Stealth Fred

Having had an aging parent living with me for the last nine years I have made some observations. My Dad and I have reversed roles. I am told this is common. I'm not sure how this happened but it did. Fred is my Dad. He is 88 years old and has a whole slew of health issues. You name the disease and Fred has it. All this wrapped up means that Fred does not see well. He does not hear well. He is now dependent on others for help him do many of the things he used to be able to do himself. I understand the role reversal issue. It is not fun to wake up one day and realize that you can no longer do the things you used to do. Fred has decided to fight the whole aging thing. He is working his way around the whole issue. He is a man with a plan. He also has decided to take control of things that are out of his control. He has turned into Stealth Fred.

He used to deny everything when asked. Just outright denial. Nope. Didn't do it. Don't care if you found the item. Don't know how it got there. Now Stealth Fred is a Renaissance man. He is evolving. He has a new go to move. First he denies, and then he turns into the non-talking, staring, mouth open Stealth Fred. It is very difficult to have a conversation with a person who is staring blankly, not talking and purposefully opens their mouth. If he did this to his doctor he would probably end up in the hospital or a mental ward. When he does it to me, I laugh. I know this is not the response he was looking for but I can't help myself. He turns into Stealth Fred on a dime.

Stealth Fred has arrived and he likes to fix things. This is part of taking control back. The things don't need to be broken. They only need to not be working quite the way Fred wants them to work. He attempts to fix the item by banging the item against a large hard object. I have the item replaced. It seems simple and yet it is a surprise every time.

Fred was getting in my brother's truck to go out to dinner and his electric razor fell out of his pocket and landed on the concrete driveway. To me that would seem an odd item to have in your coat pocket inspiring questions. Lots and lots of questions. Instead Fred got in the truck, asked my brother to collect it and throw it away, as if having an electric razor fall out of your pocket was an everyday occurrence. My brother asked Fred why an electric razor had fallen out of his pocket. Fred told him it was broken and he was going to ask my brother to throw it away. My brother didn't ask him why he didn't just throw it out in the house before he got in the truck. He didn't explain that we have trash cans in the house. In fact Stealth Fred has one in his room. He didn't ask how it broke or any other questions that immediately spring to mind. He took the razor put it back in the truck and threw it away later. Really?

Clearly the razor was now broken and needed to be replaced. It was broken before it met the concrete. Fred had tried to fix the razor which is why he had the razor in his pocket. It wasn't actually broken but it wasn't working the way Fred wanted it. I suspect it needed to be cleaned out. I would have cleaned it out with the little brush. Over a sink. Fred banged it repeatedly against his bureau leaving large scrapes on the bureau and the razor broken. While he was banging it the stubble did actually come out of the razor. Unfortunately the stubble came out because Stealth Fred loosened the stubble by banging the razor and then rode over the stubble with his scooter hoping to grind it into the carpet. That was part of the plan of Stealthy Fred. Hide the evidence. It that doesn't work then stop talking, stare blankly and open your mouth. It's the new go to.

Eventually Fred told me that the razor had been running slower than normal because it needed to be cleaned out. It is supposed to be cleaned out with the little brush tool that you are given. According to Fred, the little brush doesn't get out all of the clippings, Banging however does. The razor met its demise. Apparently razors are not designed to be banged against large wooden chests. Who knew?

He figured that if he asked my brother to throw out the razor it would be a win win for him. My brother would throw out the razor and offer to take him to get a replacement and I would never know that he had tried to fix it. I wouldn't know about the clippings all over the floor in his room that were partially ground into the rug. Unfortunately Fred has vision issues so he doesn't see all that well, making it very difficult to see little tine specs of razor stubble on the floor. Fred the Stealthy strikes again.

His best laid plans went awry. I saw the clippings, I saw the new large gash in the bureau, the razor fell out of his pocket, and my brother never offered to get him a new one. I got him the new one and asked to please not clean it using the bureau but to follow the manufacturers instructions when cleaning it. I also told him that I would clean it if he wanted me to.

Part of Fred's new resistance to aging is he does not follow directions. He has a set of headphones that he wears to listen to the television. He has profound hearing loss so in order for him to hear the television he would have to turn it up so loud that you can hear it at the other end of house. I know because the headphones were born of need. He is supposed to adjust the level of sound on the headphones while leaving his hearing aids set to the level that was set by his audiologist. Nope. Not Stealth Fred. He knows better. He is always fiddling with the volume control. He turns them down by accident. Instead of turning them back up so he can hear he has determined that the headphones are not working. He has to fix them. The first thought that comes to mind is that in order to fix the headphones, he should bang them violently against his large bureau.

How do I know that he tried to fix them you might ask? I know this because I heard him. Fred does nothing quietly. Quietly is not in his vocabulary. Neither is stealth. I was watching television in the living room and heard a loud Fred noise. This is not a normal Fred noise so I go in his room and he is banging the headphones against his wooden bureau. Again and again. I asked him what he was doing. He explained his logic. “They aren't working so I thought I would jiggle the wires.”

