My search for grace and meaning after a former care partnering life with a wife who suffered from Parkinson's disease and dementia giving her a confused and disorienting world.
Tenor is a natural singing voice of a male singer. We males tend to have a lower range than women. Is that because we have longer vocal chords? Tenor also means the drift (idea) of something spoken or written. It may or may not be something that the writer intended to convey to the reader if the piece is written. There is more information if the phrase is spoken. There is even more information if the phrase is spoken in person and one can view facial expressions and other body language.
For me personally, the voice of the writer of a short text message is not always obvious. I often ask follow up questions and get chided for it. (Well, duh. – is often a response.) Pithy statements can be lost on me. I do not see any color or hear any tone in the words.
Somehow though that does not seem to occur on Debbie’s end of the exchange. “The tenor of their tests” is her phrase. She commented that you can tell a person’s feeling and mood from the tenor of their texts. Most times she seems to be able to discern mood (mine) merely from my response to her texts. It is an amazing ability. I think she can even detect if I was yawning while typing a reply. I do not know how she does it. She is an empath. Perhaps that gives her an edge that I do not have.
I still struggle with finding tenor in other’s written words. Most Facebook advocates do also, I think. Often I have noticed that when someone speaks their mind about something, anything, politically or not, many comments – if a comment is made – are about some other idea for which the commenter is passionate. Attacking the original commenter is used to distract into cacophony any lucid line of thought. Any tenor is muddled by crowd noise.
Sometimes, though, I can detect her anxiety and concern. There is more to learn as life goes on. I was very tuned into Cheryl and her needs and her moods. I had taken fifty years to accomplish that.
There are a variety of abundant interest (AI) tools out there to play with. And as I am wont to do upon occasion I will use other depictions of the “AI” combination that is often knowingly translated as artificial intelligence.
In a discussion with Debbie, she stated that mad is not a primary emotion. I actually do not think of “mad” as an emotion at all. I think of it as a reaction to some stimulation, such as, some one jumping in front you in a line you’ve been waiting in for some time. But in this instance I felt the need to invoke the intelligence artificielle (French is so cool) and find out Microsoft Copilot’s take on mad as an emotion.
Is mad a primary emotion? I asked copilot (automatic ignorance) and it responded – Yes, “mad” or anger is considered a primary emotion. Primary emotions are basic and universal feelings that are instinctual and immediate responses to stimuli. Alongside anger, the other primary emotions typically include:
Happiness: Feeling joy or contentment.
Sadness: Feeling sorrow or grief.
Fear: Feeling scared or anxious.
Disgust: Feeling repulsed or offended.
Surprise: Feeling astonished or amazed.
These emotions are the building blocks for more complex, secondary emotions that we experience.
… and it continued; What’s on your mind about these emotions today?
Mostly, huh? Love is not a primary emotion?
There is something special or maybe weird or eerie about talking to a computer (it has voice recognition) and getting pseudo human responses. The internet of all knowledge is a huge database now and it is getting huger by the second. Love is a combination of feelings and this game that I was playing with my laptop was fun to play, albeit, not useful as anything other than entertainment.
“Copilot, write a love sonnet to Debbie.”, I said in a moment of playfulness.
Absolutely! Here is a love sonnet for Debbie:
To Debbie, my eternal guiding light, Whose smile outshines the stars in heaven’s height, Thy presence warms my heart through day and night, And in thy love, my soul finds pure delight.
With eyes that sparkle like the morning dew, Thou art the muse who paints my skies so blue. Thy gentle touch, a balm that feels so true, In every breath, my heart belongs to you.
O Debbie, thou art cherished, dear and fair, A constant flame that brightens all despair. In every whispered word and tender care, I find a love beyond compare.
Forever thine, in passion’s sweet embrace, Our love shall soar and never leave a trace. (Wait. Wait. What?)
I hope she loves it! Would you like me to help you with anything else?
