Alzheimer's vs Mama

We buried our mom today. Her long battle with Alzheimer's ended a few days ago and she has found the peace in death that she could not find in life. 

(Photo - Mama and Rex)

A friend of mine told me long ago at the beginning of this ride with Mama that when you are given the experience of taking care of an aging parent, that it is not only the parent who is enriched by this, it is the caregiver. Her parent did not have Alzheimer's and was able to stay at home with her without outside help; he passed away from a heart attack. So her experience was not exactly the same as ours and at the time I didn't quite understand what she was saying. But I believe we were all enriched by taking care of the person who took care of us. We paid a very high price for this and Mama did too. But we are different people for having done it, and I think better people.

Shortly before Daddy died he told me that he was not worried about Mama after he was gone. He knew that I would take care of things and not let anyone take advantage of her. He said to me that I would straighten everything out and "kick ass" if it was needed. I am sure he told this same thing to each of us if he had the opportunity. 

I don't think we always did what he maybe would have wanted, but we tried our best. We walked these last miles with Mama and tried to understand what she was thinking and what she wanted us to do. We cried with her and I think we can all say we never lost our temper with her, even when she was in the angry stage that characterizes part of Alzheimer's. We took the emotional punches she gave us and stood our ground. She could not run us off. 

We found our strength in each other. When one was down, another stepped in and took over. Our hearts broke together and in that shared sadness we stumbled on. We learned as we went and we adjusted constantly to her ever-changing behavior. We became her advocate when we felt she was neglected. We tried to "kick ass" when she was not able to do it herself. We called, we appeared, we walked the halls searching for answers, we did our homework. Always in our minds was what would she do for us and what would Daddy want us to do for her. 

We stayed with her day and night at the beginning while she screamed at us and blamed us and pleaded with us. We stood in tears and explained to her that she could not go home again. When we took her to the nursing home from hospital visits we drove around town so she could get her bearings and took her in side doors so she would not be scared of the place she was living in. We cooked the things she used to like to eat and took them to her. While she was able we took her for ice cream and to family meals. We brought her the candy she loved best, Baby Ruths and Millionaires. We decorated her room each holiday. We posted pictures on her walls so she would remember us. 


(Photo - me and Mama)

We washed her clothes and helped her shower. We brushed her hair and cut her nails and polished her toenails. We brought her grandkids to see her. We ate lunch with her and went to Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas parties with her. We brought her stuffed animals that comforted her. We played the guitar for her in her hospital room. We made sure she was not forgotten. 

And when it was time we let her go. I am not sure if Alzheimer's kicked our ass or if we kicked it but we fought for her as Daddy would have wanted and she was finally released from this disease that imprisoned her the last years of her life. At last she went gently into that good night......

AND THE BEAT GOES ON

I saw a brand spanking new baby last night. She was welcomed into this world by a gathering of weary but delighted grandparents, aunt, and cousins.

My friend Faye had tears rolling down her face as she met her newest grandchild for the first time. Less than four hours earlier she had buried her mother. She and her daughter (the aunt) and her grandchildren (the cousins) had come straight from the out of state funeral. They sat together in their black and white dress clothes waiting for baby CC's arrival. It seemed that CC had been waiting for them to get there.

(Photo - CC looks at her dad)

We don't take babies for granted in our family. Every one that arrives safely is met with not only joy but a relief that is overwhelming. Almost 18 years ago I stood outside a delivery room door holding my 3 year old granddaughter Natalie and listened for the cry that would tell me granddaughter Lexi made it here safely. Her young parents, my son and his wife, had lost a baby girl after Natalie was born. When I heard Lexi cry for the first time a wave of relief washed over me that almost knocked me to the floor. I gripped Natalie and the door frame to steady myself.

This little lost baby was also the granddaughter of my friend Faye. Her daughter Nicole, the aunt, is my daughter-in-law. So she knew the fear everyone has that has lost a baby, especially a healthy one that is just a couple of weeks from coming into the world as this little lost one was.

I wish I could capture the moment the proud dad brought the new CC out to see her family. This was a group of people that know how precious life is. There was a light all over their faces as they crowded round the young dad and CC - this respect for life that radiated from them. They talked in hushed voices as if they knew they were in the presence of a miracle.

I was privileged to be there when this happened. I had come to pick up CC's cousins (my grandchildren) and take them home. Less than 3 hours earlier the doctor had informed my siblings and I that our mother had had a stroke and was in the last stages of Alzheimer's. She would be going into hospice care as we had wished when she reached this point. She is ready to join our dad, who has been waiting for her almost 6 years.

