fight, yell, swear, and destroy somebody completely, then go to Starbucks. All in a day. Having sisters enables you to say hurtful things without the fear that you burned a bridge. All is forgotten in the time it takes to brew a latte. The sad thing was that our grandmother, who herself had four sisters, couldn't deal with the stupid bickering that comes with the territory-forgoing a nice visit because she couldn't just be a tiny bit empathetic. I have noticed that this is just the way she is-the opposite of my mother, who NEVER passes up the opportunity for a good verbal battle, (ask my fifth grade teacher). If one of her sisters said something nasty about my mother, my grandmother wouldn't stand up for her daughter, it was as though she was always afraid to counter them. Today, while at her house, my mother asked her why she doesn't change something about her life if she wants to-for example, moving around more to get more mobile, and my grandmother changed the subject; something she always does when she just doesn't want to answer an honest question. This makes me think, do I know Alice's true personality? IS this her personality? I feel like there must be something else there, but that it is never shown. I know little things; she likes Ashton Kutcher, for example, but I wonder what pent up opinions or answers are there that she has been sitting on for 90 years? I'll probably never know, so Ashton Kutcher will do for now.
-Kat
Monday, October 31, 2011
No Place like (Grandma's) Home
Last Saturday, it snowed a lot. I was trapped in my house because I didn't want to go out in the snow, so I flicked around the television a little. I came across some channels I didn't even know I had, and on one of these channels "227" was playing. "227" is a sitcom about a group of people who happen to be black (nothing to do with the plot, just makes the banter flow) who live in an apartment building in Washington, D.C. It aired in the late 80s-early 90s, and it was one of my favorite shows growing up. I loved Jackee, how she would waddle around flirting. She was the ideal. I used to watch this program every Saturday I would sleep over Grandma's. It was such a magical time then. I loved staying over Granmda's on Saturdays. All the great shows were on the NBC lineup: After "227" came "Golden Girls" then "Empty Nest" followed by "Nurses" (I wasn't crazy about "Nurses") and then "Sisters." During the News, I would adjust the makeup I had put on in Grandma's room during the commercial breaks, and then settle in on the couch for "Saturday Night Live." It may seem like I was just watching tv the whole time, which I was, in addition to eating copious amounts of sweets, and dressing up like a prostitute, but it was fun, and I pretended I was part of the shows. Grandma would play games with me, play acting or checkers. She would wait on me, cook for me. It was great. I loved going to Grandma's house. It was a little red Cape Cod, like many others, but there was something so magical about it, something in the atmosphere there that just felt great. Maybe it did have something to do with all the old movies and fun tv that I watched there, but a lot of it has to do with Grandma. It's a far cry from the way I usually feel about visiting Grandma now. Sometimes it is a fine visit, cut and dry, good visit. Other times, it involves a laundry list of things to do while I am there. I don't mind helping Grandma, I sometimes like it, but other times it just kind of catches me off guard. Like a few weeks ago, I went to visit Grandma after my class. I thought I would just stay for a little bit, watch "The Price is Right" with her, and go to my internship. "What are you doing now?" She asked me when I start to leave.
"Oh nothing," I answer, "I have to go to my internship, but I have to stop at Stop and Shop first."
"Oh what do I need at Stop and Shop?" she asks.
"I don't know," I say through my clenched teeth. I know this will not be a clean visit. A return will be necessary.
"I need tea," she says. "And bread. But you don't have to bring it back now, you can bring it back whenever." This makes me almost angrier, the notion of driving around with Grandma's tea and bread in my backseat hanging over my head that I need to bring them to her.
"No, no, no," I say aggravated, "I'll just do it now. I'll just go to the store up the street."
"And a jelly donut." Grandma adds. I lose it. The store with the Dunkin Donuts in it is on the other side of town, the one up the street doesn't have a Dunkin Donuts, where am I going to get a jelly donut there?"
"What?! Why do you need a jelly donut right now?"
"Forget the jelly donut," she says, "I really don't need it. I don't want to be an inconvenience."
In my rage over the grocery requests, I seem to forget that most grocery stores do have bakeries where you can get jelly donuts, even if they don't have Dunkin Donuts. I remember this in the car on the way over to the store, and feel bad at how annoyed I get with Grandma. When I would sleep over her house when I was little she would take me to the A&P and let me get whatever I wanted. I'm giving her grief over a jelly donut--there goes the guilt again. I always visit Grandma with the sunniest intentions of being a good granddaughter, like Little Red Riding Hood, but often times leave feeling like the Big Bad Wolf.