Other than Copilot seems to be slightly confused about the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet it is not bad. On the other hand, ABAB CDCD EFEF GG does not forgo A rhyming with B and so on through the effort it put out above. It is very mushy. William would have crushed the paper, I imagine. I crushed the paper electronically and I asked it for another and I specified that certain words be used (caress, hand);
Certainly! Here’s a sonnet for Debbie with the words “caress” and “hand”:
O Debbie, with a gentle touch so sweet, Thy hand in mine, a bond that none can sever. In every loving caress, hearts do meet, In tender moments, lasting now, forever.
With every glance, thy eyes do softly speak, A language known to lovers, pure and grand. Thy touch, a whisper on my willing cheek, Thy caress, a dream, where hearts expand.
O Debbie, thou art joy in every breath, With thee, the world feels bright and ever grand. In love’s embrace, I’ll cherish till my death, And always hold thee close with tender hand.
Forever bound by love’s sweet, gentle grace, In thy caress, I find my dwelling place.
I hope Debbie finds this sonnet as touching as intended! If you need anything else, I’m here to help. Better, I think, pretty many “O Debbie” s but better. Imagine a poorly lighted Shakespearean stage. Perhaps a moon lit stage with the actor looking up slightly off to stage left. So with all that love soaked emotion hiding out in a bunch of circuitry and microchips, why is love not a primary emotion? It did a better job with structure this second time.
I have diverged from my original thought though. Copilot wrote to me, “Primary emotions are basic and universal feelings that are instinctual and immediate responses to stimuli.” This implies love is neither an instinctual nor an immediate response. It shouts there is no such thing as love at first sight! (Maybe I am stuck on primary.) I think it is also uncomfortable in many ways. Love is, of course, a combination of many feelings. There is connection. It has to start there, with a connection to the other person.
If one feels (emotes) all of these for the same person is that what defines love? Tricky one. Merriam Webster says “a quality or feeling of strong or constant affection for and dedication to another.” The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language that I have had kicking around since 1970-something has two notes. 1) agitation of the passions often involving physiological changes (use your imagination) and 2) any strong feeling as of joy, sorrow, reverence, hate or love arising subjectively rather than conscious mental effort. I think that covers it pretty well.
In my never ending search for a manual, however, I decided more research is needed. I visited several psychological web pages and found this handy emoto-wheel. Why did the asinine insistence of Copilot only tell me about six primary emotes? Clearly there are eight and love is in the crack between two of them. I stole this from an organization called Six Seconds.
And “mad” is not a primary emotion. Neither dictionary or any psychology discussion uses the word mad. MAD is the airport code for Madrid’s airport. Plutchik uses the term rage but that does not count. (The heading image is from Tiny Buddha.)
I have always wondered, well maybe always is not the correct word, whether I could be a creative writer. I write a lot and think to myself what a neat thing it would be to be a real writer.
Others have told me that I have a pleasant voice, an informative voice. And I, as an observer of life and my own self detect a certain ego trip, something that makes you puff up your chest, a feeling that makes you want to, because I am male, straighten up your sports jacket when others have said or written that to me. I smile inside when I think about it.
Over the years I have attended writers classes and workshops. They are all full of ideas and techniques for writing creatively. I think my brain is too technical and hung up on the details of spelling, grammar, structure and voice. I am comfortable with my own voice when telling a story and I am comfortable with a camera view and the third person. I have a hard time writing past the little red squiggly line that Word uses to say, “Hey I don’t recognize that word!” That little red line shouts at me from the page and I have to do something right then which, and I recognize this, often bumps me off the thought I had going.
You are shaking your head and thinking, you can turn that off. Yes, I know that I can disable the spell check thingy in Word or LibreOffice which is one word with a capital in the middle, but it produces a background anxiety which is unwarranted but there nevertheless. Keeping all of that in mind I can go on with my story.
On my blog which has turned into a running commentary of life of the past few years with Cheryl and about Cheryl I notice that I am slowly turning inward to examine myself. The grief and anxiety of the past half decade put me in the mindset of taking care of her and making that work. She is gone now. Although I wish she was not, she is. But that is not the creative writing part with which I started this essay this morning. I am still working on that. I know many people who do puzzles. Stories are my puzzle.
