Lake Sherwood Village Lit A Fire Under My Mom

Another whirlwind visit to Cajun Country is over. I must say, it was one of the better visits. I only had two goals: get my mom to the neurologist appointment and visit an assisted living center. Well, cher, I did that and so much more.

On my arrival I met up with my freshly "doodied up" mom and Aunt Yvonne. They had just come from the beauty shop, so when I saw how cute they looked I told them they needed to be shown off. We enjoyed a nice lunch at Zoe's Kitchen, all of us ordering Zoe's famous chicken salad with fresh fruit.

Once back at my mom's apartment it took about an hour for cabin fever to strike. And after an entire afternoon and evening watching the mind-numbing Hallmark Channel and Lawrence Welk, I knew I couldn't last much longer, so the next day I asked her if she wanted to go check out Lakes of Sherwood Village. She told me to go ahead, that she had too much excitement yesterday, what with getting her hair did and all. (She doesn't talk like that, I'm just being silly). She told me to go check it out and come back with as much info as possible.

Like an undercover detective I apprehensively entered the main entrance to the retirement center. I think I was secretly hoping to find some misdeed or filth or something negative so I could go back and tell her there is no way she's going to a place like that! But it was surprisingly grand, decorated like a nice hotel. Bingo numbers were being called in the distance so I followed the sounds until I found a beautifully appointed room filled with a rather sophisticated group of elderly souls sitting alertly at tables, engrossed in their game. I observed them until I heard a faint "BINGO!"

Several things caught my attention:
~no unpleasant odors
~no drooling or incoherent patients
~friendly staff
~friendly residents
~clean carpets and furnishings
~beautiful lake views
~Catholic mass and novenas

Lake Sherwood

I went back and reported the findings to my mom, complete with video. She began to cry. She sobbed, actually. I assured her that this was just Plan Z, much later down the road, that she wasn't going to move there today or next week or even next month.

After that, my mom changed. The next day she had several things on her list of errands that I normally do by myself. This time she wanted to do them WITH me. We went to the bank, then we got pedicures together, and finally shopping at Steinmart. Usually my mom can only do one thing per day because of her Parkinson's, so I wasn't surprised when she got halfway into Steinmart and said she'd had enough. But I praised her to the heavens! Mom! Look at all you did today!! I'm so proud of you!!!!

We did even more the next day, including a visit back to the dreaded retirement home, which she was very impressed with, by the way. On my last day there she ran out of gas, yet still felt good. She admitted to me that the idea of moving into an assisted living facility is what got her butt in gear. Ha! My mom still has fight left in her. I didn't realize I was putting her feet to the fire when I instigated the retirement home idea. Whatever it takes. I'm super encouraged seeing my mom not give up and fight to get her life back.

I'm still toying with the idea of moving back home to be near her. I asked God for a sign on what to do about that and seeing her perk up during my visit definitely seemed like a sign.

That's all for now! More posts to come if I can get my own rear in gear. Please know that I am visiting blogs and leaving comments where I can, but my Google Reader overwhelmed me on my return. You all have been busy!

Oh! One more thing: y'all know how fleur de lis is my thing; well, Louisiana's state symbol is the fleur de lis, so it is sold everywhere! I went to the shoe store and look what I had to have! Later gators!

Aging

Double D took this picture of Izzy and me today. I imported the image into my software program for processing knowing I would need help. I enlarged it on my screen and had an immediate urge to bolt to the bathroom and shout, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, surely you do lie. Mirror, mirror on the wall, we don't see eye to eye." (rest of poem here) Lordy, where have these hard lines come from?! I hadn't noticed them before. My skin is tired and parched. When did that happen? Can I blame the camera?

I tested several of the black and white presets thinking that might help. The one that looked the best was called, of all things, "Aged Photo". It was as if my own software program was mocking me. I came to the grim realization that there is no Photoshop program in the world that can soften this hard face.

