One mouth-watering lasagna-making day.

Just to be clear, before I go any further, I’m not responsible for this mouth-watering activity. Rita is. Because whenever someone asks me if I know how to cook, I can’t really give a straight answer. Oftentimes, I’d say, I don’t know but I’m willing to learn, if needed. But enough of that.

Rita is an excellent cook, as evidenced by my thickening waistline.  No amount of running can compensate for the second helpings that I usually have of almost everything that she puts on the table. The kitchen always smells so good when she’s around, that it’s hard to stay away. I don’t want to stay away. Much more so when I get to lick a wooden spoon, smeared with something decadent or get a whiff of something that makes me heady with anticipation. 

Lasagna, let me count the ways.

The first time I had homemade lasagna ( which Rita made ) was a life-altering moment for me, in a way that, I won’t be able to eat lasagna again without having to compare it with the one she makes. It is delicious. I’m trying to remember the way it melts in my mouth and takes me to “lasagna” heaven. Writing about it now, makes my mouth waters. And makes me hungry too.

Since I came to stay with them, I think this was the third time that I get to see first-hand all the work involve in making homemade pasta, in this instance, lasagna. The first two times, Rita was with a group of friends. Last Wednesday, it was just the two of us. And had the music on. She had all the dough made the night before. I watched her rolled and cut them into pieces before she put them through the pasta maker (I’m not really sure about the name so I’m just guessing here.) The entire process is fascinating. I am fascinated.  

Back to my story, Rita work tirelessly that day. She had two huge pots going on the stove. We had two tables covered with tablecloth where the lasagna was laid out to dry. And to make myself useful, I helped her in whatever that needs to be done. I was at the sink doing the dishes. Occasionally, I asked her questions, about this and that.  But most of the time, I just watched her work.

It took us almost the entire day to get everything done. And its kind of neat that I get to actually take part in it. Thanks to Rita. :-)
 

Confessions of a reluctant caregiver, in retrospect.

I had the chance to go over my blog one day, and came across  a post  I wrote four years ago. It was about my feelings and thoughts of working as a live-in caregiver. At that time, I was scared of being not up for the job and doing something wrong. I remembered crying after the first week in my first job because I was overwhelmed.

A lot has changed in four years. My fear of being not up for the task or making mistakes disappeared. Although not entirely, but I don't think so much about them anymore. Instead, I focused on doing my job well and think of ways to do it better.

I didn't plan on becoming a live-in caregiver. I had grand plans for myself, unfortunately, they didn't pan out. I guess they weren't meant to be. I didn't  realized that I'd be doing something far more remarkable.

The first time I met Nancy seemed like ages ago, when I think about it now. At that time, I felt anxious about starting a new job and all. She made me forget that. One thing I'd always remember is that, after we were introduced, I felt like I've met her before and have known her for a long time. She held onto my hand and gave me a smile. Right there and then, I knew that we're off to a good start and we'd get along fine. And we did. Besides, she reminded me a lot of my grandmother. Nancy was the first person to point it out to me that I'm a runner because I love to run. She worried about me getting cold and not having enough to eat. She told me, more than a few times, that  I'm part of the family.

I was away for a month to visit my family, so Nancy had to go to respite. I assured her that I will be back and that  time would just go by so fast, for the both of us. I came back and was happy to see her again. I'm sure she was happy to see me too. But a few days later, she died.  After that, the days went by in a blur. I'm sad and I feel lost. Whenever someone asked me how I'm doing, my usual reply of "I'm good." comes in handy. I'm not really sure if I do feel good though. But I try to. I know that death is an inevitable part of the human condition. I get that Nancy was 93 years old and had various ailments, that came with being old. But I wasn't prepared and was caught off-guard when she passed away. I always thought that we still have a few more years to hang out together.

I've been told how good I am with her. But the the thing is, it was a team effort. I wouldn't be able to do my job well if Nancy was not that good-natured and amiable. And easy to get along with. Through the course of time that I worked for her, sometimes, I felt like I was a drill sergeant, that went over our routines like clock work. Of course, I always tell her to feel free to say something if I get way out of line. But she always tells me that she had no complaints and assured me that everything I did was perfect.

It was a privilege to work for her. Aside from the financial aspect that came with the job, working for her has opened my eyes to the intricacies of being an elderly and what it feels like to be one. She showed me the importance of family and their support. But most of all, she made me feel that I belong and for once, I did something right and somehow, made a difference in her life.