More on Ada

It’s not easy to get to know a ‘two-faced’, bipolar, 86 year old woman, who has dementia and is on serious medication.
But that’s my Great-Aunt Ada, and you don’t have to like someone to love them.

In any given day, she can throw a temper tantrum, go back in time to her childhood, laugh and make jokes, be manically depressed or sleep all day.

But something that remains constant is her penchant for drama!

In the mornings, Jean will ask Ada ‘How are you today?’
Ada might reply ‘Waiting to die!’

(It is very hard to keep a straight face here)

Jean will bring Ada her food, and say ‘Here my sweet! Eat your breakfast.’
Ada will turn to Jeanette and say ‘You will kill me!’
(Ada thinks the nurses are trying to poison her.)

Yet on other days, she says ‘Thank you my love. I am very lucky.’

Sometimes, her face will be looking really strange and oddly comical, and then you’ll notice she is holding her dentures in her hand.

I love the way she laughs when she realises she’s speaking Polish to us, and we don’t understand. So she says it again in English – only she’s actually still speaking Polish, but can’t tell the difference in her mind.

Most mornings, Ada wakes up and complains about her body aching (we don’t feel sorry for her, because she has been complaining all her life, and she refuses to exercise.) But the other morning, she was in a good mood, and I could hear her saying to Jean in her thick Polish accent “when ever I see that, I want to bite it…. Because it looks like chocolate!’
There was a long pause, and I wondered what she was looking at.
Then Jean said ‘The phone?’
‘Ya!’

Let Me Tell You Bout Jean!

Every morning, before I set out on ‘adventures’, I get to chat with Jean, the burly Caribbean woman, who looks after Aunt Ada during the day.

When talking to Jean, our conversation goes a little something like this:

Me sitting, listening, and Jean saying:
“Now let me tell you something! When I is walking here today, and people is stoppin me on de street, saying – where you get that bag! …. “
“And hear what I tell you! When I was makin de baby (pregnant), I was climbing a coconut tree and ….”
“Let me tell you somethin! My son - the Aquarian...” (her son’s don’t have names, she refers to them all as their star signs!!!)
Listen, I’m goina tell you something…. When I was gettin de chemo…”

And on and on it goes – for hours if I let it. One morning I decided to do an experiment. So instead of getting up to leave mid conversation, I just sat and listened, to see when she would naturally stop talking.

2hrs and 40 minutes later of solid listening and nodding my head in amazement, and I was exhausted! So I went to the toilet to have a break.

Jean can talk, and although I often struggle to comprehend what she’s saying, her heart is as big as the ocean, and those who know her, feel lucky to be in her presence.

Week in Review

This week, I saw my Aunt naked.

I asked the door lady how much a hand bag was in the Desil store,

And… I was walking down 6th Avenue, swinging my arms to a really great song (Fa Fa Fa by Data Rock) and I accidentally hit a man, trying to pass me, in the balls.

Jolly good so far.

You Know You're an Aussie in NY when... #3

....when you notice on all the bathroom mirrors, there is a huge sign saying ‘Employees must wash hands after using bathroom’.

No der Freddy Kruger.

Bring on the Crazies

Not to make any nerds out there jealous, but last weekend I’d just walked out of a film conference with the producer of ‘The Wrester’ and was wondering what on earth I was doing with my night, when a nice ‘Slavic’ boy started chatting to me. At last! – a film nerd and a foreigner for me to play with! We talked passionately about the conference and decided to grab dinner at a brilliant American invention – the Wholefood Market (http://www.wholefoodsmarket.com/products).

It is there, that the unexpected happens. We sit on a communal bench, next to a woman in her early 40’s with her head in her hands, and a cup of milk. I figure she’s just another depressed new Yorker. Then, in a broad NY accent, she looks up, and asks ‘is it hot in here? Tell me it’s hot in here?’. We both agreed, it was pretty hot. A few minutes later, ‘No, I mean I’m feeling really hot in here.’
‘Yes’ we agree it’s hot. Hotter than the freezing cold outside that is. She turns and stares. ‘I had two drinks! Only two! And now look!’
Me and Slavic exchange uncomfortable glances to say... oh dear, we’ve sat ourselves next to some weird looking alcoholic.
‘I never drink!’ She screeched. ‘I only had some wine! I’m a teacher, you know. There is something wrong with me.’
‘That’s ok’ I reassure her, ‘I often feel weird after two glasses of wine.’ (I don’t care if Slavic knows I can’t handle alcohol.)

‘I should drink milk right?’ She says taking a sip.
‘You should have some water’ I say again, hoping she will go away. For the next five minutes Slavic boy and I make small talk, while getting interrupted by this woman repeating herself. And then… she stares at me and says – ‘Hey, can you please come to the bathroom with me?’

I freeze. My god, this woman is a phsychopath and is making her move by isolating me alone in the toilets. Is she going to mug me or murder me? Me and Slavic boy exchange worried glances.

‘Can’t you go by yourself?’ I ask hopefully.
‘No, I want you to come with me.’
I ask Slavic boy to mind my bags. And try to convey that if I’m not back soon, to come after me. I stand, she takes my arm, and we make for the bathroom. Thoughts like, why is this crazy alcoholic woman on my arm, and why are we leaving alone together for the bathrooms.

Luckily there is a line to the ladies. Then unluckily, she starts screaming ‘I’m going vomit! I’m going to vomit!’ I suddenly realise what is happening, and I’m mortified, and have turned into a stiff and panicked person – as well as feeling terribly bad for thinking she was going to mug me. But before I can think of what to do, she projectile vomits over the entire bathroom floors, trapping people in the two stalls and sending the cue of people running. I try and direct her to the sink, then to the bin, and by that stage, there is not a tile spared.

Awkwardly, I rub her back, pass her dampened paper towels, telling her not to worry, and that I’ve vomited so many times on wine, I’ve lost count (true story).

The people in the stalls immerge, give me sympathetic glances, leap over the vomit and flee.

5 minutes later, we walk back to Slavic boy, who has finished his meal. Crazy lady then yells loudly ‘Your girlfriend is a saint! I vomited you know!’ Then keeps repeating her self.

We sit back down and the true craziness of this lady is slowly revealed to us.

Miraculously, I am able to eat some of my chicken and corn and rice salad. Mmmmm!

So, Splinter will live to see another night

Ada’s apartment comes alive at night. The sounds of Ada snoring, sirens from outside (yes it’s true – in NY there’s always sirens) and the quick scurrying of a small brown mouse that only comes out from hiding when I’m alone.

I keep meaning to buy a mousetrap, but always forget. And, as the evenings go on, I have grown a little fond of this mouse. (Weird I know.)

But before you judge…bare in mind – it’s only one mouse – not mice. There are no mice droppings to be found, so he must be hygienic, and he hasn’t eaten any of my food or clothes. So he must be respectful of other’s property. For these reasons I am reluctant to kill him. And what if the trap falls on him the wrong way, and ends up being a torture devise? But more importantly….Why is he here? Why is he not behaving like a terrifying rodent? And what does he want from me? I think I will call him ‘Splinter’ after the greatest rodent to come out of the 90’s.

Subway Dancing