hobbies, diversions

Pieces of a Life

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Cheryl has in her office files a phenomenal amount of random keepings of the pieces of her life and ours together. In her current state of Parkinson she will look through, take out, put back and reorganize these as she sees fit on certain days.

Pieces can come out of the office and land on the dinning room table for perusal and examination. A few days ago a real estate listing for our previous house appeared on the table papercliped to a receipt for home owners insurance for the first month that we lived there in 1980. If only I had been more interested in preserving the history of our small family I might be able to help her with discussions that begin “remember when… ?” I am disappointed in myself when I cannot help her. Much of that, for me, is lost in a fog of work, kids, school events, soccer games, parental worry, ( et al. ) none of which was collected in my memory with great detail.

I was adult then. Why can I not recall details like she can even through the mist of Parkinson? – although she has lost other memories.

Yesterday we went on one of our trips to a new place for lunch. She seemed to be doing well mentally and physically.

Tuesday we visited with her neurologist (MDS) which meant that Monday night through Tuesday morning she slept little. She was anxious to not miss the appointment. The rest of Tuesday and much of Wednesday was used up with recovery from lack of sleep, showtime for the NP, meds adjustments, pizza Tuesday with extra participants and simply mental fatigue.

These days her mind seems to have focused on Easter, so, much of our luncheon conversation centered on hard-boiled eggs, jellybeans, artificial grass and other items associated with Easter and Easter egg hunts. She ate her usual BLT and I had another sandwich with fires. We shared the fries. The Mason Grill was one of my favorite lunch places when I worked in my other career as engineer and Mr. Industrial Fixit guy. She remarked as we ate that she used to bring her Mom to this place and her Mom liked it. She reminisced about her mother and taking her to lunch when her mom was in assisted living.

Last evening she went to bed at the normal time and got up a few minutes later because her mind was racing around Easter services at our parish. She is unwilling to accept my premise that I will not let her miss anything important. I tell her this often. (In the background she recognizes that presence at church gatherings is not a high priority for me.) She sat at the dinning room table which has lately become her center of operations and read the church bulletin. She was very still staring at the bulletin for December 22, 2022. (I imagine inside her head her brain was struggling with Christmas : Easter : Christmas : Easter in a parkie way.) Words, dates and times lose their meaning in the evening.

I read my book for awhile longer and we went to bed at 11:15 or so.

Today I could not arouse her until 10AM. She was in the same position that she started in at 11:15 the previous night.

Another day passed.

Carpe Diem

More Food Therapy

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The trips to restaurants continue.

On Wednesday March first which is the first day of Spring in my mind and always will be, we went to Ruth’s Parkside Cafe.

At 2PM in the afternoon there is little activity. There were a couple other gray hairs there enjoying the nice weather. The weather has been pretty mild this winter. There is a line in the “Bob hearts Abishola” show on CBS where Bob blames global warming on Al Gore because before him we were just enjoying the really mild winters in Detroit. It makes me laugh but I kind of agree.

The daffodils in the back are in full bloom. They are early this year.

Cheryl had a BLT bagel. I had a red bean burrito. The Cafe has an eclectic menu. For dessert the waitress was apologetic because they were out of pie so I selected gooey butter cake and two forks. I have linked a recipe that I found for this delightful dessert. It was the highlight of our day. Cheryl talked about the cake all the way home.

Carpe the restaurant Diem.

The Housekeeper

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This novel by Joy Fielding is a fictional story with Parkinson’s disease as part of the story line. I tripped over this novel in the library the other day and brought it home. It was not until I began reading it that I picked up the Parkinson’s piece of the story line.

It is also a discussion of alternative truths, lies and deceit.

It is about thoroughly checking references when hiring help in your home.

Dysfunctional families always make a good story. Most times they are the story. There is plenty of that in this novel.

Pleasing our parents is something that we always try to do. Even when the parent is gone many of us still try. Even if the parent is old and cantankerous.

Bad parenting, good parenting, mutual respect and aid is all part of the complicated state of marriage.

Kids being kids add comic relief.

Writer’s ego and husband philanderers creep in and out of the story line.

With an amusing and unexpected plot twist near the end, it changed how I thought about the characters.

And a satisfying hallmark style ending always makes for a good completion chapter.

Read books. The day goes faster. Especially days that only have decaf.

Last evening most of Cheryl’s sisters and all of her brothers came to our house for a sibs dinner. Ostensibly a celebration of the youngest’s birthday. Ken goes to Florida on his birthday week. He looked tan. I made spaghetti and meatballs. Cheryl likes that. I made paine ordinaire (simple bread) because I like that. Tari brought salad. We had three desserts. We sang happy birthday.

Later I found Cheryl in the back closet wondering where she was. She seemed in wonder that all her clothes had somehow been moved to the back closet by our bedroom. She selected her blue zip-up jacket because she was cold. I was hot. Birthday boy was wearing shorts. The thermometer read 74.

