Kindred Spirit

My neighbor Helen, a crusty genuine character (retired math teacher), recently died and we were all sad. Not too sad, though, to skip the estate sale across the steet with special previews for the locals. Most of us had never been inside her house – and did not realize that she collected just about anything purple -- along with OWLS – thousands of owls. Ceramic, fabric, metal, garden art, wooden, fancy and plain. Her house was truly scary, mostly because of the owls, but also because she had a giant macramé plant hanger JUST LIKE MY PARENTS HAVE. I saw my future – the cataloguing of the junk, the dealers clawing through the occasional good stuff, the haggling over pricing, the vaguely pleasant memories that pop up from finding artifacts from 1967. Helen had the good sense never to have children. The proceeds will go to a noble charity.

When the time comes, I will try to hire a stranger to sell my parents’ treasures, assuming I ever get them to move out of the house. And yes, they have owls too.

Double Coupons

My father asked me to help set up an alias email account for my mother. Purpose: to receive even more online coupons for services they can’t access (they refuse to use credit cards via the internet, and they have no car.) Huh? It’s all about the idea of getting free meals, and maintaining control of their destiny. It took me about 3 hours to figure it out as his account was strangled in layers of electronic senility, plus he couldn’t remember his password. This is not about efficiency. The value of my time is priceless . . . and it will make him very happy. My side theory is that my mother actually wants her own account in case my father loses his marbles, and she made up the whole coupon thing.

Health Care Reform - Not So Much

It's the New Year and my parents have switched to yet another health plan and yet another doctor. This requires transferring all their medical records - a BIG pile of paper. Can it be done electronically? Of course not. Everything has to be mailed or couriered around town. They started the process in early January for their Jan 21 appointment. Many calls were made. And of course, nothing ever showed up; their new doctor was clueless about what mud pile he was about to step into . . . and the letter that I mailed (and faxed) to him never appeared either. My attempts at email communication were met with a response from the office clerk of "doctor does not have email."
I helped my folks pick a doctor with a nice simple Jewish name so my they would feel comfortable -- nothing too ethnic! However, it turns out he was Russian with a thick accent. And per my mother - "way too young." Oy vey.

My Future

Billie Jean Dancing Senior Citizens:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIsLsDXXJUE&feature=related

Random tidbits . . .

My father, now traveling in cars as a passenger, vehemently argues with the GPS voice when it gives directions. He thinks it's my mother trying to tell him when to turn, and "dammit, that's not the best way to get there!"

My mother has to get unpleasant catheters inserted due to chronic infections, and the nurses don't always aim so well. She is using a Sharpie marker on her privates to draw an arrow with the suggested path.

No more talk of moving out of the house. At least in Mom's case, she is probably no longer eligible for an independent living situation and would have to go straight to assisted living. The wait continues for the inevitable crisis and I jump when the phone rings late at night.

Cultural Sensitivity

Ponder the following events I’ve recently attended in Seattle:

Viking Days – an outdoor festival of many elderly Norwegians and Swedes reveling in their lingonberry pancakes – and it’s silent. Strangely silent. Pete had to explain to me that it was the sound of Scandanavians not expressing their feelings, and it was fine.

Indian Days Pow Wow – summer in Seattle with hundreds of elderly Native Americans wearing feathers, fur and down parkas, beating on drums – smiling, unlike the Norwegians – but also relatively silent.

Now, back to my roots, where I’m watching the longest running Woody Allen movie – my parents are very, very noisy, and it seems normal.

The latest – unwilling to part with any of their piles (see related news stories I’ve posted about hoarding), and desiring a place the size of a bowling alley, my parents have retreated into resistance and denial once again. There was a brief chapter where home-based nurses or cleaners were considered, mostly because the price tag seemed like a bargain compared to a residential facility. However, that phase has passed for now. I’ve been trying to prod them with active listening – “and what do you think will happen next”? “how does that make you feel”? It doesn’t work well with people who refuse to use technology such as hearing aids or a phone built after 1970.

I’m monitoring from afar, worrying about the next crisis, hoping they stay relatively safe.

Elderly woman found dead in trash-filled Skokie, Ill., home

Chicago Tribune July 21, 2010

CHICAGO -- A 79-year-old Skokie, Ill., woman was found dead Monday night in a home so crammed with trash, police said a hole had to be cut in the roof to reach the woman. Marie Davis was found under a pile of debris in the single-family home in the Chicago suburb, officials said. Skokie police were called to the house Monday and saw the woman's 54-year-old daughter at the front door, sitting on a 6-foot pile of garbage and screaming for help, according to Skokie Police Cmdr. Michael Ruth. The woman told police her elderly mother was dead inside, Ruth said. "There was so much garbage, it left about 2 feet of space between the pile and the ceiling. Apparently there were tunnels and the residents had to crawl on top of the debris to get around," he said.