Monday, November 27, 2006

108 Thanksgiving, dad & grandma -style

We had Thanksgiving at my mom's house, as usual. My mother-in-law brought shrimp cocktail, stuffed mushrooms and a lovely cake. My dad loves shrimp cocktail. He would have eaten ONLY shrimp for his Thanksgiving meal if we hadn't taken the platter away. Then he didn't know what anything was. He would point. He said "I don't know what this is, but it's good" about the stuffing, but then he was picking it out of his mouth (and putting it into the stuffed mushrooms serving platter of all places). He also picked the mushrooms out of his mouth.
My grandmother was her obnoxious holiday self. She claims to be "sick" and that we "don't understand" how sick her medicines make her. My mother and I tell her constantly to just stop taking them them, but then she's "sick" in a different way. There's no winning. She actually drove herself, in spite of the rain, but then complained that she was tired, she was missing her nap, etc. She treats my dad like he's 5, she either talks down to him or around him, and I don't like that. (Not that I never talk around him, but I don't talk to him like he's a baby.)
The cake was to celebrate my husband getting a new job. My grandmother picked up a knife and hacked a random hunk of out it before Will even got to see it, and then got angry that it was chocolate, and went on a tirade about how she can't eat chocolate. Will just sat there in shock. "She ruined my cake," he said in disbelief. Funny that she eats chocolate ├ęclairs every Sunday and never complains. But on Thanksgiving, chocolate makes her sick. Then she left. Apparently the next day she called my mom and was angry that she didn't get any of the dessert my mom made me ( graham cracker-pudding-chocolate yummy melange). We didn't offer it to her after her anti-chocolate rant. Why would we? She is getting so very rude, and she seems to think that's okay because she's 88. Ruining the cake is only part of it. On Sunday nights when we're over, she puts on this tape of country music (which Willy and I HATE) at full loud volume and does her "exercises" (simple stretches) totally ignoring us. She has ALL DAY to do this stupid tape, why does she wait until we're there? She sees me for 2 hours a week, and that's how she choses to spend that time? She knows we hate the music and basically sit there gritting our teeth until she's done. If I got up and left when she turned it on, then I would be the rude one. I don't get it. She also doesn't do the puzzle. She does her "exercises" while we do the puzzle for her. I don't even want to stay anymore and work on the puzzles anymore. She picks these ugly dark paintings and they aren't fun to work on.
Friday Will had off from work so the four of us went out for lunch at the Pacific Buffet. Where my dad had, of course, more shrimp cocktail. They didn't have his "shells" (clams). Will said he saw my dad get kind of lost, he went to the other side of the dining room where we sat last time instead of where we were this time. Dad was scooping ice cream with the little plastic eating spoon but he thought it was funny. He explained how he thought the spoon was going to break (in Bob-speak). My mom said he was in a terrible mood that morning and she almost left him home but that got him even madder.
Will and I went to a movie and that night I went back over to do a puzzle. I had seen some cheap puzzles at Big Lot and my mom braved the Black Friday crowd with my dad and they picked some up. He choose a Noah's Ark puzzle for the animals. As soon as we started putting it together he lost interest and wandered off. He pointed to the picture of Noah and said "He's the guy! look, he's got the little thing." (Meaning, baby sheep he was carrying).
He also did something VERY funny. I had been there about half an hour, and we were eating our tea and crumpets (water and the chocolate graham cracker dessert) and my dad says "I saw that girl today. They said they were coming later." I had no idea what she was talking about. Then my mom said, "That girl is your daughter and she's sitting across the table from you." He looks over, says "hi!" very cheerfully, shakes my hand, and then says to my mom "I told you." It was hilarious.
Some days you have to laugh, or you cry.

1 comment:

Mona Johnson said...

Bert, you should be a scriptwriter. You paint a great picture of a family Thanksgiving with some dementia mixed in! I'm glad you found at least some humor in it.