All posts tagged: Grandparent

sexy cougar

My Abuela, the Cougar

Today’s post is going to be a short one because I’m on senior-sitting detail all day.  My parents are headed to Toms River to bring my grandfather back to Philadelphia, which means that Abuela and I are going to have the house all to ourselves. We’re still considering our options at this point but I think we’re going to have a party.  Why?  Well, to put it frankly, my grandmother is becoming a cougar. I don’t think she even realizes it (that’s the beauty of Alzheimer’s) but you should see her when we’re out in public. Take Wednesday, for example.  I had to go to the bank to deposit some checks and I brought her along with me because she’s training to be a long-distance walker for the next Olympics.  (At least that’s the only possibly explanation I can come up with.) Our particularly Wells Fargo branch has several rather nice-looking male employees and she of course had to turn a well-meaning “Good morning” from one of them into a full-blown conversation while I was …

cookie monster

Reasons (Not) to Get Married

I watch enough reality TV to know that there are some very stupid reasons to get married.  That hasn’t stopped me, however, from compiling the following list: (Keep in mind its late and I’ve just come from baking 160 cookies for Parent Observation Night at the studio.) Health Insurance: The Wedding Date works for the state.  He has good health insurance.  I work for myself.  I do not.  My current plan is simply “Don’t get sick.” Water Pressure: The Wedding Date has an amazing shower.  Because he’s a neat freak, it’s always clean and the water pressure is to die for.  Seriously.  I could spend hours in his shower. Vacuuming: The Wedding Date actually enjoys vacuuming.  He says it makes him feel zen.  I have tried to cultivate a zen attitude while vacuuming on numerous occasions but now that I can’t vacuum in the nude, it’s not nearly as fun as it used to be.  (Who am I kidding?  Vacuuming is never fun.  I hate it with a passion.) My Grandmother: I had breakfast with …

alzheimers disease

My New Roomies

I’ve been avoiding this post for a while.  It’s too personal.  It’s not fun.  And there’s really no way to even inject a bit of humor into the situation because you’re not supposed to joke about these kinds of things. So, here goes: My grandmother has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. I’m not used to this sort of thing.  No one in my family has ever had Alzheimer’s or breast cancer or any of those other “causes” that they ask you to donate a dollar for when you go to the supermarket.  And while I don’t mean to trivialize either these diseases or the people who’ve been through them, I’m not used to ribbons or fund raisers or “raise awareness” campaigns.  Heck, I wear pink all the time as a dance teacher and the one day I chose to vary my wardrobe last fall was the day we were supposed to be “celebrating” breast cancer. But now, things are different. And I feel guilty.  It’s no big secret that I think my grandparents are crazy …

From the Olive Garden to Africa

The good thing about having a boyfriend is that when your family makes its annual Mother’s Day pilgrimage to the Toms River Olive Garden, you have an excuse to cut out early.  The bad thing is that if your boyfriend comes from good stock, which The Wedding Date does, he’s going to have several grandparents of his own to contend with. But let’s start at the beginning, shall we?  On Saturday afternoon, I drove my brother’s truck into a wall.  A few hours later, I attempted to bake a double batch of butter pecan cookies (so that I’d have something to bring to The Wedding Date’s parents’ house) and even though I’ve been using this particular recipe since high school, the results were nothing short of horrific. Later that evening, The Prodigal Son (aka Tech Support, aka my younger brother) came for a visit and because he’s now a long haul trucker and doesn’t make it home all that often, my mom made steak and steamed clams for dinner.  Unfortunately we didn’t get to actually …

Christmas Day at Casa Richter

About halfway into our appetizers at Ikko Hibachi Restaurant on Christmas Day, my grandmother asks, “So Katrina, do you have any special men in your life?”  Because it’s Christmas, I decide to spare her the truth; she nearly had a heart attack three Easters ago when I informed her I was dating a Jew. The afternoon follows its usual course: my brother produces a tote bag from beneath the table and proceeds to fix himself a margarita (just as he has every year for the past three years in a row).  My grandmother acts as though she’s never seen a margarita before and begs him to make her one too (just as she has every year for the past three years in a row).  My dad talks to my grandfather about cars and I ask my grandmother the same question I’ve asked her ever since my grandfather and she “rescued” two feral kittens from the stream behind their house: “How are the cats?” “Susie and Maggie are doing fine, thank you,” she says. “Didn’t you …