Month: November 2020

The Importance of Being Confrontational

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We had dinner with friends last night. There was much alcohol. There is little to be said about that except that alcohol lowers inhibitions. Does it enable conversation? Maybe not but it does seem to promote confrontation.

Her candidate did not win. That became apparent early, right after the second bourbon. And as a retired junior college educator she was irritated with the state of education in a Covid-19 world. Life sucks but then there is bourbon so its not all bad.

But eventually after the acceptable amount of self-medication, it came out that she is worried about socialism for her grandchildren. I thought about asking what the term socialism meant to her but I quickly decided that would be needlessly confrontational or might seem so to her. With that in mind, I kept my mouth shut.

Socialism is scary thing for a capitalist. Because, from the dictionary – socialism is a political philosophy and economic system based on the collective ownership and control of the means of production; as well as the political and economic theories, ideologies and movements that aim to establish a socialist system. It seems a hard system to make work with out a lot of true egalitarian democratic decision making. My wife and I often do not agree on which restaurant to go to in a spur-of -the-moment decision to eat out. I find it hard to believe that the 10,000 people or so that it takes to run an oil production company for example could put their heads together to decide how much one should pay for a gallon of 87 octane gasoline that came out of their production line. It seems not impossible but certainly impractical. It also seems unlikely to me that we could ever get socialism ala China or Russia to work in this country of ours. Too many gun-toting NIMBY folks out there to allow that to happen.

There appear to be many a broad brush with which to paint the political landscape and in a brain storming session (committee meetings and hearings) various factions shout at one another without conclusion. The color of Socialism does not seem to stick to us.

What is the purpose of government? Any government’s job is to provide for the common good. If the populous is good and kind and empathetic to one another there is little need of a government.

A home owners association (HOA) is a microcosm of government. It is a truly democratic organization for managing the money and facilities for the common good of all. Hard stands appear when groups of people talk about money. HOA expense items are the same each year. Those service items increase in cost. The basic items are: utilities, waste removal, alarm system, administration, insurance, landscape and building maintenance. Unknowns are saving for a rainy day and disaster relief. It is prudent to budget for all of these. Home owners associations are socialist in most respects. Everyone pools their resources for the common good. Everyone in the HOA has access to all common elements, such as, parking areas, lawns and if such items exist, pools and recreational facilities. Nevertheless, few participants readily volunteer to pay more from year to year for the same. A small HOA can meet in person to transact business but even then not all want to participate.

Village and city governments quickly be come too large to transact business in a democratic fashion. We are used to selecting representatives by vote to exercise and express our interests for us. We accept their decisions as our own. If the populous gets dissatisfied they can vote them out.

Some confrontation is good for discussion. It breaks folks out of their own biases and ideas to understand the side of the discussion they did not before. There are at least two sides to every issue. Many times there are three or more.

Twelve sides

Looking at all sides of an issue or least as many sides as practical before making a decision takes patience and understanding. Passionate debate is useful.

So what does any of that have to with socialism? Nothing. But it points out a flaw in execution. Is there such a thing as representative socialism? There is representative democracy. The U.S. is one. Is there such a thing as representative capitalism?

Perhaps there is a middle ground. What is the purpose of government? In all of our dissension, is it possible to find a common ground? Something that allows capitalism to flourish but protects the rights of the little guy? Something that allows the business community to flourish but provides a safety net for those who cannot compete in an unfettered market?

Unintended consequences compete for partisan attention. The swamp is real. It is populated by asses and elephants. There is not room for socialist asses or elephants.

Everyone stay calm. Read about Sisyphus.

Another new thing 😙

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Dishy is not done

So, in my never ending battle against loss of mental acuity and cognitive decline I bought a pumpkin bread mix. I thought it would keep her cooking small things. She tried one tonight and although I have not sampled it, it looks and smells delicious.

After baking and knocking it out of the loaf pan, she washed the utensils she used and since the dishwasher was running she placed all in the dish rack near the sink. Here is the new thing… after running the garbage disposal for a bit and rinsing the sink down, she turned off the disposal and the switch next to it which turns off the dishwasher. I should add; in mid-cycle.

An hour or so later I walked into the kitchen for a different reason after finishing up with the laundry. I was still in full-time chore mode so noticing no noise from dishy I assumed the cycle was completed and unloaded it.

It wasn’t until I started to push the racks back I noticed the water in the bottom of the dishwasher. 😁 I closed door and noticed the switch was off. I flipped it on and the dishwasher happily restarted as if nothing had happened.

Another thing to check on. I need to make a checklist. It works for pilots. Maybe it will work for caregiving… and unloaded dishies.

