My search for grace and meaning after a former care partnering life with a wife who suffered from Parkinson's disease and dementia giving her a confused and disorienting world.
Seems like every time I want to close my eyes for a small little tiny nap some health person is encouraging me to get up and move around.
Today the occupational therapist had a gap in her schedule and just as I pushed my chair back to NAP position the phone ran.
May I come and assess your functionality? Sure why not. I will be here.
It actually makes me laugh. All the attention about a little thing like cardiac arterial bypass graft surgery. CABG “cabbage” is the term used by the cutters. All week long I have kind of complained a little that I did not feel all that bad and that is true. Most of that seems to be due to something described as a freezing nerve block that will wear off over time as my body heals.
Every day is a bit better and today is much better.
Today on the way home from the cardiothorasic surgery visit we stopped at one of my favorite diner chili parlors to get a 5-way for lunch. If you live in southwest Ohio you do not need more description.
A major surgery makes one think about things one might not think about.
I awoke from a nap this afternoon wondering what God had in mind. I imagine that we all have these thoughts occasionally. What is the big picture? Or is there a picture? I could feel the love from people near me in my life.
Love is a powerful emotion. It is freely given.
The person that I am with, Debbie, is staying with me to help me through this piece of the recovery journey. After Cheryl’s death I did not think that I would feel the same way for anyone again. Debbie makes me happy. It is that simple. Loving someone is a connection between souls. It is deeper. She is here with me through this recovery and I am more concerned for her health and well being than my own. Love is a two-way street.
Last night a spontaneous gathering arose as David, doing his master chef on the grill, invited his brother and family to join us. Love was in the air then too.
My sister and I talk every day. This is something we have not done since we were children. There are three time zones between us which adds certain amount of thought process on my eastern end when I want to initiate a communication. It seems to work out though. Love figures into the process.
It is as though the love that I radiated out during my previous life before my heart attack is returned as I need it. A simple beautiful concept, love the people around you and they will love you back.
These past few days as I recover post-surgery, I am overwhelmed by love.
This forsythia bush easily viewable from my favorite chair is a joy to me when it blooms.
The cardinals usually show up in February. They are probably around earlier but I notice them then as I peer out the window and long for warmth.
The squirrels seem to have an easier time finding their nuts. The chip monks are busy doing what ever they do.
A coywolf passed by a few days ago. Sadly the battery was weak in my trail camera. It was moving too fast for me to get a picture. It was a beautiful animal.
No deer seem to be coming by yet. Perhaps they have kept themselves in the deep woods for now? The picture here is of a deer I call Fred from last summer. I am pretty sure he was a fawn about four or five years ago. He is skittish. His sibling, a doe, is not. They kept the honeysuckle trimmed that spring and summer.
I was thinking about you today. I realized that I have not written to you in awhile.
How are you doing in heaven? Have you and Mom found each other? I suspect it is crowded there. I wonder in my own mind how you are able to find her but I imagine that love and connection is an eternal string. You just follow it to the end and there she is.
I am writing this time because I haven’t told you about what is going on in my life. A lot has been happening since you left this plane. That will be eighteen years in a couple months. (Wow.) You taught me well, Dad. I don’t feel like I need you every day but quite often there are things that happen and other thoughts that I want to ask you about, talk to you about, get your opinion.
Cheryl is gone too. You know that, of course. Look around for her too. You know about Bill and Laura. By now you have found them in the crowd there.
I met another girl, Dad. She is nice. She has five kids. Her first daughter is hers. All the rest because of who she is and maybe, because of, what she does are adopted. She is a wonderful woman, Dad. You would like her. I would like you to meet her but as we both know that is not possible right now. Just be on the look out for her. (I do not know which of us will get there first and Debbie does not want me to talk about it.) I love her, Dad. I did not think that possible with all the time I spent with Cheryl but I do. She makes me laugh. Much like when Cheryl was here, I feel an aloneness when I am not with her. Did you feel that when you were away from Mom?
I have been feeling this for some time. It is why I am writing to you.
Yesterday was a working day for her. She called me in the afternoon and told me that she was free for dinner after work if I wanted to meet her somewhere but she was not sure of when our Grief Share group was finished. We met at a restaurant near that LaRosa’s where we used to stop on the way to the playhouse on Sunday’s when we had tickets to the play. Remember? Anyway, this restaurant had the best beef stroganoff. I think Mom used to make that. Isn’t that right? But it was not the food at all, it was Debbie being there. I think it could have been a so-so dinner and I would have ignored all that. It was very good though and that made our conversation all the better. We talked about our day and how it all went. Not a lofty conversation but we caught up with each other about our hours apart.
