Farmers Market

Reggie and I made our second trip to Wilson’s farmers market Saturday.
The first time was three weeks ago. We bought some delicious snapbeans. There was a steady stream of customers, and we were pleased to see that the farmers were selling their produce.
This week, the market was jammed when we there! When we pulled in, I told Reggie there must be something else going on at the fairgrounds because there were so many cars. What was going on was fresh corn, newly-dug potatoes, cantaloupes, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and blueberries. There were so many shoppers that we had to turn sideways to walk in the sheltered area where the market is held!
We got in line behind several other customers to buy two dozen ears of corn from the back of a pickup truck. I’m glad we got there when we did because soon after 9, several corn varieties had already been sold. We bought a dozen white ears and a dozen yellow, and both were delicious. The scene reminded me of a passage from Jan Karon’s Mitford books when the villagers line up for the first round of fresh corn from the valley.
I also bought an organic green bell pepper Saturday morning. The flesh was very thin and had a nice crunch, which I love. It made a nice addition to my fruited chicken salad for Sunday’s lunch. From the same booth, we purchased organic yellow squash, which made a very tasty casserole.
We’ll be back at the farmers market for more fresh produce. I love to take advantage of fresh corn, especially, and don’t want to miss the season’s peak.
If you haven’t been yet, make a point to stop by one Saturday morning soon. The market is located on U.S. 301 at the Wilson County Fairgrounds and open each Saturday, except July 12, from 7:30 a.m. to noon.

What's in a name anyway?

I think I've finally accepted the fact that Mama doesn't know who I am.
She knows I'm Lisa. Asks for Lisa, gets upset when Lisa leaves. But she really doesn't know who Lisa is.
Yesterday was my birthday. After I sat with Mama and Daddy while they ate supper, I walked with Mama to the living room to say good bye. She didn't want me to leave and started crying a little bit. I put my arms around her shoulders and made sure we were making eye contact so she could concentrate on what I was saying. I explained that it was my birthday and I was going home to have a birthday meal with my family. No response, no facial change, no "happy birthday!"
"Do you remember when I was born?" I asked her. "No," she answered. "Did you know I was your first baby?" See looked at me with a confused expression. She sort of laughed softly and responded again: "No."
I looked over at the sitter. "She has no idea I'm her daughter, does she?" She shook her head, agreeing with my assessment.
I didn't cry over this. It wasn't a big revelation.
Alzheimer's confuses so many things. Mama has no idea of relationships. No idea that Reggie is my husband, for instance, but she loves Reggie and asks for him by name.
Mama may not know I'm her firstborn child, but she knows I love her and that I'm going to look after her, and that's all that counts. Really. She knows when I come to see her that I'm bringing supper or the groceries or arms that wrap around her in a hug and hands that clasp hers as we walk. She knows she can count on me and trust me.
I tell her that often when she worries about nightfall approaching. She's scared for it to grow dark, sad that I'm going home to my husband and children. I reassure her that she will never be alone again, that she can trust me to do what's best for her and Daddy. She nods and assures me she's doing the best she can, too.
Who can ask for anything more?

Mother's Day card

I was close to Lynn’s Hallmark Tuesday afternoon, so I decided to go in and buy a Mother’s Day card.
I’m not sure who I was buying it for. Me, I guess.
My mom will not realize it’s Mother’s Day, I said to myself. She will not understand, I don’t think, when I explain it to her. And the significance of the card will mean nothing to her. I’ll hand her the card, kiss her and say “Happy Mother’s Day.” She won’t know how to open it, although it won’t be sealed, and when I hand it to her, she will turn it over and try to figure out what it is and how to open it. I’ll point out the pretty picture on the front and read the verse, and she will look at me with a blank stare or will look beyond me, not really hearing me.
Please don’t think I’m cruel in my description, but that’s how it is in this late stage of Alzheimer’s. Things that used to be so important to her — and that includes special greeting cards — have absolutely no meaning to her now. Not a speck.
But there I was, standing in the Mother’s Day aisle at Lynn’s, looking for a perfect card for my beloved mama. I could feel the knot in my throat before I picked up the first card. The knot turned to tears as soon as I read the message. It was something about Mom being the first person I call when I need someone, when I’m happy or sad.
“Oh my God, I can’t do this,” I said, knowing full well that Mama was always the first person to hear my good news and my bad. She was my rock. As her mind deteriorated, I stopped turning to her because it was too hard for both of us. Hard for her because she couldn’t comprehend or help me. Hard for me because she couldn’t comprehend or help me.
Up until maybe six months ago, I still told Mama my problems and concerns. I’d look her in the eye, and she’d look back (something she hardly ever does now.) She pretended she understood what I was saying. I pretended she understood what I was saying. I felt a little better. She felt a little better. It’s all very pitiful, isn’t it?
Anyway, back to Hallmark. My eyes roamed the pretty pastel cards with flowers on them, the ones with people on them. Wonder which one wouldn’t make me cry? But one caught my eye. A young girl with short blond hair peered from the corner of a card.
That child looked just like me and just like my daughter, for that matter! I couldn’t believe it. I picked it up, read the sentiment. Something about trying on Mom’s high heeled shoes. I did that! Every little girl has done that. But it didn’t really matter what the card said, it was the card I was buying. Somehow, it cheered me up knowing how excited my daughter would be to see the card because I knew she’d get it.
I’ll give Mama that card on Mother’s Day. She won’t recognize how much the child on the card looks like Anna and me, and I’ll probably cry again.
But I’ll give her a hug and a kiss anyway because she’s my mama, and I love her like no one else.