As I enter mother's kitchen, I cannot see a look on her face that warns me of calamity, until I walk over to her tablet which is used by me and other family members for the sole purpose of writing down information and instructions for her day. I can see that mother has marked out what I had written the day before, which was for Sunday. That in itself was different, as she usually leaves it alone until I come the next morning to write down the new day's information.
As I reach to turn the page on the tablet, I ask her why she had marked through yesterday's information. She replied that she was fed up with me trying to tell her what to do as if she was a child, like she wasn't old enough to know what day it was. Honestly, I could understand her line of thinking and tried to explain to her that it was just a means to help her remember what she would be doing that day since I wouldn't be there to tell her. I often wondered as I was writing each day, how I would feel if someone had to do this for me. Telling me exactly what to eat, where it was, and what I would be doing and where I would be going that day and just who might be coming to my house. One of mother's many favorite comments to me is "I don't know what in the world I did before I had you to tell me what to do!"
With displeasure of me and my writing tablet aside, she says to me, "Come sit down and I'll tell you why I knew it wasn't Sunday today." I did as she asked and sat down at the kitchen table with her. "This morning when I woke up" she told, "I heard Annie barking, and all of a sudden, I could hear a group of men making noise, who apparently were on their way to work and had took a shortcut down by my house. They were right outside my bedroom window. I don't believe they were looking in, just passing through." She continued on to say that "when I came in here and saw that tablet reading that 'Today is Sunday.' I knew it had to be "Monday," because those men were headed to work and most people don't work on Sunday."
There have been other times when mother has thought that people were outside her bedroom window. We have heard stories of someone kicking the basement door or banging on the door with something in their hand, in an attempt to enter. She also has seen pick up trucks, men and women standing outside in a group, smoking and talking as if they had met there for a gathering or something.
This morning wasn't the worse morning mother has had...it was just a "Monday" morning.