The other day when Jayne was keeping Ken company while I did some work at our rentals, she spent some of her time working on her computer via my computer, which is great. I’m glad she could keep up with her work instead of just sitting and twiddling her thumbs. But knowing Jayne, she wouldn’t be sitting idle either.
“Where do you keep your vacuum cleaner,” she asked when I got home. “I know you must have one — and I’m sure you have a mop. I couldn’t find anything.” In the past I would have fluttered all around telling her not to even think of cleaning and mopping my house, but I didn’t. “The vacuum is locked in the spare bedroom with the income tax which is spread all over the bed and the mop is in the garage next to the water heater,” I replied. That’s so she’ll know where to look next time.
She did manage to wipe up the kitchen with an old towel. “Does he do that on purpose?” Jayne asked “Do what on purpose?” I responded. “Does he always walk across a newly mopped floor as soon as you finish?” “Count on it,” I answered. “But it isn’t deliberate. Telling him you just finished mopping is meaningless. That’s why I make sure he is napping before I start. And thank you, the floor looks good to me.”
I reminded her that the reference book for Alzheimer’s is “The 36-Hour Day,” and even if I did have 36 hours I still wouldn’t get everything done that has to be done, especially when I still manage our rental property. It seems that at the beginning of the day, I mentally make my list of what I will do and when it’s time to go to bed I just forward those chores over to the next day — or the next. Eventually everything will get done. If the floor isn’t vacuumed, the kitchen isn’t mopped and I can leave notes in the dust it doesn’t matter. It isn’t that I don’t care, it’s just that I can’t care. Taking care of what’s important is what matters. So, if any of my friends want to vacuum my floors, do my dishes or fold my clothes I say in the popular vernacular, “Knock yourself out” and thank you so much.
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