THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 2010

I don't understand Carol's stews. Actually, I'm surprised she doesn't walk around like a zombie as I have found her several times this week in the kitchen past midnight smoking cigarettes/drinking my white wine/eating ice cream. When I arrived home from work I asked what she was cooking and she said left overs. I didn't really know what that meant because all that I could think of in the fridge for left overs were mashed potatoes. In a sauce pan on the stove I saw she was cooking a strange, cloudy mystery chicken stew that was about 75% onion. Enough to fit in a cup. The mashed potatoes were missing from the fridge. Without dismissing the stew I set to work creating "more" to the meal: pork chops and peas. Carol fluttered around me in need for something to contribute, and finally decided to cut up thick chunks of tomato, which were actually a great contribution. The whole time Grandpa sat on his chair acting as the peanut gallery, "What is THAT?" "There's something in the microwave I think you forgot about." "Did you see our cat? What a beauty" "Hand me a coke, will ya?" I had set the table exactly how we'd always been sitting since I got here, Carol at the end, then Grandpa, and me closest to the porch. Today Grandpa sat in my spot which had more food (because I don't eat like a 7 year old). I managed to switch the plates around before he doused my share with all that pepper and salt. "Well, what the hell is the matter with you?" he wanted to know. I thought it was a bit of an over-reaction. Grandpa started to work on the meal while I went to find Carol who had disappeared. I still have no idea where she goes, but she returned before we were half way done with our meal. After dinner I gave Grandpa his medicine, and he voiced his now almost routine response, "I'll take it in the morning." He didn't want to start tonight...? Start? I didn't push him, I know how that ends. Instead I backed off and when Carol said, "Tommy, I think your meds are next to you," and he said, "I'm going to take them in the morning," I chimed in cool and non-commital: "It seems to me that you're supposed to take those type of medicines everyday. At least that's what my doctor always tells me whenever I get a prescription." Grandpa, "Look at me. I've lived this long." Then (still calm and cool) to Carol I say, "wouldn't you think heart medication would be something you wouldn't mess around with?" I even shrugged like it was not something I really cared about either way and went back to my reading. "I'LL TAKE IT IN THE MORNING," he says. Still looking down at my book I say, "I didn't realize you had gotten a doctor's degree is all." "WELL I HAVE." Then, quietly (because I'm too much of a smart-ass to refrain myself, "Well, I guess I missed that in your bio."
I had cleaned up all the dinner except Carol's stew, which she insisted need to simmer some more. She went to the front porch to have a cigarette, when her stew met it's inevitable demise. My grandfather, who never cleans his own dishes, must of felt the need to contribute to the cleaning up and with a loss for ideas poured the stew down the disposal. He then looked at me pointedly and turned around to go his room, leaving the stove top still on.
I had a chat with my father about what to do about the Tom-Meds issue which calmed me enough to give it another go. Sure enough, I walked into his room where he was watching Wheel of Fortune (in white boxers. who sold these to him? does this man not own pajama pants?) and gave him his medicine. No fight at all. Then, just because this was too easy, I went to check that Carol had taken her meds. Sure enough, she hadn't. I brought them out to the kitchen and showed her how all of the Thursday medicine slots were full and how the patch marked 9/16 was not used. I thought this was stellar logic, but she had logic of her own, "sweetie, the calendar says I already took my medicine." Fair enough. I told her I was 100% sure she hadn't based on the evidence, and all the days were running together this week for me too, so I can understand if she accidentally marked that she had on the calendar.
In other news, I'm getting more optimistic about my homesickness with Ross just down here, Joel and Co. moving down, Bill visiting on the 8th, Mom possibly visiting over MEA, Logan possibly visiting of Halloween and halfway to Thanksgiving. I'm starting not to get the desperate need to run up to strangers at the grocery store offering hugs and/or pleads, "will you be my friend?"