Peggy, I'm going to the bathroom...

I don't know why, but Grandpop finds it necessary to tell us every single time he gets up from the table, that he's headed to the bathroom. As if we didn't know that it had been 20 minutes since he last hit up the WC, and was obviously due for another sad attempt at a pee. Or, maybe he needs to go #2 again, which is quite often, as I can tell from the demonic sounds that come out of him on a semi-hourly basis. You would think that maybe he might wonder why he's not had a solid BM in a dozen years. I might be able to give some insight into this realm of "fluffy" stools. First off, let us analyze Grandpop's liquid diet.

Upon waking up Grandpop will consume: several cups of coffee
For lunch Grandpop will consume: several more cups of cold coffee
Anytime after 4 pm-ish Grandpop will consume: Yuengling Lager, by the can, approx. 3-4 cans
At no time during the day will Grandpop consume: water

Funny that he was a doctor for all those years, yet he never, ever drinks water. There have been several times that Grandpop has asked me to use Grandmom's diabetic insulin monitor because he says I'm obviously diabetic, since I actually let pure H2O into my body on a regular basis. One time, just to get him to shut up for a few days, I took my blood sugar- and of course it was fine.

Anyway, it's probably a good thing Grandpop has to get up and pee/go #2 so much during the day; the walking probably makes up for a good 30% of his daily exercise. And, he's keeping the economy going strong by using up lots of American made TP.

And on to other exciting topics.

Several weeks ago when Dana was visiting Grandmom got on to the topic of babies with colic, and apparently(uncle) Lief (1st born out of 8) was one of those wonderful babies. A hilarious discussion about colic ensued, and although talks with my Grandmom can never be duplicated, I can try my best to repeat her stories with enthusiasm.

So, Lief is born and he doesn't stop crying. He cries, and cries, and cries some more. Colic is supposed to go away somewhere around 3 months, but after 3 months the crying doesn't stop so Grandpop declares that Lief will stop crying by the 6 month mark. Another 3 months pass, and although Grandmom hasn't pulled her hair out, she's on the verge of doing so, since the kid is still crying- ceaselessly.

After 6 months of crying Grandpop says that maybe Lief will stop crying in a few months more. (I don't know about you, but I can barely stand a baby crying in the store for more than a few minutes- let alone months, with an "s", on end.) About 9 months in to this never ending sob session Peg and George decide to go visit Aunt Shirley in Wisconsin. This was back in the days before super highways and fast food. Somewhere, about 1/2 way into the trip Grandmom and Grandpop are getting gas and ask the attendant if he could suggest a good place to eat. He gives them the address of a club nearby, and tells them to drop his name so they can get in. Now this is a really nice club, and the baby is actually quiet for once so they go in and place their order. And then Lief starts wailing. Since they've already placed their order they can't just get up and go, but on the other hand, this is a nice place and people are giving them looks. Luckily, the waiter enters the scene to save the day, and works his magic as Jesus would if he were present.
"May I take your baby?" the waiter asks.
"You can do whatever you want with him," my Grandma replies.
The crying baby is whisked away to the kitchen, or what Grandmom assumes was the kitchen, she can't quite recall. What she could recall was solitude, for once.
She said she could hear faint cries from the back, but the food and peace was too good to care too much about her first born son.
After finishing their meal the waiter promptly brought the baby back, wherever it had been, and they were on their way again.

On this same trip Grandmom and Grandpop spent the night at a hotel/motel of sorts and were trying to relax for the night but this goddamn baby still wouldn't stop with the crying. No matter what they did; be it rock him and pat his back, or sing to him and smile and "coo," this kid wouldn't shut up. They ended up taking his crib and shoving it in a closet. She remembers that the door wouldn't shut all the way, but it was enough so that it wasn't unbearable to fall asleep.

I took Grandpop to the doctor's office for a check-up after he had several spots removed from his face. The surgeon who does these procedures is a cosmetic surgeon and he has 3 sizes of breast implants sitting on the secretary's counter. On the wall there are also an array of pamphlets offering information about how you can fix all of the ugly things on your body. Laser hair removal, nose jobs, male breast reduction, veneers/ tooth bleaching, face lifts, Botox- anything you can imagine about yourself that's ugly- they can make it better for you.

So as I'm waiting for Grandpop to get his post-op check out, a girl comes in with two friends; a girl, and a gay guy.

The 20 minute conversation summed up into several main highlights goes as follows:

"So, as soon as you recover, we've got to go out to the bars and get all the free drinks from guys that we can handle."- says girl friend

"I didn't really think it would hurt so much." Says boob job recipient. (Of course it's not going to hurt when you get gigantic sacs of goo inserted into your tits, followed by stitches.)