(Photo - my niece Alison looks at her Grandpa and Grandma)

I don't pretend to understand the mysteries of the universe, and I don't believe people that claim they do, and I surely don't believe what I was taught in Sunday School. But I know as little CC looked up at her dad, she is giving us all a glimpse of the wonder of life, and how it goes on. Sometimes that is all you need to know.

You Can't Always Get What You Want.....

I headed out this morning on a hunt for shed antlers. Rickie let two big 8-pointers go this hunting season, even though he could have shot them several times on his numerous trips to the deer stand. He let them pass by because I had gotten attached to these two but he assures me they only got a pass this year! For Hill Country deer on low-fenced small acreage, they were plenty big. I was thinking that the good karma generated by this would cause the deer to shed their antlers here on our 54 acres. The fact that I have only found 1 shed antler in 22 years here did not dampen my enthusiasm, and off I went.

I wasn’t sure if they were shed yet. One of the spikes I saw has lost one side of his little spike antlers but I saw a fresh roadkill 8-pointer on the highway a couple of days ago and he still had his antlers.


(Photo - one of the antlers I was hoping to find!)

I put on my belt that has a water bottle, glasses, and bear spray on it, got my cedar walking stick and camera. We had a mountain lion in the area this winter and I have dreamed about mountain lions twice in the last week. As I walked through the oaks, cedars, and cedar elms, it was as quiet as it can be. I seemed to be the only one in the world. I moved my bear spray around to the front of my belt and made sure it was pointed to the front and the safety was in easy reach. I wanted to be ready in case that third mountain lion appearance was in real life and not a dream!

I came upon a group of trees and in the center the ground was covered with green moss. In this extremely dry country seeing anything green is cause for excitement! The tree canopy protected the moss from the harsh sun and it was beautiful in the filtered light.

I walked past a group of twisted yuccas and headed back in the direction of the cabin. As I approached the cabin, I heard turkeys by the milo feeder down the hill. When I woke up this morning and opened the window shades, I had counted 36 turkeys in the yard. Mostly hens with one big gobbler strutting around. They stayed in the yard for a couple of hours, some laying down under the trimmed up oaks and cedars by the swing, some preening themselves, some eating bugs and grass seeds. When I came outside to go work in the garden they left. Now they were back.


(Photo - taken through the screen door in the morning)

(Photo -  Gobbler is to the right facing away; hen on the left)

The gobbler was there and I tried to get a photo. His feathers were spread open in the sunlight and he was beautiful. By the time I got the camera pointed that way, he was moving out of sight. The hens stayed around the feeder. I decided to try to get closer to see if I could get a better picture of the gobbler.  I knew he wouldn’t go far with the ladies still there.

The wind was from the northwest blowing my scent down the hill toward the turkeys. I decided to try to flank them and come up on the east side of them. I crept down the hill, sending a half dozen white wing doves flushing from the trees, followed by a giant jackrabbit running by me in a blur! On my right side I could see the turkeys through the trees about 20 yards away. They knew I was there and were moving out down the hill and away from me, but they didn’t seem too stressed by my presence. They didn’t break into a run, just moseying away in the sunlight.

I managed to get the camera up and got a few shots of them walking down the fence line away from me. I could hear the gobbler but he was out of sight. The hens were making the noise turkey hens make. I think of it as a scraping chalky sound but that is probably because my husband’s turkey call uses a piece of thin wood rubbed on a wooden box that has chalk on the edge of it. This duplicates the noise they make once you get the hang of it.

I thought about following them, maybe going through the gate to the back of the property where the cliff is, but they had quit talking and I didn’t think I would have much luck. A scrub jay fussed at me from the top of a Spanish Oak as I turned to go back up the hill. I flushed the white wings once again from the trees they had settled in after I passed by earlier.

I noticed a v-shaped bone on the ground and flipped it over. It was the lower jawbone of a feral hog Rickie had killed a couple of years ago. I picked it up to bring back to the yard to show the grandkids when they come out. They don’t see these kinds of things in the city!

Once I got back to the yard, I heard the turkeys talking again. I love these birds. They walk with dignity and grace softly singing their song. They stay in groups and take care of each other. The hens raise their babies, fiercely protecting them from all dangers that come their way. They are my favorite thing of all the wonderful wildlife we have.

(Photo - Long and lean and young and lovely...........)

Through the year, they go about the business of living. They are at peace with their place in the universe. They quarrel sometimes but it is fleeting. Some people think they are not the most beautiful of the birds, but they don’t seem to worry about that. They are happy and secure with who they are.  I am a lucky one that they share this land with me. After an afternoon with them, I feel at peace with myself and happy with who and where I am.

