Sunshine, Pudding, and Why I Choose an Aisle Seat

Mom and I spent some time outside the facility today. Mid-70s, sunshine, clear skies, and a nice breeze.

It was the kind of weather I wish I could order ahead of time.

We stayed out until Mom had enough and wanted to go back inside. I gathered my things and rolled her in. She needs a lift to get into bed, so we spent a little time in the hallway while waiting.

I noticed lunch on her table and asked whether she wanted to try it.

It looked like a chicken ranch wrap. Visually, it wasn’t making a strong case for itself.

Mom tried it and said it was terrible.

Her words. I had only done a preliminary visual inspection.

The vanilla pudding, however, disappeared in about ten seconds. The small cup of cut-up cucumber also went, along with her sweet tea.

So there were some successes on the tray. The wrap may want to request a transfer.

I’ve been asking assisted living facilities about food tastings, and moments like this explain why. Mom says she doesn’t eat much, but apparently vanilla pudding doesn’t need to be told twice.

Meanwhile, there was activity on the roommate side of the room.

Mom has the bed closest to the door. Her roommate had gone out to lunch with a friend. Then she came back in.

Then she went back out.

Then she came back in.

Then she went back out.

I was starting to feel as though we were sitting beside the entrance to a department store.

And I thought to myself: Self, this is exactly why you choose an aisle seat.

When I fly, I know I’ll probably need to get up at least once to use the bathroom. I don’t want to bother the person in the aisle, and heaven forbid I have to involve the person in the middle seat. That person has already suffered enough.

So I book the aisle. I plan for my own traffic.

Watching people come and go, I briefly wondered whether airplane seating etiquette could apply to shared rooms. Frequent departures? Let’s get you closer to the exit.

Of course, nobody was actually climbing over us. She was going about her day in her own room, and she had every right to do so.

My brain had simply decided to turn a perfectly ordinary afternoon into a seating-assignment consultation. Apparently, I’m available to reorganize a floor plan nobody asked me to review.

I remember shared rooms from my own time in skilled nursing. Two people’s schedules, visitors, meals, and routines happen in one space. Sometimes one person is ready to settle down while the other still has places to go.

Today, Mom was ready to settle down.

We’d had some sunshine, a little fresh air, and a lunch with a very clear winner.

I still want the aisle seat.

Mom can have the pudding.