memories

Potato Mashers

Posted by

0

Opening the miscellaneous tools drawer in kitchen can send me down the rabbit hole just like Alice of rock song and wonder land. There are many things in this drawer. All of them have their own memories associated with them.

Before the move to our condo this drawer was much larger. We were less discriminating about which tools to keep and use. Following Cheryl’s ultra frugal idea of we might need it again, we kept many things. In her house as a child and even as we were dating in high school, her Mom kept throwaway plastic utensils. But we all have our little quirks. The picture above has two wire whisks in it because at some point in my life I decided I needed two. Rare has that occasion been but I still have two just in case that situation pops back up.

If I am going to mash potatoes I tend to reach for the handheld electric mixer in the next drawer over. It is way more efficient and quicker. Cheryl liked her mashed potatoes whipped up with a little milk and butter. There is the special two prong fork on the right side of the drawer (prongs are hidden) which is the only tool capable of determining if the potatoes have completed the boiling process. I learned so many cooking techniques from my wife. I can still hear her voice, “Get me the fork to check the potatoes.” Sometimes we would prepare a meal together but often she would shoe me out of the kitchen so that she could do things her way. We all have our ways.

Many nights cooking for myself I think her ways are better. And I was able to have a glass of wine and set the table. I think food tastes better if you do not have to do it yourself.

I did use the potato masher a couple times recently (in the last year) while following the meal preparation card that came with the Hello Fresh ingredients. Cheryl told me that she really does not care for sour cream in her mashed potatoes. “The garlic was okay but couldn’t we use milk and leave out the sour cream?”, she once asked. The potato masher was nestled back into the drawer never to come out again.

There are many stories associated with the implements shown in this drawer picture. The can opener came from a Magic Chef party held by a working friend of Cheryl who we met at Taste of Cincinnati. She was single and had leased an apartment in the old Shilito’s department store building downtown. It was a cute little apartment. I have repaired the handle several times. It has memories of better times associated with it.

As I was preparing to go visit Cheryl today, I pulled a ball cap off the shelf in my closet. Fifteen other hats fell on me. Those hats have a similar set of remembrance stories. Those are for another day.

Carpe Diem.

Cheers

Posted by

0

I have a lot of extra time. Cheryl is being cared for at Bridgeway Pointe and I hunt for ways to fill my day. I take walks on good weather days, this is one of those. The Spring weather is warming. It is not warming fast enough for me. Every time I walk by my bike to get into the car to visit Cheryl I check the tires just because. My plan for the summer is to ride that bike as many days as I can fit into my open schedule.

This morning I was uninterested in the news of the day. Donald is going to badmouth Joe for eight more months. It is impossible to describe how uninterested I am with all of that. The primary in Ohio is March 19th. After that I will no longer hear about what stinkers Frank and Bernie are and the guy with the construction company may get to drive down and fix the wall. None of those guys are telling me what they plan to do make the world a better place. They are telling me what the other guy is incapable of doing. Politics is sport. Trash talk is here.

Losing interest in network television I woke up Prime video and eventually old TV shows appeared inside of the CBS app. Cheers is an old favorite. The theme song came on and took me back to long ago. Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got. Taking a break from all your worries sure would help a lot. Wouldn’t you like to get away? ….Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name and they’re always glad you came. You wanna be where you can see our troubles are all the same.

I sat and watched the very first episode (I think) where the bar burns down at 2 AM in the morning after partying hard at a wedding. Afterward I told Alexa to find the theme song and it politely played that for me before switching to a collection of other TV show themes. Nostalgia on some days is good I think.

Stephen Curry was on the morning news yesterday for a bit. He wrote another children’s book. He commented that his theme is to leave the world a better place. I think that is a good life philosophy. I used to have as a goal to have the money run out about the time I did, but that is a low bar.

Perhaps, “Choose happiness and leave the world a better place than you found it. And when you start something, finish it.” is my new motto, philosophy, theme.

Spring is coming!

Carpe Diem!

