memories

Funerals

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These events are for the living. The usefulness to the living is a final farewell. The tradition helps the living cope with the fact that they too will eventually succumb. (Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, we are here and then we are not.) Nice music and often monotonic recitation of traditional prayer provides solace.

This particular funeral service was held for my sister-in-law. Three of us brothers-in-law are widowers now. Is this a trend? I hope not. I chose to sit near the back of the church to avoid sitting with the grieving immediate family and to be alone with my own thoughts. Cheryl is still fresh in my mind.

As the homilist was speaking I heard the first allusion to purgatory in a Roman Catholic sermon that I have heard without using the word for a very long time. (It could be that I did not listen to funeral sermons carefully before this one.) I was interested by the implication that the person might not be in heaven. But me being me I was not alarmed, I went off to the Wait wait What? to read current doctrine of the Roman Catholic church. Every thought, idea, law and religious doctrine exists on the WWW somewhere and it exists for any religious philosophy.

There is a YouTube video for the reading challenged at www.catholic.com that tells all. Reserve an hour or so if you are interested. I have got to admit that the current view of purgatory is much different than what I got from reading the catechism and listening to the Sisters of Mercy seventy years ago.

I have misunderstood the difference of “praying for” and “praying to” for many years. Today I read this: “… prayers for the dead: “In doing this (offering a sacrifice) he (Judas Maccabee) acted in a very excellent and noble way, inasmuch as he had the resurrection of the dead in view; for if he were not expecting the dead to rise again, it would have been useless and foolish to pray for them in death. But if he did this with a view to the splendid reward that awaits those who had gone to rest in godliness, it was a holy and pious thought. Thus he made atonement for the dead that they might be freed from this sin” (2 Macc. 12:43–45). Prayers are not needed by those in heaven, and no one can help those in hell…”

There is an in-between state (Limbo of the Fathers, Purgatory, Sanctification) and those souls we pray for. Souls in heaven do not need prayer. They are there. They are sanctified. They are prayed to. Souls in hell (damnation) are lost and cannot be helped. That is sad. The distinction was lost on me when I was six years old and I was not interested enough to ask. Catholic philosophy is laden with guilt and I did not seek out more of it by asking the nun to compare and contrast for and to.

As for me, I prefer to sit near the back of any church. It is a fine old Catholic tradition that if you get in early you can sit in the back. Cheryl liked to sit midway up and to the left side. After her death I sit near the rear and to the right. I can look at the other side of her. I see her often in church, any church, when I am there.

Family is mostly what I thought about during her funeral after I made a mental note to educate myself about the concept of purgatory. Two of my children sat with me. We did not stay for the reception in the church hall afterward. Cheryl’s death is too fresh for all of us.

Cheryl… when she died I was sad and happy… She was better at religion than I was and am now. I think women are better at religion. It is odd, I think, that men are in charge of them, all of them. I was sad that she was gone from my life and I felt that here in church at Teri’s funeral.

Cheryl came to me in an early morning dream a few months ago. It is incredibly vivid in my memory, as though I had lived though it. In the dream there was a special service in our church – Nativity. For some unclear reason we had to bring our own chairs to the service – a mass as I remember it. At the end of the service she hoped up and announced to me that she had to go. I can hear her, “I have to go!” I thought she meant to the lady’s room. She was in the midst of her Parkinson’s and with that her memory and spacial issues. She could not always find her way around. In this instance she was moving with ease towards the lavatory door which was around the corner and out of my sight as she moved through the crowd of folks leaving the service. I waited anxiously near our chairs gathering our stuff up to leave. I looked in her direction often to be sure she would make her way back. She often was unsure of where she was, so, I was worried. She was gone a long time and as I began to move towards the lady’s room a young man came up to me and asked if he could help with the chairs. He explained that Cheryl was gone.(He said, “She’s not coming back. She’ll be okay.) It is a very vivid memory/dream and I cry whenever I recall it. She is in heaven. This is what I take her last visit to me in this dream to mean.

I am happy for her because she was no longer suffering from Parkinson’s scourge that took her from this life and my life. I am happy that I can pray to her.

