Daily Prompt; Imperfection

Sistine Chapel ceiling, Michelangelo, The Liby...

Sistine Chapel ceiling, Michelangelo

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/   DP, Daily Prompt

Imperfections — in things, in people, in places — add character to life. Tell us about an imperfection that you cherish.


I used to be ashamed of myself because I was not the life of the party. I do admit that I used to laugh and giggle a lot more, but things change about yourself as you move through the months and years.

Now thanks to writing I have learned to accept my imperfection which is nothing other than Weird. What is the definition of weird?

fantastic; bizarre: a weird get-up.

Archaic. concerned with or controlling fate or destiny.
I think that writers and artists such as Michelangelo are thinkers more than doers. Our brains are not following the patterns of others. We day-dream, we think about our future.
Instead of thinking about what is for supper we may be wondering why people take so much advantage of the elderly or even the disabled as I wrote about earlier today in Reverse Mortgage.
I can remember when my Dad died and Al was on  his own for a short while. I was shocked at the credit cards he had in his wallet. I knew he could not handle them at all. He has never understood the full capacity of money.
He was in debt too. He owed great amounts on these cards. I would call the companies and explain his mental challenge and disabilities, but they didn’t give a hoot. He owed, he applied for the card, so tough.
All Al had to do is get the mail. There were tons of junk mail advertising of course, for credit cards. Al would fill out the basic information and send it in. Yippee, they would send him a card.
I tried talking to the mail delivery system to stop sending junk mail in his name but they didn’t cooperate with me either. For quite a while I spent time teaching money management with him but it didn’t work. I had to end up paying off all his cards.
There are times when I wish my brain thought for the moment I live in. Oh what fun I could be having not thinking farther ahead. I could go out and date anyone I wanted to. Why worry about getting a disease or being dumped, I was having fun for the minute.
I dream about starting groups to help teach others. I see the lack of this or that in our society and dream about fixing it. Believe it or not I have pictured myself as a famous pianist or singer. I am a dreamer and I like to control my future. I like to control my fate.
So I am a little bizarre I guess and a little not normal. I think too much. I wonder what it would be like to not be a thinker. Would I be able to write like I do? Probably not, I would probably be telling you something silly about nothing.
Being weird has made me unique. I am not just a caregiver but a helper in my own small way. I sort of like being the wall flower. I don’t have to have my phone ringing off the hook. I just need it to ring sometimes.
I don’t have to be the bell of the ball. I may just pick up a beach ball and try to figure out how they got it so perfectly round and wonder what the machine looks like that made it.  Then after I toss it around for a while I may go to the beach with it and give it to some kids. Then I would pull out my camera and take photos of these kids running and laughing chasing it around the park.
I would take notice of the lonely lady sitting by herself and I would wander over to her and sit next to her and start a conversation. I most likely would take some photos of wildlife and the delicate petals starting to bloom on the flowers.
Yeah, I like not being normal or maybe even a little weird.

The Box

A dear friend of mine here in WordPress has a son who wanted to share some of his very own collection with my brother, Al. Nothing brings a smile to my brother quicker than coca-cola.

I was informed that this package was going to be mailed out, and I was so excited for Al to receive it, and it was very hard for me to keep my big mouth shut, and not give it away, that he was going to receive a box in the mail for his very own.

Today it arrived. It had been a bad day, as we are starting to have problems with yet a new situation. I won’t go into details, because I don’t want anyone to get squeamish or end up having to run to their bathroom, but it does have to deal with bathroom duties, so we are now trying to figure out better ways to make life easier for him and for me.

So after supper is over, and he is sitting in the living room on the couch, he tunes in on THE BOX. I am noticing but saying nothing, giggling inside, as I can see his brain ticking, wondering who’s it is.

I am the worst at holding back smiles for others, so I had to say, IT’S FOR YOU! I never saw it coming. He started crying. I asked him why the tears bud? He says he is scared to open it because it could be bad, as it wasn’t his birthday. I said, I think people can be nice and do things for you without reason. I explained how I have come to know this very nice lady, and her son wanted you to have something to add to your collection. He still cried. I placed the box over by me, and told him when he was ready, he could open it.

I waited about ten minutes then looked around to him, and he was lying down to watch TV. I must admit, I don’t understand the brain, nor do I understand the intimate details of this wicked Parkinson’s, but he just didn’t get the connection of any of it.

This past week or two, Al has shown much confusion in comprehension. I understand this is a big part of the Parkinson’s. He stares instead of speaking, and when he looks at me, I can see by the blank eyes, there is no one there for a few minutes.

I couldn’t take it. I cursed the disease, and plastered a smile on my face, grabbed a knife, and cut all the tape so he could open it easily. I placed the box in front of him, and said please open it bud, you are going to love it!

It took him forty-five minutes to take the items out of the box, not because he didn’t want to, but I could actually see the slow-timing in his body. The arm reaches for the paper packaging, used to protect the items, and he grabs one by one, with his hand. He lays the empty bag beside him on the couch. I counted by seconds, and it took his hand twenty seconds to release the paper from  his fingers. My heart broke, as I knew he was trying so hard to keep moving, but the brain was not co-operating.

There is one thing my brother knows, and that is each piece of his collection. He knows when he got it, where he got it, how much he paid for it, and how many he has. As he was taking the goodies out of the box, I would ask him if he liked it, or had one like it or anything generally I could think of in order to get some look of excitement from him. To my despair, he told me he didn’t know if he had this collection piece or not. There were no smiles ever from this, but I do know that he liked it by his signals at the end. He took each piece and went to his room, and I can bet right now he is in there comparing them to his pieces, looking at every detail, and using his book to look at the originals.

Thank goodness he did this. If he would have let the gifts set, I would have known he truly wasn’t here with me tonight. I probably won’t see him again until snack time. This will keep him pretty busy, and help him to not think upon himself.

I want to thank-you dear friend for allowing Al to have an evening to enjoy himself. He may not have actually shown it like we do with awes and wow’s and smiles, but I know that he at least still has the ability to feel from within, and connect in his own ways to his coca cola.