Flipping fantastic…..

As you go through the rigors of finding out about one another when immersed in the early stages of a relationship, you begin the process of peeling back the layers to discover new things about the other person. Recently, I discovered Richard, for example, is a collector. Books, memorabilia, and just about everything one can imagine. A good cook, he seems to also love having around him things associated with cooking and entertaining, leaving his kitchen lacking little in the way of tools and gadgets at his disposal. Yesterday, he was having a few people in for dinner. While helping by setting the table, I was dispatched to a closet in his spare bedroom to retrieve water goblets. When I asked why I would possibly be looking for water goblets in the bedroom, I was told his surplus glasses were kept in the bedroom closet. This, he went on to explain, because he had run out of space in the pantry where the bulk of his glasses are already filling the cupboards. When I opened the closet door, I found shelf after shelf of neatly arranged glassware to select from. Amazing. If he drank out of one glass a day for three months, he’d still have another clean one to use the first day of the following month without washing a glass. There are white wine glasses, red wine glasses, decorative wine glasses, a mishmash of logo glasses from various attended events over the years, champagne flutes, water goblets in every shade and size, aperitif glasses, tall drinking glasses, tumblers, all manner of shot glasses, and from there you move on to the beer glasses which also are numerous and come in various shapes and sizes. The man has an assortment of coffee cups that would make a barista proud. The particularly interesting part to this narrative is, the man neither drinks alcohol or coffee, the latter which I almost consider unamerican. Go figure? He could open a bar and a coffee house and never have to purchase a thing.

On the subject of hoarding, just kidding Richard, I read the other day a woman considered to fall under that category, discovered the body of her husband, missing for eight months, in a hall closet while putting away Christmas decorations. Okay, this to my mind is a serious hoarding situation. It’s one thing to misplace your car keys, or your cellphone, but your husband? I’m not saying there haven’t been times when I wished I’d misplaced one or two, but to actually accidentally do it is really unbelievable. People afflicted with this disorder obviously are dealing with much larger issues than simply gathering too many things into their lives. It must be traumatizing to become so debilitated by the problem you cannot stop bringing more into an already overcrowded house or let go of the copious things you don’t need or already have. Looking a bit deeper into what causes one to hoard, I read a person can have a family predisposition to hoard, which I had not heard before. It can also be caused by loss of possessions or loved ones, or other traumatic life experiences. I cannot imagine in my wildest dreams living amongst such a massive pile of accumulated possessions a human being could disappear among them and go unnoticed. Admittedly, I do like my tchotchkes, and have quite a few strategically placed about my home as decorations. However, I can say with a high degree of certainty, in spite of this, I would notice a dead body in my house almost immediately. Not to be too unpleasant here, but wouldn’t you notice a smell? I dated a homicide detective once who said when working a crime scene with a body in decomposition, the detectives would put Vicks Vapo Rub under their noses so they could tolerate the odor.

On a bit lighter subject, the Pineapple Express is in full swing out here on the west coast at the moment. Well, maybe not at this exact moment, as it seems not to be raining beyond my door as I write this, but it will be circling around over us for the next week or so at intervals dropping a lot of water on the area. Dry for the time being, last night was a different story all together. The wind howled, a torrential rain pummeled the deck outside my window, and the window panes quivered when an especially strong gust would whip along the side yard. Boo curled up over my head as the noise intensified. I don’t mind so much if the cat shares a pillow with me now and then, but really I do wish she would keep her tail on her side of the fence. I know where that tail has has been, and can’t help but think it cannot be a sanitary situation to have it draped lazily over my forehead. Just saying.

As it is a work day once again, I am seated at my desk. One of the residents came up a bit earlier to report someone had stolen her dog. This, unfortunately, is not the situation. The dog is gone, it is true, but was taken to live with a friend of the family. Animals aren’t allowed to live with the residents at this facility. My heart aches for her. I can’t imagine how sad I would feel if someone took Boo from me. That being said, I do understand the rationale behind the company policy. Someone suffering from memory issues might not remember to feed an animal, possibly even mistreat it, or not take it out for a walk or to relieve itself. It wouldn’t be beyond reach, they might not recall having an animal at all. Animals could escape out of open doors and run amok in the halls or enter other residents rooms. Then there are allergy problems, etc., etc., etc. Our staff is not equipped to manage such an endeavor. In the end, not a viable plan for the individual, nor the best situation for the animal. Still, it doesn’t make it an easy thing for the person giving up the dog to comprehend.

