I'm at a McDonald's typing this (and setting this to post at a later date to camouflage it). Shhhh, don't tell anyone. No, I'm allowed to stop at places for lunch on my way to consultant gigs. I just don't want the Pumpkin Daddy to know, because he's placed a household bad on McDonald's. A couple years ago, McDs Japan used expired Thai chicken in their nuggets (instead of fresh domestic chicken) and lied about it and didn't really explain what they were going to do about it. So the Pumpkin Daddy decided the Pumpkin Prince and Princess weren't going to get Happy Meals any more.
I don't particularly like McDs, but...they have free WiFi. And I can feed my internet addiction while eating French Fries. Which is really bad table manners that I wouldn't want my kids to see me do, so I hide. At McDs. On my way to a gig as a consultant. The fries were fresh and salty. I got full sugar Coke and a Double Cheeseburger too. There's some guy my dad's age singing out loud with his headphones on. Fortunately, he's singing in tune and has a pretty ok voice.
Wait, did that blogger post another picture with her new boyfriend cropped out? Sheesh, she needs to get over herself, or maybe it's her old boyfriend she needs to get over, or maybe she needs therapy for her anxiety.
Or maybe I just need to get a life.
(Disclaimer: I had beef stir fry with rice and vegetables and miso soup the night before, and grilled fish with rice and vegetables and miso soup the night before that, so no jabs at my eating habits, please! Feel free to jab at my internet addiction, though!)
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Kyou ha nichiyoubi
My dad has Alzheimer’s.
We got his official, board certified neurologist’s diagnosis earlier this year, but we’d suspected it for a while. It was not a pleasant process, but we (meaning my mom and I) wrangled him into the university hospital’s neurology clinic and got the official verdict. We (also my mom and I) made him return his driver’s license.
All this is stressful. I will rant about it later. But today was funny, and when something funny happens in a situation like this, you enjoy it because you have to take what you can get.
My mom planned a day out with her friends. She’d go to lunch and then do stuff and come back at around five. She’d been looking forward to it for weeks. The Pumpkin Daddy and Prince and Princess and I also had stuff planned for today, but I worked it around my mom’s request to go check on my dad a little after lunch to make sure he’d eaten the lunch she’d prepared for him and taken his meds.
My mom called me at around ten in the morning to say that there was something wrong with my dad, that he kept coming downstairs from his room asking if it was time to go to the hospital. My mom would point at the calendar and remind him that his appointment was on Wednesday, today was Sunday, and that she had told him about her plans to go out with her friends and that the Pumpkin Prince would come over after lunch. Dad would go upstairs, and then, after a few minutes, return downstairs and ask if it was time to go to the hospital, and my mom would say exactly what she’d said five minutes ago, and he would go back upstairs. Lather, rinse, repeat. I could tell Mom wanted me to stay with Dad the entire time she was gone, because he was acting strange (well, more so than usual) but I couldn’t reschedule the stuff we’d planned, so I told her so and felt super guilty about it. Mom was really disappointed, but she said she understood.
A few minutes later, Mom called again, She sounded really happy. “I’ve figured it out! Everything is fine!”
Apparently, Dad had torn off September from his calendar, forgotten that he had, and peeled off October as well. So, he thought today was November 1st (a Wednesday) as opposed to October 1st (today, a Sunday). He would come downstairs thinking that it was Wednesday, the day of his hospital clinic visit (which would be correct if it actually were Wednesday, but it wasn’t), have Mom correct him, look at the calendar in the living room, see that it was Sunday, go back upstairs, do whatever (watch cat videos on his computer, I guess), forget about the interaction he had with my Mom just 10 minutes ago, look at the November page of his calendar, think it was November 1st, and go back downstairs to ask Mom when she was going to drive him to the hospital, be shown by Mom that it was October 1st, repeat. “So I found the calendar page for October in the trash can in his room and taped it back on the calendar, and now everything is fine!”
“Oh, I’m so glad. Have a good time with your friends!”
And so she did. I’m glad, because she deserves it. When I went to check on Dad, he’d eaten his lunch and had even done the dishes. He tries. When he remembers. And when he can control his emotions. It must be hard when your intelligence is your only asset, and you are losing that, and you know you are losing that. But it’s also hard for your caregivers to get yelled at when they are only trying to keep you from harming yourself.