Carpe Diem

Memories and Remembrance and Dad

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This writing prompt, “Write Scenes With Your Senses” popped into my email today and it made me think. To quote the email, “When a memory suddenly pops into our head it is often just a fragment: a smile, a gentle touch, the tone of a voice. What anchors those fragments and transforms them into a scene that lives on the page is the body. Our senses are the portal. Writing through sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch grounds a scene in the moment and makes it come alive. Sensory details allow the reader to know not just what happened, but to experience it with their own body. It is said that specificity is the soul of narrative.” I have these sorts of memories, mainly, from early childhood.

The discussion continued with also many “have had the experience of hearing a song from our teen years and having flashes of memory from our high school dance from decades before. Suddenly we see the disco ball shooting shards of light across our friends faces, we smell the perfume or cologne of our dance partner, we feel our feet shuffle on the floor to the rhythm of the music, we taste the flavor of our favorite gum.” Sadly I have not and I have no memory of taste of any thing but Kleespie’s Bakery rye bread. (Also a childhood memory.) This last is what propelled me into baking bread as a hobby in the 1980s.

Reading the first paragraph my brain responded with an early, very early, memory of Cub Scouts and knothole baseball. I did not play knothole baseball as a kid but I was a Cub Scout. I imagine this game was a cub scout activity. My Dad was not a huge sports fan or any kind of sports fan, although he did like bowling when I was small.

The memory that came to me like a video vision is an image that has me on a ball field near Oakley Park near where I lived then. The video is silent in my head. It was late in the afternoon and the pitcher was a 7 or 8 year old like I was. Standing there at the plate he threw 4 loopy-doop pitches in a row and I walked to first base. Three other batters behind me also walked to their bases and I walked home. Not knowing much about baseball, I thought so that is what a home run is. It was a home walk in this case.

I was excited about scoring but no one was there to see it. There are no cheers in the audience. I cannot see an audience. I only see the ball diamond. I do not see any coaches but there must have been some. The scene is starkly quiet.

Later when Dad picked me up I told him about my “home run” and scoring a run. He did not correct my misconception. He merely replied, “I wish I was there to see that.” I could hear his voice as he said that. As we rode home in the car he asked me about other things and he may have taken me to get ice cream but the memory fades and that image is not there. I can hear his voice, “I wish I was there to see that” with a little disappointment in his voice. Dad dearly loved ice cream so that image is obfuscated with other trips to various ice cream parlors near our house.

Today my scenes with my senses are focused on Dad and childhood. The only audio is – I wish I was there to see that.

Dad was in the Navy before I was born. I wish he was still here. Do we ever quit being children?

Carpe Diem.

Late Summer Early Fall

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Dear Dad,

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 love you, Dad.

Carpe Diem.

Astoria column

The Left Coast Trip

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The Pacific and Oregon

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.

All in all a good time was had by all.

Carpe Diem

On To…

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I originally wrote most of this in December of 2021. The lessons I learned and techniques I developed for communicating with my wife who was dealing with Parkinson disease and associated dementia are applicable today. The lessons of life are illusory and fade if not maintained.

I am learning things about myself from Debbie that I was only beginning to learn from Cheryl and taking care of her at the end of her life. Dementia is a misunderstanding between the brain and it surroundings and the sensors it uses to detect the environment. An oversimplification to say the least but a miscommunication certainly. Missed communication is at the heart of any conflict or dispute.

Lessons from making cookies

December, 2021: Cheryl’s Cookies (Not the Commercial Venture)…

Living with a parkie (person suffering from Parkinson’s disease) makes me alert to new information when it comes up. That being said I do not always recognize my new task nor do I always recognize the information as new. This is about becoming a master cookie maker on the fly. I was not completely inept. I make bread often.

Executive function and loss of it…

Dementia occurs in about 50% of Parkinson’s sufferers who have had it for some time. Mild cognitive impairment often shows up first, followed by hallucinations, delusions, misunderstanding, memory loss and inability to follow simple directions. It is disheartening. Some behaviors are side effects of medications. Some come with build up of unpronounceable proteins in the brain. No matter the source, the behavior can be disheartening and annoying from a care partner perspective because the person you once knew is physically there and mentally not completely there. From a care partner’s perspective it seems that the medical community does not forewarn anyone about this aspect of the disease.