I can’t find my…

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Parkie Reasoning

Both of these control where things are placed by people who do not have Parkinson’s Disease (normies). Both of these control where things are placed by people who do have Parkinson’s Disease (parkies).

Is there an easy caregiver solution to the frantic search for …( name item here)? Nope! Unless you carefully watching what movement occurred immediately prior to the loss of (name item here) you should search an area with the most light.

Add some humor to the search. PD sucks and stuff is lost along the way.

Constant Analysis

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I spend a lot of time thinking about…

language

What people mean when they say things. I have never been good at interpreting other meaning from written words. In verbal conversation there are extra sources of information. Facial expressions, body, vocalizations and tone add subtle differences in how the message is delivered. Words are words.

Twitter and Facebook are confusing because people write as though they are in the same room talking to you about something. Talking about something they are passionate about, they are able to recognize they are not in the same room talking and write in ALL CAPS to indicate emphasis. Most do not recognize that old teletype machines printed in all capitalisation. Sometimes the emphasis is lost.

Many years ago I was teaching math as an adjunct for a for profit community college style school operating in the city center in an old bank office building. The CIO who was located in New Jersey sent out an old policy memo about corporate computer usage, the student records database and other topics. The memo itself was full of misspelled words, grammatical errors and IT WAS PRINTED IN ALL CAPS. It was a plain text file (.txt) not associated with any word processor. I accepted the fact that it was corporate policy and therefore worthy of close scrutiny. But it was attached to an email to ALL in the company. I also understood based on my background that this policy paper had probably been written long ago – pre-Word or Wordperfect – and as such had not been proof read since. Many in management positions have a hard time with others, translate underlings, correcting their work product.

Many in the faculty room between classes checking email were giggling. The English teachers in our little school, especially so and some of us math teachers were amused. Language that is to say written language in policy statements should be precise otherwise ambiguity results and the policy for good or bad is ignored.

In a previous job with a boss who was also a friend, I would correct his errors and return his memos to him privately. It was something between us and over time he would give me his stuff to proof read. Sometimes I commented on the policy itself but usually I merely corrected misspelled words, grammar and adjusted sentence structure to enhance readability. This experience made me comfortable enough to suggest to the CIO in New Jersey that he should consider importing old policy memos into Word and enabling the spell and grammar check features before sending them to ALL. I also highlighted many of the grammatical and spelling errors and saved that to a second – AdobePDF – file and replied to his email but not to ALL.

He replied to me with, I do not like your attitude. I did not and still do not have any attitude about his mistake. People make mistakes even highly educated people. In my reply I pointed out that it is very hard to derive attitude from an email and if he needed any further assistance I would be happy to help. He did not reply to my offer.

more

I suppose I gained this propensity to read language in a precise fashion from my father. Early in my working career I worked with my dad at the same company. Once early one morning we were to have a meeting about a project we were both involved in. I arrived early for the meeting coffee in hand. On the green chalk board at the end of the conference room was my father’s handwriting. Printing actually, Dad rarely wrote anything in script, it said – Gary Dean is two four letter words. This sentence was so “my father” that it made me laugh out loud. Dad dearly loved puns and double meanings. Mr. Dean was Dad’s immediate supervisor and I suppose unfamiliar with Dad’s humor. He displayed displeasure with anyone scribbling on his board before the meeting began. The rest of us giggled.

I read for enjoyment. The best authors are able to make me see what they imagine in their mind as they write. The funny ones are a treasure.

I Got Really Angry Tonight

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Luke’s Sunset

Angry with her confused state late in the day,

Angry with her actions during it,

Angry with my reaction to her actions,

Angry with the disease and what it has taken from her,

Angry that I let my emotions show,

Angry that I directed some of my anger at her.

Angry that I trod on her heart.

Just angry with my inability to fix things.

Parkinson’s disease sucks and it makes me angry. And scared.

Scared for what the future holds.

Nostalgic for our past experience.

Disappointed in my inability to be present.

Totally and honestly present and

Mindful of the beauty of this day.

Unconcerned with the morrow or the past.

Accepting of new relationships and hopeful for new connections.

Searching for clues to doing better.

Hoping for some glimmer of light of

a new dawn.

Night Time Conversations

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Elevators and pills?

It is an odd conversation. Made more odd because it was quarter after six and I was in the middle emptying my old bladder for the second time that morning. Standing over the commode about halfway there, the door pops open and Cheryl looks at me for a moment then backs away and closes the door most of the way. I finished up and flushed the toilet.