"I went over to this guy's house the other day and I ended up spending the night. In the morning we saw this lizard with RED EYES looking at us from across the room. I was so fucking freaked out that I got up on the couch and started screaming, because I knew that that fucking lizard was crawling all over me last night. I knew that that lizard was crawling on my face and was giving me scabies. I jumped up and ran outside and down the driveway and just balled. He came outside and told me I needed to grow up, since it was a plastic lizard someone had put there. He found that out after he tried to kill it by smashing it with a fly swatter, but it wouldn't die. I was SO scared you guys. I was scared for my life."- Girl friend of boob-job recipient

"So now that I got my boobs done do you think you're finally going to get your nose job that you've always talked about?"- Says boob-job recipient
"Well, Tara and I always talked about getting our noses done together, but now that I think about it, I might want to get veneers or something, or maybe laser hair removal. It's so hard to decide."- Friend of boob-job recipient

The more these people talked, the more I wanted B101 playing on the radio to kill me before I had to do it to myself. As if Celine Dion, John "Cougar" Mellencamp and "Botox and You!" pamphlets weren't enough to deal with in this disgusting, sterile office.

I have no idea why the gay friend was there too. All I heard him say the whole time was, "So, do they feel natural?"
"Well," she said, "they feel kind of hard, and I can't really feel them at all. But, as long as they're bigger that's all that matters."

True that girl friend.

And on to matters of hats...
The other day after going to the lawyers Grandpop couldn't find his hat. He kept asking everyone if they had seen it, and everyone kept telling him to relax- that it would show up.
I was doing work on the computer and Grandpop comes in and tell me, "John, I'm looking for my hat. Someone has put it in a drawer somewhere and the brim is getting bent. They told me not to put it in the closet, so they hid it, and now we can't find it."
Of course I know that 98% of what he's talking about is completely insanity. The only truth to all that he said is that he can't find his hat.
Peter hears him talking to me about the hat so he goes outside and finds it in the van. He brings it to Grandpop and tells him to relax- the hat is fine.
Grandpop comes in and tell me, "John you can stop looking for my hat. (Not that I was anyway.) I found it in the bathroom."

On the news the other night there was a story from Iraq, accompanied by pictures of usual life from Baghdad. Grandpop asks, "Is this a picture from space?"

Grandpop hates eating any food that requires prep at the table. This means he despises Mexican food of all sorts: tacos, fajitas, burritos, etc.
We had fajitas the other day and Grandmom made a fajita for him, knowing he would be lost doing it himself. She gives him his fajita on his plate and he asks,
"Is this food, or is it cotton?"

In regards to the news of the government giving out rebates to bolster the economy Grandpop asks, "Are they talking about a horse race?"
"No George," Grandmom replies, "It's about getting money from the government."
"If they give out that money then they're gonna run out of beer and they better hire more people for the ER," Grandpop says.
"You're saying everyone's going to go get drunk if the government gives people money?" Grandmom asks him. "George, you see the gloomy side of everything- and you don't even know what the hell is going on."

And she's right.

And this is just a glimpse into the average day at 326 Spalding Rd. Hope your days are just as much fun.

PS- I'd love to hear some comments.

Grandpop got a new eye, and it only cost $2,300.

Grandpop has been more than off his rocker lately- he's broken the rocker and he can't sit in it any more. And, he can't find another place to sit. In other words, Grandpop is REALLY crazy.

Grandmom sends Grandpop out to the garage to get a jar of spaghetti sauce and five minutes later he comes back with a can of tuna. She sends him back out, telling him again, "A JAR OF SPAGHETTI SAUCE, IT'S RED, IN A JAR!" Another five minutes pass, and this time, he brings her an empty beer can. Crazy that he can't remember what someone told him 7 seconds ago.

Grandmom gives Grandpop a basket of laundry to fold, since it keeps him busy for at least 30 minutes, so she can play bridge in peace on the computer. He kept asking her where everything goes and she told him to just put it in a pile and she'll look at it later. "Peggy," he says, "I need you to look at these pants with the built in bra."

Today, Grandmom was talking about the annoying beeping sounds that commercial trucks make when they back up. Grandpop jumps in and asks, "Does that mean that they come and give you a present?" (He commonly asks completely nonsensical questions.)