She was very excited last night. She slept poorly overnight. So did I so today I am reading.

It is February in Ohio.

Carpe Diem.

Hospice

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A Hospice center is a quiet, peaceful and sad place.

The old meaning of a place of rest for travelers is an appropriate one. It is a place of rest between here and the after.

Cheryl and I have been visiting Fr. Gerry Witzemann.  He is dying. Gerry married us years ago or as Cheryl likes to say, officiated at our wedding. Her comment is more correct of course. Cheryl’s cousin started out as a Franciscan priest. When his mother became ill and elderly her wanted to do more for her. His order wanted him to go to the southwest to minister. He left the Franciscans to remain in the area and help his mother as best he could.

This is our fourth visit. Gerry is not ready. On our first visit he indicated that he was ready. Are any of us ready for afterward? Sitting with someone that you know will not recover turns one to introspection.

Soon and very soon…

Today his niece Sherri is here. Cheryl can talk to her cousin about things that she knows little about.  That part of her family lived close by when she was a child.  But as people grow older they spread out. Sherri’s mother Verna, Gerry’s sister passed away a couple weeks ago. Sherri took care of her mother for the last three years of her life, at home, with dementia. What a grace filled presence. She once got up to talk to her uncle, “It’s okay Uncle Gerry. Mom is waiting for you. So is grandma and grandpa.”

Sheri was in the army. She was a nurse and a nursing supervisor. She is a very pleasant conversationalist. Her husband passed away in 1993. They have no children. As a reservist she was called up and spent a year in Iraq in charge of the nursing staff in the hospital set up by the army. Gerry was the Witzemann family archivist. It was his hobby for years. He has lots of notes about the family history. Sherri now has his information.

We exchanged phone numbers.

Gerry won’t be with us much longer and that is sad. Many folks who come to visit him and he has many, are uncomfortable. That is understandable – and sad. Somehow it was neither sad nor uncomfortable with Sherri there. We were just there with Gerry.

Soon Gerry will be gone from us.That is why he is with hospice.

(Fr. Gerry Witzemann passed out of this existence at 5:30 am February 5, 2023. A Sunday the Lord’s day. How appropriate. May he rest in peace forever.)

Carpe Diem

Ago

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When we were young Cheryl was a very good seamstress. She impressed me by making me and the boys a couple of shirts. I have no idea of the amount of work, effort and skill it takes to make other items of clothing but the year she made us custom fitting flannel shirts for Christmas I was super impressed. I still have a couple. The rest overtime I managed to wear out and fray most of them beyond repair. I can tell you that there is nothing, nothing better than a well tailored shirt. If you have ever had a shirt made for you, shirts off a rack are never the same again. Although I never owned one I can understand why men could spend thousands of dollars on a hand made suit. No wedgies in your armpits or elsewhere.

Today for whatever reason she has decided the pillows need to be trimmed differently.  Here we are in Joann Fabrics. It is hard for me to understand what she is thinking. She has a hard time expressing her thoughts. It is overwhelming like a lot things these days. I really do not know how to help her.

The plan that I conjured was to get outside before the inclement weather turned up. Maybe a walk even though it is cold the wind is still. And afterwards we can have some lunch somewhere. It is Sunday and we have no plans.

But she found her stash of earrings when she was putting her clothes on. I was in full on waiting mode in my little office hide away hoping to not get frustrated and jump in to speed her up. This is January in Ohio and it has been weirdly warm for a couple weeks and that usually means the crap is coming. I became anxious and went back to check. She was messing around with her earring stash. I reminded her we were going to take a walk and have a little lunch somewhere. Oh yeah, that’s right said she. She came out of the bedroom with a bunch of her earrings in a box to take to the jeweler for repair that they did not need. I pointed out that it was Sunday and her favorite jeweler is closed today. She said maybe we could go sometime this week and I readily agreed.

Let’s go take a walk and get lunch. Okay she said.

That all went out the window as we got into the car and she told me about Joann Fabrics and pillows and fringe and trim and once seam binding. Happily I knew what all of those were but had no idea why she was telling me or what she had in mind. I had a lot of questions. I reluctantly drove toward Joann Fabrics instead of our favorite park to walk in. Switching from earrings to pillows left me dumfungled.

I drove to Joann Fabrics and later after we had absorbed enough of the ambiance, we went to a close by Cracker Barrel for salads and pillow talk. This was a soft talking day and Cracker Barrel was a bad pick for quiet conversation but they did have a nice wood fire going near where we were seated.

Later when we got home she showed me the green pillow that she had been talking about. I think she made this waiting for one of our kids to get big enough to be born. I do not remember which one but this pillow has been in our household for several decades.

Carpe the sewing project Diem.

Christmas Trees tell a Story

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As do most things in our lives, Christmas trees and other holiday decorations tell a story of good times past. Some are sad times past but they are stories of our life.

