Saturday, November 29, 2008
the day of famly and pie
I dress the Bird in a cutesy little dress shirt/jacket deal that's a short white thing, embroidered with flowers and ties in front. She was stylish. I served her a yummy piece of blueberry pie, but first smartly remove the dressy shirt. Grandma sees the wee shirt, and asks, "Whose shirt is this?" We're all: "Aw... Grandma. You're cute. It's the baby's." She admires it and carefully folds it. I turn back to stealing bites of the baby's pie. Grandma moves on to worrying about who will get her home; keeps forgetting she came with Aunt Pea.
Later, after they've gone, Mamaw tells me they all saw Grandma carefully fold and smooth out the Bird's blouse and then lay it across her own pie plate of unfinished blueberry pie. She shows me the splotchy blueberry stain, proudly vows it'll come out. She has a reputation for such garment rescuing.
I adore this story. I don't think Grandma would take issue with me finding her dementia adorable, and seriously, isn't that a thing where I can laugh so I don't cry thing? Not to cry about stains, but about the dozen times she forgot who the baby was, who she belongs to, who I am. I think it's preferable to laugh when she insists she's never eaten a sweet potato than to worry and fuss about her memory. The episodes when my brother and I just disappeared in her reality tell me things will be not at all cute someday, so I will hold the blueberry pie story like a new photograph that will soon be worn from touch and love.
Also in precious family history-to-be, the dog ate all the turkey leftovers. Bu got no sandwich.