I forgot to tell you about grief share. Remember the kerfuffle I had with the cemetery years ago when Cheryl and I set up our place there? A woman came to our group session who had lost her son in a flood on a rain swollen creek while camping. A very traumatic experience for her and her family. I remember you telling me about your friend who had drowned in the Ohio river when you were young. But anyway, the cemetery buried him in the wrong place. Can you imagine? (Do you imagine or can you just see it, Dad.) They waited several days for them to recover her son’s body and then the cemetery tried to lose it. Her anger with the cemetery folks is visceral. She is very sad right now. It has been just a few weeks since this happened. I felt sad for her. She was angry and sad and cynical and disappointed and on top of everything grieving the loss of her son. We let her talk for some time. She needed to get it out.
There is a lot of other stuff going on but mostly I wanted to tell you about Debbie. We did go out to Portland and visited with Joyce. Joyce is doing good. We had a great time touring around. We also spent a couple days at the coast. Joyce had found a place to take her dog teddy along. That dog is really attached to her. It took off down the path to the beach and then turned around. Then it ran around the little house we were staying in. then around Joyce and back inside. Teddy took in all the smells quickly and found its owner after the enthusiastic jaunt around the property. It was fun to watch.
There is a lot more for me to write to you about but I think I will save it for later. I hope all is going well with you.
I have one more thing. This deer often visits in the morning. I call him Fred. He has a buddy that I call Frank. Now that they both have their antlers back it is hard to tell them apart. They are majestic animals and I think they grew up in the woods out back. Whenever either of them saunters by they are snacking their way to the old golf course across the street. I think that is where the girls all hang out.
I have been to visit my sister in Portland several times. It is always a relaxed visit for me. It seems a relaxed visit with Debbie this time.
Seeing and visiting with my sister in her own environment is always a treat. I learn new things about her and find out what a remarkable woman my sibling is.
The next door neighbor who is a single mom, and her daughter had traveled to Mexico to visit with the mom’s boyfriend’s family. For some unknown reason the daughter was flying home before mom and Joyce had volunteered to pick up the daughter at the airport and give her a ride to her home next door. There was a small delay and some excitement at the international part of the airport apparatus as mom had given the 14 year old daughter a bottle of tequila to transport home.
At the custom’s desk the question of – anything to declare? – was met with the young girl’s honest response of – yes I have a bottle of tequila. Not to be judgey but – Gee Whiz, Mom. What are you thinking about?
Info from the Customs and Border agents website — Generally, one liter of alcohol per person may be entered into United States duty-free by travelers who are 21 years or older. …. It is illegal for travelers under the age of 21 to import alcohol – even as a gift. They confiscated the tequila of course and when Joyce communicated this information, Mom was incensed.
Columbia River
This sort of information is not hard to find. I found the words italicized above by typing “amount of liquor one may bring into the us duty free?” into Google. I would imagine Duck Duck Go would work too. I did not need to spell U.S. correctly. An amazing service Google is. Gee whiz, Mom. Were you in an area with no bars for your carrier? Her daughter was burdened with a lot of follow-up questions. Who is picking you up? Where is your mother? Imagine in today’s climate a light brown-skinned child’s anxiety.
A child, a dog and three older folks
My sister swung into action and invited the young one on our own excursion into the Columbia river tour and peach purchasing trip. Ice cream treats were served at the end of the afternoon. What a joy to have this mature inquisitive vivacious young girl with us. I think I may have forgotten the joy and wonder that young people bring to life.
Debbie works with young children in her clinical practice so she is tuned into the younger generation and the culture. This young woman was on the cusp of starting a new high school experience. Much of the conversation was sparked by this fact and the excitement that she felt with starting into a new school in a few days. Mom works remotely at her job so as long as the internet was available she could do her job from Mexico. I could hear the dad in me wondering, shouldn’t mom be here commiserating and agonizing with her daughter about high school, teenage-hood, and all the new stuff? Gee whiz. Maybe go and buy a couple new shirts and some of those pre-ripped jeans that the kids wear?
The huckleberry shakes were pretty darn good although I thought the straw was kind of smallish for an ice cream shake. And what is a huckleberry anyway? The conversation was great. I had forgotten the enthusiasm of young people.
Later in the week we visited Rockaway Beach for two nights. We had the best food at Mama Mia’s in Nehalem. We stopped at Astoria to see the column. We bought a couple refrigerator magnets because tourists do that. We ate more food and came back to Portland.
Debbie, et al. is stuck in the great state of spring break. Allegiant air has disappointed them by changing days for their return flight. Oh well, that is part of the excitement of breaking. She went there with two kids and three grand kids. She is still there.
The universal flight constant was out of alignment with their travel plans.
There are many of these constants constantly cramping various plans humans make for themselves.
