Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Blogging With Benefits

All right! I scored!

Tim Tams straight from the great Down Under, courtesy of Ms Martinis-for-Breakfast. This is what blogging's all about, I do declare: winning treats from other bloggers :)

And they are dee-lish. Won't last long around here.

OK (munch, munch). Just a real quick little update (slurp, munch).

Doris wandered off with her niece's child (what relationship is that?) a couple of weekends ago, whilst out for a stroll (with the little one's parents, no less).

But that Doris is a quick, sly one. She got away with the the 5-year-old and walked for miles. By the time the cops caught up with them, niece was frantic, and Doris and her charge were in central Kookytown, right outside the doors of the local legislature. Said cops were a might testy, according to Doris.

Of course, Anthony only found out about the event yesterday. No one told him for two weeks, least of all Doris. Or the frantic, if somewhat silly, mother. ( I say that because being a mother myself, I know the last person I'd leave my 5-year-old with would be Doris)

But yesterday, she confessed that she'd been hauled home by the police, and she was quite indignant over it.

Doris: "Why'd they (her niece and husband) call the police?"

Anthony: "Oh who knows. Worried sick that you'd disappeared in the crowds with their little girl, perhaps? Without telling them you were taking off? Maybe, ya think?"

Anthony was furious. He's been dealing with his mother's Alzheimer's Disease for two years now. No one else in the family helps. Doris won't budge out of her house. And the rest of them, well, they don't even seem to acknowledge that she is rapidly losing her mind. I mean, you just don't let Doris loose with a little child. Anything could have happenend, and it could have been bad.

But, this is life. And these are family dynamics.

At least, these are the family dynamics, in Anthony's clan.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Oh Fuddle Duddle

You heard me right.

Oh Fuddle Duddle! Of course, you may remember that phrase as the cutesy "cover-up" reply that P.E.T. made up, many a year ago now, when asked by reporters if he'd dropped an F-bomb in Parliament.

I was a kid when it happened, but remember the fuddle-duddle episode with amazing clarity. It was the talk of the town, that's for sure. Of the country, in fact.

Trudeau was like that, a PM who hogged the spotlight with charming audacity. I was reminded of his charm when Anthony and I visited Doris a couple of days ago.

When she answered our knock, she didn't recognize her son, but claimed she knew me instantly. Slowly, it dawned on her who Anthony was.

We came in and Anthony started sorting through the piles of paper and junk, hoping to find some T-slips, as he'll have to somehow prepare Doris' tax return for her again this year.  This awful task is becoming more and more difficult with every passing year, as Doris becomes less and less of this world. She throws out or loses important documents, but saves things like...well, like the ancient Christmas card from the former Prime Minister of Canada that Anthony found amid the detritus sliding off every table-top in her house.

Amused, he handed it to me. I stared at the picture of a youthful man, the signature red rose adorning his lapel, and at his side, an extremely youthful Margaret, smiling up at her hubby, while baby Justin giggled in their arms.

It took me right back.

Me: " Wow. You have an old card from Pierre Trudeau. They look so young."

Doris: "Oh my yes. How old is Margaret now?

We reminisced for a few minutes about the continuing life and times of Margaret and her surviving offspring.

Doris: "(of Pierre Trudeau) He was such a nice man. He'd always come right in and say hello. Just like one of the regular workers."

Anthony and I froze. I saw my husband's eyebrows inch up.

Anthony: "Pierre Trudeau. He'd come right in? When did you meet him?"

Doris: "Oh, many times. He never walked past the house that he didn't come right in and say hello."

This is exactly what my ex-husband does, apparently, as well.

And what Barack Obama did, apparently, just the other day.

Anthony and I gathered up our coats and gloves and hats, and took our leave. We smiled at each other, and drove home. What else can you do when your mother-in-law is convinced that prime ministers, US presidents and other, sundry divorced guys are in the habit of dropping in to her falling-down Kookytown house, just for a quick visit and maybe a cup of tea?

Smile about it, that's all.