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Strawberry cake

Here's another recipe for you fellas. Fresh strawberries are so hard to resist, and this is a great dessert to make using them. It's totally easy and I know you can do it!
I even included tons of pictures this time so you can see what's up with each stage.

I stole borrowed this recipe from Smitten Kitchenhttp://smittenkitchen.com/blog/2011/05/strawberry-summer-cake/

Here's what you need to make it:

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature, plus extra for pie plate
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon table salt
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 large egg
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 pound strawberries, hulled and halved

Kitchen tip from Karen: When prepping strawberries (or other fruit, like paring and peeling apples), I like to have one bowl handy with a plastic bag lining it for all the junky bits. When you're done, just lift out and toss the bag, and the bowl doesn't even need washing!

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter a 10-inch pie pan or 9-inch deep-dish pie pan (what I used). I like to use the wrapper from the butter and smear that sucker all over the pan.

First measure out the dry ingredients. Whisk flour, baking powder and salt together in a small bowl. A quick stir with a fork is fine. Set aside. (No, there's no picture of it. It's just a bowl with floury stuff in it. You can figure that one out by yourselves!)

In a larger bowl, beat butter and 1 cup sugar until pale and fluffy with an electric mixer, about 3 minutes.

Mix in egg, milk and vanilla until just combined.

See? Mine's still a little lumpy because my butter was a little firm. It's okay!

Add dry mixture gradually, mixing until just smooth.

Pour into prepared pie plate. Mine came out thick, so I had to spread it out with the spatula. No big deal!

Arrange strawberries, cut side down, on top of batter, as closely as possible in a single layer. Just squeeze them in as best you can, no need for perfection. Sprinkle remaining 2 tablespoons sugar over berries.

Important!!!!! Bake cake for 10 minutes then reduce oven temperature to 325°F and bake cake until golden brown and a tester comes out free of wet batter, about 50 minutes to 60 minutes. (Gooey strawberries on the tester are a given.)

Let cool in pan on a rack. Cut into wedges. Serve with whipped cream, aka "foo foo", or vanilla ice cream. Enjoy!

Banana Bread Time!

All right, you guys. Your bananas should be thoroughly dead now, and ready to be made into a tasty batch of banana bread.

First off, read this entire thing through at least once, if not twice before you get started. Get out all the ingredients in the list and put them together in one place on your counter near your mixing bowl/device. And if you print out or write down the measurements, it's handy to stick it on the upper cupboard door in front of your work area so slops and spills won't get all over it so easy.

Preheat that oven of yours to 350. Make sure the rack inside is in the middle of the oven before that sucker gets hot.

Do yourself a favor and fill your dishpan or sink or whatever you hand wash dishes in now with hot, soapy water. When you finish with your messy ingredients, you can dump those measuring cups and such right in the soapy water and they'll be half washed before your loaf goes in the oven.

Take that loaf pan you got and grease the bottom only. You can smear a stick of butter around the bottom, or spray it and smear it around a bit with a paper towel. I've done both and either works great. You just don't want to grease the sides because the bread needs to be able to grab onto the sides to grow up to be a nice happy loaf.

Grab that mixing bowl and put all the following in there:

2-3 peeled mushy bananas (no pre-mashing or measuring necessary)
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar
3 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
3 Tablespoons vegetable oil
1/3 cup milk
1 egg

Got all that in there? I keep track by putting all the ingredients out first on one side of the counter, and as I measure and add each one, it goes to the other side of the bowl. Easy way to double check yourself.

*If you're mixing this by hand, mush the layers of stuff together gently at first so you don't throw flour and milk all over the counter. A good circular scrape around that scoops and turns the bottom stuff to the top is a great method of getting the mixing started. For those fancy or trained cooks, that's called folding. Then just get your muscles going and stir that mess until it all looks about the same.

*If you're using a hand mixer (power tools--woot!), just mush the beaters around in the bowl in a stirring motion to get the mixing started, then turn them on a low speed and get that stuff looking like super thick pancake batter.

*And for those blessed with a stand mixer, pulse the beater on for just a fraction of a second a few times to get the mixing started, then mix on low for half a minute. Sometimes I drape a dishtowel over the top so I don't throw flour and milk all over the place, sometimes I manage to make a mess anyway. A nice soapy dishrag from that wash pan cleans up counters quick.

