A Foggy Day in Lifesize Town

It had me low.
It had me down.
The "17-day charge capacity" time and energy concept on his new Norelco rechargeable electric razor has Dad in a fog. He needs a lot of attention to talk him through. He needs more help to ponder the best way to break the safety seal on a tube of Avon hand lotion. Small projects, big worries.

Many recording artists have sung George and Ira's "A Foggy Day in London Town." I'm hearing Julie London singing from a clearance bin LP Dad brought home for our hi-fi in the mid-Sixties.



My little art students are beginning a trace-around project. I haven't tackled one of these projects for a couple years because they are joyful, messy, logistical nightmares. On the upside, trace-arounds are popular and fun to display.

Wednesday the kids took turns lying down on a big roll of brown butcher paper in a pose. I traced around forty-five kids. Seeing the outline is exciting as each child loves to know just how big he/she really is.

I hope to post photos of the completed project in April. Until then, I have my own visual aid letting me see exactly how big and ground down my teeth are. My, what big teeth you have, Grandma!

But in foggy Lincoln town my dad is shaving...


© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder

Dads in time-out/Dads in Dubai

My dad is in time-out tonight. The aides have suggested he spend cool-down time in the skilled care lounge instead of going back to his room. He needs an attitude adjustment. Like many of my students, Dad will probably forget why he is sitting aside.

The similarities between my preschool students and my father increase. So do similarities in management methods. Allegedly, another old fart tried to cut in line ahead of Dad at suppertime. Dad cussed him out, big time.

When the wheelchair gangs all travel toward the dining room it's like State Fair bumper cars. Then the frustration, impatience, limited empathy and stunted communication abilties kick in. Next thing you know, you've got a rumble between the Jets and the Sharks.

We said, "O.K., no rumpus,
No tricks."
But just in case they jump us,
We're ready to mix
Tonight.

My walking buddy has flown to Florida to meet her dad's flight. He's headed home from Dubai after being taken off his cruise ship with pneumonia. He spent a week in a Dubai cardiac ICU. She doesn't know if she will have to take him straight to the nearest cardiac hospital from the airport. For her

Today the minutes seem like hours.
The hours go so slowly,
And still the sky is light.
Oh moon, grow bright,
And make this endless day endless night


© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Penthouse of long-term care

The caregivers at Dad's assisted living facility are anxious to move him on up to the skilled care center. His outbursts in the dining room are disturbing to the other residents. They would like to move him from his private apartment into a small double-occupancy room, but with more staff available to assist him.

Dad's already on the east side of town and he's mighty fond of pie. Still, it doesn't seem like an improvement in his situation to be irritated by a roommate and pay twice as much each month!

Well we're movin on up, To the east side.
To a deluxe apartment in the sky.
Movin on up
To the east side.
We finally got a piece of the pie.

Dad was always pretty enlightened, tolerant, and polite, even before Norman Lear brought Archie Bunker and George Jefferson into our t.v. living rooms. One aspect of Dad's dementia is his use of labels we consider racist. This seems to be common characteristic of dementia in the elderly, but that doesn't make it less uncomfortable for anyone within hearing distance.

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Pink Floyd switches from Daylight Savings Time

Time waits for no man, and it is scary to consider Pink Floyd wearing Depends. Time is preoccupying Howie today. I called to ask him the name for workshop masonite with holes because I was having a brain meltdown. He knew "pegboard" immediately, and I hit my forehead and said, "Duh. Thanks."

Dad was fretting about finding the instructions for his Seiko watch to switch from daylight savings. Had I run into those instructions in the chest of drawers at the house? I told him they were probably in the top middle drawer of that chest of drawers which is actually right there in his Eastmont bedroom. He was too anxious to check that out to continue our conversation.

Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity.
Henry Van Dyke (1852-1933)

Ticking away the moments that make up the dull day. Fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way...

© 2009 Nancy L. Ruder

Let's call the whole thing off!

You say TOO ber cles,
I say too BUR kles

We're talking about the bumps on the almost translucent, velvety skin of Mediterranean geckos, a non-native species. The preschoolers are learning about diurnal green anole lizards, and nocturnal geckos. How to pronounce the bumps? Either way, the preschool class got the giggles:

Po TAT to, PO tat oh
TOO ber cles, too BURK les

Let's call the whole thing off!

I'm real self-conscious about em-PHAS-is on the wrong syl-LAH-ble (aggravated in situations compelling my mangled Nebraska pronunciation of foreign composers' names like RICH-erd WAG-ner). I'm accent-challenged, and it's definitely an inherited condition on my mother's side. Nature or nurture.

