Tale of the difficult houseguests

 

 

 

Thanksgiving a day early

That’s us. Sophie and me. We are the houseguests from hell.

Colin’s house is midcentury modern with several levels. A wonderful house—unless you rely on a walker to get around. Then ordinary things become difficult. Last night it seemed all I did was ask for help—and much of it had to do with Sophie. Could you feed her? And then I gave precise instructions for what she eats, in what order. Could you give her the insulin shot?  Something I don’t do at home. Could I have another glass of wine? Could you hook up my computer for me? Could I have a night light in the bedroom, but would you turn out the overhead light because there’s a heavy chair between me and the light switch. I’m cold—do you know where you put my jacket? Turns out it is apparently still in the car, and I am wearing a cozy sweater of Lisa’s. Colin and Lisa have stars in their crown, but I am feeling so dependent. I’m sure in addition to my needs, they are tired of my apologies. At home, because I have things arranged to suit me, I am much more independent.

The worst of it came in the middle of the night. Sophie went out at eleven, just before we went to bed. At one, I had to tell Colin she was really begging to go out. At two she began to bark again and paw at the bed. I tried loving and talking—I’d get a few minutes quiet and then she was back at it, bouncing her empty dish around in frustration. I gave her water from my tumbler, and she drank it gratefully, was quiet for a while, and then began to bark again. Colin appeared, said he was taking her outside and then sleeping in the front room with her.

(Lisa told me just now that she dreamed a duck was quacking and woke enough to ask Colin if he thought the duck would be okay!)

Colin took Sophie, closed the doors to the front room and told her she was not leaving. But he said by the time he got up at six, she was anxious to get back into my bedroom. And when I woke up at eight, there she was quiet as an angel. I’ve never seen her so agitated, even though she’s been here many times before. So wish us luck tonight. She has appeared content and happy all day, so maybe she knows I’m not going away and leaving her with these strange people.

Tonight there were thirteen of us for dinner—Morgan’s longtime boyfriend and some of his family, with relationships to tangled to mention. Plus three dogs who got along admirably. Lisa’s mom, who grew up in Norway, cooked what we have come to know as Norwegian hamburgers, along with her special chicken recipe, and peas and carrots. I’ve been the lucky recipient of Torhild’s meals before, looked forward to this, and enjoyed it thoroughly. Noisy, happy, long dinner table. As the evening wore down, Colin summed it up perfectly: It almost felt like tonight was Thanksgiving

So blessed to be here. Tomorrow it will just be the five of us, and I’m looking forward to that too. Lisa and Morgan are talking about first and second dinner—first is scheduled for one; second, at six, will be leftovers.
Best of both worlds.

Sweet dreams tonight of turkey and dressing and cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie!