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
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