Tomorrow is my first day back at work (school) after summer break.
My phone rang about 30 minutes ago.
Me: Hello?
Gan: Brandy, this is Ganny. (She is still in denial that caller ID exists.) What are you going to be doing about 7:30 in the morning?
Me: Well Gan, I should be in the car, on my way to work.
Gan: Well do you think you could call me and wake me up?
Me: (surprised pause) Ganny, where are you headed?
Gan: I've gotta go to the doctor, at 9:45 and I'm afraid if I don't get up then, I won't be able to drink my coffee and get ready.
Me: (lovingly) Do you not have an alarm Ganny?
Gan: Well, I do, but I can't tell if I've got it on a.m. or p.m. I can't tell where that little light is on the little thing...
Me: (in submission to the cuteness) Yes, Gan. I will leave myself a note so I will remember to call you on my way to work...
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
Episode #10 Getting the New Hearing Aids
Ganny has never worn hearing aids before, and though she has mentioned possibly getting them at some point in the future, and we have joked with her on occasion that she may need them, it has never been a serious topic of discussion. Last week however, she surprised me with the news she had purchased some.
This is the type of thing that worries me: what she does all day when I can't be with her and monitor her decisions. I don't mean to be condescending, but the reality is she just isn't as sharp as she used to be. I don't want her to get taken advantage of.
I didn't even know she was looking at hearing aids. "Well Ganny, how did you decide you needed hearing aids?" I asked, trying to find the catalyst of this decision. "They told me I did," she responded quickly. "Who?" I asked suspiciously. "The lady at the hearing aid place. They tested me and said it wasn't severe but that I needed them." That's what I didn't want to hear (pardon the sort-of pun). What could I say? "They cost me $2800.00. I'm just gonna pay 'em out." Then I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but knew that I shouldn't. "Gan, I wish that you would've talked to me before you did that," I said not trying to sound angry. "Well they said I had to have 'em," she countered. I wanted desperately to say "OF COURSE THEY TOLD YOU THAT. THEY SELL HEARING AIDS." But one must resist the impulse to yell at Ganny, even when she deserves it. As previously mentioned, this will result in a crying old lady.
I decided to go with her when she was scheduled to pick them up and get instructions on how to use them. I anticipated some intricate directions and thought it would be beneficial for me to be there and write some things down.
When we arrived everyone seemed nice enough. They remembered Ganny (she's hard to forget) and seemed to be on the up and up. A young girl, professionally dressed, took us back to a small office and began to explain the logistics of everyday use: how to change the batteries, where to get the batteries, what to do with them at night, etc. I took notes. Ganny seemed to digest the information fairly well with only minimal interruption and questions. She watched with intrigue as the woman modeled how to remove the batteries. She seized the device with gusto when it was her turn to try.
There came a point at which the hearing aid specialist showed Ganny how to put on the hearing aids and perform some tests to ensure they were programmed for her specific needs. As the woman retrieved some supplies from the other room, Ganny looked at me with a giddy smile and clapped her hands. I couldn't help but smile back at her. "Are you excited Gan?"
"Oh yes!" she chirped. Isn't she cute, I thought.
Suddenly, it struck me how our roles had become the exact mirror reflection of what they used to be. Twenty years ago, Gan was sitting with me at the orthodontist while I clapped excitedly about getting a new color of rubber bands on my braces or something. She was the caretaker, learning the instructions along with me in case I needed help. She would have been the one thinking how cute I was, and realizing the significance of these small moments together while I was just excited about my new stuff.
I have been told by those that have gone through the cycle before me that this is how life works. Your parents and grandparents raise you and then you, in turn, take care of them much later when they slowly lose the ability to care for themselves. I have realized this before now, but it is these moments, when the roles are so precisely reversed, that I lose my breath for a second or two because I'm scared of being a grown-up and there's nothing I can do about it, because I'm sad to watch this authority figure who taught me so much slowly regress, and because I'm glad that at least I can acknowledge these small moments now, while they're happening, and appreciate her as much as I can in the limited amount of time we have left.
This is the type of thing that worries me: what she does all day when I can't be with her and monitor her decisions. I don't mean to be condescending, but the reality is she just isn't as sharp as she used to be. I don't want her to get taken advantage of.