Grandmom was flipping through the channels the other day and ended up on Seinfeld when Grandpop asks, "Who is this man?"
"Seinfeld," Grandmom tells him.
"Felix Conzo?" Grandpop asks.
"No George, I said Seinfeld. And how the hell did you get Felix Conzo out of that?"

The other day when I was trying to get the last bit of mustard out of the mustard bottle Grandpop told me, "You're gonna break that knife. you better get yourself a toothbrush to get that out."
I replied with, "Well I don't want to break my toothbrush now do I?"

At dinner we were eating boneless skinless chicken breasts and Grandpop kept complaining about all of the bones he was biting into, even after we told him there weren't any bones in it. Then he asked what the tortellini was, so we told him.
He replied with what was seemingly funny to him: "Shortelinni? How about LONG-elinni?"

Around Christmas, when Lief and Marguerite were visiting, we noticed some Jehovah's Witnesses walking around the neighborhood. Grandpop asked about their intentions/purpose. Of course any sort of interaction between Grandpop and Marguerite is bound to be interesting and their exchange went like this:
Marguerite: They come selling Jesus in your home.
Grandpop: Well tell 'em he's already been here!

When Grandpop was served his eggs one recent morning he went about slicing one square inch of butter and promptly placing the entire cube on his eggs.

Heard from the hallway: "Peggy, where should I put this advertisement for urinary control? I don't need it now, but I might in the future."

I was vacuuming the other day and Grandpop comes up to me and says,
"I was wondering what that noise was. What are you doing?"
"I'm vacuuming," I say, because it wasn't obvious enough when he saw the fucking vacuum I was using.

"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.

He said we only gave him a "chicken foot" for dinner

First, a major event may (or may not have) have taken place in the recent past. Today when Grandmom went to play bridge with the girls she was informed by Mary Pat that when she (Mary Pat) went to Fairfax Liquors the other day to buy a new case of King William IV Blended Scotch Whiskey (aka King William) that she was informed by the cashier that; 1. He could only sell her 5 bottles and not a full case because, 2. King William scotch is going to be discontinued.
If you happen to know my dear grandmother, you would know just how major of an apocalyptic event this is. Even more insane in that King William does not have a website, and it was very difficult to find a phone number of the distributor (United Distillers of Stamford, CT). Upon calling Total Wine, they too are out, but might get another shipment in the future. Tomorrow we will call the distributor to see if this is all some "cockamamey bullshit," as Grandmom would say. Seriously folks, this has been my grandmother's drink of choice for around 50 years. Apparently some of the other women in bridge said they think their local liquor stores carry it, so we might just have to go to every liquor store in the area and buy as many cases of it as possible.
When the woman at Total Beverage said we might be able to special order some King William I said we might need about ten. "Ten bottles?" she asked. "No, no, no, no, no," I replied, "At least ten cases if they aren't going to be making this stuff any more." Updates to come...

On to the lesser important things in life... (I seriously love ellipses, and dashes, and admit to overusing them, especially for an English major. But, why can't I just call it my poetic license?)

When Grandmom told Grandpop to empty the dishwasher today she noticed that the dishes she had told him to turn on earlier in the day were still dirty. When he kept pestering her about whether or not the dishes were dirty she stopped responding to him, because she was so annoyed with him, quite obviously. So, he takes a dirty plate out of the dishwasher and asks her to move away from the sink so he can "Clean off the back of this dish so I can eat off it."
"It hasn't been washed, George! I told you that ten times already, they need to be cleaned because they're ALL dirty."
"Oh," he says, "Well I didn't know that."
I was sort of surprised that she didn't pull a "Garden State," and push him backwards over the dishwasher.

Yesterday, when Grandmom and I were talking about the court date for Gus and Beth's divorce-related stuff Grandpop asks, "I didn't know John was getting divorced."

Yesterday for our main entree we had these Parmesan-chicken breast thing-a-things, which came pre-prepared, with 3 in each package. We also had acorn squash and something else, I forget what it was. As usual, Grandpop ended up slopping all of his food into a big mess of a pile, and if it isn't already hard enough for him to distinguish broccoli from English Muffins, he can never tell what's on his plate when he mixes it all around. So, he eats all of his chicken and then when he's done he asks for more meat, to which Grandmom replies that there isn't any more.
"Well I didn't get any," he says in a very sure-of-himself, asshole kind of way.
Of course I didn't try to tell him otherwise, since there's no point in arguing with him.
Grandmom tells him that he actually did eat an entire chicken breast to which he says, "Well if I had any chicken at all, it was only a chicken foot."

