Hoarding Woes: Stressful Omission & Whip Cream

Several weeks ago, my aunt was paranoid about her purse being at the foster home. Plus, she didn’t see the need for it anymore. I repeatedly quizzed her whether this was a good idea. My aunt liked to fuss around with the purse. The contents were often inventoried and reorganized. It was a ‘binky’ (pacifier) of sorts. So, I removed it to my home. Twice, afterwards, I asked if she wanted me to bring it back. No..she had not need for it.

Today, when my wife and I arrived there was a great deal of stress at the foster home. The lady was obviously frustrated and my aunt was agitated. The care giver advised she had been tearing the home apart for hours looking for my aunt’s purse and my aunt (you remember her? she is the one with no short term memory?) was sure some one had taken the purse. I remarked that I had the purse. In that instant, the care giver appeared to be weighing by what means she would end my life! Whoa…just joking.

The Purse...The Fiddler's Binky. If you can't move your stuff about, then sit and delve through the purse, over and over. SwittersB

The point here is obvious on several levels. I carried the purse out in plain view in front of younger staff, but did not think to remark about the purse’s removal and consider the probable….”where’s my purse” remark at some point. I should have made sure an entry was made into my aunt’s file.  I made an error and caused some alarm and needless effort.

I rushed home for the purse. I returned to some sort of love fest with whipped cream for a Pineapple Upside Down Cake… My wife and beaters are an inescapable combo. She was able to entice my normally shy aunt into finishing off the whip cream.

Double Trouble...a nice diversion for my aunt and wife.

Ok, back to the purse. I handed it to my aunt. Like a child’s favorite blankey, like a binky, she was content. Zipper tabs were opened. Contents were felt and partially removed (but not too far given she was not alone in her room). She enjoyed the purse back in her possession.

All this said, my aunt moved through this purse and whip cream incident without the slightest idea of where she was. We were everywhere but in the foster home. She pushed to go home. She struggled against her restraint. She apologized for losing her job at Safeway today, because they could not have someone working with them that fell all the time. “What was your job at Safeway?” “I sorted stuff. All day, I sorted the same damn stuff.”

I choose to remember her with whip cream on her chin and cheek. 



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