Episode #14 Put in My Place

About 2 months ago I approached my car in the parking lot after work, and noticed a large white mark (about 4 inches long) on my rock slider (a bar along the bottom sides of my car to, well, make it slide over rocks instead of get stuck on them). This made me think of elderly people who drive around town bumping into things, which made me think of Gan.
She has gotten progressively worse over the past year. Every time we see her in her 1997 white Lincoln Town Car, the car of choice for the elderly along with Buicks, there is a new bump or dent. When you ask her about it, she claims someone either bumped into her at WalMart or it just "appeared" while she was shopping in WalMart. Once the front grill was ever-so-slightly pushed underneath the hood. She had no explanation for this. One can only imagine the true story. 
One day while visiting Ganny at her retirement apartments, we were riding in the elevator with one of her neighbors. After casual introductions he asked Ganny, "Did that guy ever find you and talk to you?" to which Gan replied, "What guy?"
"That guy who said you hit his car. You drive that white Lincoln don't you?" I looked at the floor. "I didn't hit anybody. I don't know what that guy was talking about." We exited the elevator and headed for her room. "Everybody thinks I hit that car, but I didn't."
It was too much. I had been concerned about her driving anyway, but at this, I broke down and began to sob. How do you tell someone they shouldn't drive anymore? How do you tell your grandmother she's hitting things and doesn't even know it and I have to stop her before someone sues her or assaults her?
She hugged me and said, "Oh darlin' what is it?" We sat down in her Lazyboys and I tried to explain it with as much tact as possible. "You know I care about you and only do what's best for you, always." She trusts me completely and for good reason. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I take good care of her i.e. this blog :). 
"I'm so worried about you Gan. You're hitting things and don't even realize it. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you. I just don't know if you should be driving anymore. I'm worried someone's gonna be mean to you if you...make a mistake. You told me a long time ago that I would have to do this Gan. You told me I would have to watch out for you when you got older" I rambled. I tried to emphasize my concern for her welfare and not her diminished abilities. 
She seemed surprised at first, insisting on evidence of these accusations, but eventually she developed some acceptance and said she would try to take one of us with her when she went on doctor's visits, to the bank, or anything else more than a mile away. I didn't want her to drive at all since her forte seemed to be low-speed accidents in parking lots, but I would take what I could get. 
Well, over the next few weeks, she pretty much went back to driving anywhere and everywhere she wanted. I was weak, because it is so much easier to meet her for lunch rather than make the 45-minute drive to her apartment to pick her up, so I didn't fight it too much. She tells me she's doing better, being more careful, etc. and as best I can tell, she is - no new dents lately. 
Recently I let my friend drive my car and he mentioned the white mark. "Hit the garage on your way out?" he asked. "No," I laughed. "Someone hit me in the parking lot at work." As the statement came out I recognized the familiar response - that of Gan. "Oh, are you your grandmother now?" he teased. "I think I would know if I hit something, wouldn't I?" we laughed and moved on.
When I got home, I noticed a large black smudge on the side of the garage...

Not really enough for an entire post, but bizarre enough that it has to be shared

I was informed on Father's Day, one of the few scarce days that I force myself to endure Gan combined with the whole clan (Dad and his wife, me and Brad, Eva, and sometimes other victims) at once, that men should not wear necklaces, bracelets or rings. Apparently this is something only women should do and makes men look like they are trying to be women...

I can't even pretend to follow her reasoning on this one. Men wore jewelry even in the "wagon" days didn't they?Anyway, add this to the list of unexplained Gannyisms.

Episode #13 Operating a Mouse

Once, at my dad's house, I was doing something upstairs waiting for Ganny to arrive so we could go to lunch. I had some music playing on the downstairs computer. I heard her open the front door and call - "Knock knock, Ganny's here," like she usually did then. I took the few steps to the top of the stairs to tell her hello. She of course was immediately unhappy with the music that was not Gospel, so I explained to her how to turn it off. "Just go to the computer Gan, and move the mouse to the little X in the top right hand corner and that will close the program. I'll be right down."

As I stepped into the other room to wrap up whatever I had been working on, I noticed the music didn't stop. I returned to the top of the stairs to find Ganny, with mouse in hand, pointing it at the screen like a remote control and squinting.

Episode #12 The Holidays

Note: I have fallen behind on my blogging due to extreme overwork as a teacher at a public high school. The post below refers to Thanksgiving of 2011.

Ganny put on her reading glasses to help me with a random craft project at the table. She hates crafts. Brad and I do these bizzare Christmas cards each year with rediculous pictures of us and I had an idea to use that old-fashioned garland with strings of popcorn in the picture. I asked Gan to help me string some of the popcorn. Honestly, I was surprised she said yes. She detests anything involving sitting patiently such as needle-point, knitting, playing cards, etc. which is unfortunate considering this is what old people usually do to occupy their time. Ironically, Gan would rather sit around watching reruns of Gunsmoke and Bonanza and complain about how bored she is. This is delightful for the rest of us.

Back to the point though - she put on her reading glasses and her flaw detector and looked at me. "What's that comin' up on your face?"  she asked. I knew immediately what she was referring to. It was a mole near my mouth that I've always been self conscious about. It's been there as long as I can remember. I checked the anger that immediately swelled. "I don't know Gan." She continued to offend. "It's right there," she pointed. "Gan, it's a mole. It has always been there," I stated quickly, hoping we could move on before I either lost my temper or started sniveling. "Oh." And we did move on.Well, she did. I obviously am still holding on to it.

A bit later, we were ready to head over to my in-laws to have Thanksgiving dinner. It's not ideal to involve Ganny in these settings, but my conscience won't let me leave her alone for the majority of Thanksgiving Day. When we announced we were about to leave, Ganny quickly asked, "Aren't you going to comb your hair?" My hair was combed. What do you do with that? Brad jumped in - "It is combed Ganny, she's just got it flipped over the other side of her face right now." I just kind of nodded and made note of the moment to share here. It sounds so simple now, after the fact. Just smile and explain it to her. Be patient. But that's where this blog comes in. In the moment, you want to scream. What is it about old people that gives them this uncanny ability to make you feel crazy? At the time, when they make that offensive comment or that oh-so-sour expression, it takes every ounce of strength you have to simply grind your teeth and get through it.

There were no major embarrassments at the in-laws until after dinner. As we were all wrapping up, Gan said something about how disappointed she was that she couldn't eat more because the food was so good. She is notorious for eating next to nothing. I tried to be positive. "You did fine Ganny." Her reply: "I didn't eat anything compared to what you ate."

Again, what do you do with that? I laughed because it was so blatantly rude, but what made it better is that my brother-in-law and his wife laughed out loud too. They know all about Gan and my... difficulties with her. It was as if my complaints about her had been validated in that moment, when someone else saw what I was talking about.

As best I can recall, that was the last of the worst of it. Of course there is always the constant repetition and defense of one's choices, but those were the stand-out moments of the day.

Episode #11 Wake Up Call

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...

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.

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.