I am a retired engineer and have an innate curiosity about everything around me. Cooking, baking, bread making and all things requiring an oven have a particular fascination. There is practical chemistry in cooking both with the ingredients and the people cooking them. To the question, why do it that way? Near the end, my wife’s reaction often was anger to some perceived slight or merely to the wording of it. (She is the parkie in this story but that may have little to do with it. I caulked most of these reactions to her PD and her mental state at the time.)

It is an engineer’s question. It starts with me. Words and question structure are important factors. Engineers always want to ask why something is done some way or simply is some way. Why often sounds like a challenge, even to other engineers, if it is not asked properly. Tenor is detected in tone of voice both in the sound we make with vocal chords and inside our own head. Cognitive impairment interferes with interpretation of subtleties of tenor and tone of voice.

How to do…

December, 2021: Our latest challenge to our marital bliss is Christmas cookies. Baking is a hobby and a passion to me. I like to think I have perfected my meager talent at making breads of various types and shapes. I am proud of that but lately I have pushing into cakes and pies. The pandemic pandemonium gets to us all in various ways.

My perception of making cookies is one of a trivial exercise in baking. That is an incorrect perspective but one that I have internalized. December is cookie making time. Cheryl is helping me or I am helping her that is unclear in this reminisce but her Parkinson is affecting her more and more. Two cooks in the kitchen is a recipe for a challenge to peaceful coexistence. Two bakers near an oven enables battle lines to be established and defended with vigor. Starting a question with why is akin to removing one’s glove and casting it upon the dueling ground. [Emoji (:-)] Cheryl has made perhaps a giga-dozen (I just made up that word) of cookies. I have made none. What can I say to redeem myself? Engineers ask why a lot and in this exercise I learn to find a more agreeable way to get her to tell me what she knows.

The lead-in; I do not understand, why do… seems to temper the why. Small children ask why a lot until finally the because-I-say-so comes out.

Where to start…

To a skilled cookie baker the recipe is merely a guide, a refresher, a list that says these get lemon zest. Interestingly, that is much like how I view a new bread recipe. I am on familiar territory. (He thought to himself with arrogance.)

Not so fast apprentice! Nearby there is a master cookie baker. Do not question the master’s skill at her craft with disdainful utterances such as, why and how come? All will be revealed. But also keep an eye on the recipe and make answers such as, yes, we have put that in the mix and suggestions, such as, shall I add the butter?

Sometimes with creeping dementia ingredients are forgotten. Sometimes without that factor ingredients are forgotten. Try to be kind and remember that no one got up in the morning thinking, how can I mess with his mind today? Most importantly, do not raise your voice two octaves, that is a dead giveaway to your ignorance.

How does one check for doneness? (It is common sense!) Look at them. (the “fool” is left unsaid.) They will look right. What is right? (and on and on and on…) Cooking is a process. It is learned by doing. Life is random. It is learned by experience.

The 3C method – Cut out the Crap in the Conversation…

To a person standing nearby this conversation sounds rude. It sounds like one person is giving another orders and it can be that way. If done with kindness in the communicator’s heart and with understanding that a Parkinson’s patient also may be dealing with confusion issues, it is neither rude nor demeaning in any way. Often a person experiencing Parkinson’s cannot or does not get the implication or inference. Be clear. Have kindness in your voice when speaking. No teasing.

When tasting the cookies later after they have cooled, do not say, “YOU FORGOT THE SALT!” Instead say “These seem off somehow. Did we forget an ingredient?” Gentle discussion allows for thoughtful assessment rather than confrontational reaction.

The onus is on the care partner not the parkie to be patient, kind and clear. Be aware, care partner, that this is hard to do because you remember how your partner/spouse/parent/friend was before. (Good natured teasing may be misinterpreted. Be certain that your partner is not confused.) You too can be unaware of how they are now. The Parkinson’s patient may become sad or angry. Be persistent if you as care partner are very concerned about safety. Add some love to the conversation if you think you are not getting through the confusion. Strive to not become frustrated and raise your voice (two octaves).

We did wind up with our first battle batch of cookies. Although they were a motley crew, they tasted fine.