—

Cheers Lyrics: Songwriters: Gary Portnoy / Judy Hart
… Making your way in the world today
Takes everything you’ve got
Taking a break from all your worries
Sure would help a lot
Wouldn’t you like to get away?
… All those nights when you’ve got no lights
The check is in the mail
And your little angel
Hung the cat up by it’s tail
And your third fiance didn’t show
… Sometimes you wanna go
Where everybody knows your name
And they’re always glad you came
You wanna be where you can see (ah-ah)
Our troubles are all the same (ah-ah)
You wanna be where everybody knows your name
… Roll out of bed, Mr. Coffee’s dead
The morning’s looking bright (the morning’s looking bright)
And your shrink ran off to Europe
And didn’t even write
And your husband wants to be a girl
Be glad there’s one place in the world
… Where everybody knows your name
And they’re always glad you came
You wanna go where people know
People are all the same
You wanna go where everybody knows your name
… Where everybody knows your name (where everybody knows your name)
And they’re always glad you came
Where everybody knows your name (where everybody knows your name)
And they’re always glad you came
Where everybody knows your name (where everybody knows your name)
And they’re always glad you came
Where everybody knows your name (where everybody knows your name)

Dear Cheryl

Posted by

0

Dear Cheryl,

You know of course that you are the love of my life, the place where I am home.  I do not say this to you often enough. I am writing it here so that you can read it often if you want.

This morning when I came to you to be home and see how you were doing, Jennifer told me that you had no interest in getting up so after the bathroom she helped you back to bed. This is where you were when I came. I kissed you and you ignored me.  You were deeply sleeping. I sat and watched you breathe for a few minutes, hoping you would stir. You did not, so, I kissed you again and told you that I would return later.

Here I am again. It is almost three pm and you are still lights out. I talked to Mike in the hallway outside of the Harbor. He told me that you were still sleeping and he had taken your vital signs. He made a little joke about this being one of those days when you are not participating. He is such a gentle nurse.

As I was ending my conversation with him, I met Rosie Doud. You know, Bill Doud’s sister? She is staying at Bridgeway Pointe.

Even though Mike said you were sleeping, I came to watch you breathe. Maybe you will awaken later when Linda and Regan come. Maybe not. Obviously you need to sleep today. I am glad you did not need to doze yesterday afternoon. We held hands and you told me about something but I did not understand all of your words.

Sleep some more and I will check on you after supper.

I love you.

Paul

Florida Again

Posted by

2

After a few months, I find myself in Florida again without Cheryl. In June of 2023 when Cheryl and I came to the Florida panhandle with Anna and her family it was fun and it was exhausting. This time Cheryl is not with me. This time Joyce is often driving and I am able to watch the scenery. This time is different.

Last summer may have been our last trip together. This trip is not the first one without her that I was not going to work but this trip feels different. I cannot put my finger on what is different. Is it because Cheryl is not with me and it is the nation’s designated vacation spot? Surely that’s not it. I am visiting family with family. Is it because I am not worried or concerned about her care? As I was visiting with my sister in the previous October? I am still analyzing those thoughts.

Judy’s pool view

This trip started as an invitation to participate in an informational weekend about  the activities supported by the Southern Poverty Law Center  founded years ago by Julian Bond et al.

The weekend’s events culminated in jubilee commemoration of Bloody Sunday 59 years ago on the march from Selma to Montgomery Alabama.

Edmund Pettus Bridge

My impression of Selma is that it is remarkably poor. This impression is supported by empty and boarded up storefronts and the slow or non-existent recovery from the tornado that passed through a couple years ago. Whatever the vision is in the leadership of the great State of Alabama may be for the future it seems to have left the the small village of Selma behind. It is a pretty area. The few pictures I took of the river area show this fact and Selma has a grand boulevard in the center of it. There is a Walmart Super Center less than two miles from the town center. Big box stores tend to kill off the core of little towns. It seems to be happening here.

The bridge crossing happened on Sunday and after we walked across the bridge and completed wading through the crowd on the other side taking selfies and deciding what to do next and generally recrossing the bridge on the sidewalks back to the carnival atmosphere a block off the side of the boulevard, we found our bus back to Montgomery. That evening we went to a nice local restaurant for dinner. Fifty-nine years ago many of those bridge crossing folks spent the night in jail or the hospital somewhere. It is quite a contrast, then and now, but the poverty is still there.

The next day we were off to Port St. Joe, Florida to visit with our nephew Mark and his wife Leslie. Their little vacation home in Port St. Joe is set up perfectly no TV, no WIFI,  just conversation. Port St. Joe is a sleepy little town with the distinctive title of original capital city of the State of Florida. Leslie grew up there. Mark and his family took us to a raw bar. I later found out this is another name for a sea food restaurant.

