Late Bloomer?

“Have you finished your therapies for today?” I ask my mom on arriving for a morning visit.

“I’m half done,” she says. “I’ll finish later. All the therapists and nurses have been called to a meeting, and I know why.”

Sounds fishy to me, and I’ll bet it does to you, too.

“Okay, Mom. I’ll bite. Why are they all in a meeting at the same time?”

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “To talk about….her.” She points through the drawn curtain, toward her roomie, Inez.

“What’s up with Inez?” I ask.

Mom shushes me. “She’s just pretending to be asleep. She’s listening to every word we say. Keep it down!”

I lean in closer, touch her hand, and mimic her whisper. “What’s up with Inez?”

“Her daughter-in-law was here at six a.m. When Inez didn’t open her eyes, the woman said, ‘Are you on drugs?’ And then Inez said, ‘Yes. They give me drugs to make me sleep.’”

“So, let me get this straight. Do you think someone here has been slipping mickies into her V8?”

“I know so. Her daughter-in-law started packing her stuff up right then.” Mom pointed to the clock on the wall. “See that? That’s all she’s got left that’s not packed. She’s leaving today, and I’m thinking it will be on the daughter-in-law’s lunch hour.”

I listen closely for Inez’s characteristic death rattle. Sure enough, the old gal’s asleep. She couldn’t fake that noise if she tried. I get up and move across the room, passing Inez’s bed, toward her wardrobe closet.

I open it as stealthily as I’ve ever done anything in my life, and sure enough, nothing has been packed at all. I sneak back to Mom’s side of the room.

“Mom, everything’s still on hangers. I don’t think she’s going anywhere…” By the sounds of her, of course, I think she may soon be going to her final destination, but I don’t say so.

“I could have sworn that daughter-in-law of hers was packing. And that would be against the rules of this place. You have to give them seven weeks’ notice when you’re moving out.”

“Seven weeks?” I say. “Do you mean seven days?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

I try not to appear startled. “Anyway, Mom, I’m sure Becky will be in soon to do your physical therapy. The meeting must be nearly over.”

“I hope so,” she says. “I talked to the guy who helps me get dressed and told him all about poor Inez. He didn’t act surprised at all that they’re drugging her, which made me wonder if he’s in on it, too. Do you know what he said?”

I can’t begin to guess. “What, Mom?”

She gazes earnestly into my eyes and squeezes my hand, as if to impart strength for what’s to come. “Next they’re going to give her cocaine.”

I burst out laughing, and don’t care whether I awaken Inez or not.

“Mom, you’ve missed your calling. You should have written suspense novels.”

She laughs, too, and then she smiles for longer than usual, as if she’s just imagining potential career possibilities for the very first time.

Posted by Katy on 10/20/05 at 05:35 PM

Fallible Comments...

Or maybe, just maybe, it's Mom who's getting the drugs! :)
Posted by Bridget on 10/20/05 at 09:44 PM
The first year of our marriage twenty years ago my husband's grandfather died, and we ended up moving his 89 year-old grandmother to a teacher's retirement center in the town we lived in. His parents were career missionaries in another country, and his aunt was in another state. We then ended up caring for her till her daughter decided to move her closer to her home.

She was an amazing woman. She had a master's degree and played woman's basketball in college, and she still, at that time, exercised every day!

She would call us for the craziest things. One day she called and said, or rather commanded was more her normal tone, "Tell him to put on his Sunday suit and get up here."

"Why Grandma? Is something wrong."

"Just tell him he has to put on his Sunday suit and get up here right away!"

My husband her back. "Grandma, what's going on?"

"You have to put on your Sunday suit right now and get up here right away!"

"Grandma, I'm not going anywhere wearing a suit until you tell me why."

"Well . . . . . they just put this black woman at my table, and you HAVE to put on your Sunday suit and come up here and tell them to move her!"

"Grandma, I am NOT going to put on my Sunday suit and come up there and tell them to move her. She is going to sit at your table with you."

Shortly after there was some kind of an "occasion" at the teacher's retirement center, and my husband and I attended. We met the beautiful "black" woman. Honestly, she was truly more beautiful than any of the other men or women at that place. And she was certainly more kind and delightful and well-mannered and polite and confident than any of her retired teacher peers!

We laughed with sorrow. How sad that his grandmother short-changed her life by not getting to know such a beautiful and intelligent woman.
Posted by Ame on 10/21/05 at 01:41 AM
Katy, will you do me a favour? Next time you go to see your Mom, please give her a huge hug. Tell her that it's from an absolute fan of her's, from Finland! :D
(I need to stop reading your blog at work. We have an open office, so it's a bit awkward sitting here and laughing at my pc...)
Posted by eija on 10/21/05 at 10:00 AM
Jim says that to people on cocaine seven days IS seven weeks. Don't you know that? (spoken just like the DARE officer that he is...)
Posted by Bridget on 10/21/05 at 12:08 PM
That was hilarious! Your mom is cute.
Posted by Pattie on 10/21/05 at 12:08 PM
Katy, I've been here several times, but I don't think I've ever left you a comment.

