85 going on 83

            At 8:30 a.m. I called Home Place.  “Hi, this is Janis Lussmyer.  I’m calling to let you know I will be taking my mother, Priscilla, out for lunch today.”

            On the other end, Amanda said, “Oh, good.  I was about to call you.  Priscilla was very upset that no one was doing anything for her birthday today.”

            I will not feel guilty.  I will not feel guilty.  We told Mom on Saturday that I’d be taking her out for her birthday.  But maybe I need to communicate a little sooner with the staff about visits and outings.

            It was a Kodak moment when Mom spotted me.  I came in through the courtyard since one of the wheelchair-bound residents encamps at the other door, ready to make her escape.  The activities director and various residents were in the commons area.  Mom—intently working on a simple crossword puzzle--sat across from a woman at a table piled high with neatly folded towels.  When I walked over to her and said, “Hi, Mom!  Happy Birthday!” she turned and her face lit up with a huge smile. 

            We went on in to her room so I could put down my bag and box and umbrella.  “The box is from Bob,” I said, and she eagerly pulled out the Ghiardelli tower:  blue and silver boxes full of her favorite food group (chocolate).  She exclaimed over it, clearly delighted, and immediately decided that her approach would be to open one box at a time.  But not yet.

            I reached into the Walmart bag and handed her my birthday card.  When she drew it out of the envelope, she was confused at first, but then I showed her what was right side up and she exclaimed over the bright red and blue parrot preening its feathers.  Inside the card I had written, “Go ahead and preen . . . It’s your birthday!”  Then I pulled out my gift to her:  an 8 x 10 framed print of Dana, Shawn, and Benjamin.  Oh, she loved it and immediately decided it would go nicely on her wall beside the other family pictures. 

            No sense hanging around . . . Mom was itching to head out, so we did.  We took a rather roundabout way to Applebee’s (which is down the block from Home Place) past the post office so I could mail a letter and on up Midway Blvd. by Whidbey Presbyterian.  I thought she would enjoy seeing the blossoming fruit trees along the way, and she did.  We turned at Highway 20 to admire more trees and head back toward the restaurant.

            When I read off the lunch specials to her, she said the grilled chicken Caesar salad sounded good.  To my delight, she ate about six strips of the savory meat along with a few bites of greens and slivered almonds . . . and a few of my French fries.  Her first comment about the chicken being tough came midway through the meal.  She gave me a piece, which was both tender and delicious.  She accepted my appraisal and then, once she had forgotten it, started on a new refrain:  “That’s right.  I remember now that this is the place that always has tough chicken.  What restaurant is this?”  Next time I will remember that finger foods are best since she prefers her fingers to silverware.

            Even though she was stuffed, she did manage to spoon up about half of the small hot fudge sundae we shared.    Our server was a gregarious young man whom she told, emotion catching her voice, “Today’s my birthday!  I’m 83.  That’s a prime number, only divisible by itself and the number one.”  (Earlier, on our ride to the restaurant, I reminded her she is 85 today, a bothersome fact that does not suit her, but she did the math in her head—“Let’s see . . . 1927 . . .”—assisted by my volunteering the information that this is 2012.)

            We drove around a little while after lunch.  It had stopped raining by the time we got to Home Place.  We chatted awhile, covering the same ground we had been working on since my arrival at eleven:  John working in Seattle today;  me going to Oklahoma tomorrow; her birthday; the gift boxes of chocolate from Bob; the picture of Dana, Shawn, and Benjamin.  A few more hugs, and it was time for her nap and time for me to go.

            I would like to think that the picture and the card will remind her throughout the day that I was there, so she won’t feel neglected.  But I know better than that.  I drove home thankful for the gracious staff at Home Place and happy that this two-hour birthday visit went so well, even though I am the only one who remembers it.