On Borrowed Time

Just a few words tonight...a very brief post indeed.  Meant mainly for those of you who are visiting to get the latest info on Nana/Momma/Edith.

N/M/E's journey is almost complete.  She is sleeping almost all of the time, made as comfortable as possible by the medications and ministrations of the loving, caring Hospice Home of High Point staff.  One of us is with her 'round the clock now, so that she can feel our love and presence...even if she rarely gives an indication of knowing we are there. We are told that the sense of hearing is the last sense to go, so we talk to her...tell her that we love her and will miss her.

The signs are all there, although they come and go.  Her fingernails turn bluish and her skin shows "mottling," a purplish discoloration...both indicative of reduced circulation. Since Wednesday night, she has exhibited apnea, which has increased in duration (by my count) from pauses of 4 seconds to pauses of nearly 18 seconds (this afternoon).

The natural tendency is to ask "how long?"  No one knows, and as Dr. Powell (the medical director...and a wonderful, caring physician) says "each person is different."  He followed that with:  "of course, this is one strong-willed woman."  You have to laugh, don't you?  Even with tears in your eyes, you have to laugh.

I didn't want my next post to come as too great a shock, and I knew that you would want to be kept in the loop...even if the news sounds sad.

Say a little prayer for Nana/Momma/Edith...that her transition from this life to the next is a peaceful one.  Thank you.

Rena Belle Would Be Proud

Lemon Meringue Icebox Pies

So, what do you think?  Is that a gorgeous Lemon Meringue Icebox Pie or what?  Both of them, even. I do believe Rena Belle would be proud, for sure.

If you have seen the front cover to the new Southern Living magazine, you have seen a similar picture...only theirs is of a Lemon Meringue Ice CREAM pie...not the same at all.  I took the latest issue to Mom this morning, and just as I had predicted, she asked me to "make her one." Only, she was specific with her special request:  make one like Rena Belle used to make...meaning she wanted Lemon Meringue Icebox Pie.

If you ever visited us when we lived in Henning, you know the name Rena Belle.  I've posted about that wonderful woman before.  She was so much more than The Help; she was the majordomo of our little household. And, she was a fantastic cook to boot.  My favorite dessert...and Mom's too...was her Lemon Meringue Icebox Pie.  I think I've told you that she used to make lemon for me, and a chocolate one for Bro J.  I've tried to recreate it as best I could from memory, given the amount of time that has passed and the fact that she didn't write any recipe down. I am not a big fan of meringue anyway (I used to scrape it off the pie and just eat the lemon-filling and crust...:-), so it isn't one of those "mile high" versions.  [Scroll down for the recipe.]

Speaking of The Help, I can't wait to see that movie.  A good friend from Greenwood, MS, had several posts on Facebook back when they were filming it, so I feel more than a little connection.  Of course, having grown up in the South in the mid-fifties, sixties, and early seventies...and having Help in the house for all my younger years...I imagine I'll recognize a theme or two, don't you?

Let's see, when I was a couple of months old, Momma went back to work.  She was a social worker with the State of Tennessee in Shelby County, and being a Mom for the first time at 33, she said she could be a better mother if she worked outside of the home rather than in it.  Of course, she made sure that I would be cared for while she and Daddy were working.  After all, she had grown up in houses with Help who performed the chores and provided the childcare, so this was a natural for her.

Enter Sarah.

I don't really remember Sarah, and I only have a couple of fuzzy photos of her.  She was with us until she made the mistake of paddling me with one of those paddleball (wooden) paddles for some infraction or other.  [Oh, I know what the infraction was, but I'm not committing it to text.] 

After that, Momma had to fire Sarah before Papaw shot her...or so the story goes.  Papaw (my grandfather Keaton) was my protector from the day I entered this world...he had a hair-trigger temper...and it was a different time. He was just one generation removed from the Civil War, having grown up hearing about the death of his Grandfather Cummings following the battle of Kennesaw Mountain in Georgia. What more can I say?

Next came Ruth.  Papaw hired her, so he made sure he found someone to his liking. Ruth was tall, big-boned, and good-as-gold.  She let me do pretty much as I pleased, so that means she was probably plenty smart, too.  She was with us until Bro J was born, and we moved from Memphis to Henning.