A cynical comment is “Man plans. God laughs.” It has several variations but always ends with god laughs. I find it disappointing to believe in a creator who laughs at you. I much prefer a creator who laughs with you.
The universe did not laugh at us when Cheryl and I imagined our future full of travel and good times. A future that was full of family and mirth. A trip hoped for and planned for to Alaska had a little rain and funny towel sculptures. Life had birthday parties and grand kids graduations, dance competitions and valedictorians, surprise visits. We laughed together. We had fun together. Laughed with.
The universe has a vision. Details are in the pixels. Finite divisions of the view are defined by various constants.
Many, many years ago I took a couple photography classes. One of the things we talked about was how color images and black & white images are printed. Tiny little dots (pixels) are used to do this. Our own eyes do this to convey information to the brain and it constructs a view of the world which is remarkably uniform and complete. Our brains are complex and rapid computers. The details are in the pixels but the brain extrapolates that discrete information into our view of the world.
We have vision. We should stay focused on the view. Universal constants realign with the vision. And the universe although unraveling, is doing so as it will.
Debbie et al. will be home soon. The flight tracker app shows her little airplane in the air over the gee in Georgia. The universe is laughing (maybe giggling is a better word) with me. She will be home soon.
I think of these as two of the basic food groups of the Spring flowers. The picture included here is immediately behind my little condo on the next property. Some kind soul who is probably no longer with us on our journey planted this bush and the clump of daffodils near it just so Wisdom could show me the beauty of nature.
This particular forsythia had its ruffled skirt trimmed off by my neighbor upstairs who felt that it was unfurling too invasively across the meager lawn covering last season. At that time in my life I was preoccupied with the end of Cheryl’s life and my own stupidity after a bout with too much vodka one evening. I did not speak out in behalf of this fine example of nature’s finery. This year I feel better suited to defend its propensity to thrive into its natural shape both ungainly and glorious though it may be.
We humans have a propensity to modify, adjust and change the world to our own design. Why is that? Are we unable to accept nature in its natural form? I enjoy formal gardens as much as anyone but I also enjoy woods and flowering plants in their natural habitat. With Cheryl gone almost a year I am slowly and considerately adjusting my living space to me and my habitation of it. The view of this forsythia and its companion daffodil clump are very special to me. They shout, SPRING IS HERE. I can hear them.
Soon our landscaper folks will show up to tune up the gardens around the building, spruce up the mulch and generally trim things. Rigor will be added to the plantings. The forsythia will be ignored, thankfully, because it is on another’s property. We do not own the woods next door.
Further down the property others have cleaned out the forest floor to plant and maintain various gardens and “improvements” to nature. I will not. But I will trim up my little space around my patio after the landscaper does his thing.
Rains come down, daffos dil, sun shines, birds poop and honeys suckle. The landscape is unfurling as it can and should. The vernal has had its equinox and light is returning to our part of the planet. Wisdom speaks again.
Yesterday my nephew, Jeff, and his family came to visit. It was a spontaneous phone message in the dark of the movie theater. “I’m in town for a few days on business. Can we get together for breakfast or lunch?” He lives in California and I have not talked to him face to face since his wedding three years ago. I invited him to my little condo and spread the word to my kids. It was a wonderful spontaneous family gathering.
When I mentioned it to my neighbor Jane later she remarked, “Serendipitous!” Yes, it was.
I made a quiche out of some random components that I had in the refrigerator. Quiche and frittata are in the same category of use what you have, I think. And of the two I think quiche is better. It could be the pastry crust that is required for an excellent quiche. One can make a crustless quiche but that is just lazy and in that other country it is called frittata, so, go over the mountain and call your crustless quiche by the correct name.
Jeff told me that no one had ever made him a quiche before. (It made me feel good inside. I was proud of myself.) The title for this essay jumped into my head after they were all gone yesterday. It is from a satirical little book that I recently found was written in the 80s. (Wow, I am getting old. I thought it was written just a couple years ago.) I had almost said it to him when he said, this is pretty good.
This quiche was bacon, Italian sausage, broccoli and onions with sharp cheddar and mozzarella, eggs scrambled with a little sugar and buttermilk over a pie dough made with flour and butter and a little salt. It was good.
Sometimes us real men eat quiche and pronounce it to be good. The accompanying picture is AI’s version of real men eating quiche. You can tell they are real people because they are washing down their quiche and other green substances with lager. (Never mind the fact that they all have the same mother and they were all born within 15 seconds of each other.)
Beer and quiche, Could be the breakfast of champions.
Early in the morning after awakening I find coffee and turn on a newsy program to get information about the latest weather history. This time of year and on this day that Google Calendar tells me is Native American Heritage Day but the sale folks tell me is Black Friday, the weather folks are doing their best to get us out to shop before the temperature gets to absolute zero. In between the commercial advertisements are entertaining.
