I am visiting my parents and this is the first time I've seen them in over two months. There is usually a marked difference in both Daddy's mobility and Momma's sanity during this period of time. It may not be so much a progression of their ailments as much as it is my ability to push it to the back of my mind and pretend it doesn't exist.
Truth is, I really enjoy my visits with them but they are, of course, totally predictable. Within 30 seconds (not kidding!) of my walking in the door, Dad has already plowed over antique bottles (read: clutter!) with his walker and Mom is berating him to "slow down, Tom!" I begin eyeing the bottle of wine I brought with me.
We enjoy a "late" dinner at 5:50pm in the Tavern. Miniature-sized entrees for miniature-sized appetites. Apparently, old people don't eat much - but they sure drink a lot! I marvel at how attentive the staff is here. The very sweet waitress cuts open the mustard packets for Dad b/c his fingers are unable to manage it. We enjoy our dinner although Mom interrupts frequently to introduce me to another one of her friends. (They have many friends!) She has perfected the 10-second introduction - "This is our Beth. She's our only daughter. She has 4 children. We love her very much." These people seem genuinely pleased to meet me and have only kind things to say about my parents.
We come back to the apartment and I'm in bed by 7:30. WTF?! It's Friday night! So, I sit there, drinking my wine, watching some crap movie - "The Ballad of Cable Hogue" with Jason Robards - and watching Daddy eat the charred popcorn he popped. It's actually kinda enjoyable. I go to sleep smelling the burned popcorn.
The next morning I awake to smelling something else burning. Turns out Daddy's making fried potatoes for his breakfast - literally fried to oblivian in no less than a pound of butter. Charred little nuggets. They look delicious. He also exploded an egg in the microwave (again, not kidding).
I take advantage of not having anything to do and get involved in another movie -"Lorenzo's Oil." This movie makes me cry sporadically and thank my lucky stars that all my children are healthy and needn't ingest some extracted form of olive oil via a feeding tube to live. Daddy shuffles into the room with his undershirt tucked into his tighty whities and says "There MUST be something better on." "Well actually Dad, I'm watching this." "Oh, ok then." I believe the volume is set at 40 or 42 - yet still doesn't effectively drown out Mom and Dad's bickering about what a mess the kitchen is and how he should get dressed.
Suddenly, going for a run actually appeals to me. I spend an hour in the gym where the average age is 85. I marvel at how good I look, how healthy and strong I am! Of course, everything is relative. I think these people are terrific - moving their old bodies and maintaining their flexibility. Good for them. I will enjoy what little youth I may have left.
But what about the muu muu, Beth? Patience, here we go.
After my workout, I jump into the shower. The shower can be only so hot b/c the facility caps off the hot water heater to avoid accidental scaldings. I rather enjoy the nifty little handle bars in the shower. You never know when you'll need to grab something in the shower to keep you upright, after all. Momma kindly threw my workout clothes and anything else she could get her hands on into the washer. Of course, I had only one pair of jeans so I have nothing to wear until everything is washed and dried. So I must wear my mother's clothes or sit naked for an hour. My choices are scratchy corduroys with a matching applique'd top, or said muu muu. I choose the latter and go commando without any undergarments.
There is nothing quite like a muu muu to scourge one's fashion sensibilites. I'm sure Tim Gunn would be rendered speechless at the sight of me. I mean, look at me! Do I look freakin' happy? That'd be a no. Any one of the following describes how a muu muu makes one feel - bloated, Jabba the Hutt, old, tub of goo, strangely liberated, sloth, comfy, hopeless. This is not good.
This is the face of a woman who sees what the future could look like. It looks like my Mom and Dad. It is living in a retirement community with my husband of 50+ years, arguing over burnt potatoes. I see it coming like a storm over the mountains, hoping that the clouds will break up before reaching me. I have similar mannerisms, a similar body shape, and (God help me) similar annoyances. Becoming one's parents may be upsetting to some. Honestly...I should be so lucky.
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