This episode came to me as I was thinking about other experiences that have cropped up in my new relationship with Debbie and I am getting to know her family and friends. Patience, kindness and clearness are useful aspects of communication with anyone, especially someone you care for deeply. Debbie has told me several times that she does not always know when I am teasing her. Perhaps I should not do that at all. The ability to tease someone comes with trust and love and familiarity. Perhaps I should remember that I do not know what I do not know and err on the side of kindness and ease, not tease.

Everyday is a winding road. I get a little bit closer. – Sheryl Crow (Good poem/song – read the lyrics)

Carpe Diem.

Kilo 8 Kilo Bravo Kilo

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Yesterday as I spent time paying bills electronically a conformation code from my bank began with KBK. It made me think about my older and only brother.

When I was much much younger, fourteen to be precise, I took all the testing and successfully received an amateur radio license. My brother Bill had achieved that many years prior. His call sign was K8KBK or as he often said, and I can still hear his voice, kilo number eight kilo bravo kilo. Dad was also a ham radio operator. His call sign was K8JZA. With my success I became WA8PRQ.

It is interesting to me how earlier experiences in life influence situations later in life. Early analog radio communication was often full of scratchy static and in order to clarify that communication a mnemonic was added after the original series of letters.

“Hello, CQ, Hello CQ, this is K-8-K-B-K, kilo number eight, kilo, bravo, kilo.” This is a request for contact of a non-emergency nature. CQ is Morse code shorthand for: calling all stations that are able to hear me. Ham radio folks just like to yak a lot. I used to have a key much like the picture. I could not get proficient with the dual key. We had one but I did not like it. I could do about 15 words a minute with this J38 style. Those days are other memories.

To this day, if I see WTF in a text message, in my head, I translate that to Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. Other leftovers from my Morse code days include TNX for thanks. Text messages from young people are often full of cryptic hieroglyphic-like emoticons and pictures of vegetables. The old Egyptians would be proud.

My ham radio days with Dad appeared in my head last summer while wandering through my time without Cheryl and wondering what to do with my time. I thought to develop old interests and maybe make new friends. Something that I was looking at caused the Facebook lunacy checker to send me a teaser about the American Radio Relay League (ARRL) and memories from teenagerhood came flooding into my head about QSL cards, Field Days, portable communications, hidden transmitter hunts and the Oh-Ky-In clubhouse which is now part of the I-275 loop around Cincinnati.

The memories are numerous and fond. I got excited and sent them money to get the current books to study up get a license back which made me wonder if I could get my original call sign back. I have not found that out, yet. When the books turned up a week or so later, I wondered what I was thinking about when I ordered them.

Life is like that when your anchor gets disconnected from the chain as mine was. The summer moved on and so did I. The books look good on the shelf next to other technical references of greater but passing interest. Once an engineer, always an engineer.

Cheryl was not interested in any of that but she was if I was. These days I write and read and read and write and wonder if I will ever get certain students to understand certain engineering topics and translate a control diagram into a physical circuit (that works.) I have over time morphed into an instructor at a community college near me. It has become over time either more of an interest or less of an interest depending upon which day. Life is full of ups and downs.

I think I have found a new anchor, a person to be with, a listener, a friend, a place to feel comfortable and home.

We read and I write and we text and we talk. She teaches me the meaning of various glyphs (emojis). She admonishes me for the incorrect use of other glyphs. We have fun and enjoy each other’s company.

I think I have mentioned that before in other posts here.

I have fond memories of my earlier days. It has taken this past year and a few strategic moves and removals for me to mainly think about the great times in my life.

Reminders of recent sad times are still here and there. They are just not in the front row any longer.

Carpe Diem.

Is This Fly Shit or is it Pepper?

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Is this fly shit or is it pepper?

And old friend and I used to have this discussion after various business meetings. His point was always shrouded in “Is this important or is this merely seasoning?” I for one was enthralled with that question (fly feces or seasoning) and the comparison itself. Both seemed important to me but for different reasons. Both were good metaphors for events as they about to or were happen(ing).

Fly shit seems like something that you would not want in your food and one might strive to determine which specks were those, so that, they could be removed. If you are focused on the fly poop you probably will not enjoy your meal. I posit that one might not taste their meal simply due to a narrow focus on insignificant droppings. One might also choose to only eat white foods and season them after close inspection. One might only use salt to season their food.