I didn't even know she was looking at hearing aids. "Well Ganny, how did you decide you needed hearing aids?" I asked, trying to find the catalyst of this decision. "They told me I did," she responded quickly. "Who?" I asked suspiciously. "The lady at the hearing aid place. They tested me and said it wasn't severe but that I needed them." That's what I didn't want to hear (pardon the sort-of pun). What could I say? "They cost me $2800.00. I'm just gonna pay 'em out." Then I knew exactly what I wanted to say, but knew that I shouldn't. "Gan, I wish that you would've talked to me before you did that," I said not trying to sound angry. "Well they said I had to have 'em," she countered. I wanted desperately to say "OF COURSE THEY TOLD YOU THAT. THEY SELL HEARING AIDS." But one must resist the impulse to yell at Ganny, even when she deserves it. As previously mentioned, this will result in a crying old lady.
I decided to go with her when she was scheduled to pick them up and get instructions on how to use them. I anticipated some intricate directions and thought it would be beneficial for me to be there and write some things down.
When we arrived everyone seemed nice enough. They remembered Ganny (she's hard to forget) and seemed to be on the up and up. A young girl, professionally dressed, took us back to a small office and began to explain the logistics of everyday use: how to change the batteries, where to get the batteries, what to do with them at night, etc. I took notes. Ganny seemed to digest the information fairly well with only minimal interruption and questions. She watched with intrigue as the woman modeled how to remove the batteries. She seized the device with gusto when it was her turn to try.
There came a point at which the hearing aid specialist showed Ganny how to put on the hearing aids and perform some tests to ensure they were programmed for her specific needs. As the woman retrieved some supplies from the other room, Ganny looked at me with a giddy smile and clapped her hands. I couldn't help but smile back at her. "Are you excited Gan?"
"Oh yes!" she chirped. Isn't she cute, I thought.
Suddenly, it struck me how our roles had become the exact mirror reflection of what they used to be. Twenty years ago, Gan was sitting with me at the orthodontist while I clapped excitedly about getting a new color of rubber bands on my braces or something. She was the caretaker, learning the instructions along with me in case I needed help. She would have been the one thinking how cute I was, and realizing the significance of these small moments together while I was just excited about my new stuff.
I have been told by those that have gone through the cycle before me that this is how life works. Your parents and grandparents raise you and then you, in turn, take care of them much later when they slowly lose the ability to care for themselves. I have realized this before now, but it is these moments, when the roles are so precisely reversed, that I lose my breath for a second or two because I'm scared of being a grown-up and there's nothing I can do about it, because I'm sad to watch this authority figure who taught me so much slowly regress, and because I'm glad that at least I can acknowledge these small moments now, while they're happening, and appreciate her as much as I can in the limited amount of time we have left.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Episode #9 First Aid
A few weeks ago, my husband and I met at my dad's house to have lunch with the Gan. Brad and my dad found something entertaining on TV in the living room and I was trying to make conversation with Gan at the kitchen table. The living and dining area at my dad's are conjoined, so we were all within earshot of one another.
I asked Ganny how her arm was healing - she had recently bumped her forearm into a doorknob and instead of developing a minor bruise, she sustained a ghastly wound that tore her skin. (Apparently when you approach the centennial mark, your skin begins to take on the fragile qualities of tissue paper.) She told me that behind the large square bandage it was getting better. I asked her if she had put Neosporin on it. "Yes," she said, "and Campho-Phenique. I rubbed that all over it," and she gestured with her bony little hand. "Campho-Phenique?" I repeated, shocked to hear the term. I vaguely remember her "doctoring" my injuries with this substance as a kid, but had long forgotten about it. I thought the others would get a kick out of hearing about the archaic cure-all too.
Amused, I yelled over the sound of the TV to Brad and my dad, "Guess what Ganny put on her arm?" fully intending for her to talk about the Campho-Phenique and everyone to have a good laugh about this medical equivalent to a rotary phone. "Neosperm" she responded on cue, matter-of-factly. There was a slight pause - on my part because she didn't say Campho-Phenique, on the part of my husband and my dad because they had no idea what we were talking about. Brad and I made eye contact and I could see the understanding pass over his face. He had at least heard about the arm injury before now and made the connection to the intended meaning. He giggled with me. I quickly added context to help my dad. "She put 'Neosperm' and Campho-Phenique on her arm where she hurt it," and I pointed at her bandage. At this point everyone began to snicker a bit but Ganny didn't seem to realize her error. We quickly moved on to joke about the Campho-Phenique because no one could bear to address the awkward, unintentionally - inappropriate reference.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Episode # 8 Victoria's Secret
I know, I know. I asked for it. But I can honestly say it was not the embarrassment I expected.