Back in 1937 when George and Ira Gershwin were struggling with vegetables for the musical, "Shall We Dance?," my mom was learning to read chapter books. A young reader who hasn't heard a word will sound it out and say it in her head. That's why Fritzi believed she was reading stories about De-BOR-ah and AG-knees. Shhh! Don't tell Deborah and Agnes! Fred and Ginger danced their way into the dictionary.

The big controversy growing up was whether those seventy-six sliding instruments were TROM-bones or trom-BONES. I leaned toward TROM-bones because of that capital T that rhymes with P.

My grandmother met Ebenezer Scrooge on a tropical vacation in the BAH-ha-mas, but never met Captain Jack Sparrow in the CAR-ib-be-ann, or the care-uh-BEE-an.

Seventy six trombones led the big parade

With a hundred and ten cornets close at hand

They were followed by rows and rows of the finest virtuosos;

the cream of every famous band.

Lullaby of Birdland

Hummingbirds limit productivity. They prevent multi-tasking. When hummingbirds visit my cannas and feeder, I can't seem to do anything but watch in amazement.

An egret flies over just when the sky is at maximum Maxfield Parish. It seems to have captured all of the late sunlight, glowing intense white against the pink and blue.

Just before dark, my little wren puts in an appearance, hopping along the crossbar of the fence, and showing off its white eye liner. Out comes the bird book to compare Carolina wrens and Bewick's wrens again.

Limiting productivity enhances restorative relaxation! A song is in my head, though.

Oh, lullaby of birdland
That's what I always hear,
When you sigh,
Never in my wordland could there be ways to reveal
in a phrase how I feel

Have you ever heard two turtle doves
Bill and coo,
when they love?
That's the kind of magic music we make with our lips
When we kiss

And there's a weepy old willow
He really knows how to cry,
That's how I'd cry in my pillow
If you should tell me
farewell and goodbye

Lullaby of birdland
whisper low
Kiss me sweet,
and we'll go
Flying high in birdland,
high in the sky up above
All because were in love

Here are some links to watch and listen to George Shearing, Peggy Lee and Ella Fitzgerald:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEo6zQAxUl0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzsEYek8Cws&mode=related&search=

http://www.amazon.com/Best-Ella-Fitzgerald-Millennium-Collection/dp/B000084TSK © 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

Cantaloupe 1971

I'm allergic to pollens of the ragweed botanical family. Bananas and chamomile tea really set me off. I never know if cantaloupe, watermelon, cucumbers, or sunflowers will send me sneezing. I hope not, because I want to know what is different about a Dulcinea cantaloupe.

Kroger had Dulcinea cantaloupe on sale, so I got one. Dulcinea is the name of Don Quixote's envisioned female perfection. Funny that buying a cantaloupe with a brand sticker can send me on a memory trip to 1971.

Fritzi and I had planned to attend the Nebraska Repertory's "Man of La Mancha" together that summer, but she had to have "some female surgery". As a young teen, I had only the vaguest uncomfortable inklings of the complexities of female plumbing. These days my contemporaries have ongoing story sagas with their "female plumbing". Cantaloupe is a memorable scent. So is the smell of the House of Bauer's Bavarian Mints that I took my mom in the hospital.

Dulcinea... Dulcinea... I see heaven when I see thee, Dulcinea, And thy name is like a prayer An angel whispers... Dulcinea... Dulcinea!

PADRE: To each his Dulcinea
That he alone can name...
To each a secret hiding place
Where he can find the haunting face
To light his secret flame.
For with his Dulcinea
Beside him so to stand,
A man can do quite anything,
Outfly the bird upon the wing,
Hold moonlight in his hand.
Yet if you build your life on dreams
It's prudent to recall,
A man with moonlight in his hand
Has nothing there at all.
There is no Dulcinea,
She's made of flame and air,
And yet how lovely life would seem
If ev'ry man could weave a dream
To keep him from despair.
To each his Dulcinea...
Though she's naught but flame and air!


My students are unaware of windmills, and as unlikely to tilt at them as they are to dial a rotary phone. A Bauer's Bavarian mint would taste great right now.


Mom sewed this dress for me that summer.

Roses en route

Don't know why I decided to drive north up US highway 75 instead of I-35. Backward justification made me search out road construction advice to avoid the Ardmore section of I-35. My first hint at the real reason came when I picked up a tourist ad for the Gilcrease Museum in Tulsa at a gas station.

Contemplating the Gilcrease set me to pondering a detour to Claremore to visit Will Rogers' home. Fritzi would have had this drive planned and researched. I was just flying by the seat of my capri pants with color-coordinated sandals.

Crossing the river I spotted an exit NOW sign for the Philbrook Art Museum, and took it. Mom had enjoyed a visit to the Philbrook collection in the opulent estate of oil baron Waite Phillips. Still, she would not have advised crossing two lanes so quickly, even under sparse traffic conditions.



