Piddling

I guess it doesn't help that I live so far away and barely make it home. Hell, I have been home more since my father passed away than I had the entire previous year. So maybe if I live closer and could go home more often to see my mom, her deteriorating condition of dimentia would not cause me to be so taken aback every time I see her now.

It's not that she's unhealthy. I pray daily that when I am 80 something that my physical well being is just as good as hers. But what I can't get used to is the way her dimentia is causing her to lose her short term memory. As a result, one could answer the same question or here her make the same comment over and over throughout the day. Throw in some visitors that causes her to "get off schedule," then it is really bad.

But the one thing I just can't seem wrap my understanding around is how she piddles. She seems to be more than content to stay there in that house and just piddle around all day, hiding things in fear that someone is going to come in and take her "stuff," or just moving items from one closet to another, from one room to another, just piddling. She doesn't cook that much because my brother and his family take her her meals. They had to set up her medicine in a way so that she will know when to take the morning pills and the evening pills. They have step-by-step instructions on how to make coffee. Thankfully, they bought her a pot that automatically shuts off after a period of time.

Every time I call her and ask her what she has been up to, she gives the same response.
Me: so, what have you been doing?
mom: oh. you know. just cleaning the house and getting things straightened out.
me: why? who are you cleaning for? there is no one there but you.
mom: yeah, but you don't know who might stop by.
me: well, who has stopped by lately?
mom: well, james and his family mostly.
me: you can't clean house all day. a house can only be so clean. what else have you been doing?
mom: oh, just piddling around.

When i have discussed this with James, he says that is the way dimentia effects some people: it causes them to build a "safety net" or comfort zone, and her house is hers. Take her out of that comfort zone and, as Larry the Cable Guy described about Arby's employees: watch the fun begin. But it really isn't fun, though. It's sad, actually.

I came home from my last trip saddened by the weekend I just spent with my mom because that wasn't my mom. Sure, it was the physical manifestation of her, but it wasn't "her" because of the way her mind has gone. My mom was the person who cried for us boys when daddy would spank us, or who bought me ice cream when I was crying, or who was full of life while going to church and singing in the choir every sunday. Not the person I had spent the weekend with. But you know what? I still Love her. She is still my momma.

But let me get back to this piddling thing...........

A couple of weeks ago the Future had one of his school friends over to play. We were all outside. They were jumping on the trampoline, then took a couple of my old fishing rods out there and were pretending they were fishing. I was working in the garage and before I knew it, I had swept and arranged the garage, and had taken bags of mixed up screws, bolts, nuts, washers, nails, etc. and arranged them and placed them in their own compartment in my hanging storage bin. I went through my fishing cart and put my Striper rods and tackle in their proper place until next season, arranging the lures and other tackle in a way so that it all fit nicely and neatly in it's own place.

I hung up the boat bumpers, wrapped up the ropes, hung up all of the life jackets, cleaned out my tool box and arranged things in a way that would make them easy to find no matter who goes through there. I cleaned out my truck, arranged some of the locked cabinets where the paint and things are, and made a mixture of lime and milky spore to be spread to kill the grubs in the yard which will help get rid of the moles.

I wrapped up all of the extension cords and loaded all of the spare wood from the privacy fence into my truck to take to the dump, then placed the extra landscaping bricks on the side of the house to get them out of the garage. I took a break and was standing outside, in front of the garage, drinking some bottled water, feeling the wind, watching the neighborhood, listening to the kids play and laugh and giggle and argue and fight.

I watched my neighbors from across the street load their two kids into the van, then noticed the kid from the house caddy cornered to mine on the left was shootin' some hoops. My neighbor caddy cornered from me to my right was on the side of his house hitting a tennis ball with his pitching wedge so that his Australian sheppard, Sidney, could chase it down and bring it back. I noticed that his neighbors to his right were sitting out in lawn chairs in their driveway doing the same thing I was, and I lifted my bottle of water to then in a silent hello. My next door neighbor to my left was going somewhere to get medicine because everyone in his house was sick, but him. I notice several people were walking their dogs, riding their bikes, or just walking on the trail that goes through the entire development. It was then I chugged the rest of the bottle of water, threw it in the back of my truck and went back into the garage. I pulled out this huge garden/tool cart that I use for my freshwater fishing tackle when MQ comes to the door.

MQ: where are the kids?
me: in the back
MQ: are they playing nicely?
me: they seem to be.
MQ: looking at the cart: what are you doing?
me: I'm going to go through this to see if there is anything I can get rid of. I don't really use it anymore.
MQ: Why not?
me: well, you know we fish mainly in salt water now that we have the boat. And when we DO go fresh water fishing, you know we fly fish exclusively now.
MQ: yeah, you're right. what have you been doing?
me: nothing really. just piddling.

And we both stood there in silence because she has had to listen to me rant about my mom piddling, and here I had just admitted that I was piddling.

I stood there for a moment after she went inside and thought about my thoughts about my mom. Then I looked around in a satisfied way because I had gotten so much done with little interruption. I sat down on the top of my fishing bucket as I opened the tackle cart and thought to my self, "You know...............................Piddling ain't bad. .....................It ain't bad at all."