I think that is a boring way to eat. Salty meringue seems less than satisfactory, maybe even, unfortunate. To me that seems, also, a boring way to live life.

The universe is full of specks. Many of which are there for an intended purpose. Many are there merely for seasoning but even the fecal matter matters. Sometimes flys will land on the carrots or broccoli.

Looking backward through life I see a lot of pepper and other spices. I know that there are other things that do not fit that category with exactness. I do not focus on those. I do not look back with sadness and loss. Cheryl and I had a great time. More and more I envision the good times, the great times. More and more it occurs to me that the fly shit is merely something to be disregarded as wrinkles in the fabric of the universe. It was (is) events and things and times for learning and growth to happen. It is more life to be embraced.

I thank the universe for that opportunity. (Now, maybe not then.)

Yesterday our grief share focus was on being stuck in grief and ways to break out of that stuckness. In other words fly shit. Embrace it. It is hard to do but embrace it with enthusiasm given to other more embraceable events: birthday parties, holidays, vacation trips, the list goes on. Allow new connections to develop.

I made a new connection. I tell myself I was not looking for another new relationship but apparently I was. It is definitely all pepper and spice with a little fly shit here and there. Flys do not seem to eat much. The spices overwhelm the other things.

Carpe the damn Diem (and do not forget the Herbs de Provence.)

from https://premeditatedleftovers.com/blog/

Toaster Ovens

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Far be it from me to criticize the American appliance industry but I often wonder what jumped into the engineering head of folks who decided a toaster oven was a much needed appliance.  Having a small oven is handy in its own way but why call it a toaster? Why temp us toast lovers with the ability to get warm morning toast when one actually gets the stale bread a week later.

Indeed toasted bread can be achieved in several different ways with one critical ingredient, great heat applied for a short or relatively short period of time. Toaster ovens are unable to do either. Generally they fit into the vast category of “Almost A Great Idea” or AAGI (aw-gee) for short. At one time in the past we owned a toaster oven which also had the ability to roast a chicken. It had a built in rotisserie gizmo to spear the chicken with and rotate through the meager heat source. (aw-gee) After much trial and error we determined that the timer needed to be able to set itself to much more than the 45 minutes on the dial. The heat source warm up is include in this time since it is not instant on. (Alas and aw-gee)

Many devices fit into AAGI. Instapots and Airfriers might be two more. But often it is fun and necessary to use a device with a small heat source that supplies invaluable cleaning expertise and practice.

Microwave ovens supply this valuable expertise as they are able to rapidly take water from liquid to gas in a rice-sized pocket spreading soup or any other suitable substance over the entire inner surface while keeping the rest of the bowl at the temperature of a standard refrigerator. They are remarkable devices. If you ever require rubberized eggs for any recipe, a low wattage microwave is just the perfect solution.

All of these thoughts came to over the past several days as I pondered another stale bread morning in my nephew’s beautiful, quaint and cute little bungalow in Port St. Joe, Florida. My sister and my girlfriend and I spent three wonderful days there this past week.

We drove in my car so we did not have the wonderful packing experience of making everything fit into one suitcase. We took our time. We stopped occasionally to look for best toilet facilities. We visited Bukee’s in Alabama. No soft serve ice cream at Bukee’s which is a sad state of affairs. (aw-gee) We stopped at the Shrimp Lady which claims to be restaurant-ish on Google Maps. It is not but we bought 2 pounds of shrimps as big as my thumb that came off the boat 20 – 30 minutes previously. Over the next couple of days we ate them as shrimp and cheesy grits, and shrimp with garlic, onion, green pepper and spaghetti with marinara and generous Parmesan cheese.

Did the two most important women in my life just bring me along to cook and drive the car? It was a great trip.

Back to the toaster oven. It is a fine device in its own way but entirely unsatisfactory for making toast in the morning. The Nespresso Virtuo, however, makes excellent coffee one cup at a time, every time, as long as the special pods and a water source are nearby. Foamy luxurious coffee.

We are back home in Ohio. The forsythia in the back is just opening itself. The daffodils are poking up and wondering what the forsythia can see that they cannot. The forest view through my window is greenish against the browns and grayness.

Daylight saving? Time is here. And as Debbie says, “the light is returning to the planet”

I am off to ponder a method of saving the daylight and fold the laundry from the trip.