It’s not unusual for Ganny and I to go to the mall from time to time. I either need to pick something up, or return something, and it’s about midway between her apartment and my house, so we can meet there. (Yes, she still drives. Beware Dallas/Ft. Worth metroplex.)
On this day, we made an unplanned stop at Victoria’s Secret. I couldn’t help it. They had that giant “Semi-Annual Sale” sign out front, and who can afford to buy anything there at regular price?
“Gan, do you mind if we run in here real quick? I just want to see if I need anything that’s on sale.”
“Sure,” she replied. She can be surprisingly agreeable when it’s just me and her.
Knowing the possible mortification that awaited, I hurried to the sale area at the back of the store to see if there was anything I had to have. Fortunately, Ganny stayed close to me. You don’t want her to venture out too far on her own where you can’t act as buffer for the general public. As we moved through the store, I spotted some very unique bras in bright colors with sequins and bows.
“Does that seem silly to you Gan – all that decoration on bras that no one’s going to see?” I said this knowing that Ganny is an ultra-conservative Christian who believes you only have sex with one man after you marry him. I assumed she would make that familiar, crinkly face and tell me she thought such things were ridiculous and vain. She did not. She instead proceeded to lift one side of her shirt up nearly to her chin and proclaim “No, I have a blue one on today.”
It was pretty quick and after a split-second survey of the other shoppers in our vicinity I concluded that the revelation went undetected. I unintentionally laughed a little and just kept walking. (What else is there to do really?) She laughed too and I guess she realized what she’d done. It was yet another one of those moments where I couldn’t tell if she had done something scandalous on purpose – as old people sometimes do – or if she genuinely acted before she thought it through – as old people also do.
What I try to explain to myself all the time is that it doesn’t matter. Whatever the reason, she’s my Ganny that helped raise me and has always loved me and loves me now. I will continue to embark upon adventures with her as often as I can.
Episode #7 The Cable Guy
Apparently Ganny calls the Dish Network people when she accidentally pushes the wrong button on her multi-function remote and can’t get back to the screen she recognizes. She is under the impression that something is wrong with the cable when this happens and is oblivious to the reality that her predicament is a result of user error. I realized this today when I visited her apartment and the cable guy arrived. She complains periodically about her TV doing this and that, but she always seems to find her way back to Bonanza somehow. I was not aware that she was having the cable company send someone out to give her lessons on how to use the remote control.
The man in question was nice enough, so pleasant in fact, that I suspect he must visit her retirement apartment center often for similar calls – God bless him.“Well it just went off and it said all this stuff all over ever-where and it kept telling me to push ‘select’ and I did but it wouldn’t do anything,” she blurted out.How can I help this guy, I thought. Surprisingly, he seemed to be able to make sense of her convoluted complaint and made the screen saver appear: a black screen with a red logo in the top corner, and messages scrolling across promoting additional services you can request. It also includes a large message on the bottom that says “Push ‘select’ to return.” Well good, I thought, at least she got that far.“Is this the screen you saw?” he asked politely.“Yeah, but I pushed ‘select’ and it didn’t do nothin’,” she reiterated.“You might need to push this button,” he said, and he pointed to the ‘satellite’ button at the top of the remote, “to make sure you’re in the right mode.”Hmm. Mode, I thought. That’ll throw her.After modeling this procedure, the black screen disappeared and the TV show returned.“I did that and it didn’t do nothin’,” she repeated. “Why did it just go off like that?”He explained to her that the screen saver comes on when the TV has been on the same channel for several hours.“Well what if I want it on the same channel all day?” she asked defiantly, as if this trivial default action somehow violates her civil rights.“It’s okay Gan, you just have to tell the TV that. It doesn’t know that you haven’t forgotten,” I assured her in attempt to calm the frustration that was building. As mentioned in previous posts, losing her temper is not unusual when dealing with these types of situations and I really didn’t want see another innocent man trying to do his job fall victim to her irrational behavior today.“Well…” and she mumbled something incoherent. “So what do I do again?”The saint that is the cable guy walked her through the two-button process again. “Push this button here – ‘satellite’, then push ‘select’.”This time however she accepted it as if it had not been explained before. “Oh, okay. I’ll just do that,” she said and nodded. I was both annoyed and relieved: obviously relieved that this interaction was coming to a close, but annoyed that he said THE EXACT SAME THING 90 SECONDS AGO and it wasn’t sufficient for her then.