There, we were first cared for by Arbella, who was married to Sam...who was Daddy's right-hand man.  Arbella loved Her Baby (as she always called Bro J).  Me?  Not so much.  No matter.  Just a year after that move, I started to kindergarten, so I was out of her hair most of the day anyway, which was probably a good thing.

Arbella was with us for a few years...until she kinda lost it and started talking to inanimate objects.  I vividly remember her blasting away verbally at the iron one day when I was about 7 or 8.  That was right before she got a gun to try to blast away Sam.  He survived, but I think she went to Western State for a little while to recover.

After a series of temporaries, Rena Belle came to our rescue.  And the rest, as they say, is our history. She lived in a little house a few blocks south of where we lived, guarded over by her faithful dog named Danny Boy. She was in our kitchen Monday through Friday before Daddy left for work at 7:00, and she stayed until Momma came home from work at 4:45.  She washed, ironed, cleaned, cooked, and cared for us...and most of what I know about any of those things, I learned from her.

She was famous for getting dirty clothes into the washing machine in record time...sometimes before they had even been pronounced "dirty" by the wearer.  And, she could starch things to where they could stand up on their own. 

She loved to bake sweets, and she taught me how by allowing me to make as big a mess of the kitchen as possible.  And, she loved to laugh, a laugh that went all the way to the crinkles around her eyes...but she always covered her mouth when she did.

[Now, before some of you get your knickers in a twist, please recall what I said:  it was a different time.  And, regardless of how it sounds now as I am recalling the story, please pause to consider something very important:  did I turn out the way I have because I was raised by such strong women of color? For sure, Papaw would have disowned me in 2008...although I'm not certain for which of my transgressions:  voting for a Democrat, voting for a black man, or voting for someone from Illinois?]

Memories...

Anyway, I'm happy to report that today is a calm and restful one for Mom, one in which her pain is being well-managed.  She's responded well to the higher doses of her meds.  No sign of the congestion that was plaguing her this weekend.  I'm headed back over to Hospice Home now with another bowl of Brunswick Stew for dinner, and I hope N/M/E's saving room for her dessert.

A slice of Lemon Meringue Icebox pie.  Just like Rena Belle used to make.


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Rena Belle's Lemon Meringue Icebox Pie

1 14-oz. can sweetened condensed milk (We just called it "Eagle Brand"...:-)
1/2 cup fresh-squeezed lemon juice (about 1 large lemon's worth)
Grated rind of the lemon
4 eggs, separated
4 T. sugar
2 T. white Karo syrup (opt.)
1/2 tsp. cream of tartar (opt.)
1 tsp. vanilla
1 9" graham cracker pie crust (purchased or homemade...see below)

Pre-heat oven to 325 degrees. 

In a large bowl, mix the Eagle Brand, lemon juice, lemon rind, and the egg yolks together.  Beat until thickened.  Pour into the prepared pie shell. Set aside.

Make meringue in a separate bowl by beating egg whites and cream of tartar until stiff enough to form peaks. Add sugar, syrup, and vanilla.  Beat again until stiff.

Cover pie filling with meringue, sealing all the way to the edges of the crust.  Bake in preheated oven for about 15 minutes, or until peaks begin to brown slightly.  Cool a bit before putting in refrigerator to chill.

Chill thoroughly before cutting.  Enjoy!

(Go ahead and double the recipe.  You'll be glad you made two!)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Graham Cracker Crust for 9" pie

9-10 graham crackers (about 1 "sleeve" of a box)
4 T. butter, melted
4 T. sugar

Crush the graham crackers into a fine powder.  Mix with butter and sugar.  Press into 9" pie plate.

No Tears Today!

Flowers from the garden for Momma



Oh, what a beautiful mornin',
Oh, what a beautiful day.
I got a beautiful feelin'
Ev'rything's goin' my way.
--from Oklahoma

(Follow the link to listen to the music...:)

OK, so it's no longer "morning" when I'm writing this.  And the "day" I'm talking about was yesterday.  Let's not be too picky.

When Mr. T and I arrived at Hospice Home yesterday for a visit with Nana/Momma/Edith, she was awake, alert, and in a talkative mood.  Woo hoo!  We had brought a cup of watermelon chunks for a taste-treat, and she enjoyed almost every single one of them...with salt, of course.  I texted the word that she was available to talk on the phone, and she took a call from Bro J in Nashville and one from SIL LaD in KY.  It was a wonderful morning indeed!