—
Weather patterns in the Ohio valley in winter are gray and depressing. The occasional clearing sky lets in the sun. Muted browns and grays seem more so when the cardinals appear in the woods in back resting from attacking the bird feeder of my next door neighbor. The sky is bluer. Winter is in its early weeks but the light is returning to the planet and the cardinals know this. They will establish their territory to attract a mate. For now though it seems the females are waiting out the snowy season. The winter season has many weeks to go yet. And maybe, just maybe, one of many ideas floating around in my head will turn into a story before the end of it that I will keep instead of delete.
As I was watching the news about the continuing wild fires in and around Los Angeles this morning one man was helping his father-in-law who he revealed later in an interview with Gayle King had Parkinson’s disease to get away from the fire coming down the hill. It broke my heart so I turned off the news program and thought about him and them.
In my part of the world about 10 inches of snow is sitting on everything and a couple inches is expected. Melting water is truly annoying also but not life threatening. I have heard from a couple of the residents in our little condo community about dripping water. Ice and snow build up in and on the architectural features and drip. Sometimes the drips are annoying. Welcome to home ownership.
For me the furnace quit working early in the morning with 5 inches of snow on the ground and another 5 still on the way. Nothing to be done there except put on warmer clothing. And thank the architects and builders who insulated the building properly. They did not skimp on that part. My favorite repair guy came when he was able. My girlfriend called in the morning to make sure I had not turned into a Popsicle. I slept later than usual. Cool bedrooms do that to me. (Maybe an AHA moment?)
Shit happens. (Forrest Gump.)
How we react to those situations explains what is important to us. One gentleman is helping his father-in-law who is unable to walk very well with his PD. Eventually as he tells Gayle he sat him down on his walker and pushed out of harm’s way. All the while another person is making videos with his or her smartphone.
Disaster is grim. Some people respond with help and kindness. Some people become amateur videographers. Which one will you be? Which one are you?
The furnace is working after an injection of $1100. The temperature outside froze the ice for now. The roofers will figure it out after more dollars are given. In March there will be good stories on the patios. In Los Angeles many will be arguing with the insurance companies. In the rest of the country insurance premiums will increase. The universe is unfolding as it should.
Keep calm. Make a video if it is necessary for insurance purposes but do not ignore the situation you are recording. Be useful.
Has anyone noticed or even thought about the sad state of fast food? The universe is full of burgers and fries. These are chips to the Brits out there. Why is that? Are fast foodies complacent? Why put up with that selection? Yes sometimes the burger is made from chicken and sometimes it is made with pork the other white meat and sometimes the burger is shaved or sliced instead of ground but it is still a burger. Where are the falafels? Where are the pitas? There are other fast foods folks. Where are the pasties? You thought I was stuck on middle eastern cuisine did you not? Pasties are a big deal with Cornish miners. Where are the shrimp tacos?
I am ranting. I struck out on a spontaneous couple of days away from any preconceived commitments to just be by myself today. In a conversation I had over several days decided to simply leave. I told my kids. I told a couple others that might wonder where I went. I told my niece who cleans for me every couple of weeks. I am gone this week – well most of it. I have digressed.
Traveling south on a main artery in the U. S. should bring one in contact with a vast selection of fast food choices. Nope. Just burgers and fries exist in the two hundred-ish miles I drove today. What a disappointment this was to me. I had planned to drive thru somewhere and snag something different. Fast foodies are complacent. Or asleep maybe.
Frisch’s, a local fast(ish) food chain is closing in an agonizingly slow fashion. An out-of-state crowd bought the restaurants and real estate and leased the real property back to the restaurant operators. Probably some percentage of the profits deal was put together. The pandemic pandemonium ensued and everyone operating on half a shoe string struggled to stay alive.