You should now have a bowl with a thick creamy looking mess in it. It should be fairly uniform in texture, no big lumps of dry stuff. Grab that spatula/rubber scraper thingy and clean off your beater/mixing spoon. Give the bowl a good scrape all the way to the bottom and make sure nothing got missed down there. If you find dry flour down on the bottom, just use that spatula and stir it around until it's mixed in.


Great. Now scrape that batter into your prepared loaf pan. It doesn't have to be fancy, just try not to get it all over the edges so you don't end up with burnt icky stuff. If I slop, I just squeegee it off with my fingers and get it all down in the pan. Fingers work well for getting the last globs off the scraper, too. Your pan should be about half full, more or less. There needs to be about an inch of pan showing above the batter...Any less and it might ooze over the sides when it poofs up.

Your oven should be up to temp and had a chance to even itself out inside. Put that loaf pan carefully in the middle of that rack in the oven so you don't burn yourself on that hot rack or oven walls. Close the door and set a timer for an hour.

This is a great time to wash up your mixing stuff. Or go watch a program on TV and let that stuff just soak. It's up to you.

One hour later, your bread should be getting close to done. Some ovens run hot (like mine), so it's best to check it a smidgen early. Open that oven and use a mitt for gawsh sakes to pull the rack out so you can reach the loaf safely. Look at that lovely loaf! It should have a nice light brown top with pale cracks. Take a bamboo skewer or cake tester and poke down to near the bottom through one of the cracks and pull it straight back out. You'll probably have a thin coating of gooey on your skewer, and that's okay. Just put it back in for 10 minutes and then re-check it. If your skewer has a few gooey crumbs, it only needs 5 minutes more, and then poke it again. If that skewer comes out clean, your loaf is done baking!

Set that hot loaf pan on the top of your stove or on a trivet or something and let that sucker cool off for a bit. Don't forget to turn off the oven! (Guess who's forgotten more than once. *blush*)

Once you can hold the pan with your bare hands, take a table knife and run it down between the loaf and all four sides of the pan to loosen the loaf. Gently turn the whole thing upside down in your hand and give the bottom of the pan a sharp pat. Grab that pan and it should pull off the bottom of the loaf fairly neatly with a slight wiggle. There'll be a coating of crumbs on the inside of the pan, but that should be about it. Set the loaf right side up on a cutting board and prepare to slice yourself a slice of yumminess!

New issues for mom

Monday I took mom in to see the doctor because her shoulder was giving her pain. It's been bugging her off and on for a couple weeks, and it's started to wake her when she rolls over on it. She's had arthritis in it for many years, and I can remember taking her in to get a cortisone injection in her shoulder probably 12-15 years ago.

The doctor ordered some x-rays, and looking at them is pretty ugly. Bones in x-rays are supposed to show up bright white; Mom's look translucent. On top of that, the joint space between the top of the humerus and the socket is about a third to a quarter the size it should be. That means there's a lot of connective tissue that's just not there anymore.

If mom were in better shape, it would be time to consider shoulder replacement surgery. But, since mom's really getting kind of frail and the bones aren't dense enough to support the prostheses, that's out of the picture.

We got an appointment this friday with the orthopedic P.A. that visits the local clinic to see if another cortisone injection might relieve some of the pain.

Then mom's doctor called this afternoon. The radiologist took some time to study mom's x-rays and says there's a good possibility that mom has a trapped rotator cuff. I looked it up and it's also called 'rotator cuff impingement'. The tendon of the rotator cuff travels under the shoulder blade through a gap; when it gets 'trapped' it can't move smoothly through that gap. Instead, it rubs on the arthritic gravel/bone spurs and weakens, causing pain and making it more susceptible to tearing.

The orthopedic P.A. will check for that on friday, and hopefully determine if a cortisone shot and/or physical therapy will help manage mom's pain best.


Bad day

Gosh, I ignore this poor blog for over two months and then post twice in a week. Whatever.

I've been avoiding blogging about mom because it's so damn disheartening. She's constantly flopped over to the left worse and worse every day, she can't stay awake, she can barely use even adaptive utensils to feed herself. Sunday morning I awoke to find that she fell down with a great crash....walking across the room in her nightshirt from the commode to the bathroom with no glasses on, not having wiped, with no underwear on, and with absolutely no idea what happened. She couldn't even tell me why she was going to the restroom.

Yesterday she was bugging me to take her out to buy an eye patch. Say what? Apparently her double vision is getting so bad she's having trouble reading even large print books. All the prisms in the world don't help when the Parkinson's gets into the eye muscles.

