She’s my mother. I don’t call her Maxine when we’re together, just mom. But I probably would feel comfortable using her name. I think when the relationship between parent and child cross over to something more resembling friendship perhaps Given names of parents could be used. So Maxine is 89 but really is one of those Young at Hearts. Her one big frustration is limited mobility, saying If it wasn’t for my back and knees I’d be roaring around!
That, and then there is the onset of dementia that has her repeating comments and questions frequently. And if there is a little too much going on around her she can’t quite follow. But most times she can engage in great serious conversation and some seriously funny ones too.
I’ve come to know from spending so much time with her and having lengthy discussions about everything from alien/human hybrids to fashion that she was secretly her family’s black sheep. The non conformist at heart.
It’s early in the morning, but I actually awoke two hours before my alarm would dispassionately pry my eyes open. No, 4:15 is too early to get up. But I was SO awake and then remembered reading somewhere that if this happens – insomnia- that is when you should get up because it is your creative juices stirring you awake, whisking around in there. But I didn’t, I willed myself back to a light, surface doze which sunk finally into real sleep what seemed like minutes before CBC2 began filtering into my web of slumber. Yes the 201 blogging task was swimming round my head during my sleepless hours, more of an excitement to get going on it. And I would’ve gotten up had it not been that I would soon have to head down to my boat, then to my car, to then arrive to a full day at work.
But now I’m up at my usual time, have had some coffee (in a regular old cup – see my post on “attachments” to understand my plight) and ready to put the day in a headlock. In a good way.