I know Grandma misses her old house too. She won't let me drive her by it, even though it is only a few miles from where she lives now. She lived there for almost 60 years, she raised her family there, her grandkids played and grew up in that house. I have lived in my house for a litte over a year and I miss it when we go away for the weekend, I can't imagine how Grandma must feel. I know that it is better for her to be in her apartment building right now, where there are people right across the hall at all times, but sometimes what is better doesn't always feel better. I feel sad thinking about the last time I was in Grandma's house. All the furniture was out, and my parents and I were just doing a final cleaning. At that moment, I didn't feel sad about Grandma selling it and not living there anymore, I felt relief that the whole moving process was over, because it was such a pain. Living in a house for sixty years, one accumulates a lot, and you don't really know what is and isn't an antique, and if you kept everything that had sentimental value, you'd have a couple of moving trucks filled with knick knacks. After a while, I just became desensitized to it. Champagne glasses that I had filled with Schweppes Raspeberry Giner Ale while watching "Golden Girls" were tossed into the Goodwill boxes because they were from the Church tag sale, and weren't valuable enough to move. A part of me and Grandma will always be in her old house, watching tv on Saturday nights, having tacos after my dance class on Wednesdays, eating Sunday dinner with our family, visiting on Christmas Eve. I find change very hard. Does part of me still want to stay at Grandma's on Saturday nights, eating candy and watching "227"? Yes. Would that be weird? Also a yes. Sometimes change is necessary I guess, to put us in roles that are more age appropriate. It is hard when the roles are reversed from what you once knew them to be, like taking care of a parent or grandparent, but like Frank Sinatra says, "That's Life."
JoJo
"Oh nothing," I answer, "I have to go to my internship, but I have to stop at Stop and Shop first."
"Oh what do I need at Stop and Shop?" she asks.
"I don't know," I say through my clenched teeth. I know this will not be a clean visit. A return will be necessary.
"I need tea," she says. "And bread. But you don't have to bring it back now, you can bring it back whenever." This makes me almost angrier, the notion of driving around with Grandma's tea and bread in my backseat hanging over my head that I need to bring them to her.
"No, no, no," I say aggravated, "I'll just do it now. I'll just go to the store up the street."
"And a jelly donut." Grandma adds. I lose it. The store with the Dunkin Donuts in it is on the other side of town, the one up the street doesn't have a Dunkin Donuts, where am I going to get a jelly donut there?"
"What?! Why do you need a jelly donut right now?"
"Forget the jelly donut," she says, "I really don't need it. I don't want to be an inconvenience."
In my rage over the grocery requests, I seem to forget that most grocery stores do have bakeries where you can get jelly donuts, even if they don't have Dunkin Donuts. I remember this in the car on the way over to the store, and feel bad at how annoyed I get with Grandma. When I would sleep over her house when I was little she would take me to the A&P and let me get whatever I wanted. I'm giving her grief over a jelly donut--there goes the guilt again. I always visit Grandma with the sunniest intentions of being a good granddaughter, like Little Red Riding Hood, but often times leave feeling like the Big Bad Wolf.
I know Grandma misses her old house too. She won't let me drive her by it, even though it is only a few miles from where she lives now. She lived there for almost 60 years, she raised her family there, her grandkids played and grew up in that house. I have lived in my house for a litte over a year and I miss it when we go away for the weekend, I can't imagine how Grandma must feel. I know that it is better for her to be in her apartment building right now, where there are people right across the hall at all times, but sometimes what is better doesn't always feel better. I feel sad thinking about the last time I was in Grandma's house. All the furniture was out, and my parents and I were just doing a final cleaning. At that moment, I didn't feel sad about Grandma selling it and not living there anymore, I felt relief that the whole moving process was over, because it was such a pain. Living in a house for sixty years, one accumulates a lot, and you don't really know what is and isn't an antique, and if you kept everything that had sentimental value, you'd have a couple of moving trucks filled with knick knacks. After a while, I just became desensitized to it. Champagne glasses that I had filled with Schweppes Raspeberry Giner Ale while watching "Golden Girls" were tossed into the Goodwill boxes because they were from the Church tag sale, and weren't valuable enough to move. A part of me and Grandma will always be in her old house, watching tv on Saturday nights, having tacos after my dance class on Wednesdays, eating Sunday dinner with our family, visiting on Christmas Eve. I find change very hard. Does part of me still want to stay at Grandma's on Saturday nights, eating candy and watching "227"? Yes. Would that be weird? Also a yes. Sometimes change is necessary I guess, to put us in roles that are more age appropriate. It is hard when the roles are reversed from what you once knew them to be, like taking care of a parent or grandparent, but like Frank Sinatra says, "That's Life."
JoJo
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The Diner
My grandmother’s social life these days consists entirely of doctors and dentists. By proxy, this also means that Joanna and my social life consist entirely of doctors and dentists. If a doctor even slightly hints to our grandmother that she may have to come back again for one reason or another (discomfort, pain, etc.) my grandmother will go back, even if she doesn’t feel any discomfort. I have a feeling she is lying when she actually says she does feel a little bit of pain or says she needs to go back. For her, these visits are the equivalent to a night out.
She of course does not take into account how much gas costs, Joanna’s blood pressure, my rage, or anything else a normal person would take into account. For her, we are nothing more than a chauffeur service to her dates with Drs. X, Y, and Z.
