It’s Sunday, 11 A.M. Paula just combed Mom’s hair and put on her jacket. Mom had put on her own lipstick awhile ago. They’re just heading out now, with David, to Mass at a church about 20 minutes away that has a great liturgy, large bathroom stalls (so Paula can help Mom if she needs it), and a wheelchair ramp.
What the rest of us don’t realize, is that caregivers must continuously take into account just where ramps and large bathroom stalls are, when out in public. Paula and David shopped around for their church when they moved here, six months ago, and thank goodness, given Paula’s intense musical background, the music and the ramps are in the same location.
Here we are yesterday, at our usual lunch out, this time at a marvelous place with both ramp and surrounded by greenery. I had the grilled catfish. Best I’ve ever eaten.
Afterwards, we went over to David’s brother’s house, about ten minutes away, and sat around laughing and watching one of their talented daughters do Irish dancing, complete with costume. We’re going there again today, for a barbeque.
Except for tomorrow — when Paula and I will go out on the town for as much of the day as I can persuade her, leaving Mom in the care of her Monday caregiver, and I will also, by the way, try to persuade Paula to add yet a third day per week of caregiving, so that she can nourish herself as much as she nourishes our Mom — this extended visit is about over. I will drive back to Bloomington on Tuesday.
Paula tells me that every time she looks out the window from the dining room table she will see the Tower and think of me. And of their separate trips to Slidell with me, for worms. We still don’t know if these worms will do. If worst comes to worst, I told her I’d overnight mail her some red wrigglers from Bloomington.
I swear, that Tower has already started to work it’s magic. After two days, the plants are bigger, don’t you think?
Time for my walk.