Boogers

We had a strange conversation the other night about boogers. Mary is constantly dabbing at her nose and hides the tissues (Ange does the same) up her sleeves, which drives me crazy because I'm always forgetting to get them out and washing them, so there are bits of tissue sticking to everything I've washed. In the last four years I've only heard Mary actually blow her nose about three times. I wish I could remember how we got onto the subject of boogers... I think I swished something off of her nose and she asked if it was a booger but then said that she didn't get them. I told her I couldn't believe that cause I get a lot of them and it seemed highly unlikely that she never had to clean out her nose. She wouldn't budge. Said she had them when she was younger but didn't anymore. Her nose just runs all the time. Oh, now I remember how it started--I noticed that her nose needed wiping and asked if she needed a tissue. She didn't feel it running and asked if she had a booger. Oh, well. I just thought that was funny.

I've told quite a few people the story about her thinking she was 37--and I feel awful about it. She gets this look on her face... then I know I've embarrassed her. So why have I done it over and over? I just couldn't resist. I've always had the problem that my mouth has a mind of its own.

I've sort of started getting the house back in order. I finished my cookie baking today. I had to get it completely out of my system. I'd made a lot of candy but not many cookies. I wish I'd made more. My list was much longer than the modjeskas (and marshmallows), divinity, caramel fudge (disaster due to hard brown sugar and bread crumbs in sugar), springerles, gingerbread and sugar cookies. I dont' know what we're going to do with everything we've got--especially since I plan to resume with my diet. Mary doesn't eat nearly as many sweets as she used to, darn it. I'm surprised she's eaten as much as she has. One thing's for sure, she does have a good appetite. And good teeth, thanks be to God! And good digestion. If I had to live with someone like Angie who couldn't chew most things and was convinced that fiber hurt her stomach... I'd go bonkers. Angie cuts everything up into the itsy-bitsiest pieces and then chews each piece about 60 - 100 times. It takes her forever to eat, of course. And she wants to cut everything Mary eats up into microscopic pieces, too. Lordy, lordy.

I think for the first time I can remember, I'll be glad when the holidays are over so that I can get back to my regular schedule, which is the stupidest thing I think I've ever felt, even though you're not supposed to judge your feelings like that. But I mean, I haven't really got a schedule to get back to! Other than looking for a job. I guess I'm feeling mighty guilty--especially considering the money I spent for Christmas. But the gifts that I gave Mary I paid for myself. And I wanted to make sure that Mary gave the aunts and Mom a gift--even though she didn't want to. She can really be such a scrooge. Didn't want to send out Xmas cards even.

Oh, I think I forgot to mention that we've gottn the shower sort of half-way fixed. We still need a few things done, but we can use it. It's so wonderful! She does most of the work, which really wore her out the first time since she wasn't used to it, and that makes both of us feel better. Plus, it's not as chilly as sitting in the tub, waiting for the cup to fill up with water from the tap. It's simply lovely!

Mary keeps getting cramps in her ankle and big toe. If I rub it (barely touching it) a bit, it goes away almost immediately, but often comes back quite soon. I hope this isn't a sign of something worse. Luckily, her vision and balance have returned to normal, but she does seem weaker than she used to be, if that's possible. I need to get her up and walking around more often, but I get involved in other projects or she's taking a nap.

Age

I was sewing the toe of my sock up--very quickly and not right. Mary laughed and remarked that she'd never seen anyone sew a sock up like that and that I'd done a good job on the other darning--I'd had to patch a hole on the other side once before. (I don't believe in throwing socks away just because they get a hole in the toe and actually enjoy darning, although I do it in a bright color so I can see it and then it looks awful cause it's so apparent.) I replied that I was older and not as patient as I used to be, that I was almost forty. Then I said, "No, I'm only 37. I am 37, aren't I? Yes." To which Mary remarked, "Well, I'm 43." Just as plain as you could wish without batting an eye! I asked if she was sure and what year she was born--she knew that, but she didn't know what year it was now. Then I tried asking her about Angela and how old she was. Mary knew that Angie was younger than herself but couldn't tell me how old she was. So I got a mirror and showed her. I asked if that was the face of a 43 year old. "No. Well, maybe 50. I've got a lot of wrinkles." Then I got a piece of paper and showed her that the year was 2004 and subtracted 1911 from it to get 93. She was quite surprised, let me tell you! That was her age?! Well. Then I showed her the mirror again and said, "Now, isn't that the face of a 93-year-old? I'm 37 and I don't have any wrinkles, Mary." As I turned to go, I saw her looking at the piece of paper. I think she was a bit embarrassed. I said, "Next time, I'll just agree with you, ok?" :-)

Cooking

Mary was helping me make seasoned oyster crackers for Xmas presents. I told her to measure 1/4 of a teaspoon of garlic powder. She replied, "One fork and a teaspoon..." I just started laughing and said, "Oh, Mary!" She got frustrated and said, "I've got a fork and a teaspoon! Now what am I supposed to do with them?"