Made even more so, since just 24 hours before, it had been an awful, terrible, horrible, very bad day. Nothing was right; nothing was working.  Mom couldn't get comfortable, no matter which way she was positioned. She was frustrated, upset, in pain, and crying.  Of course, being of no help whatsoever, I began to cry, too. The nurse practitioner, who had just adjusted Mom's morphine the day before, adjusted the amount yet again (doubling the pump-dose from 2 days before).  And, the nurse...recognizing high anxiety when she saw it...gave Mom more anxiety meds than scheduled to help calm her.  (Only half kidding, I asked her if she had one of those for me...:-)

Well, what a difference a day makes...as they say!

We had a wonderful visit with Mom yesterday, and as we were leaving, she said "you know what I want you to bring me tonight?"  What?  "A small pepperoni pizza from Donato's!"

You betcha!

We did...and she ate half of it!  And then polished off a cup of orange sherbet!!  What a wonderful day indeed!

So, today I'm making a pot of Brunswick Stew.  Yes, I am aware that it is nearly 100 degrees outside.  And, I know that my garden is so overgrown with head-high weeds (I kid you not) that a sane person...well, at least one that is afraid of snakes...wouldn't set foot in it to find the necessary ingredients. 

But, I'm on a roll here. And, Brunswick Stew is on Mom's special request menu, because it reminds her of summertime on Nananny's farm in Hardeman County, where they would make a big, cast-iron pot of stew when the garden would start to "overproduce:" start producing more than they could eat at meals, put up for winter, or give away to others.

I did find potatoes, carrots, corn, tomatoes, green peppers, onions, and okra in enough quantities to make a pot of stew...and no snakes, thank goodness.  The only thing that would have to come from a can would be lima beans...they've stopped producing in this heat...and the tomato sauce. Oh, and the chicken broth.  I'm using some shredded chicken from a rotisserie chicken, so I didn't make any homemade broth.  Stew's on the stove simmering away as I write.

I also found a few blossoms to snip for a vase to take to Mom this evening (see the photo above).  Flowers from the garden...Brunswick Stew from the garden...that should bring a smile to her face, don't you think?

I hope so.  Today is all about smiles...not tears.

Gifts

It's not what you think. I hadn't planned to post about birthday presents, although I do reserve the right to mention them. 

Back to The Bistro for my birthday

My sweet Mr. T gave me the best gift he could:  his time...and three special treats that were just the right size and selection. 

On Friday, we took in the matinee of the latest [and last] Harry Potter movie.  Loved. It.  Will definitely go back to see this one again.  Then, on Saturday...my "real" birthday...he treated me to lunch at The Bistro at Childress Vineyards in Lexington (photo, left). Yum!  And cake when we got home.  Lastly, on Sunday, we drove up to Daylily Meadows in Pinnacle for what has become an annual birthday excursion for a new variety of daylily for our yard...or two or three.  We ended the three-day celebration with lunch at the Old Salem Tavern...always a winner.

Ranger Bob

Before I forget, the three newest members of our daylily garden are Barney, Ranger Bob, and Harem House...all purpley-pink ones this year. That's a picture of Ranger Bob on the right.

I also received flowers, gifts, calls, and cards from family and friends...and I appreciate every single one from the bottom of my heart.

No, the "gifts" I had wanted to post about today are a little more esoteric, shall we say?  I'm thinking specifically of some gifts my Mother has given me:  my love of gardening, my enjoyment of travel, and my appreciation of both the mountains and the beach, of good friends and good relationships with your family. 

She also bestowed a few gifts upon me that I sometimes wish I could return, if the truth be told.  One that comes to mind is the "gift" of emotional sensitivity in times of stress...and a pair of really active tear ducts. Mom has always cried easily...and without feeling self-conscious.  Me?  I hate when I cry in public...or when I can't seem to control the flow. Hate. It.

As Mom nears the end of her journey, I have been putting together a Tribute Book and a Tribute Video, using lots of old photos I have been scanning for several weeks now.  With everything else that is going on, you can imagine that my emotions have been raw and right on the surface...and the tears have flowed freely. Way too freely. "Basket case" is a phrase that might fit.

Today, for instance, the Hospice chaplain came to visit Mom while I was there.  He is a loving, giving person, and he knows Mom enjoys hearing him sing.  Even though she is sleeping most of each day, she was awake when he arrived, and responded positively to his voice.  So, while standing at her bedside and holding her hand, he began to sing "Jesus Loves Me." I had to leave the room I was crying so much.  I'm crying now as I write this.

Yes, Mom frequently says she is tired, but it is obvious with each new day that her will to live is still strong.  As the Hospice staff says, she's just not finished with things here yet.  So, I dig down deep and find what I need to face another day. If she's remaining strong, then I need to stay strong, too.  Amazingly, whatever I need is usually there.  No more, no less. 

Well, possibly more tears than I'd like...but you know what I mean.

Another Month Begins

July.  The month in the middle, marking the beginning of the second half of the year.  Typically, the 3-H month:  hot, humid, and hazy.  The month of Julius (for whom it is named) Caesar's, our country's...and my...birth.  My month has arrived.

It will probably be a quiet month for me.  I won't be doing a lot of celebrating this year.  Mr. T has hinted at a return trip to our favorite day lily farm in Pinnacle, Daylily Meadows...and maybe a return visit to The Bistro at Childress Winery.  That sounds lovely to me.  No surprises...just a couple of old friends.

I will be doing a lot of contemplating this month, I'm sure:  about the past...and maybe about the present; not so much, the future. You see, I have been working on a tribute album and a tribute video for Mom, and I have looked at...and scanned...lots of old pictures in the past week or so. Who we were...and who we are now.

Not that reviewing the past is a bad thing; it's just not where my head usually is during my month.  Anyone who knows me well, knows that I usually ask the question some time...several times, even...in July:  wonder where I'll be this time next year...what I will be doing?  And, I try to follow my own advice to my coaching clients:  review the successes/challenges of the past year and write your New Year's Resolutions on your birthday, not on the first day of the year.  Well, probably not this year...not for me.  This year, I find it difficult to plan what I will be doing tomorrow, much less twelve whole months from now.

Mr. T is off on his Carolina Run, as he calls the week he visits dealerships in Charleston, Columbia, and Charlotte.  During his call home one night, he asked the question: so, what's on your schedule for tomorrow?  I replied that I have no "schedule"...for tomorrow or any other time, for that matter.  I am in this suspended universe where plans and schedules no longer count.  I take each day as it presents itself.

Yeah.  I hate it.  It's downright un-natural for me.  But, sometimes you do what needs to be done, regardless of whether you like it or not.  This is one of those times. Sigh...and get on with it.

Well, N/M/E has had a roller-coaster week.  After a few bouts with poorly-controlled pain, the staff at Hospice Home decided to begin using a morphine pump with Mom:  one that administers a pre-programmed dose at certain intervals on its own...and still allows for her to push a button to get a "break-through pain" dose in between those times.  Sounds like a plan to me!

When they first set up the pump, Mom was O-U-T for nearly a whole day:  couldn't wake up; was almost incoherent when she did.  Scary.  Never fear, the staff made the adjustments to the dosage (way down) to allow her to be more awake.  Uh oh...then she had too much pain.  Not to worry, the staff made the adjustments to the dosage (higher, but somewhere in the middle), plus they re-set the intervals for the break-through pain doses (shorter intervals, smaller dose per interval, while still allowing enough overall). That's been working for a few days now, thank goodness.

As Brother T says "they call it medical PRACTICE for a reason."

Speaking of brothers...both were here for the Fourth weekend:  Bro J with SIL J from Nashville, and Bro T with SIL LaD from KY.  Missy M also arrived for the Holiday weekend, along with my grand-dogs, Dixie and Ella Rae (who chased squirrels to her little heart's content...:).  We even were able to get together for a BBQ on our deck on Saturday, before everyone had to leave on Monday.  Well, all except SIL LaD, who probably over-did it with this visit.  She has her own set of health issues...and every single one of them tried to overtake her while she was in HPNC.  As Momma would say:  "if it ain't one thing, it's 10 others."

Amen, Momma.  Amen.