It is truly a life lesson working here. Once again, like Rick helping me to understand the act of dying, I believe I will have guides to lead me along the back roads of approaching old age. None of us can avoid the passing of time. As far as I know, no matter how much money you have in the bank, you cannot purchase youth. We will all face aging, if we’re lucky enough to be around long enough. I believe the elderly people I work with in this facility are in my life to help me avoid the potholes associated with our aging bodies and minds and teach me how to pick myself up if I have fallen into one. My mother held the light ahead of the group for sure, but I have come to view this band of brave souls, as the next to illuminate the path. They get up every day in spite of their circumstances, get dressed, show up, and do the best they can. Can’t tell you how I admire their tenacity. Some manage better than others, but my guess that was true all along in their lives, not just in their current situation. The stronger help the less able. I watch one step up to the aid of another who may be struggling, offering a much needed hug, a reassuring “it’s okay”, or a hand up. As in life in general, some humans are born more equipped to deal, perhaps a bit more resilient than their neighbor. This is the way of things in the world we inhabit, only in my facility I see it on a more encapsulated scale. One of the older men, a quiet gentleman prone to wearing tweed hats and sitting across from me for long periods in front of the fireplace in the lobby, surprised me yesterday. In the quiet reflection we share, a subtle friendship has developed. It does not involve a lot of conversation, but rather a comfort knowing the other is nearby. I knocked on his door early in my day to ask if he would like a cup of hot chocolate from the cart I have delivered in the lobby from time to time. Asking me in, I noticed a massive book open on his table. Seeing where my attention was directed, he beckoned for me to come over and take a look. It was a book by Jacques Cousteau featuring gorgeous illustrations of the beautiful and unusual fish discovered by his crew living in the deepest depths of the ocean. I found my friend quite knowledgeable on the subject and lingered for awhile to allow him to fill me in on what he had discovered. It made me happy to know he was still able to enjoy such things with the dementia threatening to take possession of his mental stability. When I left, he thanked me for taking the time to share the book with him. Almost made me cry that simple statement. It should have been me thanking him for sharing the moment with me.

The universe most likely led me to this facility when I was looking for a job. My guides, and I speak of them often because I feel I have many lurking just beyond the natural plane of our understanding, seem to direct me where I need to be. Once I had a psychic tell me there was a handsome man, dark wavy hair, in a blue uniform who guards me day and night. My father died at 25, a beautiful young man with a shock of unruly black hair. Being in the Royal Canadian Air Force he was afforded a full military sendoff wearing his blue dress uniform. Somehow it felt comforting to think of him watching over me. I was but a year old when he passed away and have no memory of him to keep with me. Whether this is true or not, well, no one really knows. Perhaps it is enough that I believe it be so to consider it a gift.

When I came home I was thinking about the lady and her dog. The woman spent most of the day walking the halls carrying her beloved pet’s collar in her hand. Opening the door tonight to find the entitled Boo looking up at me as if to say, “Where ya been, Blondie?”, suddenly overwhelmed me with a feeling of incredible gratefulness for the moment I was in. Boo and I will finish our time together as we began, I will hope, paw in hand.

Last night, I turned the clock ahead an hour before hopping into bed. Boo leaves me less and less room in the queen sized bed as she takes it over along with every other surface in the house. Sometimes I find myself hanging with one leg off the side while she is contentedly spread eagled across the center of the mattress. Perhaps the phrase “bed hog” refers to the wrong species. Most probably it is not healthy to have your cat share your sleeping quarters, but Boo and I have been doing this for seventeen years so I’m thinking that is how it is going to be going forward. I’m surprised she hangs around with me to be honest. I had a sleep study several years ago to rule out sleep apnea. They discovered though I did not suffer from sleep apnea, I do have restless leg syndrome. Apparently, I entertained the night crew by moving my legs in the vicinity of 37 times an hour. I’m surprised either of us get any sleep at all. Rick used to say in the middle of the night I would sometime breech like a whale, not a very flattering description I’m sure. He said I would fly up in the air and flip over like a pancake in a griddle. I’m quite positive this is a bit of an exaggeration, but he staunchly insisted he was telling it like he saw it. Fine.

So, the rain has struck up the beat once again and is hammering the asphalt beyond the foyer. I believe I saw Noah gathering wood beyond the out buildings. Have a great Sunday. Give your pet an extra hug because you can. Cya next time.

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