But today was funny. My mom figured out and solved the problem. And we know that he still knows how to use a calendar. We have to take what we can get.
Monday, September 18, 2017
I didn’t want to post this on 9-11, because even though it’s kind of a 9-11 story, it’s petty and mean spirited and probably not the kind of thing that most people want to read that day. So, I’ve set this to go online later when it’s all less raw for everyone.
Back in the day, there was a boy. Of all the boyfriends I’ve had, he was the most beautiful, outwardly anyway. He had light brown hair and green eyes and boyband good looks. We both liked coffee and Thai food and big hamburgers and chocolate and reading and art museums. He told me I was pretty and I told him he was smart and we laughed at each other’s jokes. It was meant to be, right?
Except it wasn’t. He started ghosting me after a while. I called him on it, and sent him strongly worded emails when he didn’t change the way he did things, and dumped him in June when he still wouldn’t stop. (Except, is it really dumping if he was the one ghosting you?)
We called and texted every so often even after that. Or, rather, I called and texted every so often, and he replied when it suited him. Because I was stupid.
I must have gotten home early that night, because I was sitting at home watching TV when the newsflash about the Twin Towers came on. I picked up my phone and called him.
“Turn on the television.”
“Turn on the television.”
He turned on the television.
Then he hung up on me.
We met once in person after that, on friendly terms. We drunk dialed each other a few times. I think the last drunk dial was his, but I’m not sure. I think it was in March of 2002.
I haven’t heard from him since.
I still think of him sometimes. When I do, most of the time I end up feeling angry. It isn’t so much what happened, but that I still think him worth getting angry over. He shouldn’t matter that much. But he does. Because I am stupid.
But I’ve got my revenge. I am living well. And he is forced to remember me at least once a year for the rest of his life.
Sunday, August 27, 2017
Yasumi dakara natsuyasumi to iimasu
Haven’t posted in a while. Nothing really bad has happened, except for my dad’s Alzheimer’s progressing just like everyone knew it would. That warrants a whole post (or a series of posts) on another day.
Today I’m here to post that it’s the last day of summer vacation for my two offspring. I remember that summer vacation when I went to school was depicted as idyllic. Those 2 1/2 months began at the end of the school year, so you didn’t get any homework, so you ran around with your friends/ went to day camp/ went to summer camp/ had some intense clinics at the YMCA, that kind of thing. Of course, my parents were always anticipating Armageddon for me, so I went to Japanese Saturday School, which meant that I got homework during the six or so weeks of free Saturdays I got out of summer vacation of that. You got to do a whole bunch of math and language arts (Japanese) worksheets and you were also assigned either an essay or a book report or both (depending on
masochistic overly optimistic enthusiastic your teacher was)
and you also had the option of handing in some kind of craft or construction
project. Of course, quite a few of us ended up doing things on the last Friday
before the first Saturday of September, sometimes having to stay up past
midnight to finish those darned worksheets, and lamented that Japanese Saturday
School should be like American schools and not have homework. Then, our moms would
reply that schools in Japan have summer vacation homework, and that was why
Japanese Saturday School has homework.
My kids were pretty good about getting their summer vacation homework done. They had their workbooks done by the second week of August. Still, the journey was not without trials and tribulations. It would have been more vacation-y without homework.
Another thing about summer vacation for kids in this country is that there are required activities, especially in the final year. The Pumpkin Princess had marching band practice the first and last weeks of summer vacation. (Marching band is a required activity for sixth year kids in her school.) She also had juku (the standard translation is “cram school” but they aren’t cramming. They try to teach the kids how to analyze information and write out their findings in a coherent, logical manner) summer courses, and between those things, it worked out so we couldn’t go on any overnight trips during summer vacation. We managed to squeeze in a day trip to the theme park, but that was about as good as it got.
As of 8 pm on Sunday evening, everything is already packed up and ready to go, including the restocked glue and watercolor paints and colored pencils. But I still think that summer vacation should be homework and required activity free (well, maybe a small maintenance dose of workbooks..)