Thursday night I was sitting on the side of a soccer field, watching The Governor play. As his team was receiving what can only be called "a thrashing", my attention wandered, and I started talking with another mother who was also trying to focus on something other than the blood bath in front of us. We started discussing soccer and I mentioned that I still played in a couple of leagues.
Her young daughter (perhaps 7?) looked at me and asked, "Are you a teenager or an adult?"
I'm sure I could have sold energy back to the electric company with the wattage coming from my smile.
Wonderful child.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
My Lunch with Gary
I've been staring at a blank "Compose Post" screen for six minutes now...Starting is always the toughest part. No wonder it's so easy to ignore a blog.
I had an interesting lunch date on Tuesday, and I was all set to write about it, but after waiting a day it no longer seems all that absorbing. I'm fairly certain I will need to add the line, "I guess you had to be there" at the end of it all. Oh well. I was reminded recently that this blog will be a wonderful way to record memories, and if I frighten off my last remaining reader...he can only blame himself; it was his suggestion.
There was nothing particularly amusing or dramatic about lunch, it was more of a purely interesting experiment. I had never dined with a blind person before.
A little background: a few years ago I took our family hound up to the local nursing home for pet therapy visits. Hoocher and I made our rounds for nearly three years and then life got busy, Hoocher got old, and I decided to call a halt to it all. I missed the visits, but many of our regulars were starting to pass away and then Hoocher got a tumor and I thought he was next. As it turns out, Hoocher did not pass away. A year or two went by, and this past March, I brought Hoocher back. Only he is simply too old to do it any longer; his hips give out and he's fairly deaf. And he hates baths so much that I felt it was just too unfair to force him into one each week. So Hoocher has officially retired, but I still go up to the Manor once a week to visit with one particular gentleman we met.
Gary is only in his 50's, but due to a medical condition, he cannot live on his own. He lost his vision a few years ago. He probably is more suited to a home of some sort, but he does not relish independence. What he does relish is food, and the understandably institutionalized nature of the Manor's kitchen leaves him with nothing kind to say.
One might suspect that Gary is a bit of a gormet. One might be wrong. This is the same man who informed me that he considered it a high treat (in his seeing days - living with his mother on the family farm) to warm up cocktail weiners with barbeque sauce in the microwave and eat them with Saltines. The odor of hypocrisy lingers in the air.
Many times, our visits turn into a cataloging of what restaurants we like, which we don't, and which ones we wish we could try. After the barbeque weiners story, I wasn't surprised to learn that Gary and his mom ate out fairly frequently.
As a treat for him (and a respite for the long-suffering kitchen staff at the Manor), I took Gary out to lunch at our local pizza parlor.
The most interesting part of the meal was not the actual eating of food, but the logistics of getting Gary from the Manor to the restaurant and then to the table and back again. In addition to being blind, Gary also uses oxygen, so a portable tank went with us on the outing.
The Senator (11) and The Governor (8) came along to assist. They were invaluable help as I was a bit nervous about leaving Gary unattended while I went to get the car or when I left the table to fill his plate at the buffet. The Governor took a great interest in watching Gary. Before we arrived at the Manor he had asked, "But Mom...if he's blind...how does he eat?"
Well, Gov, his mouth works; only his eyes don't.
"But Mom...how does he know where to stick the food?"
Gov, if you close your eyes, do you think you could bring a cookie up to your mouth?
"Ooooh...."
And when we arrived at the Manor and were heading down the hall to fetch Gary:
"Mom - how do you get him through the building?"
He'll walk.
"But I mean, how do you give him directions? Do you say, Go north or Go South?"
Valid question, Gov. I tend to use Left and Right versus North or South.
"Ooooohhhhh."
So while Gary was unaware of it, he was under surveillance the entire time. And not just by The Governor. Everyone in the restaurant was giving us glances. Small town, after all. Thank goodness my children were along for chaperones.
The trip went quite well. I think Gary was so happy to be eating out somewhere, we probably could have taken him to the gas station for pre-packaged sandwiches and he would have considered it a high treat. He did consume an incredible amount of pizza and fried chicken. I hope we didn't do any lasting damage to his internal organs.
I'm sure we'll re-live the adventure next Tuesday when I go for another visit. It would beat listening to the BBQ weiner story again.
I had an interesting lunch date on Tuesday, and I was all set to write about it, but after waiting a day it no longer seems all that absorbing. I'm fairly certain I will need to add the line, "I guess you had to be there" at the end of it all. Oh well. I was reminded recently that this blog will be a wonderful way to record memories, and if I frighten off my last remaining reader...he can only blame himself; it was his suggestion.
There was nothing particularly amusing or dramatic about lunch, it was more of a purely interesting experiment. I had never dined with a blind person before.
A little background: a few years ago I took our family hound up to the local nursing home for pet therapy visits. Hoocher and I made our rounds for nearly three years and then life got busy, Hoocher got old, and I decided to call a halt to it all. I missed the visits, but many of our regulars were starting to pass away and then Hoocher got a tumor and I thought he was next. As it turns out, Hoocher did not pass away. A year or two went by, and this past March, I brought Hoocher back. Only he is simply too old to do it any longer; his hips give out and he's fairly deaf. And he hates baths so much that I felt it was just too unfair to force him into one each week. So Hoocher has officially retired, but I still go up to the Manor once a week to visit with one particular gentleman we met.
