Ambush Grandma Rides Again
Dec. 19th, 2004 10:04 amRegular readers of my LJ may remember the incident, last winter, in which a berserk church-flyer-wielding grandma knocked on our door, refused to identify herself before the door was opened, and then brightly announced, "It's ME!" and proceeded to proselytize once I actually did open the door. (I'm not exactly the churchgoing type, and at the time, I was afraid that if I said so, I'd find a small army of determined southern baptists camped on my doorstep the next morning, so I temporized and resolved to be verry..... verrrryy.... quiet about my churchgoing deficiencies.)
I still don't know her name. I didn't see her again until yesterday.
In any case, it was a fitting coda to my time here when I ran into her again by the building entrance. She was in a robe and curlers, retrieving her newspaper from the spot by the front door where the paperboy leaves it. In conversation, she said that she was without hot water until Monday.
"Goodness, are you sure you wouldn't like to come take a shower at my apartment?"
"Oh no, I took a bath in some jergens lotion."
There are no words. (Suffice it to say that I'd never thought of that approach to hot waterlessness.) I hope I recovered well from that one, because the conversation continued with her finding out that I was, in fact, moving. She said, very sincerely, that she'd miss me terribly.
I walked out the door, and it took me several minutes to conclude that (a) Ambush Grandma is starting to show some symptoms of dementia and (b) Ambush Grandma lives on the first floor, and probably watches my comings and goings closely, sort of like live TV except with graduate students. I wouldn't have thought I was that interesting to watch, but it would account for the way she seems to know me even though I haven't the slightest idea who she is.
Ah, dementia. Now I'm sort-of interested, because I've met people before who have a little of it, and they do okay. I've also met people (in the geriatric psychiatric ward, or in the locked upper floors of nursing homes) who have a lot of it, and it's not a good time. Hmm, that goes on the pile of Things To Learn More About. (What exactly is dementia? What makes some people stay sharp, and others not? What allows some people who have a little dementia to keep going, and others not?)
I still don't know her name. I didn't see her again until yesterday.
In any case, it was a fitting coda to my time here when I ran into her again by the building entrance. She was in a robe and curlers, retrieving her newspaper from the spot by the front door where the paperboy leaves it. In conversation, she said that she was without hot water until Monday.
"Goodness, are you sure you wouldn't like to come take a shower at my apartment?"
"Oh no, I took a bath in some jergens lotion."
There are no words. (Suffice it to say that I'd never thought of that approach to hot waterlessness.) I hope I recovered well from that one, because the conversation continued with her finding out that I was, in fact, moving. She said, very sincerely, that she'd miss me terribly.
I walked out the door, and it took me several minutes to conclude that (a) Ambush Grandma is starting to show some symptoms of dementia and (b) Ambush Grandma lives on the first floor, and probably watches my comings and goings closely, sort of like live TV except with graduate students. I wouldn't have thought I was that interesting to watch, but it would account for the way she seems to know me even though I haven't the slightest idea who she is.
Ah, dementia. Now I'm sort-of interested, because I've met people before who have a little of it, and they do okay. I've also met people (in the geriatric psychiatric ward, or in the locked upper floors of nursing homes) who have a lot of it, and it's not a good time. Hmm, that goes on the pile of Things To Learn More About. (What exactly is dementia? What makes some people stay sharp, and others not? What allows some people who have a little dementia to keep going, and others not?)