Because I am my mother’s treasurer. She has very little
treasure in the bank.
Mom will write a check to cover the cost of the car repairs.
“Hold on here . . .,” you might be saying. “Why is your mother paying?
It should be James. ”
That’s not how it works in my family.
We are all co-dependent and
we lack boundaries.
Mom will write a check.
James who is 50 years old has only zeroes
in his checking account.
I worry about my mom’s finances because
she is at the age when hiring a nurse or
major health problems may be on the horizon.
There are times, I point and wag my finger at my mom for rescuing her five children too much. She should have stopped doing it 30 years ago.
We are all grown now. Yet, she won’t let go and let her children figure it out.
Though Ol’ Wise One and I miss our sons a lot.
I’m actually happy that they live far away. I want to break the cycle
of co-dependentcy and with years of therapy I have learned how to create
boundaries.
Having the boys live far gives them the opportunity to
see that when you ignore the maintenance light, it’s a sign that the car needs some love.
Lets pray.
Dear God
Take away my worries when it
comes to my mother’s finances
and her rescuing ways. She is 75 years old.
She will not change anytime soon.
I put my hands up now and say to you,
You are in control, whatever happens will
happen.
Amen, Lola
*from ILLUMINATA, M. Williamson
How was everyone’s Happy Easter?
Were you all Happy?
It took awhile for my Happy to kick in.
“We go to Lucy and Miranda’s home. And then rehab,”
My mother announces this as she climbs into
the front seat of my car with bags of food.
“What? Huh . . . ? I don’t want to be late for the barbecue.
Why didn’t you call and tell me all this?
Wine starts at five.”
I can’t believe my life at times. Today, I’m a delivery person.
“You have wine later. We go give food to your aunts. I make noodles
and beans with porkrines.”
She is so proud of herself.
“They can’t chew pork rinds. Their dentures can’t handle
hard foods . . . have you lost your mind?”
“NO worry. I take hammer and hit pork many times.
I put on top of beans. It’s good, you taste.
I give you bowl later.”
“No, thank you. Why are you kind to others who are not really nice to you?
And you barely have cash to buy pork rinds.”
“Well, eben though,” she puts two palms up in the air.
“It’s Happy Easter . . . they are too old to cook foods.
Jesus said better to give than receive.
Why you get mad? It’s happy time.”
“I get tired of you being nice to others who
don’t really care about you. I don’t know if you have noticed,
but they can be rude.”
“Never mind . . . you drive, we give noodles, and porkrines.”
She points to the freeway.
We ring the doorbell bell at Aunt Lucy’s home.
No one answers.
“Maybe they’re dead.”
My mother GLARES at me.
The door finally opens. My Aunt Lucy is wearing a sweater she knitted 50 years ago.
Bending my knees to reach her (she is even shorter than I am), I give her a hug and kiss.
Coming out of the kitchen is Aunt Miranda.
She comes to hug me. My two aunts live
together. Aunt Miranda doesn’t like to
live alone.
“Here is the address to the rehab center, just in case you get lost,” Lucy says. “I hope you
have time . . . its on your way to the barbecue.”
“Why yes, I made time for all this,” I answer, keeping my sarcasm in check as much as I can.
God, help me with these women!!
We make it to Aunt Beth’s rehab center. But, the main entrance is locked.
Oh, this is awesome! We don’t have to go in.
But, Mom spots someone at the other end of the building on the phone
calling for someone to open the side doors.
I can’t believe this is my Happy Easter. I am supposed to be
happy, forgiving, compassionate, giving of my
time: these are all the fruits of the Holy Spirit.
We go in and find Aunt Beth. She is eating a hamburger with onion rings. Have Mercy!!! This is her standard American diet? No wonder she looks nine-months pregnant. And my mother
is contributing to her over spreading thighs with pork rinds.
Finally, we make it to the barbecue.
My sister-in-law hands me a full glass of my favorite white wine.
I take a gulp.
Now, I’m Happy. I can breathe.
All last week, I asked God to place angels all around me.
An angel to tell me that he found the right house for us.
An angel to tell my how creative and inspirational I am.
An angel to tell me a joke so I can laugh my pants off.
but NO, He places in front of me widows and spinsters.
I have come to the conclusion that
God likes to PICK ON ME. And the reason is for
me to be an image of Him.
To have a big heart , to have empathy,
to give more , to be more forgiving as I deliver food to the
old people in my life.