Carpe Diem.

Life Long Learning

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Don’t Sit on the Sticker Bushes! Good advice! Something Cheryl was looking at on TV prompted this comment from her. She was just starting down the road to dementia. Odd comments and visions would come to her but we had been together too long and I loved her to much to leave her unaided. Life is full of little surprise comments. Sometimes funny some times not. They can punctuate our lives and section off unhappy or anxious feelings from the good times. Long ago now, Jerry came in and said, “There are more things today that don’t mean shit than ever before!” then he left my office.

The Valco Saga

Mistakes in life are made but if there is a plan, they are all part of the plan or not. Perhaps there is no plan per se. Perhaps it is actually a vision. The universe is a continuum. In 1990 I was employed by Cincinnati Milacron in Cincinnati, the machine tool capital of the world in many respects. I had spent 18 years of my life at Cincinnati Milacron. I came for five and stayed eighteen. A stalwart old line Cincinnati company that was the gold standard of machine tool manufacturers. Cincinnati Milacron no longer exists. Remnants of the old company do, the largest of which is simply called Milacron today. Then, however, it seemed to me that CM was dying a slow death. Occasionally I looked elsewhere for a different position.

It is much like looking for a new wife after tiring of the old wife. It is also not part of my make-up when I say that to myself. I am easily entrenched in life. Cheryl and I had been married twenty years by this time. My fortieth trip around Sol was within view. Was I too old to find another position that I was passionate about? I was not certain, nor was I willing to give up, and I was not in a grass is greener mode, I was looking to the future and wondering, what if? CM was downsizing without a vision, it seemed from my perspective. Was there a future?

A good friend that had gotten caught in the shrinkage called me one day with a lead. The head electrical wizard at the little company at which he landed had died and they where on the hunt for a new head electrical engineer. I did not realize that the head electrical person would be working directly for one half of the partnership that owned and ran the company.

Rich, the half of the partnership that eventually came to be my boss, was a know-it-all. Two weeks into the new job, I began to wonder about the wisdom of my decision to accept the position of chief electrical engineer. The previous holder of the position I had never met but he had, according to hearsay, and even Rich’s own mouth, a bit of a drinking problem. At the very least he was more gregarious than I, but most importantly, he had the protection of half of the owning partnership. I did not.

From 1990 to 1994 I worked for this little company in southwest Ohio called Valco Cincinnati. They manufacture adhesive application equipment for the packaging and other industries and like many small companies they were growing by acquisition. Theirs was an interesting application of control electronics. And the job of steering that was a giant leap of faith for me.

Office Life can be Challenging

From the perspective of 25 years later, one might imagine that the memories would fade. They do but I took notes of various kinds along the way. Mostly funny little things people would say. Engineers and technical folks are a cynical group. Most are conservative decision makers. Me included. Most carry thoughts in the background of “prove it to me” or “Oh yeah? Show me.” It is part of the nature of an engineer. If the math works, they will believe it.

I had kept a journal on and off through my life and towards the end of my tenure at Valco I wrote more. I imagine Scott Adams started down this same road at PG&E, except that he was better at it. He turned it into a career. I kept funny memos that the ownership and other managers would publish. The pointy haired boss in Dilbert reminds me of one half of the ownership, of Rich, the half that hired me.

After I was terminated, fired, sacked; a friend and colleague took all my notes from what he referred to as the “wall of shame” and collected them in a cast-off binder and sent them to me. This friend is the Jerry I refer to in the quote above. He had more insight into the workings of a privately held company than I gave him credit for at the time.

It may sound corny but these notes are precious to me. They chronicle my time there. These little messages are in addition to my journaling. Termination from a less than satisfactory job was a much needed learning experience. That I was terminated was disappointing but I now believe that everyone should be terminated at some time in their life. It is devastating. But it helps you to find inner strength. And often a better situation. At the very least it gives you perspective about what has importance and what is unimportant to you.

In this particular instance I had worked myself into a particularly odd funk. I sought help when I found myself contemplating what to do to end it all. I may have also begun to understand why the previous owner of this job had a drinking problem. I was developing my own. Between my family doctor and a psychiatrist friend of his we had attached the name of acute situational depression to my condition. It does not have to be chronic but it can be fatal. All of these sad and dark feelings occurred behind an apparently happy guy.

