RedFox of Shadow
Nov. 12th, 2023 08:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoYesterday started out well enough. It was a nice day, and we went to the farmers market. They're in the "second season" now, so only open on Saturdays for three hours. This is quite long enough when we get into the freezing parts of the winter! We got eggs, some cute baby cabbages, baby carrots, cucumbers, three kinds of lettuce, apples, and some more ham and ground beef from the farmer ladies. Also a bottle of mead for the Nipper, since we'll probably be seeing him for Thanksgiving. I barely had time to put everything away and take a shower before going to the bookstore to get coffee and look at Advent calendars. I got out my notebook with an idea of writing in it, but then Madame started calling me. I had called her in the morning to remind her that I was coming to see her today, and thus I learned that she was, in fact, moved to the place I'll call Holiday Hollow--but she was NOT happy about it. I guess she forgot I had already spoken with her. She's also not very good with the phone, so she kept hanging up by accident. She complained that Mademoiselle was not picking up, and I guess Mademoiselle finally did pick up, because Madame stopped calling and texting me. By then I was sort of flummoxed, and remembered that I hadn't actually had anything to eat, and it was now 3 pm. That may have been a mistake. I got a half sandwich, but I still felt wobbly and full of doom. I had to go home and crash on the couch with my blankie. And the Advent calendars were not appealing, either. We watched Mission Impossible: Dead Reckoning, in an attempt to cheer ourselves up. The movie was pretty good, and the part where Ethan Hunt jumps off a tremendous cliff on a motorcycle was awesome. I made us some popcorn, in a festive spirit, but it just gave me a tummy ache.
As a result, I didn't feel too great this morning, either, but it was another beautiful day. We made our way over to Madame's new place. The Sparrowhawk kindly volunteered . . . or insisted . . . that he would come along. I was grateful. It's literally painful to me to visit retirement communities, nice as they may be. Too many memories. Madame was just finishing lunch when we arrived. I have to admit her table mates did not seem very scintillating. However, I introduced myself in my over-enthusiastic way, and one of them smiled and told me her name. The smile immediately made her seem charming. I could see that she would enjoy conversation with someone, but Madame was too busy leaving to notice. She gave us a tour of her apartment and the rest of the facility. It's a VERY nice place--everything clean and bright and new, big windows letting in lots of light, and her apartment is very spacious, with two rooms and a walk-in closet. The staff seemed friendly and kind, and even Madame admitted as much. "But I'm NOT STAYING," she announced darkly.
Oh dear. I was hoping to have something positive to report to Mademoiselle, but it was not to be. Madame thinks she is leaving tomorrow. AND she is going to buy a new car, and drive it away! She tried to recruit me to drive her home, as I knew she would. I told her I wasn't going to do that, and she was not happy about that. However, she says she'll just get a taxi. I'll be surprised if she knows how to call Uber. I was very, very happy to see that it appears she is in assisted living after all. There's a guardian at the outside doors who has to buzz you in and out, and the unlocked doors that lead to the outside open onto a charming, spacious courtyard where it's not immediately evident that you can't leave from there. I'm sure Madame will be testing their boundaries in the near future, but it won't be easy for her to elude them. I tried various ploys to introduce some favorable thoughts of giving the place a fair try, but she was onto me and roundly rejected every such suggestion. NOT HAVING IT. She is going to go back to her house, buy a car, go where she wants, and that's that. I'm sad for her. What she really wants is to be young and strong again, and it can't happen.
When I got home, I had a fairly long text conversation with Mademoiselle, who had been hoping for good news but not really expecting it. I did my best to encourage her. It can't be easy to be watching your mother deteriorate while you're pregnant for the first time and feeling sick most of the day. If Madame were herself, I think she would be nicer to her daughter. The sad thing about dementia is it sometimes makes you forget what's important and only think about what you want at the moment. Not so different from the rest of us, perhaps, but on steroids . . . . I helped the Sparrowhawk out by cutting up some chicken for him, and he made me some of his restorative stir-fry, which I needed badly.
As a result, I didn't feel too great this morning, either, but it was another beautiful day. We made our way over to Madame's new place. The Sparrowhawk kindly volunteered . . . or insisted . . . that he would come along. I was grateful. It's literally painful to me to visit retirement communities, nice as they may be. Too many memories. Madame was just finishing lunch when we arrived. I have to admit her table mates did not seem very scintillating. However, I introduced myself in my over-enthusiastic way, and one of them smiled and told me her name. The smile immediately made her seem charming. I could see that she would enjoy conversation with someone, but Madame was too busy leaving to notice. She gave us a tour of her apartment and the rest of the facility. It's a VERY nice place--everything clean and bright and new, big windows letting in lots of light, and her apartment is very spacious, with two rooms and a walk-in closet. The staff seemed friendly and kind, and even Madame admitted as much. "But I'm NOT STAYING," she announced darkly.
Oh dear. I was hoping to have something positive to report to Mademoiselle, but it was not to be. Madame thinks she is leaving tomorrow. AND she is going to buy a new car, and drive it away! She tried to recruit me to drive her home, as I knew she would. I told her I wasn't going to do that, and she was not happy about that. However, she says she'll just get a taxi. I'll be surprised if she knows how to call Uber. I was very, very happy to see that it appears she is in assisted living after all. There's a guardian at the outside doors who has to buzz you in and out, and the unlocked doors that lead to the outside open onto a charming, spacious courtyard where it's not immediately evident that you can't leave from there. I'm sure Madame will be testing their boundaries in the near future, but it won't be easy for her to elude them. I tried various ploys to introduce some favorable thoughts of giving the place a fair try, but she was onto me and roundly rejected every such suggestion. NOT HAVING IT. She is going to go back to her house, buy a car, go where she wants, and that's that. I'm sad for her. What she really wants is to be young and strong again, and it can't happen.
When I got home, I had a fairly long text conversation with Mademoiselle, who had been hoping for good news but not really expecting it. I did my best to encourage her. It can't be easy to be watching your mother deteriorate while you're pregnant for the first time and feeling sick most of the day. If Madame were herself, I think she would be nicer to her daughter. The sad thing about dementia is it sometimes makes you forget what's important and only think about what you want at the moment. Not so different from the rest of us, perhaps, but on steroids . . . . I helped the Sparrowhawk out by cutting up some chicken for him, and he made me some of his restorative stir-fry, which I needed badly.