As I conversed with Mark it struck me that he is very much like his father, my brother. In addition to resembling his father physically, his mannerisms, his focus, his jesters, I felt like I was talking to a younger version of my brother. I have not seen Mark since Mom’s funeral and we did not talk at length at the funeral.

Cheryl came flooding back into my mind. I looked around and in my head she told me that if she could have been there she would have sat near Leslie and the kids to talk and catch up. Family and conversation is very important to her. Sitting with Mark, my sister Joyce and his family, I realized how much I was missing Cheryl. She would have enjoyed this trip very much. And the additional aspect of lived history would have had her telling about this trip over many dinner conversations into the future.

The next day we continued on to visit with Mark’s mother, my sister-in-law, Judy. My brother left this Earth in May of 2020. Sadly, because of the COVID travel restrictions, Cheryl’s inability to travel easily and other factors, we were unable to attend services for my brother Bill. Judy showed Joyce and me a wonderful memory book put together by the funeral services company as well as the program for Bill’s celebration of life. I picked up the book and looking through it had to catch myself as I wanted to turn and show it to Cheryl. (I was missing Cheryl again.)

This was perfect; family, history, hiking, a beach nearby, Judy’s beautiful house at the end.

When I got home in the early evening my son Scott picked me up at the airport. As we rode along my only thought was to drive over and visit Cheryl. She was in bed already so I kissed her goodnight and returned home to eat something and consider various aspects of the trip, my relationship to my own family and enjoy sleeping in my own bed.

Carpe the road trip Diem.

Dear Cheryl,

Posted by

0

I am thinking about you this morning as I do every morning.

Earlier I listened to and old U2 song – With or Without You – And I realized that these words from this song have a very different meaning to me than the original lyricist meant. I cannot live with you physically. It is simply more than I can handle day to day. Between your Parkinson and the associated memory and dementia, it is overwhelming for me to take care for you by myself. This breaks my heart.

And yet, in my heart I cannot live without you constantly in my thoughts. Often in the morning when I hear some song or part of a song I think of a time when we were younger and this song was on the radio or the group was very popular and what we were doing in our lives. Some of those memories are vague with little flashes of pictures in my mind. The dream ends and I am in our home, alone, without you. I become sad again.

Songs and particular lines from songs often evoke an emotional (teary) response from my heart. Loving you and living without you is a very unsatisfactory feeling.

With you or without you – I miss you,

Paul

Dear Cheryl,

Posted by

1

Dear Cheryl,

You were sleeping today when I came to visit. Sleeping so very soundly that I did not want to disturb you. I kissed you on the cheek like I usually do to tease you awake. I know that you do not like me to kiss you on the ear. You did not even stir, not one bit.

I sat in the rocker for a little bit to watch you breathe.

After a few more minutes I left you to rest and came home. As I was driving home I thought to write this letter to you. I have been listening to a collection of songs from Spotify entitled – Songs to Sing in the Shower. Pulling into the garage LeAnn Rimes started singing, “You Can’t Fight the Moonlight”. This line – “There’s no escaping love; Once the gentle breeze; Weaves its spell upon your heart” – stuck with me.

I suddenly realized how much I missed seeing you today. The past couple days you were alert and we were able to sit and hold hands quietly. Yesterday you put your head on my shoulder and we sat that way for awhile. I enjoyed that quiet time with you.

I think that touching you is more important to me than I admit to myself.

Sleep well and rest. I will see you tomorrow.

I love you,

Paul

When I Visit Cheryl

Posted by

0

When I visit Cheryl which happens everyday I notice things. Some of these are after I return home. I am not so concerned about where I put my shoes after I take them off for example. When Cheryl was here with me I was constantly concerned with trip hazards lying about in our condo. Occasionally we would argue about things like doormats and trow rugs, all of which I had removed from the condo over time as her ability to move and walk and balance became worse.

I notice how the staff interacts with the residents. They are generally kind and attentive. They are, I imagine, acutely aware of their own staffing levels.

I notice how the residents interact with the staff. Helen, another resident in the Harbor with Cheryl, is awake and alert and talkative today. Last night the Super Bowl went into overtime. It was not won until just before 11 PM, so, I imagine that several maybe most of the staff sat up and watched it until the end like I did. The difference being that I did not have to get up at 5 AM to make the 6:30 AM staff meeting. Some of the staff have that combination of Monday morning sleepy grumpy going on. I get that. I used to be a service/engineering manager. Mondays were often unnecessarily busy while we picked up all the stuff that fell on the floor over the weekend.

