Mom was sworn in as a deputy

 Chicken Soup for the Soul chose my story as the featured free story in their daily newsletter on Friday 8/13/21. This story was released June 23, 2021 in  Chicken Soup for the Soul Eldercare and Dementia. My mom did not have dementia. She sure knew how to juggle, though.

Social Butterfly by Linda O'Connell

“You are not moving me into a nursing home, young lady!” My tiny mom with a tight gray perm and pursed lips sat in the passenger seat of my car with her arms crossed, refusing to exit.

“Mom, this is not a nursing facility; it’s the independent living, senior apartment complex you applied for two years ago. You’re free to come and go as you wish.

Mom sat like an obstinate child. Cajoling didn’t work, sweet talk didn’t faze her, so I used my teacher voice and ordered her out of my car. I buzzed the office intercom.

“See! They lock you in!” Mom was convinced she was about to become a prisoner.

The property manager greeted us with a wide smile, “Welcome, Virginia. We’ve been expecting you.”

Mom put on her happy face like a kindergartener being praised. We walked through an elegant vestibule, past a large aviary where parakeets flitted. A lobby area with comfy plaid couches, overstuffed chairs and a large screen television had a homey feel. Tables and chairs and stocked bookcases invited residents to linger in the lobby. Mom gave me the side eye and whispered, “I am not visiting people I don’t know.”

I nodded. “You won’t have to.”

From the office to the elevator, we strolled a long, glass-enclosed hallway. Outside, the green space, teeming with flowers and bushes, was home to bunnies and even a box turtle.

“I do like to walk, and I don’t like to feel closed in. Nice.” She commented to herself.
The manager explained the four apartment buildings were connected by these corridors, so she would be able to walk in comfort, regardless of weather.

After Mom settled in, she called me several times a day. “Do you know they have line dancing here?  But I’m not joining!” She’d never been a joiner. When I had Tupperware parties she refused to attend because she didn’t feel comfortable in a crowd. I was amazed when she mentioned amenities such as card making, book clubs, and free bus transportation to shopping centers and grocery stores.

I felt a sense of relief. I had been my mom’s sole transportation for many years. I was about to get a break. Mom used her sweet voice to entice me.

“Honey, if you have time, could you come take me to the grocery store?”

I hopped on it, even though I wished she’d hop on the free bus.

“Can you come over and help me straighten my drapes?” I could hear the smile in her voice.

I dropped by whenever she called. I brought leftovers and bags of homegrown tomatoes for the residents. I took her shopping and on evening rides.

 

One evening while carrying her groceries to her apartment I looked at the sign-up sheet on the bulletin board. “Why isn’t your name on the bus list? I thought you said you were going to the mall this week.”

Mom waved me on and said, “I might, and I might not.”

I called my grown daughter and asked if she had seen her grandma lately.

“Of course, I have. I see her almost every other day. I always take her to the mall and grocery shopping.”

I phoned my adult son and encouraged him to stop by his grandma’s. “She might be feeling lonely, you know?”

“How could she be? I’ve seen her almost every other day. She asked me to program her television remote. Then the VCR wouldn’t rewind. When she called to tell me her thermostat wasn’t working, I had to convince her not to touch it because it’s a heat pump system. I took her for ice cream last night. She wanted me to put something high up in a closet. Next week she’ll call me to take it down.” He chuckled.

The next day Mom asked me to take her to McDonalds for a fish sandwich.

 That evening my daughter called to tell me she’d taken Mom to McDonald’s.

“Not true!” I said. “I took her this afternoon for lunch.”

“Well I just took her for a chocolate sundae.”

 While we all imagined Mom suffering from loneliness, she was busier than ever yanking all our strings, orchestrating which one of us she would see on different days at different times.

Little did we know Mom, who had been shy all her life, was becoming a social butterfly in her later years. As it turns out, she had joined all sorts of clubs and had even met a best friend in a Bible study group.

When the office manager called me into her office to show me a photo of Mom and three other residents wearing white cowboy hats and silver badges, I couldn’t believe it. Mom brave enough to stand before a group?! Dressed in costume?

“This was our monthly residents’ meeting. There was a theft in our building. Someone stole the large screen T.V. last night. So, because your mom is always walking the halls, we deputized her and these other two women and man as our residence watch committee. Did you know your mom has even tried kicking up her heels on the dance floor?”

Really?! I walked into Mom’s apartment. “What have you been up to lately?”

“I’ve been busy working as a deputy,” Mom beamed showing off her badge and photo. I expected her to run to the closet and pullout boogie-scooting-boots.
Mom, a late bloomer, was like a lovely wild rose that finally blossomed in her elder years. 

Historic river town

Many folks I know are taking trips, going on vacations, but we have opted to stay close to home. We would really like to be taking our annual cruise, but that is impossible with Covid. So we have put it off another year. 

We are fortunate to live very close to the Mississippi River. In fact we are on the Illinois/Missouri border.

 What a nice surprise to see the Delta Queen River Boat arriving at its new port of call about twenty miles South of our home. 

