I found my old notebook that I was taking notes in. Here's an older entry.
December 7, 2010
There are more ants in the bathroom tonight and I always forget how small the toilet seat is. I also always forget how large the hump in my grandmother's back has become.
My grandmother goes back to staring at her computer screen. She points out the story on Elizabeth Edwards. "She lost three things - her hair to cancer, her son to an accident, and her husband to an affair." It makes me happy that she is reading news stories. As she walks away to get chopsticks, I go to the screen and see that it took her that long to read and absorb one sentence. I feel my mouth turning into a thin, firm line of disappointment, but then I think at least she got the one.
She walks over and whispers to me, "I can't get in his way when he's cooking. He gets real snappy." Turns out she has mismatched chopsticks and she goes to get more. She mulls around for a bit and then returns to her computer to tell me the story of Elizabeth Edwards again.
"Isn't it horrible?" she finishes.
She talks about the plates for a bit and then goes and asks my grandfather if he needs help.
"Why?" he asks, indignantly.
I wonder why he's so behind in his cooking today, and I find out later it's because they had garage door installers come over today who ran late. I think about asking if they liked the chocolates I brought a few weeks ago, but I'm sure they won't remember them. My grandparents love spicy sausages and salami, so one time I brought them a couple mini spiced salamis from Trader Joe's. I asked them the next week if they liked them, and my grandmother looked incredulous. My grandfather explained that yes, they ate them and enjoyed them for several days, and my grandmother lamented that they were here favorite things and she couldn't even remember eating them.
My grandmother offers me Victoria Toffee from See's. It always was her favorite candy. I politely decline and wait for dinner. She comes over for a second time as I'm writing and says, "You're pretty faithful at that, huh?"
"No," I tell her. And then I think of my neglected blog.
She's already started repeating things today. It's going to be a bad night for her. Usually the velocity of her repeating is an indicator of her forgetfulness.
My grandfather is fussing in the kitchen.
"Any way you do it, we'll like it!" I hear my grandmother say.
I watch him searching for something in the high cabinets. I hear him opening the fridge after the food is on the table, and I know he's looking for cucumbers. Every week, he makes pickled cucumbers, and makes me take some home.
Grandma forgot that she's my grandmother again tonight.
"Gary is her father!" she says, with shock in her voice.
The tomatoes in the tomato beef chow mein are bad again, but the sauce is much better than last week and I feel relieved. I was starting to worry that my grandfather had lost even more of his cooking skills.