As I came out of the bathroom, she asked me – you will have to show me how that works sometime. I replied – do you mean the toilet? No, she said. That elevator thing that you came out of. You will have to show me how to work it. Where does it go?

It just comes up from the pill area, I replied. Good! Can you get my pills for me? I’ll take them but I have to go first. She passed me and closed the door to the bathroom.

I got the morning meds from the kitchen. It was not too early. This was the day after the “fall back” idiosy that we have perpetrated on ourselves to get more golf daylight after work. Parkies have a problem with the shift. It is easier in the Autumn but it is still there.

The next day

It had been our usual (for these days) night. She headed to bed at 10PM after taking her night time meds. She laid for a while with an icepack on her head and eventually gave me the icepack to return to the freezer after several trips to the bathroom.

Over night she got up to go once or twice but returned to bed with out any confusing conversation until about 5AM. — some of this is fuzzy to me — She went into the bathroom for a bit and seemed to be having a conversation with someone. (Not unusual – she talks to the spiders before executing them.) She came back out and told me there was a woman in a pink bathrobe that needed to use the bathroom first. I got up and went into the bathroom and removed her pink bathrobe from the door where it was hanging into the closet and closed the door to the closet. I returned to the bathroom and said – she is done now. It is all yours.

She used the toilet, brushed her teeth and returned to bed. I asked about the teeth brushing and she said her mouth did not taste very good. Now her breath was minty fresh. I told her so and she replied with – I love you.

About two hours later at 7AM the incredibly loud and annoying alarm clock brightened itself and loudly pronounced – Time For Medicine! I got up to fetch her morning meds. She got up and went to the bathroom after I set her medicine on the bathroom counter and helped her out of bed which is another normal routine these days.

Afterward she did not come back to bed. Often we lay in bed until she starts to gently snore and I get up quietly as possible and let her nap for a bit or she gets up after about thirty minutes to return to the bathroom. This time she stayed up. I asked – are you coming back to bed? She replied – no, I think I will put some clothes on. I did not probe any further but should have done so.

I got up and fetched the paper, made coffee and settled into the chair I cannot decide about keeping. I turned on the TV to catch up with the boring political news of the day. This is election day. The TV news is like the pre-game show from hell. … it is a nice day outside but the lines are long at the polling places… reports the guy standing outside a poll in New York City down the street from a boarded up Macy’s. Cheryl came out of the bedroom dressed up to go to church or some other gathering requiring an upgraded look.

Do you know who is picking me up?, she asked. I replied – no one yet. You should have some cereal for breakfast. (I was hoping that she would wake up.) She ate a bowl of cereal.

Afterward she went back to the bathroom, I thought, for a second time. As she came back out she said again, I don’t know when they are picking me up. I replied that no one was picking her up to go anywhere. This, of course, did not register as she was convinced that someone was picking her up to go somewhere. When I asked for that detail – where she was going – she replied, I don’t know but they will when they pick me up. She remained agitated and got her keys and went out into the front hall. (I thought she was checking for mail at 8AM.)

She returned and said, there’s no one out there. Do you know when they are coming? I coaxed her over to her chair (The Chair) and got her to sit down. I moved the rocker over so I could sit and look straight at her. And then I explained again that she was probably dreaming when she heard someone tell her that she would get picked up soon to go (wherever). I repeated this message and the one that we where going to her exercise class at noon today and, oh by the way, this is pizza Tuesday. Some of that sunk in through the fog of confusion because she asked again. I’m not going anywhere? No, not yet I replied. To your fitness class around noon, I continued. I look pretty good don’t I, she said. Yes you do. You look very nice, I replied.

I brought her some tea. We watched some more of the pre-game election news madness. She remarked that her watch agreed with the clock on the mantle but the news person had reported a different time. I told her that we were watching a recorded program – a benefit of cable – and we were watching it on a delay of about forty minutes. Oh, she replied and I could tell she understood. She was slowly becoming present.

At 9:30 AM she announced she was going to put on jeans and rest for a bit. I took her the ten o’clock meds at ten. She went to the bathroom and returned to bed and slept for about thirty minutes.

… 11:09 AM — she is back! But tired. She ate some yogurt and drank a little 7-Up.

Changing time zones is one of the more moronic ideas of the twentieth century carried into the twenty-first. China has only one time zone. Think about it and look on a map.

Cyptoquips and Word Jumbles and Sudoku

Her favorite games in the newspaper are these. Even though she may have episodes of confusion, she still works these. They require both logical and expanded thinking – references to puns, etc.

Parkinson’s disease is puzzling and it sucks.