O.P.T.

I just came from visiting Mom, and I gotta say this is the most cognizant she’s been in a very long time. Cognizant and something approaching cheerful. Cognizant and cheerful and nice. I’m still reeling from the experience.

I expected her to be sound asleep at 9 am, as she usually is. Instead, she was sitting on her couch watching TV, dressed and in her right mind. If you count a t-shirt and a Depends as dressed, and if you count “in her right mind” as wanting to talk about Joel Osteen and tough toenails. Fortunately for me, I have ever-adjusting standards.

“You know that new man I’ve been telling you about? Henry? He goes to a different church every Sunday.”

“Well, he just moved here from another city,” I said. “Maybe he’s church shopping.”

Why did I use a piece of Christianese like that? Mom didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. She looked confused and that’s not the look I was going for.

“All I know is he comes back from church and tells us the sermon was terrible or the sermon was really great. Sometimes, he even goes to Bible study in the middle of the week.”

“An interesting man, I’d say,” I said.

“So the other day I ask him if he’s ever heard of Joel Osteen. You know Joel, don’t you?”

“I do,” I answered.

“I love him. No fire and brimstone. He’s very calm. Just tells it like it is and then he’s done.”

“Had Henry heard of him?”

“Henry loves Joel! I told him I’d just caught Joel on that morning, when I thought he was only on at night. Henry did not know he was on in the morning, either. He said we’d look at his TV Guide together and try to figure out all the times we can see Joel.”

“Well, that’s a nice thing you two are talking about. Very cool…”

Mom and her nearly-100-year-old friend Annie have gotten called on the carpet recently for talking trash about the other residents—-IN FRONT OF THEM. In fact, Henry hasn’t lived there more than a month, and the two ladies dished the dirt on him thoroughly. He weighs maybe 500 pounds, and when he said in the lunchroom how he’d had his first shower and how nice it was to get some help, my mother spoke up LOUDLY and said, “Where’d they bathe him? At the CAR WASH?”

But now she and Henry have something fascinating in common: they are both Joel Osteen enthusiasts. I am not complaining.

Mom went on. “Then Henry asked me if I knew that Joel had written a couple of books, and I said yes, I knew.”

Mom can’t read anymore. Just can’t. No newspapers, no magazines, no books. She can’t write, either. Or do simple math, or fill out a check.

“Do you want me to pick you up one of Joel’s books?” I asked, ever the optimist.

“No! I’m sure not going to read Joel if I haven’t even read Tony Orlando!”

After I stopped having a near-death experience laughing, I said, “So what else has been going on?”

“Toe Day.”

“No, not that, Mom. Please, can we talk about something else? I can’t handle…”

“You need to hear this, Katy. It was a disaster.”

I started to gag but controlled myself. “OK, Mom. Tell me.”

“It was scheduled from one to three, right? So thirteen of us gathered in the big room with the fireplace at one. Of course, some of us know to get there early, so we won’t miss out.”

“I thought you signed up for time slots with the podiatrist. Don’t they knock on your apartment door when it’s your turn?”

“No, silly. You’ve got to be there at one, on the dot. And we were—-all thirteen of us. But guess what? Dr. Gout never showed.”

“But he only comes every two months…”

“He got busy at another facility. Didn’t even call. So the whole lot of us were circled up with our shoes off for two hours, waiting. There went my whole day, not that we didn’t have a good time. It’s the best thing on the activities calendar, bar none.”

“Weren’t they showing Pretty Woman last night? That sounds like a lot more fun. You love Richard Dreyfus.”

“Gere, Katy. I love Richard Gere. But even Gere doesn’t beat Toe Day. Just LOOK at my toenails! In fact, could you grab those clippers on the nightstand and try to…”

I ran from the apartment, silently screaming. I have made a promise to myself that I will never consider Toe Day a social event and, even though I am a very useful and helpful person otherwise, I will stick to my guns about not cutting O.P.T.—-Other People’s Toenails.

I looked back over my shoulder to shout good-bye and “I love you!” to Mom as I flew down the hall.

The last thing I heard her say was, “It’s gonna take a whole lot of Joel to calm her down.”

Posted by Katy on 06/02/08 at 03:35 PM

Fallible Comments...

Katy

Having older parents is very difficult. I was unfortunate in that both my parents were very young when they went home to be with Jesus. My Mom died very suddenly 11 years ago. I miss her a lot. So Hang in there with your mom, hard as it is, the alternative isn't better. Blessings.
Posted by Sandi Thompson on 06/02/08 at 06:16 PM
Well, considering how you hate toes, I think you handled it pretty well. I don't mind feet so much, but I agree with you on drawing the line about clipping others' toe-nails. (Though I was giggling when you said you "ran from the apartment, silently screaming".) Blessings!
Posted by Gracie on 06/02/08 at 11:39 PM
And all this time I thought it was Joel Olsteen. With an "l."
Posted by alison on 06/03/08 at 03:22 PM
Before you got to the part about your mother asking you to grab the toenail clippers, I wanted to say, "Well, it could be worse..."

But nope. Nevermind. It's worse.

