What are you doing for the inauguration?
I broke into my own house. I forgot my keys at work, and the cats were locked in the house and hungry, and the organic vegetable delivery was outside behind the house, and it is freezing cold now, and driving back to work to get the keys would have taken 90 minutes so I had to figure out a better plan.
So I asked myself, WWMWTMTD?
What would my wife tell me to do?
So I broke in.
I’m not going to say how, maybe a burglar is reading this. It took me about 2 minutes; Gamma used to do it when she was in grade school and forgot her keys somewhere so it’s either not exactly hard or Gamma and I are natural burglars.
I figure a professional burglar could do it in way less time than that.
Then I fed the cats and got the vegetables into the house and ate some organic fruit.
My banana was freezing (not a euphemism).
Later I will give old red cat his dementia pill.
Other red cat gets antibiotics daily. I wrap those pills in bacon.
Bacon is his favorite.
They are easy to remember because he gets them every day.
Old red cat gets his once every two days, so I get mixed up and forget to give him his dementia pills, which is ironic, LOL.
He either sleeps or stares at his water dish, so it’s hard to tell if they’re helping.
Right now he’s sleeping, and I hate to wake him up to give him a pill.
Tag Archives: dementia
What are you doing for the inauguration?
The world, it spins so fast, yet we are not dizzy.
First weekend in ages with sweet, empty hours to goof off. Woman goes to zoo with kid, tells man, oh BTW you have to paint walk-in closet as cleaning lady coming tomorrow. Gives him roll of plastic to cover stuff.
Post-tantrum, man looks for brushes, paint. Calls wife. White paint has solidified. Try other color, she says, to his disappointment.
No roller, either, just a little brush. But it is a small room and walls mostly covered by new wardrobes now too so okay.
Takes a couple hours. Maybe a few hours. Go downstairs to make tea. Father-in-law comes, with something his wife cooked for man’s wife. Says something about cleaning, man fails to understand. Want some tea? Man asks. Okay, says father-in-law. A conversation between the hard-of-hearing and the slightly demented ensues.
Cleaning: man realizes, someone said something earlier, about cleaning the furnace.
Have time to clean the furnace? Yep, says father-in-law. That was the whole reason he came over, man realizes.
Inside his head, his mind is whipcracking around with these realizations. Outwardly, he appears normal.
They go down to clean the furnace. To do that, you remove the plate on the front, remove the bolts holding on the face, open
(whoa giant brown-recluse-looking spider on the floor by father-in-law’s foot)
the door, remove a drum-type thing, get a wire brush, brush out the soot from inside the furnace.
(the spider is very still. it is either dead or playing possum. man watches it closely, although he should be memorizing the furnace-cleaning steps. father-in-law’s birkenstocked foot moves closer and closer to still spider, man wonders if he should say anything, but he doesn’t know if the spider is dead or alive and why waste all the excitement sure to ensue on a dead spider?)
replace drum, bolt door shut, replace face, plug things back in.
(man will tell father-in-law about spider if it starts running up his leg, he decides. father-in-law finally bumps it, it still doesn’t move, so it must be dead, man feels better. it was only dead! who cares about a dead spider?)
father-in-law cleans up. man will shower later.
they chat a while. how many more chats will we have like this, man wonders.
father-in-law goes home. man cleans up room he just painted, reads a book, takes a shower.
it’s a fine, sunny day.
That’s my Led Zeppelin song, I took a test. I only took the test because I was hoping for “Immigrant Song”.
Word to the wise? If you’re at all absent-minded, don’t read articles about warning signs of dementia if you’re also prone to hypochondria.
Have a nice week.
P.S. what happened to doctors who like you would go to and ask what you had and they would tell you and give you a prescription that would cure whatever you had and you were done? Because I have been to three specialists for something dermatological, one of them three times because she is the nicest. The nice one has given me three diagnoses: A, B and Not Sure. The other two gave me one diagnosis each, different from the first one. One of the other two gave me a diagnosis within 30 seconds of entering his examination room, a prescription for something that did not work, and the business card of someone else he does business with. The nice one, to whom I recently returned, gave me a new prescription to go with the “not sure” diagnosis that I discovered upon reading the warning information lists among its side effects causing my original diagnosis in a small number of cases.
This is getting a little too circular for comfort.
Traffic was light, I was remarking to Gamma when this woman just zoomed onto the traffic circle thing in front of me, necessitating a braking maneuver, which involved a little braking and more honking. I was still bitching about her to Gamma when she stopped suddenly at the intersection instead of going on through and swerved a little and I noticed an old lady on the sidewalk teetering on her bike, trying to hold something and then gesturing at it in the street.
There was a hat in the street. Did she drop a hat?
Some young people were talking to the lady. Then I noticed the old guy attached to the hat, the other people were helping him up. I started to get out of the car but they had it under control, it looked. He was gesturing pretty good, it looked as if he was telling them he had gone off the curb and lost his balance, and toppled right over, like a tree.
He got off his bike and the woman did and they walked off, a little dazzled.
An old guy I know had a flat in front of my house. We got home, and there his car was, with a flat. He started walking to the gas station to get a pump to fill it back up. Come on, geeze, let me drive you, I said.
It wasn’t a bad idea, the way he parks in front of our house he manages to block anyone else from parking there, so it’s totally possible someone got tired of him doing that and let the air out. Or the little boys who scribble graffitti on our mail box let the air out, or something.
When he filled the tire, he left the valve cap in the street. Then I took him home to get his other car. We had to go twice, because the first time he thought he had forgotten his house keys, discovering when looking for them that he had not, in fact.
The next day he picked up his other car, the one with the flat. The tire appeared fine, but the valve caps were missing from all four tires. He figures someone stole them, we figure he mislaid them. He gets so excited when things happen, practically anything.
The other day, I had to google free-associated phrases to find the name of a band I couldn’t remember, one of my favorite bands.
Not, you know, those other guys, from Finland.
With the cellos.
A different band.