You don’t always get what you want and I didn’t find the shed antlers today. But sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.

Bird Houses and Bird Nests

The annual cleaning of the birdhouses has arrived! 

 

This little terracotta birdhouse was purchased in Dahlonega, Georgia about 20 years ago and it is a favorite of little wrens. We have had wrens nesting in it ever since we got it.

This nest came out of another wren house. It has snake skin incorporated into the nest!

The nest below is made almost entirely of deer hair.

We cleaned our martin houses out also. We have had the houses up for 6 years and have yet to have martins in them. The Ash Throated flycatcher nests in them each year. They add some turkey feathers to their nest.

The yard is alive with all the birds this time of year and we are busy filling the feeders! Some of the birds we have are lesser goldfinches, scrub jays, house finches, pine siskins, juncos, cardinals, ash throated flycatchers, wrens, white wing doves, eurasian doves, titmice, and ravens. The summer tanagers and vermilion flycatchers will arrive later.

A Woman of Substance

The little girl had a lot of things working against her. Her parents were 16 years old when she was born.  Her mom, whose education didn’t go past junior high, stayed home with her while her dad worked for his father-in-law, learning the plumbing business. Things went along well for a couple of years. The young parents tried but things didn’t work out for the marriage and they split up.

The little girl was 2 years old. She lived sometimes with her mom and sometimes with her mother’s parents. Her mom struggled with alcoholism. A few years after her parents separated, her dad died under mysterious circumstances and there was never a satisfactory resolution to the case. It was ruled suicide but those of us who knew him did not believe it.

The little girl moved in full time with her grandparents. They gave her love without bounds. But their method of parenting involved a lot of freedom for the girl. She had plenty of opportunity to make her own decisions at an age that did not equip her with the skills to make them. 

Her mom moved into a mobile home on her grandparents’ property. She brought with her an abusive boyfriend and they had another little girl. The first little girl continued to stay in her grandparent’s house.

She was just becoming an adult when her mom died from complications of alcoholism, leaving her and her little sister without a mother.

Had she drifted aimlessly into trouble and despair, no one would have been surprised and those of us who loved her would not have blamed her. But this little girl was made of sterner stuff than that. She was not defeated by what life dished out to her.

What this little girl had was not something she was taught. It was what was inside her. It’s what makes a person carry on and succeed without bitterness in spite of hardship. Without it a person can fail in spite of every advantage. It was courage and it was determination and it was some unknown quality we sometimes call “guts”. That’s what this little girl had.

She grew into a beautiful, talented, artistic woman. She married her childhood sweetheart and had two beautiful sons. She worked hard at a stressful job and the family purchased a house and she decorated and painted and did carpentry work and made it her home.

But hardship and heartache were not through with the little girl. One day her husband was on his way home from an event family and friends had gone to. The family had gone ahead of him in the car and he was riding his motorcycle home. There was an accident. A friend drove past it and saw the EMS and police and recognized the motorcycle. He went and picked her up. They went to the hospital. Things did not look good. He had been traveling at a high rate of speed and had no helmet on. Word went out to family and friends that they were at the hospital and the outcome was very bleak.

She railed against the injustice of it. She had already lost her parents, the grandfather that raised her had died, and the grandmother had recently been admitted to a nursing home. She cried out wondering what more could be taken from her. We prepared ourselves for the worse.

But we underestimated the power of the little girl. She stayed by her husband day and night. She talked to him and pushed him through therapy and carried him when he could not carry himself. She continued to work when she could at the stressful job; she was now the only financial support the family had. She brought stability and hope and strength to her little sons as they struggled to deal with what they did not understand. She bathed them with her tears and by leading her family through this nightmare she brought herself to the other side.

The husband came home; his recovery was remarkable. The sons moved on from the pain and things got back to a routine, with some changes to accommodate the husband’s recovery. There were happy times again in the little girl’s home.

This little girl is my niece. When I need someone to look up to, I look to her. She’s a woman of substance.

Mama's Fig Preserves and Homemade Biscuits

I just ran across Mama's Fig Preserve Recipe. It's very simple but it has been years since I made it and couldn't remember exactly what she did. You can make as few or as many jars at a time as you like, which is great for processing them as they become ripe. 


She always peeled her figs. Most people don't but they are so much better if you peel them. I would not recommend doing them without peeling. The peels are too thick and sometimes bitter. We always had a fig tree in our backyard, so we were never without fig preserves. Served on a hot homemade biscuit - yum, you can't beat it! Might as well put a little butter on that biscuit first too.


