ah, well

= didn’t mention that when we got home on Thursday after the epic beauty parlor afternoon challenge there was a voicemail from the recruiter who had brought me in and interviewed me for the local job and then excitedly put me forward as a ‘recommend’.

“Oh, so sorry, but the feedback we got was not positive for us. They said they’ve already identified candidates with commercial real estate experience. I don’t know what they mean by that as I don’t know how anyone could have had better experience than you, but, well, if we come across anything else that might be a match we’ll let you know.”

I had already acknowledged to myself, even during that very afternoon, that I really wasn’t excited at the prospect of the particular job, didn’t feel ‘right’ about it, but as a port in the storm wherein no matter what I would have worked my ass off doing a good job, I had let myself ‘go there’ — close enough to go see Snowy at lunch every day, maybe we’d even work on moving across the river nearer so nearer to Snowy… relief at having firm footing under us once again so we could finally finish digging ourselves out and being able to back away from the extreme fear of which I’ve been dangling from the edge. Yeah, not where I wanted to end up but content to be thus rescued.

So, NOT.

Terror reigns again in my gut.

————-

I didn’t tell Snowy about it when I visited yesterday. I didn’t think she’d remember so there was no point in reminding her to disappoint her again. 

She was still sleeping when I slipped into her room, her afternoon rest leaving such a gentle, soft touch on her face, smoothing the years and care from view.

I had brought her the 2 gardenia blooms from the little bush by the back screen door – it has surprised me each year when it blooms, detectable by the wonderful aroma.

Snowy had gardenia bushes at each house she lived in (that I knew about, anyway!). The ones in Cherokee Hills were many, massive, and divine, tucked in and around the equally massively blooming varieties of camellia bushes; when she would visit me at UT in the springtime, she would bring me dress boxes full of the small white flowers wrapped delicately, wetly, to keep them living and unbruised for the journey. I would become intoxicated from the perfume and beauty.

The small bush here had had a few flowers which had already quickly begun to brown, but there were 2 new ones that had just become perfect before turning, creamily white and heady in scent. I plucked them with a bit of stem/leaves, got a large ziplock bag and put a folded paper towel in it and filled it halfway with water. I put the blooms in it, zipped it up, and took them to proffer to my little momma.

At first as I sat on the edge of her bed, I held the opened bag under her nose without touching thinking the sweet smell might softly bring her awake with a smile on her face. No response. She slumbered on. So much for that fantasy!

I fixe the ‘mouth’ of the bag open, turning it back on itself as a collar, and set it firmly on the chest of drawers opposite from her bed. I knew she’d be able to see it when she was awake in bed and the smell wouldn’t be SO close to her (as it would on the nightstand, where she also wouldn’t think to turn to look at it) and so hopefully wouldn’t become as cloying. 

Then I sat back down and began softly stroking her leg to gently connect with her if she was anywhere near the end of her nap. Slowly she began to stir and then finally opened her eyes. I sat there quietly beaming a large smile at her but saying nothing until she was truly aware. Nowadays I nearly always tell her quickly, “It’s Shu, your daughter.” I want to avoid making her do a guessing game with herself like some cruel sport. If she already knows me, it’s superfluous; if she needs the reminder, she didn’t have to ask.

She eased easily into ‘knowing’ me and we began to converse. Top on her mind was about the baby and Chick, disappointed they weren’t there with me but understanding that baby’s have needs that don’t always make for nursing home visits. She wanted to know what he was up to, wished I had brought her a picture, hoped Chick was feeling all right. I hunted and pecked for other topics that would make for pleasing, comforting conversation without upending anything. We did pretty well, not perfectly, but acceptably.

Her supper was brought in; no one had checked about taking her out to the day room to eat so I don’t know if this has become customary or occasional for her to eat supper in her room after the afternoon nap. I’m not usually this late in the day visiting to see. She made a huge face of disgust as soon as the tray was put on the bed table, and I’m not sure what would have happened if I hadn’t been there — would the aide have stayed to set her up for eating, or fed her, or ? I had to call after her for a cup to pour the milk in. I poured the milk, took tops of of other things (juice, jello) and offered Snowy the spoon. She held her hands up in protest and declared she didn’t want ANY of it, it was disgusting.

The place is famous in its circles for having really good food. A few times when we’ve been curious as to what something was (since her food gets ‘whipped/pureed’ it is hard to tell!), I have stuck my finger gingerly at the edge of a scoop and tasted and have been intrigued. This time she was having nothing of it. The best I could coax her to do was to have a few tiny swigs of milk, a few sips of juice, 2 small dabs of jello, and 1 small bite each of the 4 unrecognizable scoops on the plate. 3 were frowned at but eaten, but 1 created a dramatic unhappy reaction and she began immediately combing the small portion out of her mouth and into the napkin I offered. I do NOT know what it was, but there was no trouble guessing how she felt about it. She asked me to move the tray away as she didn’t want anything more to do with supper.

When I got up to push the table to the side of the room, I asked her if she’d like to continue our reading from the book we’ve been working on. She really lit up then. So I dug out the Jan Karon Shepherd’s Abiding and plunged into Chapter 5. The book is huffed about in reviews on Amazon because it is short and ‘not enough’ for her fans, but I am finding it is absolutely perfect for engaging Snowy and charming her.

I found I needed to explain the context of the various vignettes in the chapter, just enough to take the edge of ???? off for her, but I think most of all she just loved being read to, especially with as much expression as I could muster (I’m not the fabulous actor in the family!) and the pauses I would take with a merry glance at her when a character would say something humorous. She didn’t need the clues to laugh but she liked having the time in which to do so, and it made us both feel so happy to be sharing the fun in the story. When we got to the end of the chapter, I asked her if she wanted me to read another (even though my voice was hoarsening up a bit), but she was looking a little tired and asked if we could save it for the next time I came to visit without the baby. (When the baby comes, that’s what we are ALL about, just like the hokey pokey!)

About that time the aide came in to see about starting the bed time rituals, so we bade our adieus fairly peacefully and I got ready to slip out. Before leaving her room, though, I patted on the straw hat I had worn driving over to protect my fair face from the sun and to hide my hair/hold it with the top down. I turned to her and said, “How do you like my hat, Momma?”

The darling little woman (with her cute, cute, cute haircut!) who had been telling me all through the visit how beautiful I am and how sweet and precious I am, took a look at me, tilted her head to one side, looked at me again, and said, “Hmmm. That’s INTERESTING.” 

Ha! My real momma is still in there!