I made some marshmallow and coudn't get it out of the beater, so I gave that to Mary to "clean up." You should have seen her about half an hour later! Marshmallow everywhere! All over her Pooh blanket (how appropriate) and face and hands! How I wished my camera battery weren't dead!

I think Mary had a small stroke the other night. She's had trouble walking (unbalanced) and says her sight was "odd." She couldn't explain how. I didn't take her to the hospital because of the snow and ice and it being so close to Christmas. I don't want her to spend Christmas in the hospital. Was I wrong?

Fruitcakes

Oh, gosh, Angie just wears me out! She wears herself out, too, which is a big problem. I guess I can understand, though. She doesn’t want to get old. I know Mary doesn’t think of herself as being an old woman. Just like I don’t think of myself as being almost forty. But once you quit doing, quit going… that may be it. I really admire Ange for her energy and determination, but I do wish she knew her limits. And I wish she knew how to ask for help! I get so tired of hearing her complain about her family and how they don’t do anything for her. I’ve talked to her daughters and I know that if she would just ask for help, they’d not only know better what she wanted but would also be more willing to help her. It’s so annoying to have someone constantly hinting at you to do something. (Why is that? It seems so lacking in respect somehow.) Plus, it’s quite easy to ignore! I wonder if her doing that has something to do with wanting people to guess or even expecting them to know what she wants. I know I expect people to know what I’m thinking. It’s a major weakness of mine. I expect them to pay attention and make inferences, use their brains. Maybe Ange wants to be shown that they love her by doing things without her asking, with only a hint at what she wants. But her family isn’t like that at all. I don’t know… I try to do things for the aunts all the time. Why am I like that? It’s partly that I figure they deserve it since they’re so old. Plus, they can’t drive or even understand a lot of things, their hearing is going and their sight… they need help. They are still people. They enjoy going out and doing things. And they need to be touched and loved and shown affection.

Angie is in pain pretty much all the time. I know that’s why she’s so grumpy. Well, also the fact that she doesn’t hear a lot of things and can’t remember things, which she doesn’t want to admit. If I just barely rub on her back, she goes into ecstasies. Now, why can’t her family do that for her? I’d be sending her to an acupuncturist. I don’t know… Angie is really so precious. She’s been such a huge part of our lives; I don’t understand why people don’t take better care of her. They’ve just forgotten her. They’ve moved on and left her behind, but she’s still in the present; she doesn’t live in the past. Oh, what do I know? They probably all do lots for her, but she doesn’t tell it that way. But I do think my family could do more. Our childhoods would have been a calamity without her. But you can’t force people to care. I can understand why people don’t care about Mary. She never did much for anyone, but Angie did a lot for us.

A few days ago I talked to Angie, and she carried on and carried on about fruitcakes. She wanted to make one with bourbon in it. I knew she couldn’t do it herself, so, even though I detest fruitcake, I got her to come in to Mary’s to make them. I told her daughter Pat about it. All she had to say was that Ange would wear herself out. Duh! That’s why she needs help! I shouldn’t talk like I’m a big saint, though. I’m quite ashamed of my behavior the last few days, but, on the other hand, if I had to do it over again, I probably wouldn’t do much differently. You know, part of Angie’s problem is that she wants to do everything and she either doesn’t know how or doesn’t want to delegate. She could have given some jobs to Mary and then not worn herself out so much. Another reason I have a problem cooking with Angie is that she never follows a recipe. I don’t necessarily follow every recipe, either, but if it’s brand new to me, I probably will. She wants to change everything and then stresses about it. That really gets up my nose! Well, I found her several recipes on the Internet that used bourbon and then she picked one—not necessarily because she liked it (although it did call for 2 cups of bourbon), but mostly because it originally came from Owensboro, where one of her daughters lives. Argh! Then she proceeded to change all kinds of things…And she’s always asking my opinion about things, which irritates the hell out of me, although I have no idea why. I mean, I should be flattered, shouldn’t I? I guess I feel like she ought to know by now. She’s done more than her share of cooking. Maybe I’m annoyed because she’s always acted like such a know-it-all about cooking. Or I’m afraid that she’s not going to listen to me anyhow. No, I think she just ought to know what she wants. Like whether to cut the candied cherries up or not. I mean, I don’t’ eat fruitcake! How am I supposed to know??? Then after I’d put all the flour in, she started wondering whether there shouldn’t be other spices as well, not just nutmeg. Again, how would I know? We found recipes with just nutmeg and some with other spices… I left it up to her, but told her she ought to call Mom or Anna, who know more about fruitcakes than I do. She’d rather die than call Anna—they don’t get along so well, since Angie is so pushy. I don’t know why she didn’t call Mom. She left them out. I mean, it really was a bit late to add spices since the flour was all mixed in. Well, she made several remarks over the next few hours about how the cake wouldn’t have any taste and how much she regretted not putting the spices in. Ugh! Oh, and there was this whole big thing because after I put the butter in (I’d decided to be a good girl and start helping her—although she never asked me to.), I realized that we didn’t have a mixing bowl big enough to hold all the ingredients for this cake. I called Mom and raced over to her house to borrow a big one from her. Plus, I got Ange to leave out some of the fruit. She’d just added this, that, and the other thing and never gave any thought to how much the recipe called for. (Big sigh.) We finally got the cakes in the oven, after much stress. You know, I’m sure I just expect too much from Ange. Thinking about it, how she was so scattered about getting the oven turned on, the pans greased, etc, I really should have more sympathy for her. She said she’d never bake another fruitcake again—unless it was with me—and wasn’t that a compliment! I just replied that I didn’t know why she felt that way since I absolutely hated fruitcake! Well, the trouble went on. I set the clock for 3 ½ hours like the directions said. About 2 ¾ hours later, Angie decided that the cakes must be done and asked me if I would go check on them. I was very rude and asked why I should check on them that she should do it since they were her cakes. She didn’t care for that, but she went! (I wonder if I’d have a better attitude if it were something that I actually liked. No, I don’t think so. I think I just don’t like cooking with Angie. Plus (my word for the night), just having her around seems to wear me out. I’ve told Fred it’s like having two toddlers to care for, rather than just the one.) She ended up taking them out and turning the oven off. I finally jumped in and got her to put them back in and turn the oven back on. I tell you, I just don’t know… I sure hope she likes them!