Dear God,
Continue to teach me to be the kind of person
you created me to be. Help me not look the
other way when my elders need help.
Amen.
Lola
Old Wise One (my husband) decides to join me at at a “Centurions Birthday Party”
given by our next door neighbors, Bob and Nadine.
This throws me completely off guard.
I’m thinking, is he on meth?
Since when does he like to socialize on his day off?
He doesn’t enjoy crowds.
He hesitates to shake hands because hands are bacteria carriers.
Duly noted!
We live in an old brick condominium on the beach.
The owners are just as old as the building.
Our building is as close to assisted living as you can get except we have no
doorman or nurse on duty.
Once a year, someone dies
or they fall, break a hip, and scoochy on down to a rehab center.
We bought our condo because of the view and because noise was not
going to be an issue.
I was excited to attend the shindig. Had my outfit laid out. Never been to a
partay for centurions before. Have you?
Another reason I wanted to show up was that I needed a topic for my next blog.
Plus, I can’t pass up cake. Who does not have time for cake?
Simple pleasures in life.
The guests of honor are Violet and Ellen. Their birthdays are one day apart.
I get their name confused
when I see them in the lobby getting their mail. But not today, Violet is wearing
a sweater the color of her name.
Our hostess Nadine makes a toast. Her voice rings out, “Happy Centurion!”
Violet smiles, I can tell she enjoying the moment. Then I see my husband go
over to offer a handshake and give her half a hug.
How sweet of him. Now why can’t he like that when my relatives come over for
Christmas ham and pumpkin pie. Hmm.
I am sad to say that Ellen could not make it. She was not feeling all that great.
Understandable.
She is 100 years old.
I was disappointed not to see her because I enjoy talking to her inside the
elevator as she takes her own recycling and compost bin outside. She never
wants my help. Her flaming red permed hair is always curled and never combed out.
Her back is C-shaped.
Buying the two ladies cards was a challenge. Not a lot of cards for centenarians at WalMart.
I ran into our hostess, Nadine, a week before the party while waiting for the elevator.
If you ever need a place for a board meeting or a Memorial Day senior citizen bingo party, she is the go-to-gal.
“What presents do I buy for two ladies that are 100 years old” I asked.
She shook her head in disbelief. Her eyes got big.
“Oh nooo . . . get a card, nothing else. When will they have time to use what you give them? I had a difficult time just scheduling this party because they could go at anytime. Then what?
I ordered a huge cake. Come to the party or I will come knock on your door and make you come! It’s an accomplishment to be 100, YOU KNOW!”
To be 100 years old is an accomplishment? Let me process that.
One of the guests, 86-year-old Pearl, used to live in our condo building, but she had three strokes last year. So, she is now in rehab ten miles from where we live.
At the party, she dressed in a white and gray pantsuit. Even though she is a widow, on her ring finger is a huge, sparkly rock.
Her coiffed hair is the color of salt.
“How are you doing?” I ask
“I’m doing well. My rehab place takes great care of me. But, I’m ready to go.” She takes a sip of her white wine.
“Oh, you mean ready to leave the party?”
“No, ready to leave earth.”
“Right, right. ” I say.
“Is that bad to say?” she asks.
“You can say anything you want. You are 86 years old.”
She turns around to another lady the same age and ask her a question.
No response.
She turns back to me. “It’s like my rehab place. No one can hear or see.”
I take a big gulp of my red wine and say a small prayer.
God, please. This cannot be my future.
A gathering was taking place in the kitchen. Violet was asked to share the secret to longevity.
“Exercise, eat right, and continue to do what you like to do. For me, I play the organ and give lessons.” She downs her drink. “Wine helps too.”
Talking to four other ladies close to 90 years old, I found a common theme.
With the exception of Pearl, they were never direct about it, but I got the feeling that they were all ready to leave–not the party–but Earth.
But, they each had energy and positive attitudes, too. They exuded this.
If I ever reach 100 years old, I want to have that kind of energy and positiveness.
We say good bye to everyone. We head to our condo.
“Wow, that was nice you came with me.” I say giving him
a kiss. “How about a birthday party for you next month?”
“No..let’s not get carried away. I maxed out my social obligations for the year.”
Dear God,
With the right attitude and eating right, we can reach 100 years old like Violet
and Ellen. Open our eyes to see that being as old as my condo building and
these guests of honor is a beautiful thing. Amen.
Lola
Because I am my mother’s treasurer. She has very little
lola guerrero 