Kimmswick, MO is a little historic river town settled in the 1800s. Many of the buildings have been preserved and converted from residences to restaurants and unique establishments/shops that sell crafts and goods of all kinds. They have an annual apple butter festival that attracts thousands in the fall, and in summer they feature the Strawberry Festival.  

The picture above is  the Barabagallo House, circa 1850. The building below is a winery/port of call for the Delta Queen. When we saw a local news clip about it, we decided to take a drive.

The Blue Owl (not pictured) is a famous restaurant in Kimmswick; it always has a full parking lot and often a waiting line. The large front porch is the best place to eat a large piece of homemade pie. And what a selection! They also have indoor dining.

However, we prefer this quaint little restuarant around the corner. The Dough Depot has delicious and reasonably priced lunches. The former residence takes one back in time. There are four rooms for indoor dining. But Bill and I prefer to sit on the patio to eat our yummy sandwiches served on pretzel bun and delicious, aling with large portion salads. We enjoy watching passersby moseying along, shopping in all the little shops. This has been our Wednesday date all summer. They have scrumptious and reasonably priced homemade baked goods and pastries, which always seem to find their way home with us.

We discovered that the best time to arrive is 10:45 am to 11:00. By noon there is a waiting line.   

 If you have a chance, check out this historic town. Maybe you'll be lucky enough to watch the Delta Queen pull in.

Did you ever kiss a bed or a beak?

Poor little buddy Charlie is STILL two-years-old. He was chasing his brothers and conked his forehead on the bed frame. Laid the area between his eyebrows wide open. It was a deep laceration that required six, PLUS TWO stitches. Additionally they placed Steri Strips over the wound because the nurse observed that Charlie is a non-stop talker and uses his facial muscles to express himself. They were concerned he would bust a stitch just being Charlie.

Well, he did! On the way home from the ER his unibrow was numb, but he could sense these little "whiskers" which he pulled off, thus loosening his stitches. 

Back to the ER for another bill, two more stitches, and a gauze wrap around his head. He'll be three in a couple weeks. We will be glad when the terrible twos are in the rearview mirror.

I babysat Liam and Alex this week. I took them to the playground and screamed at the top of my lungs when I saw Alex at the top of the slide leaning over. Off to the car with two kids screaming that they didn't want to leave. 

The park is wooded and has lots of picnic benches. As we drove down the lane, I saw a man who appeared to be snoozing on a picnic table with this macaw on his chest. I stopped the car, rolled down my window and showed the protesting boys. The art of distraction works at any age. 

 The man asked if the boys wanted to see his bird up close. He walked to the car, and the macaw rode his arm perch. As it neared the open car window, the bird started screeching. "She's three years old and acts like a two-year-old kid!" the man complained.

"Sir, I know exactly what you mean. They live a long time, don't they?"

"Eighty years."

Well the man looked half a century old himself. "What are you going to do?" I asked.

He laughed as we said goodbye to the bird who couldn't get enough of his handler/owner's smooching.

 Let me tell you, a peck on the lips took on new meaning for wide-eyed Liam and Alex. 

Tornado Alley

 Friday I awoke at 10:00 p.m. on the couch as the meterologist excitedly said egg-size hail was pelting everything in the counties just west of us. I ran out into the pouring rain to move my car under the carport. By the time I got back in he said, "Well look at this! See the red dropping on my map? The hail is pushing down and the storm is collapsing just as it arrives in (our area)."

What a relief. The night air was eerily still. I have experienced enough tornadic activity in my life in the midwest to know to be on guard. 

My granddaughter lives thrity miles south of us. She texted a video of what my mom used to call an electrical storm with continual lightning illuminating the sky. I listened to the audio as Ashley, her husband, and the kids watched what looked like fireworks. It was an incredible light show off on the horizon. "Ooh! Ahhh! Wow!"

Seven-year-old Laim said, "Imagine if all the lightning all over lit up at the same time." Creative mind! 

Almost three-year-old Charlie said, "I scared." Mama told him to come by her. Needed security.

Almost four-year-old Alex said, "When is it going to be DAYtime?!" Wise little guy reasoning that soon it would end. Not soon enough.

I tend to stay away from windows and avoid being outdoors during storms, but my thrill-seeking granddaughter, an amateur photographer enjoys them. 

Ten years ago, jagged baseball-size hail pelted the area of Tornado Alley in which we live, resulting in severe damage. It also did major destruction in Joplin, MO. Thus, Missouri writers did a collaborative book drive to resupply the Joplin Library and schools which were destroyed.

This poem was published in 2011 in Storm Country, The Anthology, compiled by Missouri Writers' Guild. Out of 337 submissions mine was one of 153 pieces selected.

Storm Chaser

Wind whips, gusts howl, sirens shriek.
Thunderhead barrels and swerves up interstate.
Tornado drops, streaks across prairies, into towns,
flattens flora and fauna, peels roofs like sunburned skin,
splinters treetops wishbone-fashion. 