Today I had high hopes that she would be having a good day. She was actually awake and sitting on the side of the bed trying to take her C-PAP mask off when I got in to give her the first pill doses of the day. She had already used the commode and was just waiting for her pills. Unfortunately, everything went downhill from there. She's got new shingles blisters in two spots: one cluster by her tailbone (normal) and another completely isolated spot on her left shin (bizarre).

Breakfast was the usual mess, with her spooning more onto the table and her thumb than into her mouth. I left her for a bit after she settled back in her room at noon to take lunch to the shop. When I came home at one, she had relieved the kitchen of a huge handful of cookies and said she'd like some lunch. I got her a yogurt at her request and left her to eat.

Two hours later, I go in when her pill alarm beeped to make sure she gets her 'threes' in her. The threes are NOT in her pill box, apparently already taken, and she can't tell me when. She has no memory of taking them, but she must have since I can't find them anywhere. I'd rather she just did her usual of ignoring her pill timer and just forgetting to take doses completely. Not enough meds just makes her shaky and rigid. Too much is what caused the cognitive damage we're already dealing with.

Also, she's pulled out a basket with porcelain doll parts that need the cloth bodies attached and dumped it half out on the floor, breaking in pieces the chest plate of one and possibly damaging several other pieces. I showed her the broken one and she argued with me that she did not break it. Yeah, right. Pieces here on the floor at your feet, with the parts freshly unwrapped from their protective bubble wrap. She said she wanted to finish assembling them, something she has not had the dexterity to do for nearly five years, and she also can't remember how to do it to the point that she was trying to get me to sew the pieces together for her three years ago. I'm sorry, but I have NO interest in trying to figure out how the heck that's supposed to go (very tricky and incomplete directions) and NO desire to get roped into making over a dozen doll bodies for these sets she's been hoarding since before I came home from college.

Oh, and she hadn't even touched her lunch yogurt in two hours.

I don't know how much longer I can do this. I'd say most of the days are okay, with only minor stupidities to deal with. Annoying, but that's life. Then days like this come around and I'm practically in tears.

Mom only mentions going to a nursing home when she's in a depressed anxiety fit, usually when I'm a bit frustrated with her and she's using it as a guilt hammer. Very few will take state-paid residents anyway, and the ones that aren't total hellholes have insanely long waiting lists. Y-e-a-r-s long waiting lists. Were a decent place become available for her, she wouldn't do well there anyway. It's hard enough to get mom to socialize with her friends when I pack her to their houses and invite them over here all the time. If she was in a facility, she'd just isolate herself and refuse interaction and sink into a miserable pile of anti-social do-nothing, get sick, and waste away. I know this for a fact, because that's what she tries to do already as much as she can get away with it.

Bah. What a depressing pile of twaddle. I just need to suck it up, schedule some respite care, and take a freaking vacation.

Any takers?


June was chemo cap month

The month of June is a busy one in Kitsap county as far as charity events go. Five weekends in a row there were American Cancer Society Relay for Life events in the area! I decided to really go for it and bring my hats that I've been making to the events and see if I could sell some.

A bit of backstory first: Several years ago, my aunt in California had breast cancer and was bemoaning the fact that all the hats she could find were either wool or fleece or otherwise hot and unsuitable for summertime in the Bay Area. I offered to find a pattern and attempt to make a hat for her out of lightweight quilting cotton. This was a stretch for me, because all my sewing up to that point had been two-dimensional sewing, aka quilting. A three-dimensional object like a hat was going to be a challenge.

As it turned out, the sewing went well and my aunt loved the hat so much she shared it with the local wig shop down there and said I must make more to share with other people. So, I started making them for people I 'met' on the internet. My hats have been worn in nine states and three countries now! I even made some with nobody in particular in mind and put them up for sale on Etsy. I sold a couple that way, but interest had dropped off over the last year.

Back to this June, I packed up the dozen hats I had made in a variety of fabrics and colorways and headed down to the first one at South Kitsap. Well, that's not entirely true. I also loaded The Blue Brick (mom's wheelchair vanagon) with the generator, my sewing machine, a chair and a table, my portable ironing board and travel iron, and a bunch of fabrics in bins in the back. I also made a ghetto-style banner sign that I laminated with packing tape to put up, bought a 'Square' so I could take credit and debit cards with my Ipad, and a bunch of business cards.