This is a woman who used to dress to the nines to travel the world, and now, her big plans include a day in the dentist chair. Is this what happens when you get old? All the things you once feared in life become hobbies? I am pretty certain this isn’t a trait found everywhere, as our dad’s mother used to actually want to do fun things whenever her grandchildren visited her. Alice just doesn’t have that particular gene that would make her go out of her way to please others. If she did, I wouldn’t be spending every single Monday in the goddam dentist’s office.
The one doctor my grandmother should be going to more is the ear doctor. She has a hearing aid, but still can’t hear for shit. My sister and I were driving her home from her dentist today, and while we passed my house, I noticed there was a package on the front stoop, and, being the anal sonofabitch I am, asked Joanna to turn around so that I could put it in the house. For some reason, any change of direction startles the elderly, and my grandmother wanted to know what was going on:
ALICE: Where are we going?
JOANNA: Back to Kathy’s house to pick up a package.
ALICE: What are we doing?
JOANNA: Going to Kathy’s house. There’s a package by the door and we want to put it in the house.
ALICE: What’s wrong with the door?
JOANNA: NOTHING. We are putting the package in the house that’s BY THE DOOR.
ALICE: We’re going to Kathy’s house? Why?
JOANNA: BECAUSE THERE’S A BUNCH OF GUYS MASTURBATING ON THE FRONT LAWN AND WE ARE GOING TO CHECK IT OUT!!!
Grandma stopped asking after that.
After this, we went to the local diner in our town for lunch. It’s obvious that once upon a time, this diner catered to young Pleasantville like couples, but now, the clientele is strictly made up of people who collect social security. Maybe these are the Pleasantville couples left over from the 1950’s, but I think not, as these people don’t look like they were ever young or in love.
The waitresses here are all a little past middle age. They are the type of waitress who call you “honey” or “sweetie” but you would never want to be on their bad side. Our waitress today was Pam. Pam is the name I appointed her because she looks like a Pam. She’s usually the waitress we get when we take our grandmother here for lunch, and I don’t think she has ever actually told us her real name. She was perfunctory as usual, and my grandmother noticed that she was perspiring. I could understand why, as she was running all over her section as fast as her orthopedics could carry her. When it came time to deal with the tip, my sister confused my grandmother by leaving it on my grandmother’s credit card. This was confusing because usually, when one pays with a credit card at this establishment, the person you pay will give you the cash for the waitress out of the drawer. It was a new girl at the register, so she just put the tip on my grandmother’s credit card. This confounded my grandmother for the entire ride home. It seems like a simple concept, as it is how most restaurants work. For the life of her, my grandmother just did not understand that the tip could be taken out of the card. Even though Joanna wrote in the tip amount on her copy of the receipt, my grandmother was under, for some reason or another, the impression that she had douped the waitress out of a tip. Joanna even told the waitress that her tip was on the credit card, (Pam even winked and gave m sister finger pistols to signal her understanding) and my grandmother was still unconvinced.
I like to think that we got through to her somewhere between our stop at the bank and her home, but probably not.
-Kat
She of course does not take into account how much gas costs, Joanna’s blood pressure, my rage, or anything else a normal person would take into account. For her, we are nothing more than a chauffeur service to her dates with Drs. X, Y, and Z.
This is a woman who used to dress to the nines to travel the world, and now, her big plans include a day in the dentist chair. Is this what happens when you get old? All the things you once feared in life become hobbies? I am pretty certain this isn’t a trait found everywhere, as our dad’s mother used to actually want to do fun things whenever her grandchildren visited her. Alice just doesn’t have that particular gene that would make her go out of her way to please others. If she did, I wouldn’t be spending every single Monday in the goddam dentist’s office.
The one doctor my grandmother should be going to more is the ear doctor. She has a hearing aid, but still can’t hear for shit. My sister and I were driving her home from her dentist today, and while we passed my house, I noticed there was a package on the front stoop, and, being the anal sonofabitch I am, asked Joanna to turn around so that I could put it in the house. For some reason, any change of direction startles the elderly, and my grandmother wanted to know what was going on:
ALICE: Where are we going?
JOANNA: Back to Kathy’s house to pick up a package.
ALICE: What are we doing?
JOANNA: Going to Kathy’s house. There’s a package by the door and we want to put it in the house.
ALICE: What’s wrong with the door?
JOANNA: NOTHING. We are putting the package in the house that’s BY THE DOOR.
ALICE: We’re going to Kathy’s house? Why?
JOANNA: BECAUSE THERE’S A BUNCH OF GUYS MASTURBATING ON THE FRONT LAWN AND WE ARE GOING TO CHECK IT OUT!!!
Grandma stopped asking after that.
After this, we went to the local diner in our town for lunch. It’s obvious that once upon a time, this diner catered to young Pleasantville like couples, but now, the clientele is strictly made up of people who collect social security. Maybe these are the Pleasantville couples left over from the 1950’s, but I think not, as these people don’t look like they were ever young or in love.
