Not all of us will get slapped into a place as cushy as your mom is in. Better start saving your pennies or buying lots of real estate to sell. Maybe God will reward you mightily for all those beautiful containers of frozen dinners in your dad’s freezer and you’ll hit the nursing home lottery. I am in awe! (Of your ability to create edible contents for all those containers when, like me, that is not one of your strengths.)
You perfectly described my indentured servitude in a Southern Baptist home with the Gift of Antics. I didn't have the words then, but at 10 I suggested several of your proof points to my mom and grandmother, and it didn't go well. Thanks for the whole story, well done.
I had gotten the (probably good) advice to shop for assisted living as soon as Mom had the stroke, well in advance of her discharge from the hospital, just in case it would be needed. (It was during her eventual discharge that Mom took a turn for the worse, was readmitted, and died.) After all, what family wants to face up to having put Mom in a dungeon through lack of due diligence? Used car salesmen can only dream of the combo of sweetness and pushiness the assisted-living sales force achieves – and at least car salesmen don't usually ask, "Have you got any real estate to sell?" (even when now is a bad time to buy a car).
The family decided to hold Mom's memorial and interment of ashes this spring. Mom had two kids, and we collaborated to plan the service – we had to. Putting together a meaningful liturgy I can do, but not logistics (oh... so not logistics). Apparently, I surprised my relatives at the memorial by 1) being a much better singer and 2) much funnier than they had supposed. I had not intended to give a funny eulogy, only to include a few gently humorous memories here and there. From my viewpoint, I'm not the funny one, life is.
Mom's birthday was a few days ago. The cicadas are rising here. You can't do any sort of yardwork digging without unearthing several. Soon they'll be molting, and I remember my kids' wonder the first time they saw a molting cicada. Before the oldies station got too new for her (which apparently happens if you live long enough), Mom listened to oldies radio continually. Now I'm the proud owner of my very own private oldies song, "Teenage Cicada", with a cheesy “empowerment” melody like Tom Jones rear-ended ABBA in a mall parking lot. I wrote down the lyrics, and am writing down the tune and chords. It reminds me of you (and of JVL, because it has a lugubrious spoken word interlude that I hear in his voice).
I hadn't expected antics to be a spiritual fruit of mine, and the family of my birth would expect it even less. (My in-laws had me pegged for antics from the start, but they're fun like that – I like 'em!) Though maybe antics aren't my main spiritual fruit, just part of the mismatched fruit salad of my soul.
That fridge full of prepared meals was something else. You are a saint, Holly. There were so many LOL passages, beginning with Sarah got pregnant at 100. Going to a Baptist elementary school somehow convinced the 8 year old me as something normal.
Kudos for making the frozen dinners! I would have picked up ready-to-heat meals from HEB. Go ahead and bask in feeling like a saint for a while.
that would be the smarter option.
HEB = Texas treasure
Not all of us will get slapped into a place as cushy as your mom is in. Better start saving your pennies or buying lots of real estate to sell. Maybe God will reward you mightily for all those beautiful containers of frozen dinners in your dad’s freezer and you’ll hit the nursing home lottery. I am in awe! (Of your ability to create edible contents for all those containers when, like me, that is not one of your strengths.)
So true. They are fortunate--medicare paying for now bc it is post-injury. Then they have a long term care insurance plan.
I cannot say the contents are edible. But they are labeled and look good.
You are a Saint, Holly. A hilarious one.
Are saints hilarious? they do not seem to be.
For instance, that one who carried her severed boobs around on a platter did not miss her calling in standup.
Welcome to Texas, Holly. Don’t spend too much time catching up on the politics. It’s not very inspiring vis-a--vis your faith in humanity.
oh I am used to this drill....
i.e., 🙂
You perfectly described my indentured servitude in a Southern Baptist home with the Gift of Antics. I didn't have the words then, but at 10 I suggested several of your proof points to my mom and grandmother, and it didn't go well. Thanks for the whole story, well done.
"I’m telling you right now, when my kids start threatening to slap me in a home, I’m gonna call their damn bluff."
When my mom died last fall after her stroke (this stroke: https://hollyberkleyfletcher.substack.com/p/confessions-of-a-non-maternal-mother/comment/40998073 ), I told the family gathered around her dead body that the ONE upside to my mommy's dying is that it meant a break from assisted-living sales pitches.
I had gotten the (probably good) advice to shop for assisted living as soon as Mom had the stroke, well in advance of her discharge from the hospital, just in case it would be needed. (It was during her eventual discharge that Mom took a turn for the worse, was readmitted, and died.) After all, what family wants to face up to having put Mom in a dungeon through lack of due diligence? Used car salesmen can only dream of the combo of sweetness and pushiness the assisted-living sales force achieves – and at least car salesmen don't usually ask, "Have you got any real estate to sell?" (even when now is a bad time to buy a car).
The family decided to hold Mom's memorial and interment of ashes this spring. Mom had two kids, and we collaborated to plan the service – we had to. Putting together a meaningful liturgy I can do, but not logistics (oh... so not logistics). Apparently, I surprised my relatives at the memorial by 1) being a much better singer and 2) much funnier than they had supposed. I had not intended to give a funny eulogy, only to include a few gently humorous memories here and there. From my viewpoint, I'm not the funny one, life is.
Mom's birthday was a few days ago. The cicadas are rising here. You can't do any sort of yardwork digging without unearthing several. Soon they'll be molting, and I remember my kids' wonder the first time they saw a molting cicada. Before the oldies station got too new for her (which apparently happens if you live long enough), Mom listened to oldies radio continually. Now I'm the proud owner of my very own private oldies song, "Teenage Cicada", with a cheesy “empowerment” melody like Tom Jones rear-ended ABBA in a mall parking lot. I wrote down the lyrics, and am writing down the tune and chords. It reminds me of you (and of JVL, because it has a lugubrious spoken word interlude that I hear in his voice).
I hadn't expected antics to be a spiritual fruit of mine, and the family of my birth would expect it even less. (My in-laws had me pegged for antics from the start, but they're fun like that – I like 'em!) Though maybe antics aren't my main spiritual fruit, just part of the mismatched fruit salad of my soul.
That fridge full of prepared meals was something else. You are a saint, Holly. There were so many LOL passages, beginning with Sarah got pregnant at 100. Going to a Baptist elementary school somehow convinced the 8 year old me as something normal.
Epic!