So here it is almost one I the morning and I’m writing and about to fall over. Why does Ange wear me out? Well, everything’s a fight. Mostly because she doesn’t understand what I’m doing. And she’s always on the go, which means I am not allowed to sit down, which I don’t o much of anyway. Then there’s all of her complaining, which grates on one’s nerves. She’s always getting into something, so I have to keep a constant eye on her—and Mary, too. She often tries to help Mary, but doesn’t do it properly—and doesn’t have the strength to, anyway. She’s just one of those people who has a presence that can’t be ignored. It’s what makes her so special. But she’s definitely tiring. Having Ann at the house is so relaxing. You barely know she’s there.

Well, I’ve got to get some sleep. There are a thousand stories I’d like to tell you. Maybe I should start carrying around a little tape recorder…At least that’s one good thing about Ange—she also thinks Mary is a trip and gets a kick out of her, too.

Saint Nick

I meant to mention that Saint Nick came the night before last :-) It took the aunts forever to understand that! And that knowledge didn't stick with Mary any longer than about half a minute. (She always says her memory is as long as her pinky.) I wish I'd had a separate sock and candy for Angie, but I didn't know she was going to be here. I have some Merci chocolates for Mom and thought about giving them to her, but... naw. Angie's so funny. I showed her this beautiful red box with red voile and a red ribbon on top in which I have an almost complete robin's egg. I knew she'd appreciate it. She kept making comments which were making me uneasy and then, sure enough, she said, "Honey, I can't keep this. I'm not going to do that." Whew! I didn't mean for her to keep it! But, you know, you can tell Ange something like that and she's ok with it. On the other hand, sometimes the slightest thing insults her.

Gotta run, my batteries going.

Little Stinkers

I take it back--I don't feel so much like the wicked witch! No wonder Mary was getting done so quickly--she left all kinds of straight pins in with the safety pins! When I pointed that out to her, she said she'd made a mistake every now and then, she knew, but she thought it was more then than now. I said, oh, no, I thought it was more now than then!

She's so sneaky! When I asked her if I could read to her this evening, she said, oh, no, she didn't think so, to which I pouted and begged her to let me read. Then she said she'd only just said that to see my expression cause she knew I'd be disappointed! I didn't know she was so devious!

She's already trying to get out of going to my sister's house in St Louis. It doesn't help that Angie said she didn't think she wanted to go. How could she? That little stink. But Mary did say that she'd go if Mom went and Mom is definitely going. I wish I knew whether it's really uncomfortable for Mary to go on a trip or whether she's just being lazy. We do everything in our power to make her comfortable when she's there... It's not like she doesn't get to do something that she usually does at home like when Angie comes here and I don't let her watch her Foxx News Channel (because it makes me go balistic).

By the way, I feel like I've given Angie a really bad rap thus far. I really do love her dearly. But everybody knows, we fight like cats and dogs. I guess I just don't have the patience and understanding that I should have in dealing with her.

Wicked Witch

I feel like the wicked witch in a fairy tale who gives the poor little girl who's actually a princess but doesn't know it an impossibe task. I try to find tasks for Mary to do--it makes her feel useful and sometimes helps me out (if it doesn't take her too long or she doesn't drive me too crazy with questions or comments). I'm trying to get ready to cut out the pattern pieces for the robe I'm going to make her. Looking in her drawers, I found a container of a mixture of straight pins and safety pins, among other things, so I asked her if she would separate them. I just hope she doesn't hurt herself! I wanted her to put the safety pins in a certain container, but she kept making a fuss, so I got her a bigger container. Then I realized that she was only putting the safety pins of one size in the bowl; she didn't realize I just wanted all of them in there. Then she kept fussing because she didn't think te straight pins would all fit into the pin cushion I'd given her, so I had to get her a bowl for that. But she so cute, sitting there happy as a lark since she's got a job to do :-) And, man, she's working fast! While I've been typing this, she's almost done--and I haven't done anything with the material!