The waitresses here are all a little past middle age. They are the type of waitress who call you “honey” or “sweetie” but you would never want to be on their bad side. Our waitress today was Pam. Pam is the name I appointed her because she looks like a Pam. She’s usually the waitress we get when we take our grandmother here for lunch, and I don’t think she has ever actually told us her real name. She was perfunctory as usual, and my grandmother noticed that she was perspiring. I could understand why, as she was running all over her section as fast as her orthopedics could carry her. When it came time to deal with the tip, my sister confused my grandmother by leaving it on my grandmother’s credit card. This was confusing because usually, when one pays with a credit card at this establishment, the person you pay will give you the cash for the waitress out of the drawer. It was a new girl at the register, so she just put the tip on my grandmother’s credit card. This confounded my grandmother for the entire ride home. It seems like a simple concept, as it is how most restaurants work. For the life of her, my grandmother just did not understand that the tip could be taken out of the card. Even though Joanna wrote in the tip amount on her copy of the receipt, my grandmother was under, for some reason or another, the impression that she had douped the waitress out of a tip. Joanna even told the waitress that her tip was on the credit card, (Pam even winked and gave m sister finger pistols to signal her understanding) and my grandmother was still unconvinced.
I like to think that we got through to her somewhere between our stop at the bank and her home, but probably not.
-Kat
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Monday
Last Monday, we took Grandma to what I am hoping and praying is her last dentist appointment for a very long time. Once we were there, I found a handicap parking space very close to the building, since there was a bus blocking the driveway, as usual. I was very happy with my spot, but my smile quickly turned into a frown when I saw the handicap ramp closes to us was blocked off by construction tape. The other ramp was on the other side of the bus that was blocking the damn drop off. Oh gosh, I really sound crazy. "We will have to walk a little to the other ramp," I say.
"No," Granmda insists, "I can get up on the curb here." The curb was not blocked off by tape, mind you, just the ramp.
"Okay," I say. So, Kathy holds Grandma's walker steady on the curb while I lift her up.
"Oh, no, no! You can't do that over there! There is construction going on!" A female security guard yells over to us. At this point I am holding Grandma in the air.
"Can we please just finish what we started over here?" I ask.
"Well. . . okay," she says, "but there is another ramp over here, you coulda just dropped her off at."
I don't have the energy to argue with her, that there was a bus blocking the drop off. As we walk up a second ramp to the building, some really douchy guys, probably in their forties who happen to be standing around, offer, "Yeah, you know there is a ramp on the other side."
Oh really, I want to say, that's great, but I don't give a shit about the ramp on the other side right now. I am using THIS handicap ramp! I would like to shove my grandmother's walker up your ass though.
Once we get up to the dentist's office, I see Dr. L talking to his receptionist behind the desk. "You are the devil!" I say to him, but probably not loud enough for him to hear me. Grandma is called in and he says with a big smile, "I told you you'd be back." At this I almost melt with disgust.
"Well, don't tell here she'll be back this time," I suggest as Grandma is taken to the back. The appointment doesn't take very long, which I am very happy about. We exit the building through the non-construction side, and decide to go to lunch. Grandma usually likes to take us to lunch after her appointments which is very nice of her. I used to find it very aggravating taking her in and out of the car, and the restaurant, but I have calmed down a lot, and am actually quite patient now. I think it is good for Grandma to get out, otherwise she would be like one of those shut-ins who just stare at the wall and lick their blankets. Actually, for her apparent lack of mobility, Grandma does get out a lot and is very savvy. My husband and I drove into Pittsburgh recently, and on Fith Avenue, a main road, there was this rehabilitation/nursing home. It was later at night and the windows were open in the front. All we could see were these old people just kind of slumped over in their wheel chairs staring into space. It was really sad, but I felt a kind of relief that Grandma is not like that. Sometimes a lot of times she can be aggravating and demanding and self centered and needy, but she is with it, and she does like to get out, which can be a blessing and a curse. I mean when she doesn't want to go out, we all get aggravated and say, "See this is why you have trouble walking, if you don't use it, you're going to lose it!" But then when she does want to get out, it's like "Oh why are you so slow? Wouldn't it be easier if we just bring you lunch to your apartment?" It's hard to have your mind going in so many different directions, so I have decided to take the stance, sometimes reluctantly that it is better to have Grandma get out than stay in, with the exception of grocery shopping, because that is just ridiculous, like beyond. Anyway, for lunch we decide to go to the diner in our town, which is a place we go to a lot. They have mostly older patrons, so they know how to treat the elderly. Grandma seems to be preoccupied from the get-go by the limited amount of wait staff.
"Our waitress is the only one here," she says.
"She's the only one in our section," I answer, "they all have different sections."
"She's not taking her time." Grandma comments.
"Well it's fast paced here," I answer, "she has to move quickly."
"What I mean to say is, she's perspiring." Grandma whispers. And then surveying the crowd, she whispers, "It's all old people here."
