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| Wolf, four days old. The flax string is a muka, the Maori method of tying off the umbilical cord. He is a wee kiwi! |
The photo is a screenshot during a WhatsApp video chat. This realtime video option is saving me.
Because of our time difference, I go to bed when it is about 3 p.m. in NZ (tomorrow, but who cares?). If I'm lucky, I will wake up to find that Max or Andrea has sent me a video to tide me over until they wake up (3 p.m. Iowa time). Such is the life of a half-world-away grandma.
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My sister Adrienne called this morning to tell me our parents are scheduled for a (phone) cognitive test tomorrow in preparation for their return to Friendship Haven at the end of the month.
I understand the responsibility of care centers to assess and accommodate their residents' deteriorating mental capabilities.
But I also see that my parents are thriving (quite) independently in my basement, despite the fact my mom might not know what day it is or who the last president was.
My mom was working on a puzzle when I joined her and casually mentioned tomorrow's test. My dad grabbed a pen and paper and began writing down the questions he remembered being asked the last time they were tested, six months ago. Day and date. Place of birth. Current address. Count backward from 20 by threes...
My mother, at my side, forcing the wrong piece into the puzzle, was silent. When he asked her a direct question, she answered curtly. As my dad wrote down the answers, she said, "Isn't that cheating?"
My mother: a stickler for rules.
Why do I think all care-center residents cram for their cognitive tests?
As both of my parents struggled to remember their multi-part address at Friendship Haven, I thought of how many ways they are vibrant, creative, interesting people.
"I hope they ask you to recite the final stanza of 'Thanatopsis,'" I quipped.
Without missing a beat, my mom said, "So live, that when thy summons comes to join the innumerable caravan..."
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"Where were you born?" my dad asked.
"St. Clair Shores, Michigan. My father delivered me."
"Keep going, Mom!" I said, "When they ask you these questions, tell them the WHOLE story!
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"Who is the current president?"
"E-gads, do I have to say Trump?"
"Yes," I said, "but you may say it with disdain."
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"Who was president before Trump?"
"Theodore Roosevelt."
"Yes, he WAS a president before Trump, but we're looking for the most current one."
Neither of my parents, die-hard Democrats, could come up with "Obama" without clues.
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For kicks (?) I pulled up "dementia questions" online.
"How many nickles in 60 cents?" I asked.
"That depends on how many pennies and dimes you have," my mother replied. I laughed as if her answer was intentionally clever.
But I'm not sure.
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This evening I was messaged by a friend who just learned her grandson (age 9) received a positive test result for COVID, and her daughter (age 36, the boy's mom) is experiencing symptoms as well.
My friend has four children, varying in their diligence to COVID safety measures. The family that is now sick has been lax on social distancing and masking. The daughter does not want to be tested because a positive result would increase "the numbers."
I feel such a wave of empathy for my friend. Very few of us live in a single-party bubble. Instead, we have family and friends and colleagues across the political spectrum. We love people who do not agree with our politics, and somehow response to this virus has become political.
I will be rubbing the bellies of all my little pot-bellied gods tonight, as I wish swift and complete recoveries for the boy and his mom, and peace for my friend.
But is it too much to ask us all to just wear masks for awhile?
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
Allison
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