So far, I've rather enjoyed aging. I have more confidence, I have a 21+ year job history, a little money in the bank, and a more settled life. The closer I get to retirement, the more excited I get about all the things I'm going to be able to do. But with this face? I don't know. I guess I'll survive it. :/

To Breathe Again

I awoke Sunday morning to an ache beneath my left shoulder blade. Thinking I might have slept wrong, I tried to work out the muscle off and on during the day and slept on a heating pad that night.

Monday morning I woke up to even more pain. Bursitis? I wondered. I went to the drug store during my lunch hour to buy a heating pad and found one that can be wrapped around just about any body part with velcro. I returned to my desk, fastened the bright blue material around my shoulders, and plugged myself in looking like I was ready for take-off.

Breathing, coughing, laughing, and sneezing used to be an effort I undertook with very little notice. Except last week when my laughter produced a full blown fart as Double D and I watched Worst Week together. In 18 years of marriage I somehow managed to keep my flatulence contained until that TV show. Dangit! :)

Today is not any better. I miss taking those deep breaths to calm myself. I’m embarrassed to be at work acting like an invalid, incapable of the slightest movement. Reaching for a book off the shelf causes a Tourette-like outburst that I truly have no control over.

Sweet relief, please come soon!

My Nemesis

When we first purchased this torture device piece of equipment last year, I used it steadily for two weeks, hating every step. The slightest jog made me feel as if I would vomit and pass out. Watching Seinfeld DVDs and listening to my iPod did nothing to diminish that hatred. Even the ceiling fan and the built-in fan on the machine could not deliver me from the imaginary flames as I trudged along.

I have always detested exercise, except for the twelve years I played tennis. In 2001, when I could no longer play due to a skin condition, I became a lazy, food junkie, adding 5 pounds or more each year to my small frame. At 5’4” I should weigh 125 pounds, but two weeks ago at the doctor's office, to my horror, I nearly broke the scale. Even being nine months pregnant did not put this kind of weight on me. The next day I began eating healthier and I've already lost 7 pounds. I’m going in the right direction; I just need to add exercise to the equation.

Yesterday, I decided to push aside my intense aversion for the dusty black machine and get down to business. I reasoned that I would walk at a slow pace for at least 5 minutes. Simple enough, right? One would think so, but the thought of putting on a pair of tennis shoes seemed too big a chore. Even I thought this reaction was absurd. Nevertheless, I began to whine internally. ‘Craaaap. I don’t want to put on shoo-ooes!’ which was instantly followed by, ‘Good God, woman. Are you going to let a trivial task such as placing shoes on your feet stop you from getting healthy?!

After guilting myself into locating the !%#@!! tennis shoes, I was ready. Slip on and go – so easy, see?! It’ll be OH-KAY, I told myself. I walked into the newly painted room which housed the gigantic apparatus and saw that it wasn’t plugged in, AND it had an old comforter sitting on top of it. ‘Craaaap! I’ll have to bend down and retrieve the cord which is way underneath the machine and tangled up with the power strip. And where will I put the comforter? Lawdy, lawdy Miss Claudy. It’s hopeless’, I whined again.

I started to walk away; in fact I half turned to head toward the door when my brain started arguing with itself again. ‘Really, Gail, this is ridiculous. Just move the comforter to the floor, bend down and plug the thing in. It’s not that difficult.’ The other side of my brain quickly chimed in, ‘Oh, forget this [expletive]. It’s too much trouble. I give up'.

Seriously, I could not believe the exchange going on inside my head, as though there were two people taking up residence in that fuzzy, addled space known as my brain. One entity was acting in my best interest and the other clearly wasn’t. I finally succumbed to the more sensible voice and reached down to fling the comforter across the room, albeit angrily. After finagling with the cord/power strip and getting that untangled, there was no turning back. Power for the treadmill and more power to me. Victory!

Or was it?