Your mother sounds like a gem. The car wash? I know I shouldn't be laughing, but I am. And please tell me your mother's podiatrist isn't really named Dr. Gout.
Posted by Kathryn Harris on 06/03/08 at 03:48 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	O.P.T. I just came from visiting Mom, and I gotta say this is the most cognizant she’s been in a very long time. Cognizant and something approaching cheerful. Cognizant and cheerful and nice. I’m still reeling from the experience. I expected her to be sound asleep at 9 am, as she usually is. Instead, she was sitting on her couch watching TV, dressed and in her right mind. If you count a t-shirt and a Depends as dressed, and if you count “in her right mind” as wanting to talk about Joel Osteen and tough toenails. Fortunately for me, I have ever-adjusting standards. “You know that new man I’ve been telling you about? Henry? He goes to a different church every Sunday.” “Well, he just moved here from another city,” I said. “Maybe he’s church shopping.” Why did I use a piece of Christianese like that? Mom didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. She looked confused and that’s not the look I was going for. “All I know is he comes back from church and tells us the sermon was terrible or the sermon was really great. Sometimes, he even goes to Bible study in the middle of the week.” “An interesting man, I’d say,” I said. “So the other day I ask him if he’s ever heard of Joel Osteen. You know Joel, don’t you?” “I do,” I answered. “I love him. No fire and brimstone. He’s very calm. Just tells it like it is and then he’s done.” “Had Henry heard of him?” “Henry loves Joel! I told him I’d just caught Joel on that morning, when I thought he was only on at night. Henry did not know he was on in the morning, either. He said we’d look at his TV Guide together and try to figure out all the times we can see Joel.” “Well, that’s a nice thing you two are talking about. Very cool…” Mom and her nearly-100-year-old friend Annie have gotten called on the carpet recently for talking trash about the other residents—-IN FRONT OF THEM. In fact, Henry hasn’t lived there more than a month, and the two ladies dished the dirt on him thoroughly. He weighs maybe 500 pounds, and when he said in the lunchroom how he’d had his first shower and how nice it was to get some help, my mother spoke up LOUDLY and said, “Where’d they bathe him? At the CAR WASH?” But now she and Henry have something fascinating in common: they are both Joel Osteen enthusiasts. I am not complaining. Mom went on. “Then Henry asked me if I knew that Joel had written a couple of books, and I said yes, I knew.” Mom can’t read anymore. Just can’t. No newspapers, no magazines, no books. She can’t write, either. Or do simple math, or fill out a check. “Do you want me to pick you up one of Joel’s books?” I asked, ever the optimist. “No! I’m sure not going to read Joel if I haven’t even read Tony Orlando!” After I stopped having a near-death experience laughing, I said, “So what else has been going on?” “Toe Day.” “No, not that, Mom. Please, can we talk about something else? I can’t handle…” “You need to hear this, Katy. It was a disaster.” I started to gag but controlled myself. “OK, Mom. Tell me.” “It was scheduled from one to three, right? So thirteen of us gathered in the big room with the fireplace at one. Of course, some of us know to get there early, so we won’t miss out.” “I thought you signed up for time slots with the podiatrist. Don’t they knock on your apartment door when it’s your turn?” “No, silly. You’ve got to be there at one, on the dot. And we were—-all thirteen of us. But guess what? Dr. Gout never showed.” “But he only comes every two months…” “He got busy at another facility. Didn’t even call. So the whole lot of us were circled up with our shoes off for two hours, waiting. There went my whole day, not that we didn’t have a good time. It’s the best thing on the activities calendar, bar none.” “Weren’t they showing Pretty Woman last night? That sounds like a lot more fun. You love Richard Dreyfus.” “Gere, Katy. I love Richard Gere. But even Gere doesn’t beat Toe Day. Just LOOK at my toenails! In fact, could you grab those clippers on the nightstand and try to…” I ran from the apartment, silently screaming. I have made a promise to myself that I will never consider Toe Day a social event and, even though I am a very useful and helpful person otherwise, I will stick to my guns about not cutting O.P.T.—-Other People’s Toenails. I looked back over my shoulder to shout good-bye and “I love you!” to Mom as I flew down the hall. The last thing I heard her say was, “It’s gonna take a whole lot of Joel to calm her down.” Posted by Katy on 06/02/08 at 03:35 PM Fallible Comments... Katy Having older parents is very difficult. I was unfortunate in that both my parents were very young when they went home to be with Jesus. My Mom died very suddenly 11 years ago. I miss her a lot. So Hang in there with your mom, hard as it is, the alternative isn't better. Blessings. Posted by Sandi Thompson on 06/02/08 at 06:16 PM Well, considering how you hate toes, I think you handled it pretty well. I don't mind feet so much, but I agree with you on drawing the line about clipping others' toe-nails. (Though I was giggling when you said you "ran from the apartment, silently screaming".) Blessings! Posted by Gracie on 06/02/08 at 11:39 PM And all this time I thought it was Joel Olsteen. With an "l." Posted by alison on 06/03/08 at 03:22 PM Before you got to the part about your mother asking you to grab the toenail clippers, I wanted to say, "Well, it could be worse..." But nope. Nevermind. It's worse. Your mother sounds like a gem. The car wash? I know I shouldn't be laughing, but I am. And please tell me your mother's podiatrist isn't really named Dr. Gout. Posted by Kathryn Harris on 06/03/08 at 03:48 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Deaf. And Evidently Dumb, Too Previous entry: The Skinny << Back to main


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

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