The Wall of Shame

Some statements transcend time and space and Jerry’s comment, “There are more things today that don’t mean shit than ever before!” is one of those. A universal theory that becomes a truth by demonstration and consistency. There are many of these.

Somewhere during my debilitating Valco experience I received one of those cute little desk calendars with an engineer saying on it for each day. Some of those I kept after I had scissored off the date. Engineering always lives in a cube farm. The walls of which made great bulletin boards. It is on of the few things I miss about working as an engineer, posting stuff on the wall for commentary by others. Much like Facebook but much more intimate and personal.

A favorite: WESTHEIMER’S RULE: To estimate the time to do a task, estimate the time you think it should take, multiply by two and change the unit of measure to the next higher unit,. Thus we allocate two days for a one hour task. — (I added) — and predict April 15th as the finish date. I thought of April 15th merely because it was two weeks hence from the time of the original posting on the wall. It was only later that someone pointed out to me that April 15 had significance to the other half of the partnership. As I started the wall, others came by and helped. Many added sayings that they had tripped over in memos or simply spoke out loud. Some of the guys would be very careful about what they said around my cubicle.

This actually got better as I and others continued to collect little remarks that people say to each other in an office or elsewhere in the vein of the old sage wise sayings.

At the end of a memo written to encourage moving on with some decision: … I BELIEVE THAT WE HAVE A WINNER IF WE MAKE THESE CHANGES AND WE SHOULD PROCEED WITHOUT HASTE (sic) I have no idea why it is written in all caps. I do not have the rest of the memo. I like the thought though — damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead BACKWARDS!

Another: Papoose (def) — consolation prize for taking a chance on an Indian blanket. [anon] And another – God hates a coward!

One of my personal favorites: “We’ll just come to that bridge when we cross it!” spoken by our service manager at the time, Larry, after a meeting. It might be the first time I started to write down misspoken comments by others. This is profoundly true if you stop to ponder it.

And the wall grew and grew. 1993 Exploded with all of these gems and in some cases I categorized them because context became more important.

I wonder how they put up with me? — Dave

The bigger the orifice the more shit you get out! — Randy

I never drink under the influence. — Scott

There is no group that takes more time away from family life than the Church! — R. Cloud

It looks reasonably promising (fence sitter) — Lance

People are clueless! — Todd

Jack Shit running loose is NOT a good thing! — J. Lutterbie

Some animals aren’t trainable — Jay

Not all boats will rise with the tide. (stock market) — Don

… a frozen semi-state (the fifth state of matter)– Jim

(sensitivity, empathy) He’s about as sensitive as fire ants crawling up your ass. — Mike

ADVICE – help that you don’t want to give out — Dean

It’s one of those loose T&E’s — B. Nolting

Give them lips a rest young co-op — Paul

Nothing comes from being stupid in public — Jerry

(control theory) The temperature is set on 75, the thermostat reads 67, everything’s fine. — L Marsh

(Social commentary) Stereotypes are typically based on observation — Mike

(Administration’s statement of the obvious) Everybody’s busy or they’re gone! — Jim Bornhorst

(Conversation) Are you coming back later? we’re having Karaoke tonight. — No thanks I’m on a low fat diet.

1994 brought:

(life commentary) Will we ever understand anything? — Jerry

(Electrostatic discharge) If we’d just clean up management there’d be a lot less static around here. — Gene

(why things often do not work) We didn’t load the bogus values correctly. — Dave

(obviousness) That’s going to be blank unless we put something on it! — R Woolf

His reality contact is a little low. — Kappeler

(fence sitter) I think I’ve got this somewhat under control. — Kathy

Some things you get for free you can’t afford. — Keith

God, what a Fu-Fu this has been!

It was relatively impressive. If that makes any sense. — Jerry

Fuck this place. — Paul

It was a lot easier when we didn’t have to deal with the Germans. — Paul

The last page of Jerry’s memoir to me was written by the best of the best when it came to folks that I have worked with through the years. He is truly a special person. His final words: So you have to be aware that if Bornhorst sacks you because he can’t decide how else to suck up to Greg, understand that it is your fault that some projects turned to crap. For a while at least I was pissed at Jim Bornhorst but then I realized that, as a friend once said, nothing good comes from being stupid in public. I hold those words dear. Jim probably was getting rid of me because he was told to do it and whether that was the truth of the matter or not, it was a distinction with no difference. Eventually I came to realize that being let go was actually a good day.