JoJo
"No," Granmda insists, "I can get up on the curb here." The curb was not blocked off by tape, mind you, just the ramp.
"Okay," I say. So, Kathy holds Grandma's walker steady on the curb while I lift her up.
"Oh, no, no! You can't do that over there! There is construction going on!" A female security guard yells over to us. At this point I am holding Grandma in the air.
"Can we please just finish what we started over here?" I ask.
"Well. . . okay," she says, "but there is another ramp over here, you coulda just dropped her off at."
I don't have the energy to argue with her, that there was a bus blocking the drop off. As we walk up a second ramp to the building, some really douchy guys, probably in their forties who happen to be standing around, offer, "Yeah, you know there is a ramp on the other side."
Oh really, I want to say, that's great, but I don't give a shit about the ramp on the other side right now. I am using THIS handicap ramp! I would like to shove my grandmother's walker up your ass though.
Once we get up to the dentist's office, I see Dr. L talking to his receptionist behind the desk. "You are the devil!" I say to him, but probably not loud enough for him to hear me. Grandma is called in and he says with a big smile, "I told you you'd be back." At this I almost melt with disgust.
"Well, don't tell here she'll be back this time," I suggest as Grandma is taken to the back. The appointment doesn't take very long, which I am very happy about. We exit the building through the non-construction side, and decide to go to lunch. Grandma usually likes to take us to lunch after her appointments which is very nice of her. I used to find it very aggravating taking her in and out of the car, and the restaurant, but I have calmed down a lot, and am actually quite patient now. I think it is good for Grandma to get out, otherwise she would be like one of those shut-ins who just stare at the wall and lick their blankets. Actually, for her apparent lack of mobility, Grandma does get out a lot and is very savvy. My husband and I drove into Pittsburgh recently, and on Fith Avenue, a main road, there was this rehabilitation/nursing home. It was later at night and the windows were open in the front. All we could see were these old people just kind of slumped over in their wheel chairs staring into space. It was really sad, but I felt a kind of relief that Grandma is not like that. Sometimes a lot of times she can be aggravating and demanding and self centered and needy, but she is with it, and she does like to get out, which can be a blessing and a curse. I mean when she doesn't want to go out, we all get aggravated and say, "See this is why you have trouble walking, if you don't use it, you're going to lose it!" But then when she does want to get out, it's like "Oh why are you so slow? Wouldn't it be easier if we just bring you lunch to your apartment?" It's hard to have your mind going in so many different directions, so I have decided to take the stance, sometimes reluctantly that it is better to have Grandma get out than stay in, with the exception of grocery shopping, because that is just ridiculous, like beyond. Anyway, for lunch we decide to go to the diner in our town, which is a place we go to a lot. They have mostly older patrons, so they know how to treat the elderly. Grandma seems to be preoccupied from the get-go by the limited amount of wait staff.
"Our waitress is the only one here," she says.
"She's the only one in our section," I answer, "they all have different sections."
"She's not taking her time." Grandma comments.
"Well it's fast paced here," I answer, "she has to move quickly."
"What I mean to say is, she's perspiring." Grandma whispers. And then surveying the crowd, she whispers, "It's all old people here."
JoJo
Thursday, October 20, 2011
The Tooth Hurts
Okay, so I realize that I am talking about taking Grandma to the dentist a lot, but that's because it seems to be all that we are doing lately. A few months ago, with Grandma's top dentures, we were in the same situation, and I swore I would never do that to myself again. Going to the dentist every week for a month has not been fun. Grandma's denist, "Dr." L. the L stands for LOSER!!!! is a close second to Mengele when it comes to sadistic medicine men. I though last week would be the last appointment for a while, but no! Before Grandma left, he told her "Even though the dentures feel better now, I wouldn't be surprised if you have to make another appointment." Son of a bitch! Grandma hears that and of course she is going to make another appointment, it's in her head that she should, and she is not going to miss out on a doctor's appointment. Even though she told me her dentures felt 1000 times better. If something feels 1000 times better, why would you need it adjusted? Well, Grandma called me today to ask me when I would be free to take her to the dentist next week to adjust her dentures, because they were (surprise, surprise) bothering her. What kind of asshole professional would anticipate problems with his work? Listen, I understand that there might need to be some tweaks made when dealing with dentures, I shouldn't understand this, but unfortunately, I do. It just seems like going back every week for a month is a little outrageous, and if we do have to go back that many times, at least have it be somewhere more convenient. Grandma tried going to our dentist a couple times, who is right up the street, but insisted she didn't feel as comfortable with her as she did with Dr. L. I asked her why? Because she went to our dentist for the same issue with her dentures, but got all upset when they had to be adjusted, and she only went twice. There are just so many things that get me upset about this. First of all, Grandma seems to think that any day I do not have school is fair game to take her to the dentist or any other appointment for that matter. I have an internship I like to be able to go to, plus I am looking for a part time job to help out with our finances. Grandma does give me and Kathy 20 dollars each time we take her somewhere, which is generous and she doesn't have to do that, but then sometimes I feel like, if I were a caretaker, or chauffeur I would be making way more. I know that sounds selfish, but it's just really draining, and I just don't think Grandma appreciates how inconvenient and stressful bringing her to the dentist is. She says, "Oh, you think I like going there?" when we complain about it, but if that's how she feels, why isn't she more proactive to change? They have some weird bond, where neither one of them wants to let the other one go. He probably wears her teeth he pulled on a necklace. I am just so aggravated with this situation, and I pray to God this is the last time we have to go to Dr. L for a very long time.
