Dad’s shed has a new roof. He would turn in his grave to think I’d paid someone £75 to work on a shed that only cost him £99 in the first place and which he erected alone, ignoring Mr MS’s nervous offers of help.
Not that Dad is in his grave. He has just celebrated/endured his 96th birthday at the care home. But while life there may suit some, it doesn’t suit Dad. It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it.
He has lived for making things and mending them. As a geophysicist, he worked to find solutions to problems on oil rigs. In his spare time, he made furniture.
In later life, he made allotment tools and fashioned his own false teeth out of erasers purchased at W.H. Smith’s and steeped in tea and red wine to look ‘natural’.
There are no real opportunities to make things in care homes. There are contrived ones – ‘would your father enjoy making a model out of drinking straws?’ – but these are best responded to by removing the activities lady to a safe distance before Dad replies.
He still looks for genuine projects. In the last 18 months since he has (as he puts it) ‘been coming to these places’ he has asked repeatedly for his tools.
From time to time, we’ve made the mistake of bringing them in. Last May, post tool delivery, we managed five nights in Portugal. We rang Dad from our hotel bedroom. He said he was fine and that things were going well. We were surprised, as his normal response was ‘when am I going to get out of this shit hole?’
But on our return, we were called into the care manager’s office.
‘While you were away, Dad managed to flood his own room and the room below,’ she said, combining sentimentality and frost in one sentence. ‘I ask that you no longer bring him ANY tools. Under ANY circumstances.’
Dad’s story was different. ‘Damn toilet cistern wasn’t filling properly. Handyman here’s a waste of space so I had to take the bloody thing apart to fix it.’
Barmy as some of his actions seem, there’s always a reason. Once, back at his flat the District Nurse found him naked atop a mini stepladder, drilling into a sink full of water. ‘He could have electrocuted himself!’ she cried.
Dad explained. After a strip wash, he couldn’t get the sink to drain. Suspecting an airlock, he drilled a small hole in the plug to release the pressure.
But in the care home, Health and Safety gave us no choice. We confiscated the tools, a betrayal as bad as getting him admitted to the home in the first place.
He wasn’t beaten, though. He worked out that he could turn his TV on and off from his bed by aiming the remote at the mirror.
In a less benign experiment he filched various items of care home cutlery and twisted and bent them until a spoon and fork worked as two different kinds of screwdriver. Then he took his wardrobe door off -‘it gets in the way’ – and removed the safety cables from all the windows. ‘Let’s get some air into this shit hole.’
‘That’ said the care home manager during another tete a tete in her office, ‘could get us closed down. I’m sure you understand.’
I nodded, pretending I did. Inwardly I stayed on Dad’s side and when the handyman replaced the wardrobe door, I took it worse than Dad. The room in my opinion worked better without it.
Shortly after that, the care home did close down. I’m told it was unrelated.
At care home number two, Dad obsessed about getting the drawers in his bedside chest to run smoothly. On Christmas Day evening Mr MS eventually drove home to get tools so that Dad could prise off one set of runners and install another. The success of the 2018 festive season was assured.
As Dad’s powers decline, so his schemes become less ambitious. Nowadays he’s reduced to taking off his leg bandages as fast as the care staff can apply them. He has a point – a consultant once told him that ulcerated legs need air. But Dad’s disposal methods are his own.
After spotting a Dyno-Rod lorry in the care home car park one day, Mr MS bumped into the home manager at Tesco’s garage.
‘Ah yes,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid your father-in-law has been putting bandages down the toilet.’
There is no stopping him. Nor do I really want to. Yesterday I found him tearing tiny pieces of micropore tape off the roll and sticking them in a row along the table edge. I have no idea what he was trying to accomplish. But I do know that whatever it was, it made sense to him.
Bless your Dad! His courage, creativity and determination not to let the bastards get him down! Brings to mind that if I make great old age I worry that I will not have access to the outdoors (allotment and green house). Fabulously funny and poignant blog Doll!
Thanks so much for these lovely comments Jane doll – they mean such a lot! I am sure we will both make it to a ripe old age and we can visit various public gardens together and sit in their tea rooms for hours on one coffee, which is all our state pensions will run to!