I just wanted to say that I like your writing and...um, your blog smells pretty. (All that soap, you know.)
Posted by Brenda Coulter on 10/21/05 at 11:50 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Late Bloomer? “Have you finished your therapies for today?” I ask my mom on arriving for a morning visit. “I’m half done,” she says. “I’ll finish later. All the therapists and nurses have been called to a meeting, and I know why.” Sounds fishy to me, and I’ll bet it does to you, too. “Okay, Mom. I’ll bite. Why are they all in a meeting at the same time?” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “To talk about….her.” She points through the drawn curtain, toward her roomie, Inez. “What’s up with Inez?” I ask. Mom shushes me. “She’s just pretending to be asleep. She’s listening to every word we say. Keep it down!” I lean in closer, touch her hand, and mimic her whisper. “What’s up with Inez?” “Her daughter-in-law was here at six a.m. When Inez didn’t open her eyes, the woman said, ‘Are you on drugs?’ And then Inez said, ‘Yes. They give me drugs to make me sleep.’” “So, let me get this straight. Do you think someone here has been slipping mickies into her V8?” “I know so. Her daughter-in-law started packing her stuff up right then.” Mom pointed to the clock on the wall. “See that? That’s all she’s got left that’s not packed. She’s leaving today, and I’m thinking it will be on the daughter-in-law’s lunch hour.” I listen closely for Inez’s characteristic death rattle. Sure enough, the old gal’s asleep. She couldn’t fake that noise if she tried. I get up and move across the room, passing Inez’s bed, toward her wardrobe closet. I open it as stealthily as I’ve ever done anything in my life, and sure enough, nothing has been packed at all. I sneak back to Mom’s side of the room. “Mom, everything’s still on hangers. I don’t think she’s going anywhere…” By the sounds of her, of course, I think she may soon be going to her final destination, but I don’t say so. “I could have sworn that daughter-in-law of hers was packing. And that would be against the rules of this place. You have to give them seven weeks’ notice when you’re moving out.” “Seven weeks?” I say. “Do you mean seven days?” “Isn’t that the same thing?” I try not to appear startled. “Anyway, Mom, I’m sure Becky will be in soon to do your physical therapy. The meeting must be nearly over.” “I hope so,” she says. “I talked to the guy who helps me get dressed and told him all about poor Inez. He didn’t act surprised at all that they’re drugging her, which made me wonder if he’s in on it, too. Do you know what he said?” I can’t begin to guess. “What, Mom?” She gazes earnestly into my eyes and squeezes my hand, as if to impart strength for what’s to come. “Next they’re going to give her cocaine.” I burst out laughing, and don’t care whether I awaken Inez or not. “Mom, you’ve missed your calling. You should have written suspense novels.” She laughs, too, and then she smiles for longer than usual, as if she’s just imagining potential career possibilities for the very first time. Posted by Katy on 10/20/05 at 05:35 PM Fallible Comments... Or maybe, just maybe, it's Mom who's getting the drugs! :) Posted by Bridget on 10/20/05 at 09:44 PM The first year of our marriage twenty years ago my husband's grandfather died, and we ended up moving his 89 year-old grandmother to a teacher's retirement center in the town we lived in. His parents were career missionaries in another country, and his aunt was in another state. We then ended up caring for her till her daughter decided to move her closer to her home. She was an amazing woman. She had a master's degree and played woman's basketball in college, and she still, at that time, exercised every day! She would call us for the craziest things. One day she called and said, or rather commanded was more her normal tone, "Tell him to put on his Sunday suit and get up here." "Why Grandma? Is something wrong." "Just tell him he has to put on his Sunday suit and get up here right away!" My husband her back. "Grandma, what's going on?" "You have to put on your Sunday suit right now and get up here right away!" "Grandma, I'm not going anywhere wearing a suit until you tell me why." "Well . . . . . they just put this black woman at my table, and you HAVE to put on your Sunday suit and come up here and tell them to move her!" "Grandma, I am NOT going to put on my Sunday suit and come up there and tell them to move her. She is going to sit at your table with you." Shortly after there was some kind of an "occasion" at the teacher's retirement center, and my husband and I attended. We met the beautiful "black" woman. Honestly, she was truly more beautiful than any of the other men or women at that place. And she was certainly more kind and delightful and well-mannered and polite and confident than any of her retired teacher peers! We laughed with sorrow. How sad that his grandmother short-changed her life by not getting to know such a beautiful and intelligent woman. Posted by Ame on 10/21/05 at 01:41 AM Katy, will you do me a favour? Next time you go to see your Mom, please give her a huge hug. Tell her that it's from an absolute fan of her's, from Finland! :D (I need to stop reading your blog at work. We have an open office, so it's a bit awkward sitting here and laughing at my pc...) Posted by eija on 10/21/05 at 10:00 AM Jim says that to people on cocaine seven days IS seven weeks. Don't you know that? (spoken just like the DARE officer that he is...) Posted by Bridget on 10/21/05 at 12:08 PM That was hilarious! Your mom is cute. Posted by Pattie on 10/21/05 at 12:08 PM Katy, I've been here several times, but I don't think I've ever left you a comment. I just wanted to say that I like your writing and...um, your blog smells pretty. (All that soap, you know.) Posted by Brenda Coulter on 10/21/05 at 11:50 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Before And After Previous entry: The Good Stuff << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Late Bloomer?

Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri