This remarkable discovery is the result of aged mother’s desire to join the travelling circus by taking up tumbling in the back garden. The silly old dear could easily have died of hypothermia had my sister not arrived on the scene in the nick of time. After a long, stressful night of rushed conversations on the family jungle grapevine, mother is now under 24/7 surveillance.
Instant promotion for yours truly to personal shopper, batch cooker, bin emptier, patio sweeper and fitness instructor. Early morning wake up calls my speciality. Tea and chat on the hour every hour. Apples to be cleared off the lawn to stop the neighbourhood rat taking a nibble out of each one. The list of chores grows daily.
Think this is easy? Let’s throw in working from home between the hours of 7 am and 10 am too just to keep you on your toes. I’m sure the district nursing team who turn up on the doorstep each morning around 9.00 am are used to me opening the front door in a set of mismatched PJs, with hair that makes Beetlejuice look well groomed.
After two weeks of waiting hand and foot on dearest mama, I’m exhausted. She’s spent a fortnight in business class whilst I’ve been stuck in the worst kind of economy seat. Hats off to those folks who do this for a living. Give me a spreadsheet any time!
Things I’ve learnt in my new career as Help the Aged:
Old people are insanely stubborn. There are more compliant mules out there and in fact, I reckon it would be a lot easier to persuade mules to take up underwater knitting than to encourage elderly peeps to make changes for the better like using the expensive walking equipment I’ve just shelled out for.
Elderly logic is like a complicated algebraic equation – almost impossible to get your head round.
Crumble-Gate is just one example of this. Let me give you a taster of this by recalling an episode that took place as I was peeling an industrial quantity of apples harvested from the lawn to prepare a scrummy batch of mini apple crumbles to store in the freezer.
Mum - ‘What’s that you’re cooking?’
Me - ‘Well, I thought I’d make some lovely apple crumbles for dad’
Mum - ‘Your dad doesn’t eat crumble.’
Me - ‘Really? But you’ve always made him crumbles in the past.’
Mum - ‘He won’t eat them because he’s on a diet.’
Me - ‘Ok. If he’s on a diet then why does he scoff a whole large bar of chocolate every night? Surely that’s fattening?’
Mum - ‘He only eats chocolate because there wasn’t any after the Spanish civil war.’
Me - ‘Right so he’s not on a diet then.’
Mum – ‘Your dad doesn’t want to get fat. He just likes chocolate.’
I continue my one-woman British bake off determined my crumbles should qualify for a Hollywood Handshake. I know dad is going to love tucking into these since I have fond recollections of him nicking all our sweets in years gone by. He’s always had a sweet tooth.
Half an hour later, the delicious smell of cinnamon apples fills the kitchen. Mum has long forgotten our Crumble-Gate conversation as we’ve now entered into a geriatric ground-hog day parallel universe where the same sentence has been on a continual repeat loop for the past 15 minutes. Honest, it’s hard not to say ‘yes, you’ve just said that’ but I bite my tongue and just um and ah in the right places.
I’ve also discovered that oldies are devious masters in the art of procrastination. As mum’s newly designated fitness instructor it’s been impossible to find the right way of actually getting her to do the small daily exercise regime prescribed by the Physiotherapy Team. I’m amazed at the lengths she’ll go to in order not to do them including appearing completely starkers one morning claiming she couldn’t do her fitness because she wasn’t properly dressed. Head slap. I’ve seen it all now! Muuuuummmmm!
Patience is a virtue. Mine is now in short supply. Anyone for crumble?
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