september 11: jummox

9/11/09

Kate S. returns from the store with a bottle of rum, an “” for the banana compote I will serve over ice cream tonight. Surveying the bottle, Dad says “I don’t feel like drinking rum right now. I’m having enough trouble getting back to what I was.”

Later, while I’m cooking, Dad gets impatient. “Are we having any cereal or anything like that?” he asks. “Dinner’s cooking, Dad,” I tell him. “I thought we were going to do away with all that and just drink, drink, drink,” he says, focusing on the bottle of rum again.

During dinner, Dad keeps saying that he’s going to be “thrown out.” “They’re going to get me to the door and throw me out,” he says. We keep explaining that this is his home and that nobody’s going to throw him out. Eventually, he gets it and relaxes.

Making his way to the bathroom, Dad asks Kate S. “is this my home country?” She assures him that it is.

Later, sitting on the couch, because the seat of his beloved wicker rocker has given way, Dad exclaims “What a jummox!” “Jummox?” we ask him. “What does that mean?” He can’t explain. I leave a note for Marie to get the chair fixed, although it will have to be done by an expert and won’t be cheap.

Brianna puts the TV on. Dad can’t really follow the show, but he notices that people are watching it. “Everyone scanned that right down the middle,” he says.

Once they leave, Dad and I are sitting on the couch, and he says, “that fellow who crushed all the nails . . . “ “Crushed all the nails?” I ask, trying to figure out what he means. “He crushed all the nails around,” Dad elaborates, unhelpfully. “I was kind of embarrassed by that,” he adds.

“Have you had many experiences with sex?” Dad asks, his language suddenly clearing up. “Dad, that’s private,” I tell him firmly. “We can’t make up our minds whether we’re queer or what,” he says. “We can’t decide. A lot of things like that don’t make the news at all, but they’re there,” he continues.

I yawn. “You’re right,” Dad says, as though I had spoken.