I put the headphones on and adjust the volume. They are working fine, I hand them back to Fred with the comment “I don't believe that banging a device on a large wooden chest is the best way to fix it. Next time it stops working please just let me know.” I try to be mindful of his age. I am certain that I will be as stubborn as he when I am his age. I smiled. He agreed but I know better.

A few days later I heard the Fred fixing noise again. And again. I went in to see what Fred was fixing. He was in the bathroom so I waited for him to come out. He emerged holding his new razor in his hand. I told him that I heard a loud banging noise. He told me that his new razor was broken and he was fixing it. I have seen this movie before and it does not end well. He also told me that he didn't use the chest of drawers as I had asked. He used the sink. Naturally I had to ask if the razor was fixed. He explained that it was now working. He had gotten all of the shavings out and washed them down the drain and done it all without damaging the chest of drawers or spreading hair all over the floor. Of course the sink top now has a huge chip missing. Fred couldn't see it. The chest of drawers did not have any new gashes and the new razor was still working. I'm thinking two things. The first is crazy glue and the second is that I am sure the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. I am on my way to becoming Stealth Michelle. Watch out kids, you have been warned!

The Train, Train, Cab Method

When you get to be of a certain age, you realize what is important. I am of that age. A woman of your age...” UGH. As a woman of my age, access to a bathroom is high on the list of things that are important. My expectations are not that high where the bathroom experience is concerned. Sometimes we just don't get what we want. I have known this since I was quite young. My parents, like the parents of many of my friends, made a point to tell all of us “You don't always get what you want!” I don't like it, but I do acknowledge that it is true. I honestly never thought it would be relevant to bathrooms. I figured they were talking about the big things in life. I actually thought they were trying to tell me that Prince Charming had failed to stop and ask directions to our house and so he would not be arriving any time soon. The inability to find a proper bathroom in a city of several million was not on the list.

I had to go to the Big City for an appointment. By the Big City I mean New York. Philadelphia is a big city, but if you come from South Jersey, New York is THE Big city. I was going to take a local train to the Amtrak station, then take an Amtrak train to New York, and take a cab to my destination. The train, train, cab method is not the most efficient method but it alleviated the whole issue of driving, parking, tolls, New York drivers and being completely stressed while on your way to the appointment. The one drawback to this method is that it does not meet the standard of having accessibility to a bathroom. Again I know that sometimes we just don't get what we want.

Then hubby offers to drive me. I jump at the chance. I can always explain to hubby the urgency of having to go pee. He may grumble but he will stop. The train conductor does not understand the urgency. As a woman who has ridden trains on a regular basis, the idea of going pee in a moving train while squatting and dressed in a business suit is beyond comprehension. I am not sure who designed the bathrooms in trains, but I can guarantee you that it wasn't a woman. If it was the toilet would be lower to enable a proper squat. They would also have handles to grab onto again to facilitate the proper squat. Yes, I have spent hours thinking about bathrooms on trains but that is another column. The idea of going to the bathroom in Penn station is also a little overwhelming, as I am picturing all of the other ladies who can't squat in a moving train heading toward the bathroom in the station at the same time. This could get ugly fast.

No need to stress about it. Hubby driving takes care of all of the potential bathroom issues. Hubby and I are on the road and all is good. Three hours later we are in New York. We had no trouble getting in the city, no trouble locating the building, and we were an hour and half early so we could go for a cup of coffee somewhere and hang out until thirty minutes before appointment time. This was South Jersey thinking. Apparently in the BIG CITY there are limited parking spaces. That explains why the traffic is so heavy and moves so slow. Everyone who has the nerve to drive into the city is looking for a parking space, pulling into a parking space or beeping their horn. That's it. If you have the unmitigated nerve to slow down because you want to do something as reckless as read a street sign, or look for a parking space, three drivers are leaning on their horns.

We spent thirty minutes driving in circles looking for a place to park. We both have to pee and we can't seem to locate a parking space that is near an actual building with an actual bathroom. At this point, having coffee is just a pipe dream. We pull over and hubby lets me know there is a lovely, large hydrangea bush that is almost the size of a tree. It is definitely large enough for him to go pee in the bush/tree. He's an outdoorsy kind of guy. Me, not so much. The tree/bush is situated right next to open metal gates. I explain to him that the open gates are the entrance to a park and if he pees in the tree/ bush and is spotted he will likely be reported to the police, he will likely be arrested and locked up. I also state my person policy about bailing out people who manage to get themselves locked up in strange cities for peeing in public. He decides to keep looking so we drive around a few more times. As we are passing a big, government looking building with steps and pillars there is a spot right in front. I think the secret is to look quickly. Turn the head fast and then back. If you see the spot, immediately pull in and don't look back. This is our plan. Hubby backs in expertly so we are facing the road. There are no parking meters and no signs stating that this is a no parking area. We have hit the parking mother lode.