I knew there was parking just outside the north fence at the track, so I headed down a bit before the relay was supposed to start. Having never done this before, I had emailed the even organizer asking if it would be okay for me to bring my hats down, but I received no response. I wasn't sure if they would even allow me in, but I went anyway thinking the worst that could happen is that I'd be sent home. I managed to find one last parking spot by the northeast corner of the track where I set up, stuck my sign to the tailgate, and started sewing.

There was a huge turnout that first night, and I was able to sell four of my ready-made hats! I was thrilled. I went back the next morning hoping to sell some more, but the second day crowd was much smaller and too tired to be interested, so I learned to only go out for the first part of the relays. I learned a lot that first night. I handed out business cards to lots of people as they walked by, and found that standing by the trackside with hats and demonstrating them, barking out their features sold more than just sitting by my machine and waiting.

The following weekend was the North Mason gig. I scoped out the location on Google maps and managed to snag a prime location near the bandstand. I sold three more, but the best sale of the entire month happened that night. It was rather chilly for June (57 degrees!) and a woman walked up, glanced over my hats, and grabbed a blue flannel one. She then proceeded to whip the wig off her head, stuff it in her pocket, and put my hat on with a smile and a snuggly "oooooh!". She told her husband to pay for the hat and marched back to the track to continue her laps.

Next came Gig Harbor. I had never been near the location, so Bill took me down mid-week to scope out the location. I picked a likely area to park and work, and it ended up being just fine. For the first time, I was set up inside the fence, and the organizers were very kind about letting me set up and sew. I also tried using our coat tree from home as a display stand, which worked very well. I had the added bonus of doing a bit of sewing for some people who just wanted a patch stitched on a bandana, as well as sharing my generator with a very nice fellow doing child ID services. I sold three ready-made, made one custom to order that night, and have since received two more orders by phone from the cards I handed out that night. I also tried something new: I walked around to the various camps before the relay started telling them I was there, what I made, showing them a hat and its features, and handing out business cards. I was so nervous, but it obviously worked!

The following weekend was the North Kitsap Relay. The location was awful, with nowhere to park anywhere near the track, and no easy access to bring in my stuff at all. I also managed to mess up my shoulder that week, and the weather was terrible, pouring down rain. Lack of parking, lame shoulder, and lousy weather. I hated to do it, but I wimped out and stayed home.

The last saturday in June was the Bremerton/Central Kitsap Relay. I was stopped entering the parking lot! Luckily, they were just very organized and the coordinators found me a good place to set up inside the fence, along with letting me use the loading ramp to bring in my carts. The announcer even was kind enough to talk my hats up over the speakers! Despite the rain, I did the walk-around before the event and handed out business cards. Everyone was very kind and welcoming, and I sold SEVEN hats that night, including two I custom made between showers.

It was the best experience, and I was sad that the local relays were done for the year. I have high hopes that the cards I handed out and the contacts I made will continue to bring in more sales in the next weeks. And I definitely know what my weekends next June will be spent doing!


No, there's no proof of that, but when you spend hours every day monitoring a parent with a degenerative disease that they haven't proved one way or the other has or hasn't got a genetic component, you get a bit paranoid.

Having done all the research on Parkinson's disease, I know all the potential precursor symptoms. I have many of them! Of course, so do a majority of the average adult population, so it doesn't mean a dang thing....except to that worry-farm in the back corner of my brain.

Here's my worrywart list of symptoms:

My hands will shake when I'm any combination of tired, hungry, and/or stressed.
My legs get twitchy in the evenings sometimes(i.e. restless leg syndrome) which is related to PD.
My left eyelid has been twitching for hours every day for weeks now.
My extremities go tingly or numb a lot easier than they used to when I was younger...the beginnings of neuropathy?
I get constipated sometimes.
I have a sniffly nose year 'round.
My handwriting is not as smooth as it used to be.

Here's my commonsense rebuttals, in order:

Well duh, of course your hands shake when you have low blood sugar and other stresses.
Doing vigorous exercise (like zumba) one day and sitting around the next might do that.
The eyelid is probably related to stress or allergies.
You have low blood pressure, doofus, not to mention longer arms and legs.
Who doesn't when they don't eat enough fruits and vegetables?
You just might be slightly allergic to your cat or house dust, stupid.
And just how much do you actually write anymore? Hard to stay smooth with no practice.

I know I'm just being neurotic. There's absolutely nothing there to take to a doctor that they wouldn't come to the same conclusion as my common sense does. But stress can do strange things to you, including nearly all of the 'symptoms' my worrier likes to point at.