I notice the level of staffing. It is less so on the weekends as one might expect it to be. If there is one single area that I could suggest could be improved it would be weekend staffing. The world in general revolves around folks not working weekends without some sort of extra incentive which is often money. Rewarding altruism and empathetic caring for folks who cannot care for themselves is hard work for the administration and work life balance is strained when the work and life are similar. Conjuring useful rewards for weekend work like appealing to their sense of altruism is probably tough.

I notice the changes when the shift ends. The next group comes in. It is generally a smooth transition.

I hear the little discussions between the staff – what’s important to them.

I also find that if I am not the full time care partner I was when Cheryl was home with me I am able to have opinions about how others do the same task. I wonder about how I might do it differently. I keep those thoughts to myself. Juggling the needs of a dozen people at different stages of Alzheimer’s, Lewy body, Parkinson’s and other forms of dementia is more complicated than I had to deal with at home. My personal dilemma was remaining kind and thoughtful with lack of sleep but a lot of love. Love is sometimes hard to find if you are Mr. Lack-of-sleep-cranky-pants.

All of this wandered though my thoughts today as I visited with Cheryl and sat with her while she dozed in her chair. She was slightly awake but sitting with her eyes closed. She was uninterested in having company. I just held her hand for a bit and it seemed like she relaxed and fell into a nap. I miss her daily company.

Carpe Diem. ( Carpe Somnum when it is time.)

I Remember

Posted by

3

Cheryl and I met at a picnic. It was a blue moon in August of 1966 specifically, but that’s not really the story. The story is what we have been together since.

High school friends of mine put together a picnic with friends of hers. Cheryl went because they invited her. I went because my friends invited me.

I found myself sitting alongside of her at a picnic table in a dark picnic area in Winton Woods. Both of us were wondering how these guys were going to get the hot dogs and stuff off of the grill when they hadn’t brought any tools. So I kind of jumped into the breach to fix the problem and scooped the hot dogs up with a couple of paper plates. Cheryl later told me that she thought that action was really clever.

But that is not the important thing that I wanted to tell you about that night. Our meeting was a totally random event in both of our lives then and since that night (58 years ago) we have been together.

It’s sort of amazing when you think about it. I mean in high school, of course when she went back to ICA in Indiana, I dated a couple of other girls, but I didn’t really get serious or even interested in anybody else except for her. Four years almost to the day after we met on that picnic, we got married. I finished up school at Miami. We had kids. She supported me at Miami. I supported her at U. C. The kids grew up. We supported them and they moved out. We had a few years in there when we sort of enjoyed (you know) empty nesting, a few trips, just enjoying life and living. We had two fairly well paying careers and enjoyed a little bit of travel and some other things like that. It’s been a really good life. It’s been a really good life and she is gone mentally and I don’t know where to put that. I do not know where to put that in my heart. I don’t know where to put that in my head. I don’t know what to do about that period. I struggle with that pretty much every day.

She is physically still here but mentally not so much in the last few weeks. Probably not very far from now in a few weeks she will physically be gone, too.

I just don’t know how to think about all this. I ponder this all the time.

I do not know what is next but I do so wish there was a manual. She is still here, but she is not here.

At first it made me feel a little bit guilty, moving her to memory care but I’ve come to realize that if she was still home with me, I would really not have a good handle on being able to help her and keep her clean and and feed her and all those other things that go along with the situation that she’s in at Bridgeway Pointe.

I don’t have guilt feelings anymore. I tell myself this but maybe those feelings are still with me. At first I had sort of thought that it felt like I was giving up or giving in or throwing our life away or whatever you want to say. I but I don’t really quite know how to express that emotion, but we have lived together for so long. It did not and still does not feel right. Perhaps it never will.

And it’s so hard to see her go. I just don’t know what to do about it. I just don’t know what to do about my emotions. I can’t really put them in my pocket. I mean, I can for a while but then they just sort of spontaneously come out every now and then. I don’t worry about that. I just sort of stop for a minute when I get all choked up and I just simply can’t talk, but I’m getting better at it passing by that that deep sense of loss. I don’t know how else to say that. It is just a really deep deep sense of loss.

I love her and she will always be part of me. I have and we have lots and lots of good memories. I am not sure that she has any memory, sometimes it’s hard to tell.