When we get to the top of the four flights of steps we realize that this is a courthouse. Mostly because of the sign in the front that reads COURTHOUSE. Hey, it could have been a museum. Rocky could have been running up the steps, except that he wasn't. We ask a nice man in a suit and tie who is headed in the same direction as we are about the parking in front. He gets a look of absolute horror and informs us that we are parked in an immediate tow spot. He would not leave the car unattended. Sufficiently concerned, we decided to take turns going in to pee. If the police show up we will feign stupidity which shouldn't be difficult as it should take a police officer less than ten seconds to figure out that we were just looking for a place to pee. And that we are from Jersey. I went in first. It was special kind of experience to show my identification and walk through the metal detectors to pee. I placed my pocketbook in the bin and walked through. The I managed to walk quickly to the ladies room. It was as large and elegant as the building itself. I finished and headed out so hubby got his turn. He had the benefit of my experience. Leave your wallet, coat and keys. It makes the metal detector experience just fly by.

Soon enough he is back and we are sitting waiting for the police to show up. It is after all a courthouse loaded with police. They drive by but none stop. They walk past but none come over. I want coffee but I can't handle the parking spot stress for round two so we will sit and wait until appointment time. Hubby dropped me off for my appointment. He was not so lucky in the great parking spot search as the first time, but eventually he found one. He drove over when I was done and we headed for the GW Bridge. We stopped on the way back at a coffee place that also happens to have a bathroom. What a concept. The BIG CITY is wonderful place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there. They have a bathroom shortage.

The Cool Aunt and Her Very Hard Hair

One of my favorite nieces is getting married soon. She is a wonderful young woman and I am looking forward to dancing at her wedding. I stopped by her office today and she introduced me to one of her co-workers. She started to reminisce about a favorite memory of ours. She had been studying hair styling and was getting ready to take her hair licensing exam. She had to bring a person with her to the licensing exam because apparently the powers that be in the hair universe want to see the prospective licensees actually style a real person's hair. No Barbie heads for these folks. She asked me if I would be willing to be her hair model. I was so excited. When she was little I would sit on the floor and she would style my hair for long periods of time. I had barrettes and pony tails and bobby pins. That was many years ago. In my mind, I would get the chance to be the Cool Aunt again so I jumped at the chance. The fact that I had long hair was not the relevant issue. It was definitely the Cool Aunt thing and I am so on board.

A few days before the exam she calls me. Apparently, everyone from the class had to take the school bus together to the examination site. No problem. I am flexible. It has been a while since I rode on a school bus but I am willing to do whatever it takes to be the Cool Aunt. There is a lot of status in being the Cool Aunt. Chances like this don't come along every day. I am good with the school bus experience.
“Oh by the way, Aunt Michelle, we have to be at the bus at 7 am.” followed by a silence.
“No problem. I love early. I will be there.”
Followed by a deep breath sigh of relief on her part.

The next day she calls me back. I am guessing this conversation was prompted by her mom.
“Aunt Michelle I just wanted to tell you that there is no water at the test site. We use hair gel.”
“No problem. I love hair gel. I will be there.”
Followed by another deep breath sigh of relief on her part.
The exam is the next day. I arrived as requested. We boarded the bus and headed for Trenton. I was clearly the oldest hair volunteer on the bus but I was also the only Aunt.

Again, the whole Cool Aunt thing. We are bouncing up and down in the school bus and in one moment I see a can of soda flying toward my niece and her nice white uniform top is not so nice and white anymore. The look on her face can best be described as absolute horror. Fortunately the horror didn't last long. Someone had seltzer water and the soda stain came out. It was wet but air dried after some serious shaking.

We get to the exam sight and she signs in. I am a follower at this point. I sit in the chair and spend the next few hours in a chair having various sections of my hair done. There is a five gallon jug of gel on the counter next to the mirror. Picture a gallon jug. Now picture five gallon jugs. Now picture those five gallon jugs filled with hair gel. Now picture that five gallons of hair gel in your hair all at once. My long hair was literally concrete on my head. It had different styles in each section which is an interesting look in and of itself. Add to that the fact that it was solid like a rock glued to my head. Oh the sacrifices we make to be the Cool Aunt. Five hours later, I have hair plaster and I am informed that the hair powers that be will not even tell my niece if she passed. How dare they! If she didn't pass it would always be an awful Aunt memory. She would have to wait in the mail for her results just like everyone else. UGH. We rode home on the bus with the rest of the potential hair stylists and volunteers while my head was hardening by the second.

I walked in the door. Hubby couldn't stop laughing at my very hard hair. I realized that this was going to need a plan. I washed my hair in the sink. Three times. Before I could actually get my hands through it. Then I got in the shower and washed it three more times. Then I conditioned it. Twice. I did this for the next two days until it was back to normal. It was like the gel kept reappearing even after it was washed. My hair was rebelling. Or the gel was just evil.

A few weeks later my niece called. She passed but had decided not to be a hair stylist. She felt bad because she was not going to be a hair stylist and I had been her volunteer. I didn't care. I wanted for her then exactly what I want for her now, for her to be happy. She had given me a great gift. I got to be the Cool Aunt for a day. We created a memory. A memory that we are still laughing at today. Today she shared our memory. I was thrilled that she remembered the experience fondly and that she shared it with her friend. And I got to be the Cool Aunt again.