It appears that along with other abilities I have lost, I have lost my roll mojo. It's not that they are terrible--the texture just isn't quite right. I think I'm going to give it one more try, and if they don't feel and taste the way they should, I'm just going to "let it go, let it go, let it go"--sung to the tune of Let it Snow. Sister Schubert makes a great line of rolls and that's gonna have to be enough for me. And luckily, it is. Easy, and though it's a real blow to my ego, that's OK, too. I may go over to Mary's and watch her do her's when she makes them, and try to figure out what's off, before I give it one last shot. I'm not going down without a fight. I've got enough self will in me for three people.
On another topic, I went by to see mom yesterday and to see if the soft fuzzy slipper boots I got, fit. As is becoming more and more the case, she was on her bed, dead asleep. I put away other things I'd brought her and tip-toed out. There were Christmas carols playing in the hall and all of the staff were singing--and mom is in her room sawing logs, sleeping through the whole thing. I have to admit it made me laugh. Her increased need for sleep is really not a great sign, and I know that. I checked to see how she sleeps at night and was told she sleeps exactly the same way so that answers my question as to whether this might be catch up sleep, due to a sleeping disturbance, which is typical in dementia. She sleeps just fine. Ouch.
Despite everything, she still remains her sweet cheerful little frail self. I never thought I'd ever describe my mom as frail. To me she was always eight feet tall and bullet proof. Those days are long gone. In the front of my mind is the question: is this her last Christmas? I think it may be or it's likely to be the last Christmas she recognizes me. If it is, I'll deal with that and I'll try to make it fun and funny. I may get Sis a Christmas hat or collar and take her over. Or not. The bad news is, she's not like Wiggles and mom were---those two were a love affair just like he was with me. It never bothered me that he was a cheatin' dawg with mom---since he always went home with me, I didn't care. Ten bucks says he'll be waiting for mom when she leaves this world.
Boy, I love thinking back about all those memories. It's the memories that sustain me and make me laugh. I vividly remember the year I got Wigman a very royal and regal looking purple velvet collar with points on it, sort of like a court jesters. The perfect compliment to a chocolate brown elegant gentleman, or so I thought. Each point had a jingle bell on it and I could hardly wait to put it on him. We were all there when I slipped it on him and he immediately went into a shame spiral....he was sooo embarrassed he would barely walk, what with all those jingle bells jingling. We all went to pieces and could not stop laughing which only embarrassed him more. Finally, off went the purple collar, and on went the kisses and love for being such a good sport. I sure miss that old brown hound dog.