Saturday.
My sister texted to say our mom has lost two fillings and needs to see the dentist, but COVID restrictions in Webster County prevent this right now.
Our dad said, "I guess she isn't having pain, and she isn't having trouble eating. She should wait until it's safer to go. But the real problem is she forgets this every day and keeps asking me when she's going to the dentist."
-------------------
My mother-in-law, Janet, and I put our beloved accordion practices on hold in August when I returned to school. On Nov. 9 I suggested we resume practices with extra precautions. We should both wear masks; I would touch only my own music stand and chair. We would sit on opposite sides of the room.
I told her I didn't want her to feel pressured, but I thought we might like this small reclaimation of an activity that for three years has given us considerable joy.
She didn't think long. When I stopped by the next evening, she had made duplicate copies of our sheet music and set up two music stations.
I plunked myself in my chair and we wheezed out old favorites: "Wait for the Wagon," "Blue Skirt Waltz," "Pennsylvania Polka."
When we used to play side by side, we could hear each other's instruments. Now distanced, we only hear ourselves. We sometimes end a song two measures off! Add to this Janet's hearing loss: if I lose my place and need to start over, I must shout and wave my arms to get her attention.
It is, as all things COVID, less than ideal.
But it's better than nothing. We are grateful for our distanced, masked, discordant practice.
-------------------------
Tonight when my dad and I played online Bridge, neither of us could remember if the ace of clubs had been played. The memory lapse cost us the game.
My dad's passion for the game unleashes a youthful enthusiasm. But this also means he takes our losses hard. He's also frustrated by his waning ability to remember the cards that have been played. I have very little identity invested in my Bridge capabilities, and at 60 I'm not yet beating myself up for memory slips; I lose insouciantly.
------------------------------
My mom made a brief appearance on Zoom to say hello tonight. A few days ago as we visited about her time at my house last summer, she said, "That was one of the best times of my life."
I can't imagine that living in a basement during a terrifying pandemic with increasing dementia and decreasing physicality could possibly earn "best time of life" status.
Still, who can accurately compare what it was like to be ten, climbing a tree; to 27, nuzzling the baby against the cheek; to 40, thriving in our work; to 90, blowing bubbles under a blue Iowa sky?
If my mom, in the moment, considers her time flying kites and sharing poems a "best time," I won't argue.
Last summer might have been one of my best times as well.
----------------------
I ran on the trail today. I swept out the garage. I helped Dan park the harvest machinery in the shed. I cooked a pork roast in the crockpot. I finished reading a good book.
“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." --Annie Dillard
Enough.
Be well.
Write.
 |
| Beautiful Wolf in his sloth sleepsuit from Aunt Eloise. |
 |
| T-Bone Trail, Exira, Iowa, Nov. 21, 2020 |
No comments:
Post a Comment