JoJo
JoJo
Thursday, October 13, 2011
"Just when I think I'm out..."
Today, on my way to class, I got call from my grandmother. As I don't like to talk and drive, I let the voicemail pick up. Listening to the voicemail in the school parking lot, I became slowly enraged. All she usually says in her messages, is "It's Grandma, call me when you get a chance." This usually means, It's Grandma, I have a lot of shit I want you to do." I have told my grandmother countless times my class schedule. She never remembers. It isn't that she has alzheimers or dimentia, like many elderly, it's that she does not care enough to remember. She is really just too busy thinking about her possible ailments and doctors' appointments.
"You called?" I say, returning her call.
"Oh yes," she said, "now the dentist, he gave you his cell phone number to call him, if I suffer any discomfort from my dentures?"
"Yes," I answer in aggravation.
"Well, I'll need you to call him on his cell phone to schedule an appointment for me to get them adjusted."
It's just like really? Really? I was so excited to be done with this round of torture only to have it prolonged. The sadistic dentist had given ME his
cell phone number because Grandma was lying in the dentist's chair. I quickly put it in a pocket in her purse. He gave it to me in case Grandma had any problem over the WEEKEND, not just any old time, and I certainly did not want to be the one to call this guy on his cell phone. I have already seen him more times in the past month than I would care to in a decade. I don't think we need to be that close.
"Why don't YOU call the office?" I suggest. "That's what you are supposed to do."
Apparently she did, because we have what has become our standing appointment scheduled for next week. I can't wait.
JoJo
"You called?" I say, returning her call.
"Oh yes," she said, "now the dentist, he gave you his cell phone number to call him, if I suffer any discomfort from my dentures?"
"Yes," I answer in aggravation.
"Well, I'll need you to call him on his cell phone to schedule an appointment for me to get them adjusted."
It's just like really? Really? I was so excited to be done with this round of torture only to have it prolonged. The sadistic dentist had given ME his
cell phone number because Grandma was lying in the dentist's chair. I quickly put it in a pocket in her purse. He gave it to me in case Grandma had any problem over the WEEKEND, not just any old time, and I certainly did not want to be the one to call this guy on his cell phone. I have already seen him more times in the past month than I would care to in a decade. I don't think we need to be that close.
"Why don't YOU call the office?" I suggest. "That's what you are supposed to do."
Apparently she did, because we have what has become our standing appointment scheduled for next week. I can't wait.
JoJo
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
In"dentured" Servants
Today, Kathy and I took Grandma to her dentist appointment. This was her final appointment for her bottom dentures, Hooray!!! I can't believe the stuff I get excited for now. I parked the car in front of Grandma's apartment building, while Kathy ran up to collect Grandma. While waiting, I noticed another elderly woman walking out of the building with her walker, staring at me. I tried not to look at her and hoped she would just go away, but she kept staring. I realized, I was blocking a ramp,so I rolled down my window, and sweetly, too sweetly really, asked, "Do you need me to move?"
The old bag answered in a very condescending tone, "Uh-huh, yes, I do. I need to get by" This made me instantly regret being so sweet to her. I pulled back, clearing the ramp, and then, just as I was contemplating pulling up as she crossed in front of me, just to give her a little tap, she said "Thank you sweetie," in a very sincere tone. This is why the elderly suck. You can't trust them, because they change on a dime. I can be having a very nice conversation with my grandma about baseball or a book. I'll think I am such a bitch, how can I get aggravated with my grandma, she really is so sweet. But as soon as she feels like I am making her walk too fast, or I buy the wrong wipes (???) she completely loses her shit and turns into a different person.
Once we got to the dentist, Grandma was taken to the back by one of the hygienists. Said hygienist returned shortly after to hand me Grandma's teeth. "These are her old ones," she said.
"Oh, Thank you," I replied sarcastically. This just seems like too much information to have about my grandma, holding her teeth in my hands. On an unrelated note it has come to the attention of both Kathy and myself that everytime we go the dentist's office with Grandma, "Hey Soul Sister" by Train is playing. Just an observation.
To cap off the visit, I am asked by Grandma's dentist "to come on back and take a look at what they did to my grandma." I feel like protesting immediately. "I don't need to see it, really, I'm sure it's great."
"We extracted two teeth," he says excitedly, "and then we put this bottom piece in." Grandma's mouth is opened as he demonstrates how to take it out and put it back in.