The man in question was nice enough, so pleasant in fact, that I suspect he must visit her retirement apartment center often for similar calls – God bless him.“Well it just went off and it said all this stuff all over ever-where and it kept telling me to push ‘select’ and I did but it wouldn’t do anything,” she blurted out.How can I help this guy, I thought. Surprisingly, he seemed to be able to make sense of her convoluted complaint and made the screen saver appear: a black screen with a red logo in the top corner, and messages scrolling across promoting additional services you can request. It also includes a large message on the bottom that says “Push ‘select’ to return.” Well good, I thought, at least she got that far.“Is this the screen you saw?” he asked politely.“Yeah, but I pushed ‘select’ and it didn’t do nothin’,” she reiterated.“You might need to push this button,” he said, and he pointed to the ‘satellite’ button at the top of the remote, “to make sure you’re in the right mode.”Hmm. Mode, I thought. That’ll throw her.After modeling this procedure, the black screen disappeared and the TV show returned.“I did that and it didn’t do nothin’,” she repeated. “Why did it just go off like that?”He explained to her that the screen saver comes on when the TV has been on the same channel for several hours.“Well what if I want it on the same channel all day?” she asked defiantly, as if this trivial default action somehow violates her civil rights.“It’s okay Gan, you just have to tell the TV that. It doesn’t know that you haven’t forgotten,” I assured her in attempt to calm the frustration that was building. As mentioned in previous posts, losing her temper is not unusual when dealing with these types of situations and I really didn’t want see another innocent man trying to do his job fall victim to her irrational behavior today.“Well…” and she mumbled something incoherent. “So what do I do again?”The saint that is the cable guy walked her through the two-button process again. “Push this button here – ‘satellite’, then push ‘select’.”This time however she accepted it as if it had not been explained before. “Oh, okay. I’ll just do that,” she said and nodded. I was both annoyed and relieved: obviously relieved that this interaction was coming to a close, but annoyed that he said THE EXACT SAME THING 90 SECONDS AGO and it wasn’t sufficient for her then.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Episode #6 Talk of Yoga
No, I did not take Ganny to do yoga. It's her understanding of the concept that is amusing.
Years ago, I made the mistake of telling Ganny that I, at times, try different yoga routines to relax. I was promptly reprimanded and told that this is 'New Age stuff' and that I "should be meditatin' on God." I tried to explain that I wanted to relax, not fall asleep while praying. I told her that what she was thinking of as 'yoga' was the more traditional version of some Asian cultures. "What we mean by yoga here in America now is a form of exercise. You're right, there is a type that focuses on meditation and a religious aspect," (I always try to validate her feelings when possible) "but most people here do yoga as a way to strengthen muscles, and improve flexibility and relaxation." This was not sufficient. To this day I can't bring it up or mention it without reproach and condemnation to - you guessed it - hell.
Years ago, I made the mistake of telling Ganny that I, at times, try different yoga routines to relax. I was promptly reprimanded and told that this is 'New Age stuff' and that I "should be meditatin' on God." I tried to explain that I wanted to relax, not fall asleep while praying. I told her that what she was thinking of as 'yoga' was the more traditional version of some Asian cultures. "What we mean by yoga here in America now is a form of exercise. You're right, there is a type that focuses on meditation and a religious aspect," (I always try to validate her feelings when possible) "but most people here do yoga as a way to strengthen muscles, and improve flexibility and relaxation." This was not sufficient. To this day I can't bring it up or mention it without reproach and condemnation to - you guessed it - hell.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Episode #5 Getting Together
Many times, when my husband and I meet Ganny for lunch, my dad comes along as well. This way we can all endure the adventure together. What's most difficult about these meetings though are the triangle calling patterns that occur.
Recently, I agreed to meet my dad at a restaurant Ganny had never been to. (On a side note, this is always dangerous. She doesn't generally like new things.) Rather than try to explain to Ganny how to get there and what to look for, my husband and I offered to pick her up on the way there.
The procedure begins a few days in advance, once the meeting is agreed upon by all parties. I make a point to confirm with my dad by phone and separately with Ganny by phone the time and place of the meeting. This initial phase generally goes smoothly. The trouble erupts the night before and day of said meeting. No matter what plans are made, Gan confuses them and/or does not adhere to them.
On this occasion I explained to her the night before that we needed to meet dad at the restaurant the next day at 11:30. In order to do this, my husband and I would leave our house about 10:30 to come pick her up. As always, I told her I would call her in the morning before we left. Even as I say this I know that she will inevitably call me before I call her.
Like clockwork the next morning, Ganny called at 10:15.
"Well, are y'all about ready to leave?"
"No Gan, we probably won't leave for another 15 minutes or so,"
"Well we're sure not gonna get there by no 11:00. It'll be more like 11:30."