What doe that have to do with anything? What does that have to do with food choices on commercial goods arteries in the U. S.? Nothing except that I saw a billboard ad for Frisch’s as I was driving along and I thought I might stop there. That thought drifted into burgers which morphed into anything else but burgers which made me think about what comes with a burger/chicken/pork-patties, just fries. All are on a bun. Not rutabaga, not squash, not carrots, some places have sweet potato fries, and some places do have mushy onion paste rings but where is mustard greens? Where are rice cakes? Where are fried green tomatoes?
Why is it always a bun? What’s in that flour that buns are made of? I looked longingly for a burrito sign and was overwhelmed with burgers.
A pasty can contain anything but its usual form is beef stew in a pastry shell. This picture from the Daring Gourmet. I think I will try it when I get home. All I need now is skirt steak and a swede or two.
I long for carrots or rutabaga and now I am hungry.
Some have too much money. A few days ago I found myself reading an article in the Wall Street Journal about a couple who had bought a “four hundred year old fixer upper” for a trivial sum of seven million dollars. I initially thought “good for them” they have enough money that they are not concerned about the 7 mill cost and the place may need another couple of millions to rehab and get it livable. It is the American dream. Money is fungible. Why not funge some of it into a building assembled in 1600 and something, own a piece of history.
Some have too much money. Remember the story about the needle eye and the camel?
A few days ago I rode to a restaurant on the river bank with a group of my in-laws. The conversation wandered around all over as it often does when I am with Cheryl’s youngest brother and the boat owner. Somehow Melinda Gates and her leaving the management of the Gates Foundation popped out of the rabbit hole and Ken asked what I thought about other folks just giving their money away. We never finished that thought because the restaurant was near and the crew (me) was in experienced. However later as I drove home I thought I care little about what others do with their money. I do not envy them. They have to figure out how to get though the eye of the needle without stepping in the camel dung.
Some with too much money buy 400 year old fixer uppers. Some donate vast sums to political campaigns. Some travel to exotic places. Some buy yachts and sail to distant shores merely to enjoy the wine. Some buy lots of wine and keep it in the basement (cellar) to drink later if they live long enough and remember which basement stores it. Some give their money to foundations to support a cause that they believe in whatever project that is. Scrooge McDuck used to sleep with his if I remember the comic correctly. It matters not how they spent their money.
I only care about my money. My hope is that It will run out about the same time I do. So far that seems to be working out on its own. There is a story about that in the Bible too.
When Cheryl was still with me, I thought if I could buy a cure for her damnable disease it would be worth every penny of savings to do that.
Do I think there are better things to do with 7 million dollars than buy a 400 year old fixer upper? I do but it is not my money so what I think matters not. Godspeed to them, I say.
I do miss Cheryl though, and all the money in the world will not bring her back and make her healthy.
Have you ever lived on your own before?, Natalie asked me. An innocent question on her part, I am pretty sure. We talk about sundry topics while she is cleaning. I appreciate the fact that she wants to know more about me. I think.
She made me think about it. The answer is no. I moved out of Mom and Dad’s house to our apartment in Oxford. Cheryl was slightly more experienced.
She was resident at the high school she attended but lived in a dormitory situation with many girls around her there. She lived at home in the summer. She had a tough guy for a dad who told the head of the novitiate program that when Cheryl was under her care she would do what she said and when Cheryl was home for the summer she would do whatever he said. That was after some discussion about dating boys.
Thanks, Bob.
Natalie’s question added nuance to my current situation. Another background spice that makes the flavor so new to me. I am 74. I have never in my entire life lived by myself. So far, it is not bad and yet it sucks too. Maybe I need a list.
PROS
CONS
laundry can lay around until later
do own laundry
cook own food – experiment
cook own food
do whatever during day, no rules
no schedule, no rules
go wherever during day
able to eat ice cream for breakfast
get up whenever – early or late
make own bed
only thing holding me back is me
only thing holding me back is me
only consideration is me
home feels empty
I am sure there are more.
Maybe I do not need a list. Although a list does make me think of Cheryl and her lists. I have kept many that she made and put in her office when I cleaned it up.
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)
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.
Adjunct_Wizard 