And in 1994 we were concerned about Global Warming but doing nothing.

The Silver Lining

This experience caused my brother to reach out to me.

Bill called me in 1994 after I had been terminated from my job with Valco. I do not remember him calling me much. It was the other way around in my memory. So, his call was a surprise.

He called me, he said to offer some advice. He said, ” You have to decide what you are going to charge.” ‘Charge for what?’ I replied. They are going to trip over some problem that they will need you to fix, because they did not know they had it. Something you would have just handled. They will try to get you to do it for nothing but its a temp job. Figure out how much you are going to charge to fix their problem.

Every worker should be fired at some point in their life. It is not very much fun while it is happening but it is an excellent learning experience. You get down on yourself. What did I do wrong? How will I go on? If you are part of the engineering staff of a company, you often operate under the illusion that you are part of the management cadre. Nothing could be further from the truth. You are a worker bee like everyone else. Your work however is to think, design, plan and create the product.

Bill’s little advice made me realize my value. Anything I did had a price. And that price was value for my time, experience, problem solving ability, cleverness and elegance of design. More importantly that price included time away from things, family, people and situations that might be more important to me than doing some job that the only tangible benefit was a pay check. He had put it in perspective. Life is too short.

Indeed! In retrospect it is unsatisfactory to harbor ill will to anyone. Better things come to you if you spend little time angry and upset about such a small thing as getting sacked. Trust the universe to center itself once more and make better things happen but you have to help. Do not sit on your hands.

More Silver

This all happened long ago. I learned from this experience that not everything happens for a reason. Some events occur because idiots gain control for a time. Most of the time if one can see past the immediate hurt, one discovers that a better existence is ahead.

I still collect sayings and phrases that engineers use. Dilbert is a favorite comic although Scott Adams is far enough away from daily existence at PG&E that often his take on office life is not as funny as it once was. Perhaps I too am older and less connected.

Some memos and silly comments were forwarded to me after I was gone. If only I could draw cartoons.

I rewrote and edited this story in response to a writing prompt that appeared in a newsletter email that I receive on a regular basis. The prompt is – This week write about a major shift you lived through, one in which suddenly so many otherwise stable details of your life dramatically changed, beyond your control, for better or worse. (Sometimes these changes can be for the better, directly or inadvertently.)

What or who ushered this shift into your life? What did your world look like before? What did it look like during and after the shift? Were you powerless in the face of it? Or did you play a role? How did you feel about it? Did your feelings about that shift change over time? If you could go back and undo the shift, would you? Why?

Don’t sit on the sticker bushes!

Carpe Diem.

Valentines Day

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And Sweetest Day are arbitrary celebrations that I do not get. If you are someone who thinks those are important I apologize for any offense you may get from this essay but why did you focus on one single day? Well maybe two? Why not celebrate that relationship, that connection every day that it exists?

Valentines Day seems to celebrate sugar and chocolate. Sweetest seems to celebrate flowers. The months that each are in, February is filled with frantic anticipation of warmth returning and, October, dread of warmth leaving the Earth seem to posess little reason for flowers and candy. Nevertheless, clever marketers have made up a reason and then filled it.

Tony Decouple was badgered by Nick and Gayle on CBS the other morning when they had run out of mudslides, fires, snow and Donald to talk about. Tony is not a fan of a big deal special day as I am not nor is Debbie. And when Cheryl was with me she was not or pretended to be as she discovered how poor I was at acknowledging dates. I have had my wedding anniversary ingraved inside my wedding ring since day one.

My term for it is date dyslexsia. Many of you will say just write it on the calendar. That works but what if you have calendar dyslexia too?

Debbie and I spent time together yesterday. We had lunch and enjoyed the cold but sunny day here in southwestern Ohio. Discussed movies and kids but did not exchange candy and gifts. Maybe we are older and wiser and less enamored with the made up marketing ploys. (Maybe I screwed up.)

We first met after Sweetest Day last year so that dyslexic event was not an issue.

Carpe every Diem.