Also, if anyone is in need of a wonderful doctor, indeed the best who EVER lived, I'm sure Grandpop would gladly see you, as he's accepting new patients now. In fact, if you're one of those people seeking a doctor who tells them that drinking water and exercise aren't necessary for a healthy lifestyle, then he's the one for you! Every time I ride my bike Grandpop always asks Grandmom why I ride my bike.
"He likes the exercise," Grandmom says.
"Oh," says Grandpop, "sure."

If you don't tell Grandpop it's time to eat, then he doesn't remember to do it hilmself

Life with Grandpop is excruciating, as you all of know (I know there are tons of you out there reading this seldom updated blog). He's a major pain in the ass from the moment he wakes up until he goes to sleep. You can't even get him out of your hair by giving him some menial task, because he screws up every single job you give him. For instance, Grandmom told him to grind up some pepper in the mill so we could put it in the empty shaker. Now how hard is it to turn a handle and then pour the pepper into a shaker? Obviously it's really hard for him. When we gave him this task a few weeks ago he proceeded to spill all of the pepper he had ground up, onto the floor. Then he took the top and handle off the mill, lost the nut keeping it in place, and poured the blade into the empty shaker- but of course no pepper made its way into there. So, after we, or should I say I, searched the floor and found the nut and finally reassembled the mill he attempted to sweep up the pepper on the floor. Yet again, he said he couldn't find the dustpan, even though it was attached directly to the handle of the broom. And all of this was simply 5 minutes in his agonizing day.

A few days ago I was in my room, with the light on, ten feet from him in the hallway. For some reason he thinks I'm on the computer, even though there's nobody in the room, and he starts asking "me" "What page are you on?" (His usual question whenever you're on the computer.) When "I" didn't respond, you know, because I wasn't physically in that room, he walked farther into the room and realized he wasn't talking to anyone. And then he just turned and walked away.

Peter hands Grandpop a chocolate covered pretzel to eat. Grandpop asks, "How do you eat this thing?" Peter replies, "You stick it in your mouth and you chew."

One night as I was making salad Grandpop asked me, "Are you going on a trip?" "No," I replied, "I'm making a salad."

Today I was putting some chips on my plate at lunch and he barks, "Are you throwing them away?" I say, "No, I'm eating them. Why would I be throwing them away when I'm putting them on my plate?" "Well," he says, "You opened the bag, and, uh, what are they anyway?"

Grandmom tells Grandpop to throw away a dying flower arrangement. Grandpop asks her, "are you sure you don't want to put them in your purse?"

Grandpop was looking all around the table and Grandmom asks what he's searching for. He says, "Well, there's two settings on the salt shaker, and I need the needlepoint one." "I can't help you there George," she says, "because none of that makes any sense."

When the TV news was talking about a mall shooting Grandpop asks, "What's that? A delivery boy caught on fire?"

Grandmom was making a pot pie and after chopping up lots of ingredients she declares that she'd just rather buy a Marie Calendar's ready-bake one instead.
"What kind of pot?" he asks.
"A pot pie!" she yells back.
"What's that?" he says again.
I say, "It's a pot pie ready made out of the box."
"What's that?" he says AGAIN. "In a can?"
Grandmom says, "NO GEORGE! In a box, like we just said 3 times!"
Then he says, "You got to put that in a hot bath?"
"No," Grandmom says, "a microwave."
"Yeah," he says back, "that helps you see it better."
(Conversations like this are pretty normal- despite how it doesn't make ANY sense at all.)

When Grandmom made pancakes, sausage and broccoli for dinner the other night Grandpop asked if that was it for dinner.
"Yes," she said, "Sorry I don't feel like making anything else, but if you want more then get off your ass and make it yourself."
"Well, this is ok I guess," he mumbles. Then he sees us putting syrup on our pancakes and he says something in a real asshole kind of way like usual. It was something along the lines of, "I want to try some of that too, if you don't use it all first." (Despite it being a freshly opened bottle. He just likes being a dickhead, because that takes the least amount of effort for him. It just comes naturally. It's just one of his many gifts, like the gift of "nag.")
So Grandmom hands him the syrup and says, "Here, just put it on everything, since you said you never got to try it before. Put it on your broccoli for all I care."
And the funny thing is, he did.

Grandpop was complaining about being cold, as usual. So he proceeds to get him and go close the door from the porch to the garage. He comes back inside, sits down and says, "There, that's better now."

