For that matter, where has the past month gone?

Holy crap. I don't even know what has been going on for the past twenty-eight days. Oh, wait, I do.

First of all, there was some babysitting of my favorite toddler, Ronin. Several exhausting six-to-eight hour gigs. Oh, my, can that little girl shriek. Two-year-olds are totally bipolar. Everything's fine, then suddenly everything sucks and it's time to cry, and nothing will make it better. And then it's time to snuggle. It was fun overall, but also a good counter to my baby-related meltdown of the previous month.

Lots of family time, as well, mostly centered around the Nursing Home Tango. It's like playing goddamn musical chairs. You try to stay a step ahead, but it's impossible. We moved Grandma to a different location, one that specializes in Alzheimer's and other memory loss. It's... it's just weird. It takes a lot of emotional energy to be there.

At times it's a lot like improv. More and more often, it's pointless to deny Grandma's reality as she perceives it. The important thing, what really reaches her, is an emotional response. That's how to keep interacting, rather than going in circles about way too many factual discrepancies to list. An improv tool I've really noticed myself applying with Grandma (not even on purpose) is to respond to the very last thing she said. I like that tool in scenes. In this case, whatever was said thirty seconds ago has already been forgotten. The important thing, onstage and *cliché alert* in life, is the thing that's happening right now.

When Grandma was at the Atriums, several of the staff and a couple family friends told me I'm good with old people, and should work in geriatric care. No way in hell. I haven't got that kind of lifeforce. I'd slit my own throat after a week.

And then there have been shows. Westport. Lawrence. Westport again at the end of this month. Anomaly Orange has been busy. Note: I did not say I have personally been busy as hell with Anomaly Orange stuff. A little busy, but everyone in the troupe has been picking up more offstage tasks. Especially Brandon, who did an outstanding job putting together the Lawrence show. I'm learning to let go of a significant portion the responsibility. Turns out, it is not easy, but I ultimately have more fun, which makes it a nice diversion from all of the above, instead of one more thing to drive me fucking batshit crazy.

Ooh. Yeah. Still a little edgy.

Dear Mrs. Valenti,

Thank you for stopping me today as I was walking Grandma to dinner. Thank you very much for expressing your concern for her sparse eating habits. I need to stay and watch her pick at her dinner? What a fantastic idea. She totally listens to me when I tell her to eat. Besides, watching old people eat is hilarious, and clearly I DON'T ALREADY DIE INSIDE ENOUGH EVERY TIME I SEE HER, which is often. When you shared your earth-shattering observation with me that she needs more care, it's not like I'd just spent ten minutes showing her where the flush-handle on the toilet was, and convincing her to REALLY wash her hands, not just get her fingertips wet. Nah, I was just hanging out on the assisted living floor, not paying attention, 'cause that's what I do for fun.