Don't let anyone tell you that caring for an aging/ill parent isn't stressful. No matter how much love and respect there is between you, it can drive you to the edge of sanity. Add to that the pressure from loved ones who thinks said parent should be in a nursing home, as if that would remove ALL the stress from your life...NOT!

Bah. I'm going to go look at pictures of funny kittens now.


Worse every day

Mom, that is.

We had a really fun week a short while ago when mom had a reaction to a supplemental antidepressant that was prescribed for her. She started seeing whole groups of people who weren't there. A dozen middle-aged women and teenagers that chatted amongst themselves and kept wandering in and out. Three extra-tall people, two men and one woman, and one of the men had a triangle for a head. Two little mechanical men that hung out on either side of her walker. Two african women, one of which was sleeping in the bed in the studio. And she heard disembodied arguments, too! The worst of it is over now, but I had really hoped that once the medication had cleared her system that it would disappear completely. But no, she still has the occasional hallucination that there's a third cat in the house, or an occasional not-real person around.

The most problematic delusion lately was that the doll club ladies entrusted the club dues check to her (NOT!) and that it was A) on her desk somewhere, entailing a shuffling and un-sorting of the piles of crap thereon, B) it must have fallen behind her bookcase, so I should empty and move the heavy thing to find said check, or C) it's in her purse somewhere, so she must empty the contents of her purse all over the bed and floor right before bedtime and then forget what she was looking for. That one took three days to clear up, until the ladies were over for a sewing day and I was able to get them to tell mom that it didn't happen.

Her ability to know what's important is completely skewed. She will bellow like a wounded rhinoceros when she wants some dessert, but neglects to mention that she spilled a half a can of soda on the floor. Instead, she wandered around the house for 20 minutes to get a cookie before returning to her room and mumble mentioning that there's a puddle on the floor. (They beat it into our heads at caregiver training that spills are a huge fall hazard that need to be cleaned up immediately, and I've explained that to mom dozens of times.)

I also have to remind her nearly every day of the utter basics of walker safety. She needs to pay attention to where she's walking, instead of staring off to the side at something. She needs to have her hands empty and on the handles when using her walker, not full of cookies or leaning on the brake levers. Those brake levers lock with just a light pressure, and she really doesn't need to mash them with her full body weight repeatedly every time she goes to lock them. Walk forward around the room rather than backing up, because once she gets started going backwards, she can't stop. And for Gawd's sake, PLEASE use those brakes when you're standing still reaching for something, leaving only one hand on the walker. Her favorite imperilment trick is to stop with her walker way too far away from her destination, then walk around and away from said walker. You'd think after five years of using a walker that this stuff would be automatic...

Oy. She would be safer in her power chair, but the walls and furniture would pay a heavy price. Plus, she needs to keep walking as long as possible. Either way, I'm a wreck every time she decides to move around. Bill mentions nearly once a month that she should be in a nursing home. I don't know how much longer I can handle this myself, especially with the new psychological problems. But I know that a facility couldn't give her the tailored assistance she needs for best quality of.

Truly, there are days when she does just fine with only minimal assistance. But those days are getting fewer and farther between all the time. I guess all I can do is continue on and wait for the next crisis to come along, and do whatever's best from there.


An afternoon in Mom-land

I return home from my Zumba class at the YMCA to find a wet paper towel and a sandwich spreader on the floor in front of the cookie jar counter. Puzzled, I clean them up and then I go in to check on mom. She's sitting in her recliner, reading. I ask mom what the stuff on the kitchen floor was about.
"Oh, I was using them to pick up the chocolate chips I dropped."
First off, they're chocolate chip cookies, and I can't see how a soggy paper towel would help, much less a small spreader. Maybe she intended to open up the drawer with the long cooking spatulas and got the wrong drawer, then grabbed what she thought she was looking for? Who knows.

Time passes....

I'm curled up reading on the sofa, when mom comes tottering out of her bedroom with her walker. I look up from my book with an inquiring "Yes?"

"I'm sorry I didn't come when you called," she says.

"I didn't call you," I reply, puzzled. "Why do you think I called you?"

"It's dinnertime."

"Nope. It's only 4:30, mom. Not dinner time yet."

*blank look* (At this point you can practically hear gears grinding and smell the smoke from straining neural systems trying to make sense of this.)

I try again. "I didn't call you for dinner, it's too early in the afternoon. If you want to walk around a bit, though, that's fine. Just let me know so I can spot you."