I got out the knife sharpener and was reading the very specific instructions when all of the sudden Grandpop turns it on and just starts shoving a knife into all of the slots, randomly. I tell him that there's important instructions to follow and he tells me he knows what he's doing. So, I take it away from him so I can sharpen my pocket knife and when I finally finish he says, "That sounds better." I don't know about you, but when I sharpen a knife I usually say something like, "Sharper. Good." But I guess I'm just not as skilled as Grandpop in the fine art of hearing knifes make their natural sounds.

And last, but not least. Today when Grandpop was going through the mail he reads an envelope addressed to me aloud, "John Hinkson. Now who's that?"

Hopefully this blog can bring the pleasures of everyday life with Grandpop to those of you who are not lucky enough to access such a wonderful life of merriment and goodwill. Enjoy your holidays, as I'm sure I will with Grandpop delighting and complimenting everyone along the way. I'll write back soon to tell you all of the caring and helpful things Grandpop did over Christmas.

He's really, really out of it

If you're one of the very few people who reads this, I'm sorry it has been so long since my last update. I've been quite busy with job-searching, and it makes me want to scream. Anyway here are some of Grandpop's latest, most bizarre moments and sayings.

Whenever I'm on the computer doing job-related things Grandpop will come ask me a number of completely out-there questions, such as: What alphabet are you on now?; Who's winning?; Did they get you? and more. One day, as I'm messing with my resume he asks me what I'm doing, but upon my reply he doesn't understand because he doesn't know what a resume is. He says, "Oh so that's a pat on the back. You going swimming?"

Grandmom asks Grandpop to go get an onion. He asks, "Where's the onion tree?"

Sometimes when the phone rings he "answers" the remote control. (Even though the remote is black with pink and blue buttons, as opposed to the phone which is white, has an antenna and a screen.)

The other day he asked me, "What year is this? 10?" He really said "ten," I kid you not.

One afternoon I walk in on him sweeping some dirt onto a bank statement that he was using as a dustpan. This is because he couldn't find the dustpan, even though it was literally attached to the handle of the broom.

Today (11/19) Grandpop tried to put 2 AA batteries into an electric can-opener. I had to tell him how to do every step of the process, and it took him at least 10 minutes. He said he hadn't put any batteries into anything in 5 years. (Not true.) After a painful eternity of watching him then try to put the plastic back on again he said he didn't know where the "device" went. He then started looking up along the top edges of the walls. I finally figured out that he thought it was a smoke detector, and he was completely baffled when I told him it was a can-opener.

We were watching "Dog the Bounty Hunter" a few weeks ago and Grandpop kept asking, "Who's he? DOC? DOT? DOC? DOC? DOT?" Then after Dog and his family were chasing down the bail-jumper Grandpop asks, "Are they fishing?"

Grandpop was cold the other day and checked out the thermostat and told Grandmom that it was no wonder he was so cold, "It's 12 in here." For some reason he read 72 as 12, and actually thought it was 12 degrees F, despite the fact that it was 50-something outside anyway.

I didn't witness this but Grandmom said she saw him peeing out by the trashcan, in broad daylight. When he came back inside she was incredibly pissed off, and he said he was too far from the bathroom to wait.

When Henry, the lawn-care man, was telling Grandpop that they might need their bushes trimmed, Grandpop told Henry that (Uncle) Gus could take care of it, since he is the head of Longwood Gardens. (Gus works at Swarthmore.)

Grandmom was sitting down to do a cross-word puzzle and asked Grandpop to hand her a pencil. Instead, he handed her a beer. When she repeated that she wanted a pencil he handed her a Sharpie.

And last, but not least, one day when I was making some food he asked me what I was doing. Before I could reply he said, "Oh I see you're making a mess." To which Grandmom said to him, "George even though you can't be nice to anyone, can't you just pretend to be nice?" His response was, "I don't know how to do that."

Oh, life with Grandpop is such a joy!

Oh the joys of being back "home"

Well it's been over a week since I've returned from the west and I think it's time to update the blog. Of course, there is always much to write about, so much in fact that I forget a lot of what comes out of Grandpop's mouth. I'll likely be around for a while so check back every few days and maybe I'll have updated. Enjoy.

Grandmom and Grandpop were watching this WWII movie and G-Pop, as usual, keeps asking about what's going on. Grandpop asks, "What's that guy saying?" and Grandmom yells back, "I don't know George, he's speaking German," (It being a scene with Nazi soldiers).

Grandmom was checking out a sore on Grandpop's face and she asks him if he knows how it got there. "Yeah, I bumped my head on the cabinet," he says. "Oh good," she replies, though I don't really understand why that is a good thing. Then I understand when she says "At least it's not more cancer."

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.