Why the fuck are you showing me this? I desperately want to ask. I'm not going to be reaching in and taking my grandmother's dentures out. You don't think I do that, right? That just seems kind of weird. And then he claims that my grandmother is very "stoic, and would never complain if the dentures were bothering her, but she needs to call him if there is any problem." He must have her confused with someone else, or she must put on one hell of an act for him. My grandma is a lot of things, but I would never describe her as stoic. I mean, Anne Frank is stoic, Gandhi is stoic.
Grandma, not so stoic.
JoJO
The old bag answered in a very condescending tone, "Uh-huh, yes, I do. I need to get by" This made me instantly regret being so sweet to her. I pulled back, clearing the ramp, and then, just as I was contemplating pulling up as she crossed in front of me, just to give her a little tap, she said "Thank you sweetie," in a very sincere tone. This is why the elderly suck. You can't trust them, because they change on a dime. I can be having a very nice conversation with my grandma about baseball or a book. I'll think I am such a bitch, how can I get aggravated with my grandma, she really is so sweet. But as soon as she feels like I am making her walk too fast, or I buy the wrong wipes (???) she completely loses her shit and turns into a different person.
Once we got to the dentist, Grandma was taken to the back by one of the hygienists. Said hygienist returned shortly after to hand me Grandma's teeth. "These are her old ones," she said.
"Oh, Thank you," I replied sarcastically. This just seems like too much information to have about my grandma, holding her teeth in my hands. On an unrelated note it has come to the attention of both Kathy and myself that everytime we go the dentist's office with Grandma, "Hey Soul Sister" by Train is playing. Just an observation.
To cap off the visit, I am asked by Grandma's dentist "to come on back and take a look at what they did to my grandma." I feel like protesting immediately. "I don't need to see it, really, I'm sure it's great."
"We extracted two teeth," he says excitedly, "and then we put this bottom piece in." Grandma's mouth is opened as he demonstrates how to take it out and put it back in.
Why the fuck are you showing me this? I desperately want to ask. I'm not going to be reaching in and taking my grandmother's dentures out. You don't think I do that, right? That just seems kind of weird. And then he claims that my grandmother is very "stoic, and would never complain if the dentures were bothering her, but she needs to call him if there is any problem." He must have her confused with someone else, or she must put on one hell of an act for him. My grandma is a lot of things, but I would never describe her as stoic. I mean, Anne Frank is stoic, Gandhi is stoic.
Grandma, not so stoic.
JoJO
Friday, September 23, 2011
Kevin and Dustin
Grandma loves the Boston Red Sox. This has been a recent love affair as far as I know. She seems to have been swept off her feet by a certain Dustin Pedroia and Kevin Youkilis. She is on a first name basis with them, recounting games with "Kevin didn't play last night," or "Dustin made a hit." I think this is very positive for Grandma. She has a genuine interest, whether it be a love for the game or for the fellas, in baseball. She even cut out their schedule from the newspaper and keeps it right by her side with all her medications. This gives Grandma something to think about besides her various ailments, and I love the Red Sox for that.
JoJo
JoJo
The Dentist's Office
On Wednesday, Joanna and I took our grandmother to the dentist. This sounds benign, doesn't it? Even dull? Then why after every trip to this office, are Joanna and myself filled with the kind of white hot rage only seen in Vietnam movies?
Let's be honest, taking a 90 year old woman anywhere is painful. I appreciate the fact that the elderly move at a much slower pace than we do, but sometimes it seems like it would be easier to just put her in a baby bjorn and carry her around like a baby kangaroo.
But nobody takes my suggestions, so instead, our grandmother uses a walker; A big red cumbersome beast from Hell that hinders more than it helps. A process that should take 5 minutes takes an hour. We live in a very fast paced time, and it's jarring to have to slow to a crawl when we are with our grandmother.
Joanna and I are not at all fond of this "dentist." He reminds me of the dentist from "Little Shop of Horrors" only not as warm and kind. Granny was to only have one cavity filled, so imagine our surprise when he came out and told us that he basically decided "fuck it, let's just yank the sucker." He of course said that in a more delicate manner, but the meaning was the same.
We were in that terrible waiting room with it's terrible radio station for an hour and a half, so we should have figured he was up to something. This guy has that effect on my grandmother, the effect all men have on her; basically, she will just do whatever they say.
This is a common trend for her generation. My grandmother doesn't trust women, and she especially doesn't trust women dentists. That's why we have to drive a ridiculous distance to take her to this particular dentist, instead of the woman right down the street. Ironically enough, the woman dentist actually ran over her own grandmother with her car "accidentally", so maybe granny is right not to trust her. It would just be SO much more convenient...
Back to the rage. I'm not sure where it is our impatience comes from-it might be the fact we live in a world of instant gratification; everything is fast and concise and speedy. The english language has been abandoned in favor of letters representing words, and everything is "140 character or less." This isn't a good mindset when dealing with the elderly.
