Recipe spinach salad avocado

Nag Tag

Following Don around the house to keep him out of bed is like playing an endless game of tag and I'm always it.  I am exhausted and unable to accomplish anything else.  Though I understand that he is depressed, and sleeping is a way to escape - it does not help him improve.

I'm getting worried that he is getting worse, not better.   He was better when he came home from Brittany Manor.   Now he is hiding from us again.

How to build a household wheelchair ramp - or Mother-daughter bonding through construction

This Youtube video convinced me I would be able to build a home wheelchair ramp.  Surely with the help of my teen-ager I could accomplish this project.

Step 1 - saw the top sheet of plywood.  Ooops, no saw.    Go to Home Depot and buy a sheet of plywood and have them cut it.  First 2 cuts are free.

Step 2 - put those railings on the of the ramp.  Ooops, no clamps, and no directions.  Ask my neighbors and friends for help.  Neighbor sends her husband who does some carpentry.

Step 3 - Lay out the sheet of plywood over the steps.   Have neighbor bring saw to cut wedges to support the bottom of the ramp.

Step 4 - Nail wedges to bottom of ramp.  Nail 2x4s to top of ramp so the ramp will sit on top of step to raise the ramp to the level of the door

Step 5 - Send neighbor home.  He has been a huge help in getting the ramp laid out, but I can't take his whole Saturday.

Step 6 - Go back to Home Depot to buy 2x4s to reinforce the ramp surface.  Measure before I go, so I can get them cut for free. 

Step 7 - Go back to Home Depot to buy more 2x4s.   Take daughter along so she can be the second customer and also get 2 cuts for free. 

Step 8 - Nail 2x4s to underside of ramp to reinforce.  No points for pretty.

Step 9 - Add metal handles to side of ramp so it can be lifted

Step 10 - Install ramp.  

Ramp is a little steep and a little bendy.  Makes me wonder if it will crack under extended use. 

Note:  2 years later ramp working fine.  Creaks a little, but holding up.  Won't win any awards for design or carpentry, but it does the job. 

A brain like an unraveling sweater

Last night I watched Don take a note to himself.  He wrote down the information about when he was going to be picked up by Senior Services.   Then he asked where he was going.   I told him he had scheduled himself to go to the grocery store.  Then he asked why they were picking up later that day.   I said - to come home from the grocery store.

He wrote that down, and then asked again where he was going.  He read what he had written and couldn't understand it.  He tried to write down notes for Thursday, and then said that was too many things to remember.

This morning he asked me when he was going.   When his ride arrived after I had left for work, he told them he didn't want to go.   I'm sure he went back to bed.   Senior Services Transportation is very upset with him-he has messed up three appointments in a row.

I don't know if this is just a bad week, or a permanent dysfunction.

Transitions - Like a Lost Child

Both my children went off to pre-school and kindergarten with hardly a hitch.  I took them to the classroom, the teacher greeted them, they stashed their stuff in a cubby.  The minute they saw toys different from those at home, and, therefore, infinitely superior, Mom and Dad were old news.  I can't say either of them was that excited to be picked up after school and returned to boredom of home.

My oldest got left at pre-school once or twice after her morning session was over.  The teacher kept her busy and included her in the afternoon group, until I got the message that her dad had forgotten to pick her up.  Since I was working full-time, and he was the caregiver, I dispatched him to the pre-school for a very late pick-up.  My oldest daughter was not in the least perturbed.

Today I dropped Don off at the Senior Center for the first time.   He had put it off for weeks.  Even this morning he swore, and I mean that in the fullest sense of the verb, he was not going, that he promised to go tomorrow.   He said he had nothing in common with "those people."   The truth is, he had too much in common with them.

When we walked in to the room both of us were holding back tears.  I did not want to leave him there by himself.  The air in the room smelled of "lonely" to me - a little stale, with an underlying scent of institutional soap.    Even though several small groups in the room happily chatted and played cards, they ignored him.

After twenty minutes a staff person arrived, greeted us, and worked on making him feel welcome. She found him a place to sit, stash his coat, and get a drink.  She explained the schedule for the day, and a few people joined him at his table.  I got up to get back to work, and Don gave me a pitiful look.

"Don't leave me," his eyes said.  "I don't want to be here.   Being here means I'm old."

I promised to return, and cried all the way back to work.  Transitions are a  bitch.