Time to Party!

Of a sudden, everything is happening around me. . . and I am "unavailable."  I missed wrestling night, of course.  There are Highland Games and scotch tastings this weekend.  Scotch tastings?  I guess the Scotts have never heard of anything dry let alone Dry January.  And I have friends from afar visiting in town this weekend.  My most published NYC writer friend is here for a few days and hoped to get together, and my long time colleague who was always on my team at the factory is here from from Virginia where she has upgraded to VP of a small factory in a cool-assed town.  

Nope and nope.  

The only thing I will get to do today is go to my beautician at noon to get "fixed."  I may walk up to he home salon holding a piece of cardboard with the word "Homeless" scrawled in magic marker on it.  It will take half the day to get me looking. . . well. . . as good as she can.  Dry January may be doing me some good, but if it is, the good is most subtle.  I still look like Quasimodo with a heavy gut.  But hey. . . the good news is I might get to look like this longers! Huh?  Yea, that's what the "experts" say.  I may be adding years to my miserable life.  

Yesterday was Friday.  I'm sure you were all looking forward to the coming of Friday night and the weekend.  Nothing changes, however, at my mother's house except that the doctor's offices close.  Early in the morning, she had yet another home visit from some health care group as before, a visit in which they do nothing but "evaluate" her.  It's the same evaluation she has had 3 times before, more or less, once by a nurse, once by an occupational therapist, once more by a home nurse, and then, yesterday, by physical therapist--all from the same parent company.  

"Insurance requires us. . . " they say.  

Each time, I tell them what my mother needs most right now is home aid care, someone to help her bathe.  Oh, yea, they say, and they show me that they are putting in a request on their laptops right then.  Ten days in, we've yet to hear a peep from anyone who is going to help my mother.  

And so, it is me. . . me. . . me.  

When The Evaluators left, my mother had chores for me to do.  They needed to be done right away to satisfy her.  They didn't, but I did them nonetheless.  The morning had slipped away.  I made us a late breakfast and cleaned up.  I got dressed for he gym and walked outside with my mother.  Just then a car pulled into the driveway.  It was a couple from down the street who had sold their house and were renting an apartment not far away while they prepare to move to Tennessee.  They came to see my mother, but they were parked behind my car in the driveway, so I stayed and chatted, too.  Then the new neighbor from Georgia came over to say hello just as I thought the conversation was ending.  It was beginning anew.  I needed to take the casserole dishes to the neighbor who had brought the "chicken and dumplings."  That conversation went on and on as well.  By the time I finally got to the gym, it was mid-afternoon.  

When I went to my house to pick up the mail, take a soak and a shower, and get some fresh clothes, I fell asleep.  It was going on five when I woke.  I still had to grocery shop and fix a meal.  But, and this was big, I took my Amazon Fire Stick and remote with me.  I would hook it up to my mother's t.v.  The one I had given her so long ago would not work.  Man. . . I had dreams.  I'd be able to watch something I liked.  There is a new show on Netflix that has gotten some rave reviews.  It has been compared to "Deadwood."  It is takes place in Utah and is about the battle between the Mormons, various Native American groups, and the U.S. military.  And if the setup worked, I would do whatever it took to watch "Land Man" as the final show of the season had just aired.  

I cooked up parboiled cod, rice, and broccoli for dinner.  Oh man. . . it was lousy.  It was tasteless at best, something else at worst.  My mother hasn't any real flavorings other than salt and pepper and red pepper in her house.  

"Get me some ketchup," she said.  

It was that bad.  I used it, too.  

When everything was forcefully eaten and the dishes done, the counters wiped, the table cleaned, I tried the Firestick.  Holy shit. . . it worked like a charm.  My mother sat in the lounger and I on the couch as I excitedly showed her what she could do with this.  I realized right away, however, my mother's mind would not engage.  She would never figure out how to navigate the system.  Anything new or different isn't going to work for her anymore.  So I went to the simplest thing.  I asked the remote for "Gunsmoke."  It came up on Tubi.  It began with Season 1, Episode 1.  I explained that there would be a few brief commercials, but nothing like the commercial channels she watches.  I put it on.  

Wow!  I am pretty sure I had never seen these early ones, and I was blown away with the intro to the first episode.  John Wayne.  Who knew?

Now the funny thing to me is that you can get every episode of "Gunsmoke" on YouTube but the rest of that Season 1 opener.  There must be a darn good reason for that as they used to say.  I wanted to show you how the episode begins.  I've spent a few minutes searching, and I came up with several episode openings.  I wanted you to see Boot Hill and Dodge City, "The Gomorrah of the Plains," as Dylan says.  

I was kind of intrigued by it all.  

So. . . I put it on for ma and watched it with her, but she said, "I've already seen this one."  WTF I thought, by now you surely have seen them all.  I let three episodes play just to show her that there was only a few minutes of ads rather than the slew she got on her commercial channel.  She just grinned weakly and nodded.  

After awhile, I asked her if she would like to watch something else.  

"Yes.  Put something you want to watch on." 

Oh, boy.  I switched over to Netflix and pulled up that new series I'd heard reviewed on NPR so well, "American Primeval."  I let it play for about ten or twelve minutes and paused it.  

"What do you think, ma?"

"You can put on something else.  I'm going to the bathroom."

Well, fuck me.  While she was gone, I switched it back over to commercial cable t.v.  I would not be watching anything without commercials.  It was her house, her life.  I went into the other room to read.  She sat up for the rest of the evening watching commercials.  It is familiar and makes her feel comfortable, I guess.  

I really wanted a bottle of scotch.  Badly.  For the first time.  I was trying hard not to be resentful or to seethe.  I decided to take a Xanax.  If I had a gummy, I would have eaten that as well.  

Friday night.  Party!

I've got nothing.  My mother is up now, and even as I write, I am called.  

"Can you open this for me?"

It is a small packet of Folgers coffee.  

"You don't like my coffee?"

I make a fresh ground pot every morning.  The deaf never need to answer.  

I will make us breakfast soon, and maybe I will get to take a walk before I go to see my beautician.  Maybe.  It is Saturday.  I think I will get takeout for dinner tonight.  Nothing that I would normally get.  Something that suits my mother.  God knows what that might be.  

Drip, drip, drip. . . . 

Even the jazz station was lousy yesterday.  Some days are like that, I guess.  I don't have anything to give you.  For that, I know, some are grateful.