"Now Gan, we had planned on 11:30."
"Oh, it's supposed to be at 11:30? I thought it was 11:00. All right, well y'all call me when you leave."
Not too painful so far. However the third element is then introduced.
Fifteen minutes later, my dad called, because he is his mother's son, and wanted to know if we had left yet. Talking to my dad is always fast-paced and leaves you feeling as if you're on a life-threatening mission of some sort. He was never in the military, but he talks like he was. He answers questions with "affirmative" and "negative" instead of "yes" and "no" and he kind of barks things at you.
"Bran, are-y'all-leavin'? All right, well what-time-is-it-again?Have-you-called-Gambo?" (I will explain this name at a later time.)
I told him, as I juggled my purse shoes and cell phone, that we were about to walk out.
"Okay, well Eva and I are gettin' ready to hop in the truck so we'll meet up here in about 30 minutes. Alright-bye." And he hangs up whether you say bye or not. This also opens the flood gates for repeated calls because half the time you have something to tell him that you didn't get close to being able to say.
I swear, in no less time than it took to put on one shoe, Ganny called back.
"Well, are y'all leavin'? Your daddy said y'all were already in the car."
"Yes, Gan. I told him we are about to leave but that was literally thirty seconds ago."
During all of the hullabaloo, one must remember to stay calm. Should Ganny sense that you are frustrated or stressed in any way, she will become upset - immediately taking the blame for whatever she has imagined you are angry with her for. Soon after that, you become the person who made an old lady cry.
Once we do leave, it takes at least thirty minutes to get to Ganny's retirement center. The allows for at least one more call from Gan, and usually one more of the triangular episodes for one reason or another. For example, she always calls again to ask how far away we are. No matter where we are, even 20 minutes away, she'll say "Well I'm just gonna go ahead an' wait downstairs (the lobby) and watch for y'all." Although she doesn't intend for this to be a jab (I don't think she intends it to be) it says to me, "You have not left early enough," even though we agreed on a time in advance.
All this fun takes place before the meeting even begins.
Recently, I agreed to meet my dad at a restaurant Ganny had never been to. (On a side note, this is always dangerous. She doesn't generally like new things.) Rather than try to explain to Ganny how to get there and what to look for, my husband and I offered to pick her up on the way there.
The procedure begins a few days in advance, once the meeting is agreed upon by all parties. I make a point to confirm with my dad by phone and separately with Ganny by phone the time and place of the meeting. This initial phase generally goes smoothly. The trouble erupts the night before and day of said meeting. No matter what plans are made, Gan confuses them and/or does not adhere to them.
On this occasion I explained to her the night before that we needed to meet dad at the restaurant the next day at 11:30. In order to do this, my husband and I would leave our house about 10:30 to come pick her up. As always, I told her I would call her in the morning before we left. Even as I say this I know that she will inevitably call me before I call her.
Like clockwork the next morning, Ganny called at 10:15.
"Well, are y'all about ready to leave?"
"No Gan, we probably won't leave for another 15 minutes or so,"
"Well we're sure not gonna get there by no 11:00. It'll be more like 11:30."
"Now Gan, we had planned on 11:30."
"Oh, it's supposed to be at 11:30? I thought it was 11:00. All right, well y'all call me when you leave."
Not too painful so far. However the third element is then introduced.
Fifteen minutes later, my dad called, because he is his mother's son, and wanted to know if we had left yet. Talking to my dad is always fast-paced and leaves you feeling as if you're on a life-threatening mission of some sort. He was never in the military, but he talks like he was. He answers questions with "affirmative" and "negative" instead of "yes" and "no" and he kind of barks things at you.
"Bran, are-y'all-leavin'? All right, well what-time-is-it-again?Have-you-called-Gambo?" (I will explain this name at a later time.)
I told him, as I juggled my purse shoes and cell phone, that we were about to walk out.
"Okay, well Eva and I are gettin' ready to hop in the truck so we'll meet up here in about 30 minutes. Alright-bye." And he hangs up whether you say bye or not. This also opens the flood gates for repeated calls because half the time you have something to tell him that you didn't get close to being able to say.
I swear, in no less time than it took to put on one shoe, Ganny called back.
"Well, are y'all leavin'? Your daddy said y'all were already in the car."
"Yes, Gan. I told him we are about to leave but that was literally thirty seconds ago."
During all of the hullabaloo, one must remember to stay calm. Should Ganny sense that you are frustrated or stressed in any way, she will become upset - immediately taking the blame for whatever she has imagined you are angry with her for. Soon after that, you become the person who made an old lady cry.