Relinguishes its bully grip, roils the Mississippi River, and heads East.
Reverberating trees and strangled hearts, still.
Night air thickens, blackness sizzles with electrified ions.
People search for their candles and wits, survey the damage.
Worried loved ones contact each other.

My cellphone plinks a text received.
I read the message and gasp. My granddaughter,
the photography major, sends me a just-snapped image.
The swirling wide-mouth monster bearing down,
chomping faster than her boyfriend can drive.

Her message: Safe! Isn't ths a grt shot?
I stomp and storm up the basement stairs,
shake the wrinkles out of my wadded up nerves,
send a silent prayer, "Protect those affected and this crazy kid, too."
I calm down and realize I used to be young and invincible.

Not included in the book: I texted her back. "Grt sht, now gt home u little sht."

S.O.S! Dumb luck. Truck Stuck.

Bill came in from outdoors just as I was mopping the kitchen floor. (Always!) He hurried back out the door and said something, but I couldn't understand.

"What?"

"Just come out and see the excitement when you're finished."

His idea of excitement could have been a strange bird at the feeder, a pedestrian walking by, or the neighbor putting on a new roof up the block. I didn't rush.

I finished mopping, and as I walked outside I heard a distraught female voice. "Oh no! Oh me! Oh dear!"

As the U.S. Mail letter carrier drove along a parking pad to deliver mail at the curb, she got stuck on a raised sewer in front of our house. The rear driver side wheel spun and spun, but the vehicle wouldn't budge. 

I heard her calling her office/boss. Apparently she left a message on an answering machine. The gist of her message was "Truck stuck. Need help."

I walked out and asked if she'd like a cool drink or a sandwich.

"God bless you offering such kindness. I called the police and maybe they can help me. The truck is stuck."   

"Well, do I have any mail? I'm hoping for a check. I'm a writer."

"Sure do." 

It wasn't a check!

I said, "Wait right there. (Ha!) I have something for you."

I brought MARIE a copy of the latest @Chicken Soup for the Soul book, Navigating Eldercare and Dementia. She graciously accepted and posed with it so I could promote the book which contains my story, Social Butterfly. 

The police officer arrived. He was 12, oops, he looked 12, but he was probably 21. He assisted as best he could. He blocked a traffic lane (we live on a four lane street). Oblivious drivers had to be directed by all three of us to get in the other lane! 

I said, to the letter carrier, "I'll show you how to get their attention."

Standing in the street at the curb, I wagged my finger in Marie's face and said, "I sure hope you enjoy the book! My story is about my momma and she was a little stinker." 

Finally, drivers slowed down and realized they had to change lanes. Or perhaps they thought we were in an altercation. You know, people tend to jump to conclusions. Marie and I put on a little show and had ourselves a little laugh. 

The police officer asked if I had scraps of wood or a concrete block to shove under the tire for traction. I retrieved those. But no luck! Nothing worked. Bill was unable to help. His knee is out and he is on a cane. He sat on the front porch and observed.

A motorist stopped to assist. The gentleman used a jack and succeded in getting the vehicle raised off the sewer. 

Sweet Marie was on her way, smiling the brightest smile, waving and expressing gratitude to the stranger, the police officer, and me.

"A little kindness is what the world needs right now," I said as she drove out of sight. "You'll have something to talk about, and I'll have something to write."

Do unto others as you'd have them do unto you. I was raised on this Bible verse and it applies more than ever these days. 

Marie, if you are reading this, scroll down and read the post before this one about my great grandbaby. You will really laugh.

This one takes the prize!

Out of the mouths of babes. Charlie is two-years-old, very talkative, emotive, and so doggone cute. I was sitting on the patio when he asked me to help buckle his sandals. I leaned over and he held onto my shoulder. 

" I like you shirt, Nanny. These are so cute." He was referring to the ties on my scoop neck peasant style blouse with beads hanging on the ends. 

"Thank you, Charlie." I said.

As the blood rushed to my head, still fumbling with his sandal, he backed up a bit with his foot in my hand.

"OH, Nanny, don't be gross! Don't show you butt like this!" He pointed to my  smooshed cleavage which looked like a baby's butt.

I said, "THAT is not my butt!"

He looked at the seat of my chair. "How did you get you butt UP there?"

I said, "Those are my boobs!"

We laughed and laughed.

He's been acting up

This man of mine is a laugh a minute! He twisted his ankle and limped or sat in his recliner while I waited on him all day. I went to bed before 10:00, so he turned off his Netflix flick that has lots of grunting, groaning, and violence in it, perpetrated by a drug lord and a queen. He came to bed early. 

It takes me a while to fall asleep. Not him. He was snoring two minutes after his head hit the pillow. I was watching the news when he shouted, "Come on! Come on! Come on!"

I asked, "ME?"

"Yes."

"Where are we going?"

"To blow up trailers."

"With people in them?"

"No empty. Come on! BLOW. IT. UP!"

I think he watches too much TV. He does not usually talk in his sleep.

Few minutes later he woke himself coughing. I asked, "Are we still blowing up trailers?"

"NO! We did that yesterday." 

At least he's following a time line.