"Thank you," she says and shuffles back to her bedroom without another word or even looking at me.


Rambling in the wee hours

In the house of my mind, thoughts are like neurotic guests that won't go home when the party is over.  They pace the floors, wearing holes in the carpet of my mental rooms.  With great effort, I separate one from the throng.  But no more than I push it out the front door, than its twin cousins sneak in the back.  
I've left many messages for Morpheus, but he won't return my calls.  Oh fickle one, to poke and pester me all day long, but refuse to come visit when invited. 
I try turning off all the lights and going to bed, but they won't relent.  Oh no.  Instead they start singing rounds, mumbling their separate tunes over the top of one another, endlessly repeating.  When it gets to be more than I can bear, I call in the big guns.  The soporific enforcer!  But no; even this aid comes to naught against these tenacious pests.  
Reading can temporarily silence them, as if they quiet to listen to the story.  But my eyes grow heavy, weary.  When the book is set aside, they resume their chatter.  They refuse to believe that what they have to say isn't important right now.  If you try to ignore them, they just repeat themselves, getting louder if less coherent the longer they go.  But dare to focus on one and listen to it alone and it drops it's voice to a whisper like a stage-frightened child.   Meanwhile,  the others shout all the louder to fill the gaps in the wall of sound.


Let's not do that again, mmmkay?

Wow, that was an unpleasant end to my evening. I was just relaxing in a hot bath when I heard a crash from mom's room. Knowing that nothing good comes from a noise like that, I climbed from the tub, grabbed my robe, and went to check it out.

Mom is standing in the doorway to her bathroom, the walker in front of her, and a great litter of broken dessert bowl and remnants of dessert on the floor, as well as her lower dentures. She's shuffling around, trying to figure out how to pick up her lower plate. I just hustle her away from the mess, taking her hands and leading her to her chair (which, incidentally, is also liberally smeared over with dessert spillage). STAY! I order, because she's still worried about her teeth when there's broken glass all over the floor.

(Another aside: Don't ask me how she managed to shatter a pyrex bowl. Them suckers are nearly unbreakable, and usually if they do break, it's into two or three big chunks, not lots of little shards.)

As I carefully swept up all the visible bits with a dustpan and broom, I asked her why she was taking her dessert dish into the bathroom in the first place. "Oh, I must have forgotten I had it in my hand," was her response.

Um, using the walker is supposed to involve BOTH HANDS holding onto BOTH HANDLES. I've told her repeatedly that she should never ever have anything in her hands when she's using the walker. I remind her of this, then after doing a wipe-down of the floor with a damp cloth to make sure there were no slivers of glass left, I bring her the walker again so we can get her in to get cleaned up and ready for bed.

Uh oh, I spotted a smudge of blood on the floor where her foot had been resting before her dystonia pulled her lower legs up, lifting her feet off the floor. (Yes, she has amazingly strong quadriceps.) It seems she had managed to find one little chunk of glass that bounced out of the bathroom and stepped on it. The neuropathy in her feet is bad enough that she didn't even notice. I thoroughly cleaned the tiny cut and inspected it with a bright light and tweezers, luckily finding no embedded glass.

Walking back across the room, she suddenly stopped and started wavering. I asked her what she was doing, and she said she was preparing to make the sharp turn. Huh? She's in the middle of a straight line shot from chair to bathroom door; no turn at all, much less a sharp one. Unfortunately, that sort of nonsensical reasoning is becoming all too common from mom nowadays.

I finally get her in to get changed out of her food-smeared clothes and we joke that at least there's no spills of dessert in her underwear. :) I did find some in her hair, though!

When I cleaned up the mess on the floor, I had gently tossed her lower plate into the sink for her to rinse off when she put her dentures up for the night. Then she asked me where the upper plate was. It hadn't been on the bathroom floor, so I asked her where she was when she took it out. "Oh, it must be over by my chair." Apparently, she took her upper plate out before eating dessert, and it had fallen down beside the chair. Gee, ya know Mom, if you'd keep your teeth in your mouth where they belong, you wouldn't loose track of them. *sigh*

I tossed her clothes, the pillow from her chair, and the chair cover in the laundry, took the trash out to the can to dispose of the broken glass and the rags I used to wipe up with, and her mug (plastic, thankfully) out to the kitchen. As she was settling in to bed and I got ready to give her the last dose of pills for the day, it occurred to me that the spoon she had been eating dessert with was missing...

Oh well, that'll just have to be a mystery to solve another day.