Once we do leave, it takes at least thirty minutes to get to Ganny's retirement center. The allows for at least one more call from Gan, and usually one more of the triangular episodes for one reason or another. For example, she always calls again to ask how far away we are. No matter where we are, even 20 minutes away, she'll say "Well I'm just gonna go ahead an' wait downstairs (the lobby) and watch for y'all." Although she doesn't intend for this to be a jab (I don't think she intends it to be) it says to me, "You have not left early enough," even though we agreed on a time in advance.
All this fun takes place before the meeting even begins.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Episode #4 Preparation for a Ganny Visit
At times it easier to confine Ganny to the private sector (your home or hers) to preserve one's sanity. However, many steps must be taken when you are expecting a Ganny visit to minimize judgment of your lifestyle.
1. The TV must be on acceptable programming. Should the TV be on a sitcom featuring a girl in a bathing suit or a movie with any curse words, you will be judged as immoral and a sermon on the end times will follow.
2. All candy must be put away. Visible sweets prompt Ganny to make a strongly disappointed, crinkly facial expression, and tell you how bad it is for you (as if I don't know). She will then proceed to first: explain how she saw on a TV show once what "this stuff" does once it reaches your stomach and that she'll never touch it and neither should you, second: tell you that you need to lose weight. She "only weighs 119 pounds" after all. Third, Ganny will explain how simple it is to lose weight. She ignores the fact that she has an overactive thyroid and it is quite simple for her to put her extra energy to work to lose weight easily. "You never saw anybody in a concentration camp fat" she always says (and I mean always). I think she might be indicating that I should starve myself in order to look better.
3. All alcohol must be hidden from view or possible discovery. Any viewing of said items leads to a lecture on alcohol, how dangerous it is, and again, how we should prepare for the end times. It is quite impressive how Ganny can tie most of your faults to the rapture.
4. Clean as much as possible. Her failing eyesight has cut me some slack in this department over the years, but any trash that has not been taken out or general clutter will bring about a several minute rant on how clean she always kept her house. In her defense, she usually starts this conversation with "I wish I had more time to help you clean more often" which I think she genuinely intends as a nice gesture, but to me it is one of those underhanded comments that lets me know what she's really thinking: I have no self-discipline and I'm lazy.
5. Finally, activities must be planned when Ganny comes to visit. These don't have to be anything elaborate, but something to keep her focused on positive, normal conversation and not your faults. For example, I often plan to show her recent pictures of family members, try to explain what's going on with my job, and even plan questions to ask her things I think might make her happy to talk about such as, the fifties, her childhood etc.
Following these steps helps to ensure a successful visit as opposed to a frustrating four hours after which I sob for an extended period of time.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Episode #3 Sports Bar
Why would you take an old lady to a sports bar you might ask? In a nutshell - my dad. My dad has done a great job of making his mom a bigger part of his life as she's gotten older and needed us more, but his way of doing this is by simply toting her around to all of his usual destinations and hangouts. I kind of don't blame him for this anymore. Time with the Gan can be painful, whether you take her out into the world or try to contain her in the confines of your own home, so why not go on with your daily routines?
On this day my husband and I accompanied Gan and dad to a local sports bar to take in a Cowboys game. Surprisingly, Ganny is a huge Cowboys fan and watches most games. This is nice because the game entertains her and provides material for conversation, however her celebration of the team's successes consists of cheering, leaving her seat, and trying to cheer with other patrons. This is hit or miss on the embarrassment scale. At times it goes unnoticed depending on the blood alcohol level of the victim; at times it leads to borderline coherent conversations with strangers from which Gan must be retrieved and guided back to the table.
During this particular outing, two Gannyisms occurred which stick in my mind. (Gannyisms are regular behaviors that can typically be predicted given a specific situation.) First, Ganny became frustrated with the waitress, a poor little 18-year-old girl just trying to make a living, when she did not have the type of wine Ganny asked for. I say they didn't have it; it was difficult to know if they did or not because Ganny's method of ordering is asking the waitress to list all of the available wines, asking for a description of half of them, then asking if they have something she made up on the spot but is convinced actually exists. We watched helplessly as the waitress tried to interact meaningfully with her. Occasionally we would try to intervene only to be swatted away by an irritable, arthritic hand. Eventually Ganny ordered something that of course she did not like and complained about once it arrived at the table.
