a meal to remember

We lunched with Mum in the communal dining room yesterday. That was a bit of an experience…

I had phoned ahead to request extra meals which is a lovely service that the care facility provides. For nine dollars we got a two course meal of roast beef, vegetables and gravy; custard and sponge for dessert. It was exactly what the residents were having, (well except for the pureeing and mashing)  and it was delicious, so it is great to know that they are being served tasty, well cooked and nutritious meals.

We were seated at a small corner table with Mum (when I say we, I mean Daughter1 and I), but somehow managed to be the centre of attention for the dining room.

There were about 11 other residents (the poor man in the room across from Mum’s that called out during previous visits has since passed away) in various states of coherence, and so it was a thrilling room to play.

A man at an adjoining table was mumbling away and Mum kept thinking he was saying something she needed to respond to, “What? What’s he saying?” until I politely explained he wasn’t actually speaking to her. I don’t think she believed me, perhaps she preferred his conversation to mine. I was trying to be upbeat and chatty, repeating the same conversation over every 8 minutes as she appeared to only retain it that length of time, but I sensed her attention was not mine.

Then the matron came over and placed an extra spoon in front of Mum, for reasons known only to her, and Mum’s slight paranoia came to the fore and she decided that I had been colluding with the Matron to get her an extra spoon!  I had been sitting next to Mum the entire time and so how she thought I had achieved that I am not sure! Secret spoon code perhaps?

So, my diabolical plot to equip Mum with two dessert spoons exposed, Mum decided it was time I met the audience, and so announced loud enough for everyone to hear “I don’t suppose you know these people?” Ah no. So all eyes on us now (well the eyes of those who could still hear), she introduces us as her sisters. SISTERS.  And not one person blinked an eye. In fact, I actually noted two nodding their heads in agreement as though it was entirely possible that I was my 85 year old mother’s sister.

I don’t care if they are all old, feeble and demented; they are going down on the stick list for that one. Double laxatives all around.

16 thoughts on “a meal to remember

  1. I remember having dinner with my grandparents while they were in an assisted living facility. That night they served enchiladas. At first I panicked, because I’ve seen people offer my “meat and potatoes” grandfather Mexican food in the past only to have him yell out “I’m not Mexican! What are ya trying to kill me? I wouldn’t eat that slop if ya paid me!” This time he ate it and actually liked it? I guess he forgot he didn’t like a lot of things like Mexican food, and peas……


    • Oh Mum is not beyond critiquing how the vegetables are cooked. believe me! I find that she is quite amiable to what might considered “those in authority” such as the staff and medical staff, but shows a different side to family.


  2. LOL!!! Poor FD. They were just humoring your Mom, I’m sure. 😛 My Grandmama (great grandmother) just turned ninety and she’s still very independent and quick-witted. She doesn’t look her age at all. She looks more like 70 than 90. O.o So whenever she is with my Grandmother everyone asks them if they are sisters. XD LOL!


      • FD, I grew up in the house with my grandmother who had Alzheimers. She was the sweetest lady in the world until she snapped into what we used to call “spells” because she was totally out of it and wouldn’t know who anyone was for days at the time. I know that what you are going through isn’t funny at all and I have no doubt that in spite of your wonderful ability to tell a story in a humorous fashion, it breaks your heart. Please know that I am only laughing at the “story” itself and not truly at the situation. My heart breaks for you to know that you are having to go through this.

        On a lighter note, I can totally see you pushing yourself around on a walker, dressed to the hilt of course, making sure everyone knows how wonderful you are! Big hugs my dear. Great big hugs for you!


  3. I laughed, but you have my complete sympathy. My mother often announces to a crowd of strangers that I am not to be trusted because I am incompetent. More often than not, people smile and give me pitying looks. It’s the oldsters who frown and glare at me. I’m sure I remind them of their own incompetent children. Which is better than being mistaken for my mother’s sister, cousin, mother, whatever!


  4. Ok. That’s it. I’m totally following your blog. Don’t argue with me about it, either.

    First of all, I am a fan of all things funny. I’m especially a fan of all things that aren’t funny, but made to be so. Well done, Flamingo Dancer.

    Secondly and on a serious note, while I don’t have super old parents, I know that one day I will, and I plan on approaching life the way you do. I feel for you. (This serious tone is a rarity for me and really stretches my comfort zone.)

    Take care. I look forward to more. Thanks for sharing your life with others.

    Emily Reese


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