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.