As mentioned in post #2, this is one of those aspects of modern society Ganny doesn't understand: not everything stays the same. The bar has whatever wines it has that day. Period. Maybe they even did serve your fictitious wine two weeks ago when we were here, as you claim, but the bottom line is they don't now so order something else.
Well one Gannyism led to another, as it often does, and Ganny wound up in the kitchen. She insisted on taking her wine quest to a higher authority and to her, I guess that is where she thinks the wine comes from (as opposed to the bar full of alcohol.) We let her go at first. At times attempts to stop her only bring on more humiliation as it appears you are fighting with an old woman in front of the entire bar. But eventually, my dad had to retrieve her. This is usually done best by smiling and introducing humor to the situation if at all possible to try to give the victims something to laugh about later instead of spit in your beer.
On this day my husband and I accompanied Gan and dad to a local sports bar to take in a Cowboys game. Surprisingly, Ganny is a huge Cowboys fan and watches most games. This is nice because the game entertains her and provides material for conversation, however her celebration of the team's successes consists of cheering, leaving her seat, and trying to cheer with other patrons. This is hit or miss on the embarrassment scale. At times it goes unnoticed depending on the blood alcohol level of the victim; at times it leads to borderline coherent conversations with strangers from which Gan must be retrieved and guided back to the table.
During this particular outing, two Gannyisms occurred which stick in my mind. (Gannyisms are regular behaviors that can typically be predicted given a specific situation.) First, Ganny became frustrated with the waitress, a poor little 18-year-old girl just trying to make a living, when she did not have the type of wine Ganny asked for. I say they didn't have it; it was difficult to know if they did or not because Ganny's method of ordering is asking the waitress to list all of the available wines, asking for a description of half of them, then asking if they have something she made up on the spot but is convinced actually exists. We watched helplessly as the waitress tried to interact meaningfully with her. Occasionally we would try to intervene only to be swatted away by an irritable, arthritic hand. Eventually Ganny ordered something that of course she did not like and complained about once it arrived at the table.
As mentioned in post #2, this is one of those aspects of modern society Ganny doesn't understand: not everything stays the same. The bar has whatever wines it has that day. Period. Maybe they even did serve your fictitious wine two weeks ago when we were here, as you claim, but the bottom line is they don't now so order something else.
Well one Gannyism led to another, as it often does, and Ganny wound up in the kitchen. She insisted on taking her wine quest to a higher authority and to her, I guess that is where she thinks the wine comes from (as opposed to the bar full of alcohol.) We let her go at first. At times attempts to stop her only bring on more humiliation as it appears you are fighting with an old woman in front of the entire bar. But eventually, my dad had to retrieve her. This is usually done best by smiling and introducing humor to the situation if at all possible to try to give the victims something to laugh about later instead of spit in your beer.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Episode #2 Preparation - The Bank
Ganny is used to a different time when things were done a different way. This becomes particularly apparent when interacting with society at large. Before going in a restaurant, the bank, or a number of other locations, preparation is required to minimize embarrassment.
For example, we have to explain ahead of time what to do if those people in the mall trying to sell something stop you. What they're selling is probably not as great as they're saying it is. Failure to prepare will end in a 30 minute conversation with the person in which Ganny makes various politically incorrect observations and talks about the Lord's return.
We have to "prep" her before going into Babe's so that she understands why you don't get a menu. Failure to do this leads to loud questioning, repetition of those questions, and loud offensive comments like, "I've never been to a restaurant like this. I just don't understand this."
(Note: This method of embarrassment avoidance is only successful approximately 50% of the time. For failed attempts, read on.)
Recently Ganny asked me to go to the bank with her because she needed to make some changes to her trust account, including adding my name so I can write checks for her if needed. I anticipated difficulty and thus asked her to please "be polite if the people in the bank don't understand what you're trying to ask them." What I really meant was "I have no idea what you're talking about, so I doubt they will either. Please don't flip out and unleash your geriatric wrath upon us all."
"Oh, no problem," she responded. "I don't get frustrated." Famous last words.
First, the lady at the door had the nerve to ask us to wait a few minutes before we spoke with a banker. Every thirty seconds Gan would say "I just don't know if we want to wait. This is just taking a long time." I repeatedly told her it was fine. Approximately 10 minutes later a banker called us back to her office.