Gary is only in his 50's, but due to a medical condition, he cannot live on his own. He lost his vision a few years ago. He probably is more suited to a home of some sort, but he does not relish independence. What he does relish is food, and the understandably institutionalized nature of the Manor's kitchen leaves him with nothing kind to say.
One might suspect that Gary is a bit of a gormet. One might be wrong. This is the same man who informed me that he considered it a high treat (in his seeing days - living with his mother on the family farm) to warm up cocktail weiners with barbeque sauce in the microwave and eat them with Saltines. The odor of hypocrisy lingers in the air.
Many times, our visits turn into a cataloging of what restaurants we like, which we don't, and which ones we wish we could try. After the barbeque weiners story, I wasn't surprised to learn that Gary and his mom ate out fairly frequently.
As a treat for him (and a respite for the long-suffering kitchen staff at the Manor), I took Gary out to lunch at our local pizza parlor.
The most interesting part of the meal was not the actual eating of food, but the logistics of getting Gary from the Manor to the restaurant and then to the table and back again. In addition to being blind, Gary also uses oxygen, so a portable tank went with us on the outing.
The Senator (11) and The Governor (8) came along to assist. They were invaluable help as I was a bit nervous about leaving Gary unattended while I went to get the car or when I left the table to fill his plate at the buffet. The Governor took a great interest in watching Gary. Before we arrived at the Manor he had asked, "But Mom...if he's blind...how does he eat?"
Well, Gov, his mouth works; only his eyes don't.
"But Mom...how does he know where to stick the food?"
Gov, if you close your eyes, do you think you could bring a cookie up to your mouth?
"Ooooh...."
And when we arrived at the Manor and were heading down the hall to fetch Gary:
"Mom - how do you get him through the building?"
He'll walk.
"But I mean, how do you give him directions? Do you say, Go north or Go South?"
Valid question, Gov. I tend to use Left and Right versus North or South.
"Ooooohhhhh."
So while Gary was unaware of it, he was under surveillance the entire time. And not just by The Governor. Everyone in the restaurant was giving us glances. Small town, after all. Thank goodness my children were along for chaperones.
The trip went quite well. I think Gary was so happy to be eating out somewhere, we probably could have taken him to the gas station for pre-packaged sandwiches and he would have considered it a high treat. He did consume an incredible amount of pizza and fried chicken. I hope we didn't do any lasting damage to his internal organs.
I'm sure we'll re-live the adventure next Tuesday when I go for another visit. It would beat listening to the BBQ weiner story again.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Child Protection Services Are On The Way
This morning I received an email from an old reader - happy to see a few relatively recent posts and encouraging me not to abandon the effort altogether. I told him I felt like a bad parent who remembers, half way through the mall, that my child was still strapped in a car seat in the parking lot. The blog...oh dear.
With the onset of summer vacation, computer time is at an all time low. Not only do soccer, baseball, the lake, and nursing home visits compete for attention, but when we are home, I must compete for keyboard time with members of The Alliance and The Horde. If you don't understand that last bit, you are in good company. I don't either. It is unnerving to listen to The VP and The Governor (now 8!) carry on a discussion about Level 80 Death Knights and whether or not Bloody Breakout is a worthwhile quest and who has enough Emblems of Frost to purchase a new piece of chest armor.
To be fair...they tried to include me. I have my own World of Warcraft character, but I never play. I lost interest after my first quest. Fortunately, at any time I have three family members who are willing to take up my slack and age up Saint Kate to a Level Seven Warrior.
(As I type this, The Governor is reading over my shoulder and said, "Technically, Mom, it's not "the Bloody Breakout," it's just "Bloody Breakout." Thank goodness for my crack editoral staff.)
I hope you all...oh heck...I should probably just adress this to you, W.M., since you are most likely the only one reading it...I hope you had a terrific 4th of July weekend. And thank you for gently prodding me to return to the car and fetch my child.
With the onset of summer vacation, computer time is at an all time low. Not only do soccer, baseball, the lake, and nursing home visits compete for attention, but when we are home, I must compete for keyboard time with members of The Alliance and The Horde. If you don't understand that last bit, you are in good company. I don't either. It is unnerving to listen to The VP and The Governor (now 8!) carry on a discussion about Level 80 Death Knights and whether or not Bloody Breakout is a worthwhile quest and who has enough Emblems of Frost to purchase a new piece of chest armor.
To be fair...they tried to include me. I have my own World of Warcraft character, but I never play. I lost interest after my first quest. Fortunately, at any time I have three family members who are willing to take up my slack and age up Saint Kate to a Level Seven Warrior.
(As I type this, The Governor is reading over my shoulder and said, "Technically, Mom, it's not "the Bloody Breakout," it's just "Bloody Breakout." Thank goodness for my crack editoral staff.)
I hope you all...oh heck...I should probably just adress this to you, W.M., since you are most likely the only one reading it...I hope you had a terrific 4th of July weekend. And thank you for gently prodding me to return to the car and fetch my child.
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