Jeff could tell me, approximately, nothing. Was there any good stuff? Did Bill or anyone come by? Did you get dinner? To the first two questions, I got a definitive ”ummmm” To the second, ”yes,” but there were no available details as to what and where.
Gordon, Jeff’s brother, and now the sole “Mr. Hardware,” had bought out the inventory of a small South Baltimore corner store when the long-time owner’s health collapsed, and yesterday he took Jeff on a field trip to “help” collect the unknown grab bag within.
For my purposes, here is what was so illustrative about the day: It was long. Gordon collected Jeff at 6:15 a.m, and returned him at 9:30 p.m. I wondered how Jeff would hold up. Apparently tolerably well. But there was, in fact, company, and company--in this case--constitutes help. Help with the task at hand, and help with the Jeff-sitting. In the form of Bill and John, who did take time off from their personal SoBo efforts to help Gordon spend the day loading the panel truck and sorting the wheat from the chaff. The wheat went into the truck. The chaff--sets of dishes and other flotsam which Clement Hardware doesn’t bother with--went on the sidewalk with a big “FREE” sign, which attracted a multitude of better-than-flea-market minded SoBo residents. Occasionally, such a guy would stick his head in the door and holler “Got any wrenches?” At which point he’d have to be disabused of the notion that anything highly desirable was to be put in the “free” pile.
A full and colorful day, based on the briefest of synopses I got from Gordon today. Jam-packed with the sort of stories that, seven years ago, Jeff and I would have laughed and chatted about over our evening Chenin blanc. But now, I get ”ummmm” and ”yes.”
Nor does it help if I initiate. I can tell stories about the girl in Japanese class who reminds me of a wallaby in the headlights, or wax incisive about the pluses and minuses of Lulu versus XLibris, and I get a blank, uncomprehending gaze which wants to process what I’m saying, but utterly cannot. And, to be fully disclosing, doesn’t actually want to that badly, because it’s forgotton what it ever cared about.
There is no Alzheimer spouse who does not hate the disease with all the resigned, pathetic, punch-in-the-face, simmering abhorrence she/he can register. So, here’s the thing. I would go on a date. And the purpose of the date would be as simple as dinner and conversation. So, yes...it’s cheaty, and completely out of the realm of the possible or available, but I’d totally do it. Or at least I’d totally want to. Don’t worry mom.
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