I gave in yesterday as it slowly dawned on me that the tree decoration activity was becoming an overwhelming task for Cheryl. It was her idea and has been for a couple of weeks. “We have to get the Christmas tree up, Easter will be here next week” she told me one day. I had resisted but I thought – who cares? I got the boxed tree out of the garage and put it up. I got the tubs of decorations out and parked them on the dining room table for the next couple weeks. We maneuvered around them. Once in a while she would put up a ornament or two. Many of these are one the dining room ceiling fixture because it was near to the tub on the table.

I have to admit it makes me smile.

Yesterday I had little to do while I was waiting for the laundry to get finished, so, I put up the rest of the tree decorations on the tree. I put the empty tub back in the garage with a small sigh. And the last glass ornament on the ceiling fixture over the table. Our house says Christmas now.

Carpe Diem.

Word of the Day – Dumfungled

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Word of the Day – Dumfungled
By Kath November 9, 2022 Word of the Day

Dumfungled (verb) (Scots)

dum-fun-gld

  1. mentally and physically worn out.
  2. done for, wasted
  3. Some beer would be good. Perhaps a nice single malt.

Example sentences: “Leave me be, hen. I’m feeling dumfungled at the week I’ve had.”

My sentences: Dumfungle the competition and take over their area. | Dumfungling takes a lot of time but it is so restful afterward. | AND | My wife has Parkinson’s disease, so, she is dumfungled in the evening.

Oft times as a care partner I find little diversions to take me away from our daily existence. Reading, language, words, word usage and humor are mainstays of my diversions. This word-of-the-day from a site in the UK captured my interest today. Thank you Kath – whoever you may be.

Carpe Diem.

Poetry and Other Prayer

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i carry your heart with me

By E. E. Cummings Copied from the Poetry Foundation

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                      i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

A couple people help me occasionally with Cheryl when I need to do other things. Today I had planned to go visit our lab area at a nearby community college but that changed early this morning. I sent a text to Linda and told that the situation changed but she was still welcome to come visit for a bit. She came and we talked about her sister who is struggling with cancer and other things going on in her life.

In a different discussion Linda revealed that Frank (My cousin, her husband who passed out of this world a decade and a half or so ago.) kept a book by E. E. Cummings on his desk in addition to books by Robert Fulghum (It was on fire when I laid down on it, and others.). I vaguely recalled that Cummings was a poet but I was not sure so I looked him up on the world wide wait. I was proven correct and I went to a poetry website that I occasionally visit. Searching for some of his work this was the first poem displayed. (I think Frank was talking to me.)

Thanks Linda and Frank. I have found another poet who speaks to me. And thank you Poetry Foundation for being there when I need words to guide my heart.

Carpe Diem.

Part of a Study

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Pfizer is conducting further trial testing of a mRNA style flu vaccine. Their ad popped up on Facebook a few weeks ago and I answered it.

The first visit about 3 1/2 hours long was taken up with health history and all the normal blood related questions. After the initial interview an official doctor, he had a stethoscope draped on his neck, came in to ask many of the same questions. Good cop, Bad cop? I think that we were waiting for the vaccine to melt. A third person came in to train me on how to label nasal swabs that I needed to do if I felt like I caught the influenza virus from somewhere. Eventually another came to a blood draw. And another came to inoculate me with the double blind test substance. Every day in the evening for 7 days I have to report any and all symptoms on an app. I waited 30 minutes after the jab to make sure death evaded me.

I returned home to the cookie mess. Cheryl had decided to make more Christmas trees but had run out of gas, strength, linear thinking and wherewithal to complete the cookie dough. I guessed there was not enough butter and no flour in the mix. I saved the cookie dough but put them in the oven for too long. Probably should have been 10 minutes not the 13 that I had selected because I thought it was 15. The cookie expert (Cheryl) always says, set the oven for a couple minutes short and look at them. (The recipe words were nowhere to be found.) Oh well, I like crunchy cookies. She likes soft cookies which I think are under done.

Afterward Cheryl recognized that she could no longer make cookies on her own. Or she at least expressed it that way to me. Today she probably does not remember that at all.

Carpe Diem

A Never Ending Search

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Breakfast

In my never ending search for a good day for Cheryl, this morning I went to a little donut shop near us and bought a dozen from Maggie. I had not purchased donuts from Maggie for some time.

Linda was coming over today to sit with Cheryl. I was intending to ride my bike around Lunken and the Ohio river trail. I asked Linda what kind of donuts she liked last night. The chocolate iced ones are hers. I sent this picture to her in a text this morning. She appeared early.

The donuts were only hours old. Ron makes them overnight.

Donuts used to be $11 a dozen with coffee. Today they were $14 a dozen without coffee. That is twenty-seven per cent more for you math weenies out there. It might be more considering the coffee. Inflationary pressure has finally come to donuts. Gasoline prices are down. Donuts are up. Darn.

I went to ride my bike. When I had returned Natalie was almost finished cleaning our little condo.

I made chicken Parmesan for dinner. We went to a little ice cream shop for dessert.

It was another good day.

Carpe Diem.