A cute little girl asks her mother, “Do crabs have eyebrows?” Today it made me laugh. Why did I laugh on this day?
Who knows? I certainly do not. I tripped over a Spotify playlist of Lindsey Stirling and her high speed electric violin playing and it picks up my spirit today.
And the ads have made me think of Christmases past and hope for Christmases future.
Perhaps I need to be in a crowded place with a hot chocolate in my hand.
She did it again this morning. At least that is what I thought when I found most of my ingredients out to remind myself what I intended to do today.
A couple years ago, when Cheryl was struggling physically more with Parkinson and her struggle with the dementia aspects of it was taking away her ability to follow simple directions, she coerced (maybe too strong of a word) me into helping her make cookies. I did not want to do it at the time.
Once or twice these were Snickerdoodles. And a couple other times we made chocolate chip cookies, the recipe is on the two pound bag of Nestle’s morsels. “You have to get the yellow bag!” she said to me once when I when I returned from the store by myself in the midst of the COVID pandemonium and price-shopped for supplies. “Those won’t work.” I was disheartened. I had purchased the store brand of chocolate chips. I argued my case for twenty-two milliseconds before realizing that there was no point in contesting the issue further. I returned to the store for the correct chips (“Morsels! It will say morsels on the bag. The bag is yellow.” She spoke to my back as I left.)
I can hear her voice. Little stories like this help me to recall her voice.
Yesterday, because I could avoid it no longer, I went to the grocery to restore my larder to its previous vigor. At the beginning my list had only two things, dried cranberries and raisins. Both of these I add to overnight oats which has become a new favorite breakfast treat. I have a pint Ball jar that is just the right size to contain a half cup of rolled oats, a cup of milk and whatever else I put in with those usually raisins or craisins some honey and chia seeds to set in the fridge overnight. I have also added at times cocoa powder, cinnamon, cardamon, vanilla or tahinni and used brown sugar instead of honey. This mixture goes well with my assembly of the coffee in the evening as well as drinking the coffee in the morning.
While putting all away I discovered that the bag of dried cranberries that I purchased would not fit into my quart jar I use to save dried fruit. Alas, some remained in the ziploc bag that only zips most of the time. I left them on the counter to become a healthy evening snack near the apples and bananas.
After preparing some lunch I hunted for some sweetness to satisfy my heritage and hit upon spreading the Nutella look-alike I purchased at Aldi sometime in the past on a saltine cracker and sprinkling cranberries on top. That tuned out pretty good. (If you are not a believer, try it.) I realized that I was inventing a variety of cookie – biscuit or digestive to the Brits out there – and heard Cheryl say, “You could try making a chocolate cookie with stuff in it.” I blame Cheryl when I hear these inventive thoughts about cooking. She was not very inventive with ingredients but very inventive with technique.
I launched myself into search for a basic chocolate cookie that I could modify with extra ingredients. Below is the final product:
2 C. all purpose flour
2/3 C. powdered cocoa
1 tsp. baking soda
¼ tsp. salt
1 ½ C. white sugar
1 C. unsalted butter
2 large eggs
2 tsp. vanilla extract
1 C. chocolate morsels (in the yellow bag)
1 C. dried cranberries
½ C. smashed walnuts (crushed in the bag but I smash them further)
I creamed the butter, eggs, vanilla and sugar for a bit. Whisked the flour, salt, soda and cocoa together in a separate bowl dry and then dumped them into my mixer. (I bought a new mixer recently. It has extra paddles.) After a bit of mixing I tried out my folding paddle and dumped in the rest of the ingredients.
Bake in a 350F (177C) – medium oven 8 to 10 minutes. This lump of cookie dough makes about 4 dozen if you use a teaspoon from your table wear set to scoop and spoon some on to UN-greased cookie sheets like I did. (My mind always wants to grease the cookie sheet and Cheryl always tells me, “No!”)
After 8 minutes on the timer, I rotated the cookie sheets in the oven and added 4 minutes to the time. This worked for me because I dislike (maybe hate) chewy soft cookies. There is something special about just the right crunch that makes me smile.
Cheryl! You turned me into a cookie recipe experimenter. It is all your fault. (Dammit.) I love you and you are right. These are good. The tricky part will be spreading them out in my eating habits. I have eaten three while writing this story. They go well with coffee.
In future experiments I may try crushed peanuts and raisins. GORP cookies sounds good to me.
I wonder which wine pairs well. Pinot Noir? Chardonnay?
A conundrum. There was a big one there in the gap. It was begging to be eaten before I took this picture and I obliged.
Carpe Diem. (life is better with cookies and chocolate)
Adjunct_Wizard 