Lovely Rita

I had a report to knock out for the office, and I need to get started on chores at the house. So I was running a little late in getting to Potemkin Village for the lunch shift.

I went straight to the Challenged Dining Room, where I am becoming a regular feature. Raven and Bib Mama were sitting at their regular table, though Raven had moved from his accustomed seat by the window and was sitting where I usually did.

I had news, pretty significant news, but it wasn’t anything I wanted to reveal before my brother Spike gets to town tomorrow. I mean, I have told Mom several times that Raven might be going on a trip, but it doesn’t seem to register.

Raven was in a new outfit, a mystery, and I only found out about it in an elliptical conversation with Big Mama who said that Rita- the mysterious Lovely Rita who Annook told me about had been there that morning to give Raven his weekly bath.

Wednesdays are apparently The Day for Raven, and I made a mental note to contact the Friendship Center where she works and catch up. There is so much to how this works that I do not really understand yet, and I know that this woman has been providing personal services for him that are quite intimate, and which, of course, will be changing dramatically.

The news I had came from another direction. I talked to Mary, the Licensed Practical Nurse who used to wear four-inch heels. She runs Admissions over at the Bluffs Nursing Home told me they were contemplating moving two men in their dementia ward to make room for Raven. She could not give me a precise time line, since the families of the individuals concerned had to sign off on the change.

“This is not a hospital,” she said firmly, “and we have to ask.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I responded. “I am committed to staying here until we get the situation stabilized.”

“I will notify you once we have been in touch with the other families.”
It has got to be done, I know that, and the prospect of his eviction makes this inevitable. But it still fills me with dread.

If only he did not escape and go on his adventures. He is a sweet man in this sad state, and the more time I spend with him the more I realize that he is still in there someplace, trapped in cotton wool so thick and profound that only echoes of him can escape.

I don’t know what the consequences of locking him up are going to be- on him, or Big Mama.
I guess we will find out next week. I was sitting at the kitchen table trying to catch up on business and the ways of the wider world before plunging again into dementia-land.

The tragi-comic opera of deposed Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi ended as I woke. Apparently NATO Jets caught his convoy on the move from Sirte, his last hide-out. I once was responsible for the plan to take out the surface-to-air missile battery there, just in case, and I am gratified that he was apparently captured alive. He is the poster child for the notion that you can be demented and still run a modest-sixed country.

I could not get out of Michigan if I wanted to. The sheets of rain have returned, along with winds gusting to thirty knots and the combination caused someone to do something stupid on the mighty Zilwaukee Bridge near Saginaw. The resulting multi-car wreck shut down I-75.

Not that it mattered- the Bluesmobile is in the shop north of town for voyage repairs. Something is hitching up the power steering and the massive road-pig is just too big to steer it without the help of hydraulics. Anyway, that is why I fled after lunch, promising to return for happy hour before dinner.

I got a lift back from Brown’s, and managed to fire up Big Mama’s piece-of-crap ’99 Cirrus walked in as intended to be startled by the presence of an imposing blonde woman in one of the wooden chairs, facing Raven and Big Mama.

“Hi,” I said, thrusting out my hand. “I am Vic, their son.”

“I am Rita,” the woman responded with a firm grasp. She was just about my size, and had a warm grin and prominent pumpkin earrings.

“Lovely Rita,” I corrected. “I have heard a lot about you.”
“I hope it was good,” she said, smiling.

“Nothing but the best. You have done some great stuff for the folks, and I really appreciate it.” I pulled one of the other wooden chairs over and sat down next to her.

“Big Mama won’t take her bath,” Rita said.

“NO,” said Big Mama firmly.

“Aw, C’mon, Mom. You have been taking showers all your life. You need to have your hair washed and your blouse is stained. Help us out here.”

“No, I won’t. I would take a shower if it were Wednesday. But I am fine.”

“Mom, it is Wednesday, and that is why Rita is here.” I took out my phone and showed it to her. My screen-saver has Liz-with-an-S and Tinker Bell on it, but clearly the screen showed the time and the Day- Wednesday. Bath day.

“Well, I might let her wash my hair,” said Big Mama, ever the negotiator.

“That is a start,” said Rita, rising, “But we really have to change at least your top. Come with me, Betty.” Lovely Rita looked at me and frowned, saying sotto vocce, “She smells.”

“I remember the day Raven forgot how to shave,” I said. “Seems to be some sort of cognitive plateau that they slide down off of.”

Rita got Big Mama in the kitchen and washed her tangled gray locks, and we they reappeared her hair was combed and she wore an clean and quite elegant blouse.

“Mom, you look great! That is quite an improvement.”

“I would only do this on Wednesday,” she said. “On my terms.”

Rita and I compared notes on a variety of issues of common concern: the unopened bottles of Cranberry Juice that are piling up, along with the dish soap and paper towels that are spilling out of the pantry.

“I do the dishes when I am here, but the front desk has not changed the shopping list, and they won’t let me do it. I don’t know about the management at this place.”

“I will get on it, Lovely Rita. It looks like a lifetime supply of soap at this point. I wondered how the dishes got done- I guess I thought Big Mama was still up to it. Thank God for you being around to give a second opinion.”

She nodded, and I saw what this strong woman had invested in my parents. Then, I told her that Raven was going to take a trip.

“They never should have let him in here in the first place.”

“We let it go too long, and Big Mama was too fierce to trifle with last year.”

“Still is,” said Lovely Rita, “but I will keep doing what I can.”

I thanked her, though as we walked down to the Challenged Dining Room, I realized just how deeply in debt I am to people I don’t even know.

Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com