Just So You Know...

Sadly/Thankfully Winter break has come to an end for me, so I will not be able to keep you all up to the minute with reports from Ground Zero- 326 Spalding Rd. I'll still be stopping in for visits to the grandparents once a week or so, so check back now and then for Scary Grandpa updates. I will be posting other random things for your pleasure though, such as little tidbits about my job as an eldery "companion" which can be quite interesting.

When we were eating dinner the other night someone said something about "pieces" of something and Grandpop asks, "Now what are you talking about feces for?" Fun times.

So my job as the eldery companion has only taken me to one couple's apartment in an assisted living situation, and I've gone twice from 7 pm until 9 am the next day. During the night I make sure the old man (I don't think I'm allowed to give names and such, so I'll be vague.)doesn't fall over and break a hip, again, when he's using his portable urinal. This old man is nearly deaf and you literally have to yell at him, in the left ear- in order for him to hear anything you're saying. So it's 2 or 3 am and he does his business and I go to dump the pee and he asks where I'm going. Because it's 3 am I don't really want to scream and wake up anyone else, but he really can't hear me unless I yell. So here I am screaming to this old man at 3 in the morning, "I SAID I'M GOING TO GO EMPTY YOUR URINAL."
After dumping the piss I think to myself that this old man probably once thought that he'd never let himself get like this- just as I'm thinking at the moment- but now he's just a little frame of bones and bruised skin with a brain that desn't function so well anymore.
So why do people spend their lives working their ass off saving up money- never taking the time to go enjoy life when they can still walk and pee with a nice flow- all so that later in life they can afford to live in a sterile assisted living apartment once they retire and grow old, and pay someone like me to come sleep on their couch for the night 24/7, draining away their funds?
So here's what I've concluded- Have fun while you still can, and kill yourself in a fun way like an OD or driving a Ferrari (rented) over the Grand Canyon at 200 mph, before you no longer have the brains to realize that your life is pointless and you're only a strain on your family and their funds. Because I don't think any of us ever wants to be working through a weekend at age 35, only to be able to pay for some kid to empty your piss at 3 am when you're 94.
By the way- I am not going to kill myself (any time soon) so don't pass this along to a helpful psychiatrist. I'm talking like 70's, 80's, 90's, 100's etc... As long as you're still with it at 105 then keep on rockin' you senior citizen you.
And that is all I have to say about that.

This happened a few weeks ago...

At the end of dinner tonight, Grandpop asked for wine. This was after he had had his usual amount of beers, and if you know Grandpop really well then you would know that- to put it frankly- wine gets Grandpop fucked up. He asks for a red wine but instead Grandmom tells him to try the bottle of white that is already open. It's a good thing his memory doesn't work too well because then he would have remembered that he had tried this same old bottle of white wine the day before- or that he had nearly choked on it because it was so old and that even he had spit it out in the sink.
So we give him the bottle of white and he breaks off the cork- of course anything is expected to become an ordeal when dealing with Grandpop.
"Bring me that remote," can easily turn into a game quite similar to that you would play with an old blind man, except Grandpop does have one eye and you don't play games with him unless you want to torture yourself with repeating the rules every time someone has a turn. He'll hand you the phone and then a spoon and then he'll forget what he was doing, and then he'll tell you he has to go wash his hands because he touched something- and of course he can't wash them at the kitchen sink, he has to go back to the bathroom to do it.
So he breaks the cork and asks for a cork screw, which I gladly hand to him and quickly make my way out of the kitchen. He would only get even more drunk the longer anyone stayed around, and even Grandmom starts to retreat to the bathroom for her post-dinner crossword puzzle (slash 1/2 of a Marlboro Ultralite 100) and more recently sudoku. On our way out of the kitchen she winks to me- and we both know he has no idea he has ever tried this bottle of wine before.

Do you know your presidential candidates?

Grandmom asks Grandpop and I if we heard what Joe Biden said about Barack Obama.
I reply with a yes and Grandpop gives a blank look.
"Do you know who Barack Obama is?" Grandmom asks G-Pop.
"Yeah- He's an Indian," Grandpop replies. "Yeah he's from Asia somewhere's."
"No George," G-Mom sighs, "he's a Senator from Illinois."
Grandpop gives a few hard laughs, at what I'm not sure and then he says, "Well golly!" and that's the end of the conversation.

What is he thinking?

From a few days ago...
Grandmom says to Grandpop...
"Can you get me the cookies George?" (which are on the counter in a clear pastic container)
Grandpop looks around and then says, "The ones in the wire cage?"
"Sure-whatever," Grandmom says to him, knowing that the cookies are not in a wire cage, but hoping he can at least figure out this one thing on his own...
Grandpop instead brings the croissants which are UNDER the cookies, both in see-thru plastic...
"The cookies, bring me the cookies!" she yells.
"Oh cookies? Let me see, let me see..." he says as he goes back to his task

I was talking about babysitting Kyle and Kevin and Grandpop asks,
"Who are Kyle and Kevin?"
"Your grandchildren," G-Mom says.
"Oh," says Grandpop in that tone that he uses when he's utterly clueless.
"You know, Knute's children?" Grandmom asks.
"Oh, sure" he says, again with a tone where you know he's only vaguely sure of what you're saying.