What a great read as always Mandy and is a sad reminder that getting old isn’t fun but your dad is an intrepid and resourceful man who is fighting the decline in a valiant way and reminds me so much of Jim senior who is sadly no longer with us, very poignant and empathetic x
Thanks so much Lesley! Lovely comments. Yes, Jim Senior was another strong character who refused to take old age lying down. You’ve got to take your hat off to them, haven’t you and hope we’ll have some of their chutzpah in a few decades’ time!
Please send these to a national newspaper… people who don’t know about your blog deserve to have the chance to read them! This would resonate with so many.
Awww what a lovely dad you have, he sounds so much like how my dad was.
My dad was a builder and a full believer in everything being DIY and not paying others to do things he could always do better. But has Dementia fully settled in, his ability and understanding to ‘fix’ and ‘make’ things totally lost him, although he still thought he was fully capable, which resulted in some not so good outcomes, I say that kindly now with fond memories although at the time they were terribly frustrating. My dad also came up with some ingenious ways of fixing things in his care home which would result in chaos. It was difficult sometimes not to laugh when being told in all seriousness what he had done.
Oh Mandy, what a wonderfully funny, poignant post! Your father and mine had much in common (sadly my father died earlier this year – but he would have identified with all your Dad’s heroic enterprises). It makes me realise again how hard it is as we grow older to relinquish control and have to defer to others who seemingly don’t have a clue about what they’re doing. Like your Dad my father was a creative and lived for inventing, making, and mending – and having inherited many of his ways I admire and understand your Dad’s determination to keep on living creatively – it’s what life is all about!
Thanks Tamsin, that’s praise indeed. Yes, many of us are in the same boat as regards elderly parents and care homes that are struggling to cope and aren’t set up to cater for individual needs. Thanks again for your lovely comments!
Hi Linda, it’s wonderful to hear about your Dad and his fantastic resourcefulness! You put it so well because yes, sometimes it’s incredibly stressful, but at the same time it’s hard not to laugh when the home managers tell you these things. Thank you so much for your lovely comments.
Hi Deborah, you are so right and it’s wonderful to hear about your Dad too – another fabulously resourceful man by the sound of it. And yes, you put it so well when you talk about the difficulty – yet necessity – of deferring to others that one has no faith in. One of the very cruelest tricks of old age, I think. But it’s good to think that we’ve inherited some of our Dads’ can-do attitude.
Great read, Mandy! Funny and poignant and sad and positive, all rolled into one…oh, and mischievous!
Thanks so much Adrienne – generous words indeed and I do so appreciate your taking the time out to comment. Hope you are fine and well.
Mandy, I love your ‘Dad writings’ he sounds so like my own father. Intrepid and constantly needing meaningful jobs to do. He was 90 this year and, with my 88 year old mother, took off to China! Two years ago he brought his chain saw to our house and climbed a tree to lop off a couple of branches! I really dread to think how he would cope in one of those ‘shit holes’! I know what the humour must hide.
Sally, thanks so much – and your Dad sounds AMAZING, especially the tree and chainsaw part! Our parents were part of such a tough, resourceful generation. The world won’t see their like again.
You couldn’t make it up! You write brilliantly about your Dad, Mandy. The sad and the funny. Thank you.
Cath x
Cath, thanks so much. That means a lot xx
Your Dad sounds amazing and so like my own Dad who I miss in my life.You are amazing too, being able to write about it with such love, humour and real respect and admiration for your Dad. I agree our parents generation are/were tough and resourceful and they did it without all the technology we have to help us!
Love to you all – may the creative force be with you.
Maria xx
Thanks so much for these lovely comments, Maria and I’m happy that you’re reminded of your own Dad, obviously another member of that incredibly self sufficient crew. Much love xx
I a absolutely LOVE this, Mandy ! What a great piece if writing..I laughed out loud ! What a star your dad is, still.Long live the eccentricity and unfathomable corners of the aging mind ! Now I no longer have to negotiate the ever changing feats and foibles of my dear old mum on a daily basis, I can think about them fondly, without the agonising frustration of having to ‘sort things out’ ! You are an absolute star..and so ‘s your good old dad ! Xxxx
Oh Liz, bless you and thanks so much for your unfailing support of my writing. Yes, I can imagine a lot of the sting goes out of this situation when you’re not the one in the firing line!! Much love xx
as always, beautifully written – funny and moving.