Nature and nurture wholloped me with Fritzi's perfectionistic over-packing and over-planning tendencies, right down to the barf bags and accordian-folded plastic rain bonnets that fit into your purse. My mom's best moments were when she got so caught up in her enthusiasm for art museums, architecture, gardens, and golf tournaments it balanced out her anxieties. Those were some really outstanding vacation experiences for everyone along for the ride.

These roses were almost "glowing in the dark" on an overcast noontime in the formal Philbrook garden:





After this good month of rain and a quick pruning, Fritzi's long-suffering rosebushes had nice flowers. Mom rarely had time or inclination for gardening. The rosebushes baked on the south side of the house by the old television antenna, barely daring to hope someone would rip away the bindweed and spurge. Still, Mom loved floating pretty, fragrant roses in bud bowls on the card tables for bridge club.



Oh! I once heard a poem that goes:
"A rose is a rose is a rose"
Well I don't agree,
Take it from me,
There's one rose sweeter than any that grows!
That's my Rosie
Life is one sweet beautiful song to me.

It's good to take life's spur-of-the-moment side-trips. It doesn't hurt to recast your parents as Dick Van Dyke and Janet Leigh, either!

The early bird gets the perm

I'm still surprised when the stylist twirls my chair around to the mirror, and I see my mom's reflection. How'd she get here? For over forty years my reflection was more like my dad's face shape and coloring.

I like having a perm, but it's always pretty scary when the stylist applies the finishing touches with blow-dryer, curling iron, and dreaded hairspray. I've left salons with hairdos stiff enough to protect an NFL player crashing his motorcycle without a helmet. That's not the real me. I'm strictly a wash, scrunch, and go person.

Today I lucked out. My post-appointment look doesn't make me cringe. I bet Fritzi would have been pleased to leave the beauty shop with this hairstyle. So there you have it! Being fifty-one means never having to say you're sorry to have your mother's hair! What happened to those flowers and San Francisco? What do you mean the Summer of Love was nearly forty years ago?!

The good news is it's a good day for watching hummingbirds going crazy around the blooming cannas on the patio. Wish Fritzi, Petula Clark, and Georgy Girl could join me.

If you're going to San Francisco
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair
If you're going to San Francisco
You're gonna meet some gentle people there
--Lyrics by John Phillips

Yes, it's a good day for singing a song,
and it's a good day for moving along;
Yes, it's a good day, how could anything go wrong,
A good day from morning' till night
--Lyrics by Peggy Lee



So you can color my world with sunshine yellow each day
Oh you can color my world with happiness all the way
Just take the green from the grass and the blue from the sky up above
And if you color my world, just paint it with your love
Just color my world--(Tony Hatch/Jackie Trent)

Bachelor Chefs

My eighty-two year old father talks on the phone with my twenty year old son about the ice crystals in the bag of frozen hashbrowns. They are just two guys cooking for themselves, separated by 576 miles.

I suspect both of them sometimes use the infamous "sniff test" to decide if their clothes are really too gross to wear again. Nobody likes doing the "sniff test" in the refrigerator, though. That's why I was pleased to find this storage safety chart for keeping foods in the refrigerator and the freezer. It comes from the Canadian Partnership for Consumer Food Safety Education.


I like Mrs. Cookwell. She reminds me of my mom and my grandma. I liked this tip, too, even though it goes against my upbringing. I think Mom used to worry that the hot leftovers would warm up the refrigerator too much, so she let most foods cool before placing them in the fridge. She must have been pretty savvy about bacteria growth, though, since we were never bothered by food poisoning:

Should you cool leftovers before refrigerating?
No, you do not need to cool hot food before you put it in the fridge, but very hot food (e.g. simmering chili) can be left out for 30 minutes before refrigerating. The key is to cool hot food quickly to prevent bacteria growth. Bacteria grow very well in the temperature range of 4ºC - 60ºC. Food should be cooled to 4ºC or lower as quickly as possible.
Fast cooling tips include:

• Store food in shallow containers (3 inches (8 cm) or less).
  
• Stir hot foods occasionally to speed-up cooling.
  
• Do not stuff the fridge - allow cool air to circulate around food.

If I had ever studied an instrument, besides the piano, it would have been the sax. Piano lessons provided plenty of evidence that I probably didn't need to study another instrument! That is why I push the buttons on the blender and sing "Born to be Wild" to the revving sounds...

Like a true nature's child
We were born, born to be wild.

We don't like growing wild green fuzzy stuff in the refrigerator, or even purple haze on the leftovers. It's not safe to eat!

Purple haze all in my brain
Lately things just don’t seem the same
Actin’ funny, but I don’t know why
’scuse me while I kiss the sky

'Scuse me while Jimi Hendrix and I go clean out the Frigidaire.