We DO need more patience and the mixed feelings of anger and guilt tend to offset that need in favor of the need for a drink. We yell at them because they are too slow, then feel guilty about it. Joanna and I have started to try to look at the humor and irony of it all. We try to laugh instead of yell. This hasn't really been working thus far, but at least it provides a strong argument for the legalization of marijuana. If people were to smoke pot before taking granny to the doctor, everything she said would be fucking hilarious.
-Kat
Let's be honest, taking a 90 year old woman anywhere is painful. I appreciate the fact that the elderly move at a much slower pace than we do, but sometimes it seems like it would be easier to just put her in a baby bjorn and carry her around like a baby kangaroo.
But nobody takes my suggestions, so instead, our grandmother uses a walker; A big red cumbersome beast from Hell that hinders more than it helps. A process that should take 5 minutes takes an hour. We live in a very fast paced time, and it's jarring to have to slow to a crawl when we are with our grandmother.
Joanna and I are not at all fond of this "dentist." He reminds me of the dentist from "Little Shop of Horrors" only not as warm and kind. Granny was to only have one cavity filled, so imagine our surprise when he came out and told us that he basically decided "fuck it, let's just yank the sucker." He of course said that in a more delicate manner, but the meaning was the same.
We were in that terrible waiting room with it's terrible radio station for an hour and a half, so we should have figured he was up to something. This guy has that effect on my grandmother, the effect all men have on her; basically, she will just do whatever they say.
This is a common trend for her generation. My grandmother doesn't trust women, and she especially doesn't trust women dentists. That's why we have to drive a ridiculous distance to take her to this particular dentist, instead of the woman right down the street. Ironically enough, the woman dentist actually ran over her own grandmother with her car "accidentally", so maybe granny is right not to trust her. It would just be SO much more convenient...
Back to the rage. I'm not sure where it is our impatience comes from-it might be the fact we live in a world of instant gratification; everything is fast and concise and speedy. The english language has been abandoned in favor of letters representing words, and everything is "140 character or less." This isn't a good mindset when dealing with the elderly.
We DO need more patience and the mixed feelings of anger and guilt tend to offset that need in favor of the need for a drink. We yell at them because they are too slow, then feel guilty about it. Joanna and I have started to try to look at the humor and irony of it all. We try to laugh instead of yell. This hasn't really been working thus far, but at least it provides a strong argument for the legalization of marijuana. If people were to smoke pot before taking granny to the doctor, everything she said would be fucking hilarious.
-Kat
Monday, September 19, 2011
The Granny Diaries-Premier Entry
Hello everybody!
Welcome to the premier episode of "The Granny Diaries." This is our first ever attempt at blogging, or any social media for that matter, so please, bear with us.
Ok...here goes.
We want this to be a blog for the unsung heroes out there; the people who take care of the elderly. This is a vast array of people, ranging in age from child to senior. Everywhere you look, somebody is taking care of a parent or grandparent who is reaching the age of 100. Did you guys know that the first person to reach 200 years old may have already been born? Is this a good thing? We don't necessarily think so. Let's be honest-taking care of the elderly is fucking brutal, especially if they are like Alice.
Alice is our grandmother. She is a ninety year old Lebonese lady who uses guilt like currency. She has been cruel, she has been passive aggressive, she has been downright evil sometimes. She has also been sweet and generous, and that makes us feel like assholes for what we just wrote.
That there is the rub!
What we want to do with this blog is provide a safe haven for people like us. We are doing this for the people out there-the baby boomers who just can't get a break, the twenty-somethings (us) walking around Stop & Shop with a cart full of adult diapers for our grandmother, the people out there dealing with the elderly. We all need a support group, or at least stories to laugh at, because sometimes, that's all you have.
-Kat and JoJo
Welcome to the premier episode of "The Granny Diaries." This is our first ever attempt at blogging, or any social media for that matter, so please, bear with us.
Ok...here goes.
We want this to be a blog for the unsung heroes out there; the people who take care of the elderly. This is a vast array of people, ranging in age from child to senior. Everywhere you look, somebody is taking care of a parent or grandparent who is reaching the age of 100. Did you guys know that the first person to reach 200 years old may have already been born? Is this a good thing? We don't necessarily think so. Let's be honest-taking care of the elderly is fucking brutal, especially if they are like Alice.
Alice is our grandmother. She is a ninety year old Lebonese lady who uses guilt like currency. She has been cruel, she has been passive aggressive, she has been downright evil sometimes. She has also been sweet and generous, and that makes us feel like assholes for what we just wrote.
That there is the rub!
What we want to do with this blog is provide a safe haven for people like us. We are doing this for the people out there-the baby boomers who just can't get a break, the twenty-somethings (us) walking around Stop & Shop with a cart full of adult diapers for our grandmother, the people out there dealing with the elderly. We all need a support group, or at least stories to laugh at, because sometimes, that's all you have.
-Kat and JoJo
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