All the best,
Jenifer

~~~~~~
Feh. If I pumped any more SSRI's into my system, I'd be too numb to do improv, and then I think my life really would suck.

If by "soon," I meant in geological measurements.

I'll return soon with your regularly-scheduled profundity.
-Me, about three weeks ago.

Yeah, so, no. It's not like there hasn't been anything on my mind. In fact, in the past month, my mind has been more full of stuff than it has in a long time. My lungs have been full of stuff, too. I've had this cough since the first weekend in September, and I can't shake it. I sound like Violetta. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but I'm calling a doctor tomorrow.

The last couple weeks have been quite the adventure in gerontology. Grandma had a stay in the hospital, to correct a problem (no need for details), and it's pretty much corrected, but the stress and the changes in location seem to have knocked her further and more abruptly down the memory slide. That happened this summer when she fell, too, and had another hospital visit. Before that, she was getting used to the retirement center, and the independent-living apartment was working out pretty well. At the time of the move, it seemed appropriate.

There's no Medicare-covered test to confirm whether someone has Alzheimer's. There's an optional and expensive method, and there's post-mortem brain autopsy if someone really thinks it's important at that stage, but doctors tend to diagnose it by observation instead. The drugs that treat Alzheimer's can also slow non-Alzheimer's memory loss, so there's little need for absolute certainty. And for a couple years, Grandma didn't seem to be following the Alzheimer's patterns so much as just getting old and forgetful.

In other words, denial was easy.

Now the common symptoms are showing up. The same question three times in five minutes. Simple, everyday words disappearing from her vocabulary. Routine tasks becoming less routine. The frequency of forgetting family names is increasing exponentially. Today when I called, she didn't say "Hello, Jenifer" like she usually does, or ask how Hans and the animals are - those are little signposts that tell me she still knows exactly who she's talking to. I know that she'll recognize me when I see her tomorrow. I see her often enough that I should still be that familiar. I hope. It's starting to sink in that one day, she won't know me.

She's still herself. The disease hasn't eaten her personality yet. She's as kind and as stubborn as ever, still cares about the people around her - never mind her problems, why haven't I seen a doctor for that cough? She still knows her own life history. She's a very intelligent woman, and what may be the worst part of all of this is that she's entirely aware of what's leaving her.

All right. I had some things to write about improv, but they'll have to wait. Hopefully not another three weeks. This post is long enough, and I'm kinda worn out these days.

Say good night, Gracie.
Good night, Gracie.

Rate of Absorption

A couple weeks ago, I got to see my favorite baby person learn to stand. Her play-gym (think zig-zag, like a mini room divider) was on two sides of her, and her dad was lying on the floor blocking her into a small square. He coached her with simple, smiling sentences and let her pull herself up on his densely tattooed forearm. She'd find her balance as he held her sides lightly then took his hands just barely away. When she realized she was standing, she'd draw a surprised breath, her eyes widening, then start to bounce and shake her hands with excitement. Soon she'd fall forward - the interval increasing each time - and JP would catch her. She started to laugh each time at the discovery of this standing business, and again after the fall as JP stood her upright again. The first fall alarmed her, but as she realized her father was there to catch her every time, it became part of the game, a thrilling adrenal reward after balancing on her feet. She started to recognize when her balance was about to fail, and would stretch her arms out to JP, looking up at him on the way down.
~~~

So far, my favorite thing I've done in an improv scene that I remember: In a three-line scene about discoveries, Jess said to me in an evilly throaty voice, "Come with me if you want to live." I drew a breath, looking up in shock and said, "I do! I do want to live!" And with that joyous realization, I followed her offstage.

That might even be one of my favorite moments in my whole life.

Have I mentioned how much I'm enjoying doing improv? How much I love to play, not just sit on the sidelines (even though I'm still kind of afraid of skating away from the wall)? That was the insult-to-injury in stage-managing: not only was there the all-consumingness of the schedule (sleep-deprived much?) and taking the blame for everything while having control over nothing; I had to watch everyone else have fun. I had to shush them and correct them, and pretend I felt good about the whole situation.

Okay, the shushing is occasionally a little fun for me. It's really just that any given activity goes so much better for me when I can hear and focus.

