It was so wonderful to have my mom spend last month with us. She’s 87 now, though
if you ask her, she’d say she feels like she’s in her 60s or so. She likes to say that fish and company smell after three days, but I beg to differ. Perhaps some company smells after three days, but not my mother. She’s the easiest, most pleasant person to have in any home. Here’s how she spent her days:
She’d wake up around 9:00 a.m., laze a bit and then shuffle on out around 9:30-10:00 in her bathrobe and slippers for her morning coffee, her “Nectar of the gods!” She’d have a piece of raisin or peanut butter toast, a small glass of milk, and then she’d sit and read the paper, maybe start on a crossword puzzle. She’d then exclaim how lazy she is and how guilty she feels not being dressed yet.
If she spent more than an hour getting ready for the day, it was because she had to shower. When that was done, she’d come out to the living room and drop into the chair and bemoan how hard it is and what a pain it is to get all clean. (I was never sure if she was just kidding or if it really wore her out. I’m thinking it really wears her out! She’s 87!!)
She’d find her book that she’s read at least three times or a crossword puzzle or 
perhaps her knitting, settle herself in the chair, and then she would proceed to entertain herself. She’d glance at whatever was on tv, she’d visit with whomever was in the room, and she’d have to pat and talk to the dogs as they begged for her attention. She’d snack here and there but wouldn’t eat much. If you found the living room empty, it was because she was in front of her laptop playing – and winning – at bridge. If you asked if she wanted to go to the store or for a drive, she’d happily oblige saying, “Just point me where I’m going.” After dinner (God bless the cook!) she’d watch tv, do her crosswords, reminisce a bit, tell me I worked too hard.
Once she had her bedtime snack of peanut butter and honey toast with milk, and after she told you how spoiled she was, we would say our goodnights, and I would hear the echo of my childhood in her quiet, “God bless you.”
She’d tell you how lovely your home is, your town, your partner, your dogs, and how happy she is for you.
My mother has a gracious and joyful spirit. She remembers mostly the good and happy times, and she loves to relive them. She repeats herself often, forgets what you’ve told her and needs to be reminded of your grandkids’ names. But she is all the things I hope to be when I’m her age: Happy, grateful, kind, loving, non-judgmental, sweet.
And welcome any time. [portfolio-gallery include=2737]
LiviKnit 