Thanks so much Marilyn – it’s great to hear from you. Kind words indeed.
Lovely little piece Mandy.
As your Dads powers decline, so it is for us all. There’s one man that none of us can beat, old Father Time.
But still time to do lots yet!
Keep pinging.
X. Bob
Thanks so much Bob – I know you’ve been there. Yes, tt is THE best way of staving off the Grim Reaper so all power to our ping pong elbows! Xx
Hi Mandy, just found your blog, we have been away. Your Dad was maybe a better leak grower than a leek fixer!!! But hey still got the drive in him, good for him. Take care, speak soon J&j x
Thank you for this. It makes me smile.
My own dad went into a home at age 93 and would have been quite like this had he not already been quite stolen from us by dementia.
We’re still cleaning out his and mum’s house and finding evidence of his repairs or plans for things. What a creative and self-reliant lot!
Hi J&J, great to hear from you and suffer one of your terrible puns again with leak/leek!!! Hope you’re both really well and have been enjoying our rainy summer. Speak soon xx
Hi Kurt, thanks so much for your comments. Clearing out the parental home is so poignant, isn’t it? We have just finished doing Dad’s flat. But yes, what an incredibly resourceful generation! All the best to you and yours.
Easy to see from where you inherited your creative talents. Best wishes to both of you.
Aww Asher that’s a lovely thing to say. All good wishes to you too.
Your dad sounds much like mine, I do wonder why care homes can’t pair with local ‘men’s sheds’ or allotments to actually give our parents something more to do than sit and watch TV they don’t like.
Hi Joy, lovely to hear about your Dad and I couldn’t agree more about the lack of things to do. Apparently some care homes in other European countries are better in that regard and have workshops for residents’ use. Some have sweet shops and bus stops so that residents can be comforted by doing the same sorts of things they did when they were younger.
Go Mandy’s Dad!
Thanks Phil! He’d appreciate the encouragement I’m sure!
Another beautifully written, humorous and poignant piece about your Dad. It seems such a waste that his skills can’t be used in a practical way within the Home. Or on a Day Release programme so he could fix things for local residents…….
An artwork with Micropore could be the start of a new trend in collage?
Thank you Emma, that’s very kind. Yes, it is a waste of Dad’s talents, I totally agree. Love the micro pore artwork idea and could see a collage made out of plasters, tape, support hose and rosettes of bandage – quite avant- garde!
Hurray hurray hurray for your Dad – and for your wonderful writings about him, Mandy! My Mum’s just fallen – yet again – and is in hospital. They’ve told her she’ll have to sleep downstairs at home once she’s released. Yeah, right – like she’s going to give up her upstairs bedroom with its fabulous view over Loch Linnhe! Loads of love to you, Mr MS, your Dad and Fable. C xxxx
Char, thank you. Bless your Mum, hope she’s soon out. Hospital stays seem to be part and parcel of being elderly – as does being told how to live your life by young whippersnappers! Love to you all from all of us xxx
2nd attempt to write (1st one defeated by pesky computer)
A good ending apart of course from the usual external annoyances.
I hope you will feel inspired to get on with that long awaited next book.
Ping ping.xx
Thanks v much David for reading and commenting and yes, nothing can be perfect, can it? I think he did have a jolly good ending. I’ll try and crack on with another book… and will keep you posted!
This is terrific stuff, Mandy. I find myself cheering on your Dad, while I’m dealing with similar-ish things with my Mum and she drives me up the wall! I really applaud your understanding of him and encouraging him to keep going with his schemes. Meanwhile, I Must Try Harder! C xx
Oh gosh, I think in these sorts of situations you always feel you Must Try Harder even when you are doing your absolute best! I’m sure you are doing a brilliant job. It’s lovely to hear from you and to hear that your Mum is still plugging along. XX