My sister’s shoulder, recently broken in three places during a swan dive into a snow bank, is healing nicely. Her recovery is vital to my survival. My recovery is just beginning. In case you missed the memo, you can read about her ordeal here. (If this doesn’t work, don’t blame me, it’s Patricia’s fault)
The hook she used when she first suffered this setback has been retired. It sits in the corner of the recovery room, still within her reach, but covered in a fine dust film. The sister has decided that she will be the master of her own fate, and she will “heal thyself”, or “herlself” as the case may be.
We all knew we were in for a rough road when Melly was taken out by a pot hole. Amid moans and groans, we took on extra assignments and every day chores. I thought we were doing a bang-up job, but turns out, not so much.
The sister is mad because she can’t find anything. Newbies putting away dinner accessories shouldn’t be expected to know where everything goes, I tell her. She says any idiot should know the electric skillet doesn’t belong in the bathroom linen closet. She has a point, but at least it’s out of the way.
Melly is also beginning to attempt certain tasks on her own, like zipping up her pants (thank God). However, when I’m in the kitchen trying to prepare our nightly delicacy, I resent her looming over me and trying to help by suggesting I plug in the can opener before using it. Hey, even I know that. I had to suggest she go back to her room the other night when she was examining the utensils for water spots.
Now, she spends a lot of time in the downstairs bathroom/laundry room, putting clothes into the washer…one by one by one. We are a household of seven, and excess bathroom time is frowned upon, even if the primary motive is laundry. The sister is especially pissed that we won’t hang the bed sheets out on the clothesline for her. Her clothesline is her best friend, but my best friend in the world of household conveniences is the clothes dryer.
Someone gave her a jigsaw puzzle in a get well basket, and I think that was what turned the tide. I happened to peek in at her during the culmination of her healing boredom and said, “Oh, good for you! You can do a puzzle!” Her head snapped up and there was fire in her eyes. She winged that puzzle piece, stormed out of the recovery room, started shouting orders like a drill sergeant. The niece cornered me later asking “What the hell did you do?” Melly has been unbearable ever since.
No one can do anything for her without chancing a head slap from her good arm. She was dragging a vacuum upstairs a while ago, right after she has changed her room around. I say if she can do all that stuff, she’s good to go. Everyone else around here is slow to learn, and insist on offering help. Then they get insulted when she tells them to ^@$*&^ off and leave her alone.
I, on the other hand, asked her if she would open a mayonnaise jar for me that was giving my arthritic hands some trouble. I did attach a bit of sarcasm to my request, and thought she would realize I was kidding. She snapped it out of my hand, jammed it between her knees and ripped the top off in a heartbeat. I told her she was a showoff.
There goes the slider. She’s headed outside to the clothesline with one sheet corner in her mouth and the clothespin bag over her good arm. I guess Melly is back. I hope so. We’re getting more snow and I’d rather look at it than shovel it.
P.S. Thanks, Patricia Sicilia, for the link instructions in dummy talk that even I can understand !