Sunday, December 30, 2007

"Attic floorplan"

Grandmom hands Grandpop a pretzel with chocolate and nuts on top, and instead of eating it he keeps turning it over, wondering what he's supposed to do with it.
"I'm trying to figure out if this is cooked or if it's a wire," he says.

When I was putting some luggage in the attic Grandpop kept pestering me about what I keep putting up in the attic. He kept saying "Well, I, uhh, I just, welll, I, If someone asks me what's in the attic I don't know whose is what's and where..." And he kept saying he needs to know whose boxes are where so he doesn't get the wrong thing out of the attic. (Nevermind that he's never even been in the attic in the 5+ years they have lived there.) So, he tells me that I need to make a map of the attic, so nobody takes anything out of there that's not theirs. So, just to get him to shut up and stop pestering me I tell him I'll make him a map. I draw out a little map showing where a few things are, just to satisfy him. When I present him with the map, he asks how he's supposed to remember what it is. I tell him that's for him to worry about, and he finally writes on the top, "Attic floorplan," because my label of "attic" wasn't thorough enough. Then he starts following me around, trying to come up with some words, asking something else about the map. He finally comes up with the words to ask me where he should keep the map so he doesn't forget it, and I tell him, again, that that's his problem. He finally decides that the best place for it is taped to the inside of the attic steps, which I do for him, and he declares that when he goes up there next time (Which will be never) he won't "have to look like an ass" (in his own words) when he brings down the wrong furniture. (Although there's no way he could even bring something the size of an orange down the steps of the attic without falling the whole way down.)

I was taking a dirty spoon off the table to put in the dishwasher and Grandpop yells, "Don't throw that spoon away!" I reply that I wasn't going to throw it away and Gradmom chimes in with "George, your mind is so warped and it's not just your dementia, I think it's warped from your childhood."

Paul was throwing out the paper the sub came wrapped in and Grandpop yells at him, "Why did you throw that sandwich away?"
"That was the paper," Paul says. (That must have been a REALLY flat sub, you know?)
"Oh," Grandpop says, "I thought you threw away a perfectly good sandwich." (Because he ALWAYS has to get the last word, ask Grandmom.)

And last, but not least this has nothing to do with Grandpop but it's worth mentioning anyway.
When I took Grandmom to the bank a few days before Christmas this dude in a wheelchair, (who was probably in his mid 40's, who couldn't hold his head up, and who could barely speak and be understood,) kept telling the bank teller that she was giving him the wrong change. Then, when they finally figured out the problem she told him to have a good day, but instead of wheeling himself away he kept babbling to this nice, young, good looking woman who was being very kind to him, even though she could barely tell what he was talking about. Finally I hear him ask, "Are you single?", which I couldn't fucking believe he just asked that, since it was like something out of a movie. When she replied "No," very nicely he then asked her, "Do you have any sisters?" She told him no, and then he told her how pretty she was and finally wheeled himself out.

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