Ganny presented her with the paper from her lawyer stating that I could be added to her account. The twist was that my maiden name was listed. The woman helping us offered to call the bank's legal department since she wasn't familiar with working with trust accounts (who is?). This was the beginning. Ganny doesn't understand that it's not as easy as picking up the phone. Bankers have to wait on hold too and go through automated menus. Not everyone at the bank is an expert on every random thing you throw at them. They are just people, like me, who need a job. This is something old people don't get: Most people just work there - whether it be at the bank, a department store, the cell phone store - whatever. It's not that they don't care, it's that these aren't little "ma and pa" establishments anymore. These people work for big corporations and have to do things a certain way because they have to - not because they're trying to be difficult.
The next ten minutes consisted of the lady talking on the phone while Ganny behaved like a child. "I just want to leave," she said. "This is not the question I wanted to know. My lawyer has already taken care of this," she loudly complained as the poor woman tried to get information over the phone. I tried my best to diffuse the situation, to somehow indicate to the victim that I understood her pain, but the damage was done, as it usually is.
When we left I tried to explain to her that you have to be more patient with people. Again, these are not "ma and pa" businesses that know you by name and know your situation. Throughout the rest of the day she continued to defend her actions. I have added the bank to the list of places I will no longer accompany her to. The cell phone store and The Cracker Barrel in Arlington are also on this blacklist because of Ganny's past outbursts there.
For example, we have to explain ahead of time what to do if those people in the mall trying to sell something stop you. What they're selling is probably not as great as they're saying it is. Failure to prepare will end in a 30 minute conversation with the person in which Ganny makes various politically incorrect observations and talks about the Lord's return.
We have to "prep" her before going into Babe's so that she understands why you don't get a menu. Failure to do this leads to loud questioning, repetition of those questions, and loud offensive comments like, "I've never been to a restaurant like this. I just don't understand this."
(Note: This method of embarrassment avoidance is only successful approximately 50% of the time. For failed attempts, read on.)
Recently Ganny asked me to go to the bank with her because she needed to make some changes to her trust account, including adding my name so I can write checks for her if needed. I anticipated difficulty and thus asked her to please "be polite if the people in the bank don't understand what you're trying to ask them." What I really meant was "I have no idea what you're talking about, so I doubt they will either. Please don't flip out and unleash your geriatric wrath upon us all."
"Oh, no problem," she responded. "I don't get frustrated." Famous last words.
First, the lady at the door had the nerve to ask us to wait a few minutes before we spoke with a banker. Every thirty seconds Gan would say "I just don't know if we want to wait. This is just taking a long time." I repeatedly told her it was fine. Approximately 10 minutes later a banker called us back to her office.
Ganny presented her with the paper from her lawyer stating that I could be added to her account. The twist was that my maiden name was listed. The woman helping us offered to call the bank's legal department since she wasn't familiar with working with trust accounts (who is?). This was the beginning. Ganny doesn't understand that it's not as easy as picking up the phone. Bankers have to wait on hold too and go through automated menus. Not everyone at the bank is an expert on every random thing you throw at them. They are just people, like me, who need a job. This is something old people don't get: Most people just work there - whether it be at the bank, a department store, the cell phone store - whatever. It's not that they don't care, it's that these aren't little "ma and pa" establishments anymore. These people work for big corporations and have to do things a certain way because they have to - not because they're trying to be difficult.
The next ten minutes consisted of the lady talking on the phone while Ganny behaved like a child. "I just want to leave," she said. "This is not the question I wanted to know. My lawyer has already taken care of this," she loudly complained as the poor woman tried to get information over the phone. I tried my best to diffuse the situation, to somehow indicate to the victim that I understood her pain, but the damage was done, as it usually is.
When we left I tried to explain to her that you have to be more patient with people. Again, these are not "ma and pa" businesses that know you by name and know your situation. Throughout the rest of the day she continued to defend her actions. I have added the bank to the list of places I will no longer accompany her to. The cell phone store and The Cracker Barrel in Arlington are also on this blacklist because of Ganny's past outbursts there.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Episode #1 of many
Today we went to a flea market in Mansfield that some of her fellow old-people neighbors recommended. I was surprised she wanted to go. It didn't seem like her thing. She's never really been a shopper. A buyer...yes, just not much of a shopper. Anyway it was something inexpensive to do, because her high dollar days are over, so off we went. Today's embarrassments consisted of the following:
We were standing in line at Wal-Mart, because it wouldn't be a visit to Gannyland without going to Wally, and when she suspected that the person in front of us was Muslim she proceeded to tell me that you see "them" everywhere you go now. She even had one tell her the other day how proud she was that she managed to get her husband to convert to Islam so they could get married. "America's just going to pot" she said. I still don't know if the man in front of us heard her, but fortunately for me, he gave no indication that he did.
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