I'm weird about age. It gives me anxiety attacks to be in classes with people half my age. When the teacher is ten or twelve years younger than me, it makes me wonder what the hell I've done with my life. I even switched dentists because when my old one retired, his practice was taken over by a guy who listened to the same music as me. While I don't expect it to make up for the lack of training and study thus far, I hope my advanced life experience speeds up my learning curve. Not that I think I ought to be in the same league as others in my demographic... I just know that life is short.
~~~

I've spent most of this week with Grandma. Monday she had an evaluation at one of the retirement homes she was considering. It did not go so hot. According to this particular facility, which I will not name (but if you need a non-recommendation, ask me privately), her inability to recreate a placemat design with fabric shapes has a direct correlation to the possibility that she'd wander away from the building. Yeah, they wanted to put her in a locked unit with people who are empty shells. Because that's a great way to keep someone interested in living.

Yes, she forgets names and mixes up dates, and it's hard at her age (86) to learn new tasks. She's recently started using a walker, and that's going well, but she's never gotten the hang of the cell phone my aunt got her. That's only to be expected. She's still a good conversationalist, and she still keeps her house, clothing and self clean.

Tuesday we visited The Atriums, and the contrast was remarkable. The owner herself, a kind and vibrant woman of seventy-something, talked with us and showed us around. Residents were having fun in the common areas - we managed to show up for the May Birthdays party (yay, cake!) - and several old friends of Grandma's came up to her asking when she was moving in, and telling her how much she'd love it. When we first got there, of course, Grandma was nervous and quiet, but by the time we left she couldn't wait to come back!

She's excited now about getting to move, and being around friends and having easy access to activities. It's sort of like the aging experience has picked up a college dorm phase, and she's still healthy enough to enjoy it. She doesn't feel an attachment to her house - she's only lived there three years, after quite a few in an apartment. She's lived alone since Grandpa died in 1984, and she sold the longtime family home in 1991. She'll still maintain some degree of solitude - she's that sort, as am I - but she won't be isolated. She'll visit for a week-long stay later this week, and if all goes well (knock wood), we'll plan the move after that. I'll continue to see her often... I just won't be as worried about her remembering to turn off the coffeepot!

Don't Talk About...

Argh. I'm dying to talk about Improv Fight Club. Not about what other people did, just my habitual navel-gazing. The summary of what I would say is this: I'm really glad I went.

And now, for things that have nothing to do with improv:

We've sold our old house! Hans has just left to sign the contract (my name wasn't on the title), and closing is scheduled for June 2. We took less than the county valuation, about 9% less, and 16% under the price at which we'd have probably listed it, had it gotten that far. Even so, we came out ahead. See, we were still painting and fixing things up so that it would be cute enough for our agent's standards, when we were approached by the landlord of the duplex next door. He's a decent guy, only has two or three houses, and tries to do a good job. We haven't known his tenants to have major complaints. He seems to have the intention of not becoming a slumlord. And he wanted the house as-is, saving us some $6K in applied cuteness, and a similar figure in agent commission. Luckily, we hadn't signed a contract with her yet to sell it.

I had hoped, in my liberal do-gooderness, to see it bought by a family who would live there and get a good start as homeowners. In fact, we made it available in March to a local organization that facilitates just such a transaction. But there's a point at which one must think of one's own needs, like not paying two mortgages every month while waiting for a buyer during a bad economy. And it's a little small for a family, unless said family moved from someplace crowded like New York or Tokyo, where 980 square feet is a palatial spread. A couple friends of mine, both single, were considering buying houses, and it would have been a good fit for either of them, but they both decided it wasn't the right time in their lives after all. No hard feelings there - I'm grateful for the delay their interest created. If we had placed it on the general market early, we could have been stuck for a long time. And honestly... I miss shopping.

So, remember where I mentioned that I'm easily distracted? At my therapist's suggestion, finally taken last week when we had a phone appointment because I forgot to go to Lawrence for my scheduled office appointment, I'm trying an ADD med. There's a chance it will not agree with my antidepressant. I apologize in advance if anything goes wrong. If all goes well over the month or so that it takes to build up to a therapeutic dosage, I expect to become über-efficient, and take over the world by the end of the year.

I'll spend today with Grandma Judy, like I usually do on Tuesdays and Fridays. This is a topic with an upcoming blog (at least one) all to itself: aging, mild-to-moderate Alzheimer's, not finding the right placement level in a retirement home, family dynamics... oy vey. I love her, and I can't begin to say how rewarding it is to spend time with her, but at the same time I'm glad I get to go to Hype 7 rehearsal at the end of the day.

Oh, and I got another tattoo. Photo coming soon!