It is very hard to tell where and what she remembers especially towards the end of this past year. She seemed to regress more and more into her childhood. And I don’t know how else to say that. In the middle of the night when I would get up and go to the bathroom, she would wake up a little bit and say, “Jan where are you going?” Sometimes she would say, “Dan?” (you know? )

These past few years have been a trial. I will not remember her this way.

I will remember the trips to the Cincinnatian Hotel.

I will remember Sunday matinees at the Playhouse in the Park.

I will remember the cruise trips.

I will remember the hiking trips in various parks and the looks on the boy scouts’ faces when we encountered each other five miles from the trail head in Green Bow State Park in Kentucky. And how great lunch tasted when we got back to the lodge after our hike.

I will remember pancakes with fresh maple syrup in the morning looking for the ladies room in Hocking Hills.

I will remember the joy on her face when she graduated college.

I will remember the tired joy on her face after the birth of each child.

I will remember the trips to Myrtle Beach and during those to Charleston.

I will remember a Christmas Eve a long time ago when she insisted that I open her gift to me and all I wanted to do was go to bed and sleep. She had made me a shirt. She was a wonderful seamstress and proud of it.

I will remember the trips with friends to Door County and the Grand Canyon.

I will remember walking to the neighborhood pub after work to enjoy dinner she did not cook and a glass of wine.

I will remember her herding the kids to church on Sunday morning.

I will remember cold weekend mornings alongside soccer fields.

I will remember her excitement when Anna announced that our first grandchild was coming.

I will remember how she cared for me and our family through life.

I will remember many things but I will not dwell on the last few weeks of her time here.

I love you Cheryl. You will always be with me. I carry your heart in my heart. I will remember your smile.

Parkinson’s disease sucks. (Today I do not feel much like carpe-ing the damn diem.) She is slipping from me and I feel sad.

Poetry and Meaning

Posted by

0

This poem by Shel Silverstein is from an anthology of poems and cartoons published by him with the same name in the 1970s. I do not remember how we got it but I have several books of poetry. Poetry can tell a story, elicit emotion, evoke a memory or simply make one think.

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/shel_silverstein/poems/14836

Hauntingly to me it is a metaphor for life. I do not know where the smoke blows black and the dark street winds but every life has rough spots. Childhood is full of hope and dreams and looking towards a bright future free from cares.

But growth and maturity catches us and distracts us from ourselves. It adds fear, anxiety and worries about things over which we have no control.

Looking back from the end of the sidewalk one sees with great clarity the chalk marks where direction was changed forever.

Or Shel may have been writing with something totally different in mind.

Carpe Diem.

In This New Year

Posted by

3

Be it Resolved:

That I will be the best husband that I can Be but not better than I Am.

That I will be the best father that I can Be but not better than I Am.

That I will be the best grandfather that I can Be but not better than I Am.

That is all I resolve to do in this new year of 2024. For those of you math nerds it is the day after 123123 (12/31/23) and one year after the Fibonacci year 01123 (1/1/23). Those dates may be significant to others who look for significance where there is mere coincidence but for me those dates only mark passage of time. After all the calendar is arbitrary. In the sixteenth century our calendar was adjusted by the Pope. It was adjusted again in the eighteenth century that is why George Washington and a couple other founding fathers have two birthdays. The Chinese standardized theirs in 2017 but in some places it is still 4721 or 4722 depending. There is much that is arbitrary and little that is significant with calendars.

Cheryl was the keeper of our home calendar but lately it was me that pasted birthday labels and marked other appointments and social events on it. In the week between Christmas and January 1st, I would layout the new wall calendar on the dining table and mark birthdays and other carry over appointments on it and then hang it for the last few days behind the current calendar. Lately she was unsure of which part to look at. To Cheryl it is Easter time. I have not purchased a new home calendar. Perhaps I should do that soon.

I have found and am wearing my father’s watch given to him to mark the anniversary of his 25th year where he had worked his entire life except for the bad times in the early 1940’s.

Time passes. Tempus Fugit.

Cheryl is comfortable, settled and safe in the Harbor memory care section of Bridgeway Pointe. Last week we met with a hospice care induction nurse to find the best course of care for her in this new year. I believe that she is getting the best that I can do for her in the new year.

No one can be better than they are. My hope is that I can be the best of what I am.

Carpe diem, tempus fugit.