After 2 minutes of walking on level 2 I began to think I couldn’t go another step. Pathetic, right? I kept going though, because the deal I struck was to walk for ONLY 5 minutes. Thirty seconds later I bravely bumped it up another level to slightly jogging. That lasted about 10 seconds and I was certain Double D would have to call an ambulance, but finally I was able to focus back on the #2 button for a more leisurely walk. Whew, okay, I can do this. Around the 3 minute mark, I thought I could try jogging again. WRONG! At 4 minutes I began cursing and feeling sick. Dismal, I know, but I pressed on. At 4:59 my finger was poised over the beautiful red STOP key. I did it!

They say it is supposed to get easier each day. I’ll let you know - if I live to tell the tale. Maybe Sparky will team up with me. Nah.

Dear Me

I am shamelessly copying this from Shamelessly Sassy's blog. In an issue of Marie Claire, a contest was held for people to write letters to their 18 year old selves from today. I found the concept fascinating.

Dear Gail at age 18,

The used Ford Galaxy your dad is going to give you has bad brakes and it will cause you to t-bone a car that darts in front of you. Don't worry though, no one will be hurt. The lady you hit will try to blame you for the accident, even though she’s the one who took a chance, going across three lanes of traffic during rush hour in the pouring rain. Fortunately, insurance sides with you since the roads were slick and the other lady was making a dangerous maneuver.

Better enjoy your freedom now because 10 months after your 18^th birthday you will be impregnated by someone who isn’t in love with you, although he does the "right thing" and marries you. This pregnancy will take you into the hottest summer on record with no air conditioning in the car. That same sorry car will leave you stranded numerous times, with you and your big belly sitting on the side of the road feeling frustrated and scared.

You will get your first office job at an insurance firm, but will stupidly pay a monthly fee to the agency that placed you there. The job doesn't pay enough to warrant this. Fortunately, your mother goes to bat for you and somehow gets the contract voided. Way to go mom!

Your aunt will soon recommend you for a job at the plastic plant she works for. It will be your first introduction to a computer so big it is housed in a chilly room all by itself. Watch out though because your lecherous new boss will French kiss you through your car window as you try to leave the parking lot late one evening. You speed away shaking and worrying how this affects your future with the company. Karma is faithful though, and shortly thereafter he is fired for something unrelated. You will get another boss who is the size of Godzilla with a personality to match. He expects you to work on weekends and when your new husband tells him to shove it, you are fired the following Monday morning. Not to worry - this will allow you to stay home with the new baby, collecting unemployment.

If you would only take higher education seriously, you could enjoy a nice career, more pay, and complete autonomy. An air conditioned car could be a reality, not just a dream. At least the man you married obtained his degree so it looks as though some of life's luxuries are within reach, although the marriage is destined for failure. It does, however, produce two more beautiful children. In that regard, it will all be worth it.

Well, it is your journey after all, to take the paths that seem exciting, or to follow a crooked, dark path that seems scarily alluring. If you must make life-altering choices, at least learn from them. Figure out ways to improve your life and help those around you. As long as you're learning and growing, you're getting wiser which is always a good thing. That's all I have to say to myself.

Venus, Cupid and Me

This is one of my favorite paintings by Titian. It has been hanging in my master bathroom since the fall of 2004. My daughter and I had gone to a Renaissance exhibit in Memphis and I just had to have it. At the time, I was 20 pounds lighter. These days I look at it and think: My body really looks like her. Why can't plumpness be fashionable? Immediately, I start to feel bad about myself. What was once my favorite print, has become a source of disgust. If only I could disassociate my own flabby tummy from it and return to the time when I enjoyed this lovely piece. Why should my similarity to the woman's shape change the way I view it? Isn't she still beautiful? Yet Venus seems to say to me, "No one would paint you. I'm afraid you're past your prime, dear." Then she sticks out her tongue, lolls happily with the animals and angels, completely comfortable with her rotundity. Saucy wench.

Actually, there are many things I love about this painting. Initially, I was drawn to it because of the Papillon at the foot of the chaise. Venus' body seems to glow against the dark scenery, lending an ethereal quality. Cupid reminds me of a Raphael angel with his round face and pudgy hands. I always wanted a nude Renaissance print hanging somewhere in my house. Little did I know that I would soon take on the likeness of the nude and end up with a complex.