Wednesdays are the best

 

Wednesday mornings are the best mornings. I arrive at Aroha at 9:20am and Mum is wearing a skirt and slippers, and her hair is standing on end. Come on, I say, you can’t go to church dressed like that – you’ll freeze. So we head off to her room and find some trousers, struggle into them, and then can only find one shoe. Soon all the staff are looking for the other one. Anita finds two shoes under a chair in the lounge so we put them on. I brush Mum's hair and resolve to bring a hat next time. Then we can’t find Teddy, so again the staff are dispatched to find him, and with him safely riding on Mum’s walker, we head outside.

Where are we going? asks Mum once we’re settled in the car (which is in itself quite a mission).

We’re going to Mass to see Jesus first and then home to see Dad, I say.

Ah, says Mum, couldn’t we skip Jesus and just go and see your dad?

Jesus wouldn’t like that, I say.

Sssshhhhh, she says, don’t tell him.

We listen to Kenny Ball and the Jazzmen who happen to be playing Midnight in Moscow on the car stereo. Mum sings the main tune and I sing the twiddly bits.

We arrive at church. Hurray, says Mum, the best place in the world.

I bundle her and the walker and Teddy out of the car and we make our way slowly into church. We sit at the front where a row is reserved for senior parishioners. The row is full, and everyone has to shuffle up for us. They’re a cheerful lot and soon we are being introduced and chatting away. Mass is lovely, as always. For the first reading, the microphone is off so we can only just hear the reader. Speak up! Says Mum loudly, we can’t hear any of that. I shush her. After Mass she is so happy she’s speechless.

But we have to leave because the rest of the row is restless and they can’t get out until we do. We pass by Monsignor Duffy. Ah, he says, does Teddy like coming to Mass? He does, says Mum, he’s a Very Holy Bear.

Where now? says Mum, as I settle her back into the car, and I say we’re going to see Dad. Oh goody, she says.

On the way there, Love Divine all Loves Excelling comes on the stereo. I say, I love the last verse. Say it to me, she says, and I recite:

Finish, then, thy new creation;
pure and spotless let us be.
Let us see thy great salvation
perfectly restored in thee;
changed from glory into glory,
till in heaven we take our place,
till we cast our crowns before thee,
lost in wonder, love, and praise

Mum bursts into tears. We pull up at Dad’s and mop up and we can hear Lucy barking a welcome. I unpack everyone out of the car again and she’s full of joy at being home. She hugs dad between walkers, and I put the jug on and ferret  about in the biscuit tins for cake and biscuits. I lay out the treats with side plates on the table while they're catching up on each other's news. Soon we’re sitting around the table enjoying morning tea in the sun. 

Mum tells Dad about listening to Midnight in Moscow. Do you remember, he says to her, how we danced to Kenny Ball and his band playing that song in Torquay, on the sprung dance floor? And then they’re telling me all about it, and all the other dance halls, and what they remember of trad bands and swing bands. They tell me about what it feels like to dance on a sprung floor, and how sprung floors are made. I think what fun they had as young adults – how sad it is that there is nothing like that now for my girls. We talk about why it’s called Midnight in Moscow and Dad remembers that Ivan Rebroff sung a version of it. I find it on YouTube, and we start to listen. That’s awful, says Mum after about . 30 seconds, he doesn’t know how to sing it – let’s listen to the proper version. So, I find that on YouTube, and we listen to it again.

After about 45 minutes, I say five minutes and we have to go. Do we really? says Mum. I remind her – we can do this again next week, Dad will see her again tomorrow. You promise? says Mum, looking at us both, and we promise. Dad assures her that Lucy will come too. 

 They cuddle up as we leave. What's that quote, asks Dad, about "until we meet again tomorrow'? Mum says, parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodbye till it be the morrow - that's from Romeo and Juliet. 

Then we go through the routine of getting back into the car.

On the way back, we listen to all of Love Divine. Hurray, says Mum when it finishes. Do you think it will really be like that? Yes, I say. With trumpets?? she asks. Definitely with trumpets, I say.

It’s so much fun coming out with you, says Mum, thank you for giving up your morning.

I’m not giving up my morning, I say, it’s fun for me too.

She turns to look at me. Is it really, she says, and reaches up to squeeze my hand.

We arrive at Aroha. Boo hiss, says Mum.

You always say that, I say.

No, I don’t, says Mum, sometimes I say Boo, hiss, yuck.

She looks thoughtful. I hate the word Aroha, she says.

Why on earth would you hate that word, I ask.

It’s like the Victorian word charity, she says, that’s a beautiful word that has been made to mean something negative. By naming this place Aroha, the word loses all its lovely meaning.

As we walk back into Aroha she’s greeted warmly by all the staff. She glowers at them. They’re all Jack the Ripper, she hisses at me.

But she’s smiling as I settle her back in the lounge. Just in time for lunch, I say. YOU stay for lunch, she says, I’m driving home. As I leave, I turn back at the door, and she’s telling Mary Therese all about her happy morning.