This biscuit recipe has been in our family for years. It was originally Grandma Hattie's recipe and Mamow and Mama used it all our lives. It's easy and the best I've ever had. Puts a crusty bottom on the biscuits!

Fig Preserves

Peel figs. Using 1 cup sugar to 1 cup water, mix enough in large pot to provide enough syrup for the amount of figs you have. Bring this to a boil. Drop peeled figs in. Cook until thick or until figs are transparent. 


Ladle into sterilized jars that you have kept hot. Top with lids (also kept hot) and jar rings. Check when cool to make sure that all have sealed. If any don't seal, store in refrigerator. 

Homemade Biscuits

Heat oven to 400 degrees. Put a heaping big spoonful (approximately 1/3 cup) Crisco in biscuit pan and put in oven to melt.


Mix together:
2 cups flour
2 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
(you can use self-rising flour instead and don't have to add the baking powder and salt)


Add:
1 cup buttermilk (add 1 tsp vinegar to regular milk if you don't have buttermilk)


Stir together and add more milk as need to make a gooey dough. Sprinkle with flour and dump out of floured surface. Sprinkle with flour as needed so that dough is not sticky and can be worked without sticking to fingers. You are looking for a dough that feels light, not heavy, so you need to add more milk than you might think, then add the flour on the outside of the dough so you can work with it. If not your biscuits will be too heavy and not good.


Knead 5 or 6 times, not too much. Pat into a circle about 1/2" thick. Cut biscuits with biscuit cutter or glass turned upside down. Keep patting left over dough into a circle and cutting biscuits until all dough is used.


Take the pan with the melted Crisco out of the oven. Dip each biscuit into the melted Crisco and turn over, so that both top and bottom have the Crisco on them, and put the biscuit into the pan. Continue until all biscuits are in pan. 


Bake approximately 20-30 minutes until golden brown.

Sing Me Back Home

My Dad, Perry, loved to sing. He was a great honky tonk style country singer. He burst into song all day long, singing little snippets of songs to suit the occasion of what was going on. He sang with a joy and abandon that we loved.

My mom told me that on amateur night he used to sing and play the guitar at the old Paramount Theater in downtown Monroe where we lived.  


I remember we used to have some 78 rpm vinyl records of him singing. He told me one time that he had recorded them at the state fair. They had a booth there you could go into and sing and produce the record. The vinyl was a red color, not the usual black.


None of his children inherited Daddy's singing voice or his easy style. Whenever I burst into song such as in the car traveling, my family turns the radio on and up! 


I did learn from Daddy that you should sing anyway, even if you can't. I can never iron clothes without singing; it's physically impossible. For ironing, my choice is old gospel music. And I always sang my kids to sleep as I rocked them. I never sang the typical lullabies though. My standards were Kris Kristofferson's "Sunday Morning Coming Down", Emmylou Harris's "To Daddy" and her "One of These Days". Which could account for some of the odd behavior of my kids at times! I may have warped them with my choice of baby tunes. I did throw in an occasional Roger Miller's "Old Toy Trains" to offset the dark side of life in the other songs.


I remember one time we were on a family driving trip somewhere and Mama got mad at us for something, probably because we were annoying the heck either out of her or each other and she threatened to run away if we didn't stop it. Taking my cue from Daddy's policy of singing it out, I started singing Skeeter Davis's song "Got Along With Out You Before I Met You, Gonna Get Along Without You Now........." This caused Daddy to burst into his big boisterous laughter and even caused Mama to laugh, although she tried not to. Daddy's laughter was the same as his music to us kids. We could have listened to it all day long.


Daddy and his mom Grandma Hattie gave us all our love of music, even if we can't sing. Grandma Hattie played her records of Jim Reeves and Eddie Arnold on all occasions we had to gather at her house, all the holidays and parties and fish fries. Daddy not only played his country music to the point of driving Mama crazy, but he knew all the trivia about every country music singer. He was always telling us stories about "little" Johnny Rodriguez or Webb Pierce, who was his classmate in high school, or Carl Smith, one of his favorites. 


I wish I had recorded my Dad singing and laughing. 


If teardrops were pennies and heartaches were gold.............It's a lovely, lovely world since I met you.............I'm in the jailhouse now.............I've got a tiger by the tail it's plain to see.................I'm a honky tonk man and I can't seem to stop...............There he goes, he's walking away, each step he takes brings heartache my way...........