PLEASE REMEMBER WHEN I’M 90 Laureen Scheid
Please remember when I’m 90 Feed me Tim’s Jalapeno Potato Chips with an icy coke. Applesauce from a pouch will be spit in your face. Never play Neil Diamond. That man makes me cringe. Tupac is my jive. I love movies about gangsters. The more F-bombs the better. If I’m incontinent, keep in mind the wipes warmer you had when I was changing your diaper. I do not celebrate Bath Day. We shower every day. Pick a memory care facility with a dance floor. Since you’re driving me, I like to listen to the radio. Not satellite playlists. I want to hear the local news and traffic reports and commercials about hypnosis. I over pack at 40 and will surely continue to do so. Put a Christmas tree in my room and keep it up all year round. Make sure your father doesn’t get remarried after I die. Raisins and prunes are not friends. My desire to travel the world still burns. If mobility is an issue, Epcot is accommodating. Dress me in my church clothes even though it’s not the Sabbath. If we haven’t gone skydiving, now is a good time. When you can’t find me, I’m looking for my grandchildren. I want to ride a moped in Mānoa Valley again. Remember me in my purple mu`umu`u at the Sapphire Room. Hug Daddy. Read Grandma’s journal. Take care of your sister. Hold me to sleep. Mama Potato loves you. Always and forever.
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