The Mouse

My childhood nickname was Mouse.

Apparently I would squirm my way into every nook and cranny. My favorite spot was belly-down under the coffee table while watching TV. How the tables have turned. I've started calling my 84 year old grandmother Mouse. She's not doing so well as of late. Dementia, a possible lung cancer scare, perhaps heart failure. Its sad. This once proud independent women has been turned into an 80 lbs shell. I see her, but she isn't really there. It makes me cry.

She lives at home with me and my family. Her little bed is in the dinning room because there isn't another bedroom on the first floor. My super hero dad has been taking care of her. He washes and feeds her. Occasionally he yells at her. I know this is hard to believe, but he yells out of love. I know, I know, how can it be? It is the way it is because he fears for her safety. He thinks the louder he tells her the more she'll remember to be careful, don't try to eat the plastic grapes, you'll choke, be careful, don't walk around the house by yourself you'll break a bone, be careful be careful be careful. I don't want to put you in an old folks home! I want you to die a home. With me.

Today was a hard day. A very hard day. She's really earning her new name. See, he has created a makeshift barricade to keep her in her own little spot. Its a comfy spot. We even got her a genuine hospital bed. She wants to escape. Escape to where? We don't know how she does it. Have no idea. A little mouse, creeping in one hole and out the other. One minute she is in her spot, the next she is walking around the house. The weird thing is, no one can figure out how she does it. Its like she's Houdini. Step right up folks, and be amazed!

Don't get me wrong, she would be free to go anywhere in the house. She's no prisoner. She could go to the sun room. She could go in the living room, she could go into the kitchen. She just simply can't go there alone! She needs an arm to hold her up. Funny enough when we take her to where she wants to go, she'll simply gets up and goes to another spot. It is weird I tell you. Weird.

I feel for my dad cause he's about to lose his shit. Three nitro pills downed today.

What's in a name?

I've just spent 30 minutes trying to figure out how to change my display name from Underpants to Cranky Grandma. It simply won't work. I keep updating my settings and yet- NO SUCCESS!

Underpants you see if what my little pooky-wooky calls me. Cranky Grandma or CG for short is what my friends Mona and Megan have christened me. Sitting here on a Monday afternoon I feel as though I have finally come to terms with this name.

Why do I have to name this stupid thing?

I hate setting up new email accounts, blogs, etc. It is just too much PRESSURE I tell you! First, I have to think of a username- one that 1 billion people before me have not already tried. Then they force you to think of an all-encompassing title for the blog. I can't think of such things. I simply wanted to open an account so that I can respond to others rants and raves.

I have friends. They are much more creative than I. In fact, when put into the position of having to write down my thoughts in any sort of creative environment I freeze....Can you feel the stuttering way of my fingers as I type this?! Argg.

I shouldn't be so hard of myself. I'm actually fairly creative. Give me a hot glue gun and some silk flowers and I'll simply amaze you! Its just when words on paper are required that I freeze. Perhaps I should use this site as a way to practice. I wonder if I can Google the web for one of those blank pieces of paper that had the little guidelines- you know, the kind your elementary school teachers forced you to practice your penmanship on. I need that kind of practice.

There you go, my first blog posting. Take it for what it is- a way to post comments on other’s blogs.