Just the norm

Today at breakfast Grandpop says to me "John if you stand up you're going to screw your head to the wall." This was in regards to a cabinet door being open, which he was warning me about hitting my head on.

Pulling my hair out would probably be less painful

This morning Grandpop walks into the kitchen and Grandmom says, "George go fix your hair, you look like Hitler."
"Me?" he asks, "I didn't do it on purpose."

Then Grandmom tells him to go put something in the bathroom...
"The bathroom?" he asks seeming very confused, like she had said 'go run a marathon and put peanut butter in your hair.'
"Yes the bathroom!" she barks.
"The bathroom, yeah, that's the room with the running water and the shower," he tells us as if we are African bushmen fresh off the refugee plane.
"Yes it is George," she says with another long sigh.

Oh and this is great...
Last night Marguerite stopped by and brought Grandpop a big book, with lots of pictures all about Nazis and the Third Reich. He leafs through it for a while and Marguerite asks him if it's any good.
"I've read it before," he tells her.
She nicely replies he certainly could have read it since it was printed in 1961.
"I read it in 1935," he snaps back.
"It's about World War II," she says, "in the 1940's."
"I know," he says again.
She and I just look at each other and give up- knowing it's a lost cause.

The other day Grandmom was talking about this car she saw the other day...
"I saw a Camaro on the road and it was really pretty," she said.
Of course Grandpop didn't understand and asks, "A Camaro, what's that?"
"A Chevy!" she yells back.
"Oh," he says, "I thought it was a bird."

Then I say something about driving and he asks,
"Drive? What's that mean?"
Grandmom says, "You know- you get in a car, turn the key and go- what the Hell do you think it means?"

And no, we never get tired of repeating every single thing that comes out of our mouths. Really it's fun to say everything twice, just like who doesn't like to have two times as much money or candy, you know?

I know not the "danger" in everyday things

One day last spring I was playing with a piece of grass that I had picked which was about a foot long. I was messing with Grandmom and trying to poke her in the back of the head with it when Grandpop starts shouting, "That is a VERY dangerous toy!"
"It's ok," I reply, "it's just a piece of grass, and I've got a license to operate it." Grandpop, however, did not understand my joke and insisted that I get rid of this "very dangerous toy" as soon as possible to avoid all possible injuries that could occur.

I almost forgot

I can't believe I almost forgot about this...

Last night Grandpop picks up the bottle of olive oil for his salad(which is a clear glass container with a shiny metal lid on it with a spout for pouring), and he starts pushing down on the lid while holding the bottle upright. I immediately know that he thinks the olive oil is the pepper grinder, which is electric (best thing ever, really) and although shiny and metallic on top it is different from the oil and vinegar containers in that it is about 5 inches taller, has a big button on top and has a clear window on the bottom showing the pepper corns. He, however, cannot tell them apart. So he picks up the vinegar container instead and starts pressing down on the top of it as well.
"Peggy," he says, "This pepper won't come out!"
"Well it would help if you had the pepper mill," she says, "That's your salad oil."
"Oh," he says, "I want some of that too," and he proceeds to pour roughly half of the oil in the bottle onto his salad. No he didn't add vinegar, but I'm sure the salad was lubed up well enough for him to choke it down, I mean he only put about half a cup of olive oil on top.
And as soon as he's done drenching his salad in oil he picks up the vinegar and starts pressing on the top again, trying to get that pepper to come out.

One last thing about dinner last night

So we're watching TV and this commercial for "plum" juice comes on and Grandmom and I start making fun of how they're marketing prune juice under a different name but it's still the same thing.
Grandpop turns to us and asks, "HUH? What kind of beans?"

Dinner time with a side of Grandmom yelling

First let it be known that even though it is Grandpop's job every night of the week to set the table for dinner, he usually messes things up in one way or another. He'll start looking for the plates in the silverware drawer or looking for the napkins in the dishwasher and it takes about 8 minutes to do a job that takes me all of 47 seconds.
Yesterday, after Grandpop had finally set the table, he asked if there was anything else he could do to help.
"Sure George, if you want to help get out a pot," Grandmom says. Grandpop starts looking in the cabinet where the dishes are kept and Grandmom tells him that the pots are under the stove. He walks across the kitchen and asks, "What am I lookin' for now?"
"A pot George, a pot!" Grandmom yells.
"I'm lookin'" he says as he holds up a lid. "Is this pot good?"
"Shit George," Grandmom says as she's getting really pissed off, "Can't you even tell the difference between a pot and a lid anymore?"
And the answer is- barely.