September 8 – “Silverware gig”

Mom hit the obsessive Alzheimer’s type behavior hot and heavy night before last.  From just after midnight to around five AM she was up and hard at work in the kitchen.  Chris got up with her to make sure she didn’t fall.  Under Chris’ watchful eye Mom began a series of behaviors that were so strange that even the nurse in Chris was fascinated. 

Mom began by tapping her fingers all along the counter tops, partly to maintain her balance I guess, but the tapping seemed to be deliberate, like she was carefully considering her next moves.  She opened and closed drawers.  Once or twice she removed all the spoons and placed them in meticulous order on the counter.  Then she gathered them all up and took them over to the sink.  Chris thought maybe she was going to wash them, but she then returned them to their spot in the drawer.  She occasionally stopped to turn the water on, and even washed her hands a time or two.  She also tried her hand at refrigerator inspection five or six times. 

Chris did step in as she usually does and tried to get her to return to bed.  Like when the refrigerator started its customary beeping noise to indicate the door has been left open.  One time Chris blocked a drawer so Mom couldn’t open it, so Mom just pulled at it again and again.  Chris said she was afraid she’d have a bruise on her hip before Mom finally moved on to the next drawer.  Then she returned to the formerly blocked one and was amazed that it actually opened.  Chris was finally able to get her back in bed by 5:15, but Mom was back awake again around 7:30 as if she had slept all night.  Sure hope that night was the exception rather than the rule.

Speaking of spoons, when Cailyn was here and she and I were sitting at the table enjoying some food, “that look” came over her face that says, “I have an idea.”  In fact she actually said, “DadDad, I have an idea.”  I replied with my usual, “I can’t wait,” as she jumped up from the table and ran to the kitchen.  She returned with no less than two spoons and two forks.  Grinning, she proceeded to explain, “See, DadDad.  We can be a band.”  I was presented with a fine set of forks as if there was no question at all as to what I was supposed to do with them.  Happily, she began the jam session by closing her eyes, leaning her head back, tossing her hair, and … banging her spoons together.  As soon as I got the beat, I joined in with my forks.  She occasionally added new sounds, like a crack to the table (which I recommended against since it would leave a Mark that Nani would surely see), or to her plate (which was, thankfully, made of plastic and designed to handle much worse, I’m sure).  We sounded pretty good, if I do say so myself (and I must because no one else heard us).   Maybe we could somehow incorporate Mom’s countertop tapping … Hmm.  See me later if you want to schedule a gig.

Psalms 27:11 says, “Teach me your way, O Lord; lead me in a straight path because of my oppressors.”

Father, I don’t know about the oppressor part, but I could sure use your teaching.  My way doesn’t usually turn out so god.  Amen.