Over yonder

Eleanor was a mere wisp of a woman, tiny in height, like a little bird. Like a little brown sparrow with a soft southern accent. Her hair, a yellowy shade of white, was cut in a short bob with uneven bangs. Every day she wore a flowery gathered skirt, a white blouse, and a cardigan sweater. She looked like an aged street urchin who belonged on the streets of Paris, not in a dingy dementia unit in Maryland.

I vaguely remember discussions with a family member, or perhaps two of her family members, that resulted in her being moved from independent living into the locked unit, the dreaded 6^th floor where no one wanted to go. Once there, no one moved back. The unspoken reality was that it was a death sentence with no deadlines. Everyone knew that.

I was a graduate intern and it was my job to monitor Eleanor during the transition. Not long after her move, I went to the 6^th floor and found Eleanor at the end of the hall, looking out the window.

“Good morning, Eleanor, it’s good to see you,” I tried to turn on my calm but cheery voice.

She didn't look at me, but continued to look out the window and said, “This is not my home.”

“Eleanor, you’re in the same building. You just moved to another floor,” I said.

“No, I live over yonder,” she said, pointing to the office building down the block.

I knew it was useless to try and I couldn’t lie to her.

“No, this is not my home. I live over yonder.” Again she pointed down the street and turned to me with desperation in her eyes. How could I have been part of the plot to move her from her home?

And now, years later, my own mother is ailing and we know she can no longer live independently. I’ve tried to break the news to her with as much compassion as I can. I’ve seen that look before.

“Mom,” I said, “we’re probably going to have to look into assisted living for you. And soon.”

“No,” she said, “I can’t leave here. It’s my home.”

Sometimes I wish I lived “over yonder” and I didn’t have to deal with these sad realities of life. This isn’t my home either.

Everyday Chocolate Cake

Okay, I'll share the recipe, just because you asked and because good things should be shared.


Everyday Chocolate Cake

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen at http://smittenkitchen.com/2010/08/everyday-chocolate-cake/ who got it from Magnolia Bakery At Home.

½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
½ cup granulated sugar
1 large egg, at room temperature
1 cup buttermilk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
¾ cup cocoa powder (I used Scharffen-Berger)
½ teaspoon baking soda

¼ teaspoon salt
Confectioner’s sugar

Preheat the oven to 325°F. Butter and lightly flour a 9×5x3-inch loaf pan, or spray it with a butter-flour spray. In a large bowl, on the medium speed of an electric mixer, cream the butter until smooth. Add the sugars and beat until fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the egg and beat well, then the buttermilk and vanilla. Don’t worry if the batter looks a little uneven. Sift the flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt together right into your wet ingredients. Stir together with a spoon until well-blended but do not overmix. Scrape down the batter in the bowl, making sure the ingredients are well blended.

Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan. Bake for 50-60 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted into the center of the loaf comes out clean. Cool in pan on a rack for about 10 to 15 minutes, at which point you can cool it the rest of the way out of the pan. When cool, dust with confectioner’s sugar.