Socialization

Morning News

Posted by

0

Coffee

This morning on the CBS news they reported on a piece about an association with drinking coffee and a resistance to dementia. Good News! Us coffee drinkers will not be demented – later in life? Ever? Only in our nineties? Oh wait. She said association. That term has a very specific meaning to statistical studies.

This study was based on the female participants in the Nurses’ Health Study (NHS; n = 86 606 with data from 1980-2023) and male participants from the Health Professionals Follow-up Study (HPFS; n = 45 215 with data from 1986-2023) who did not have cancer, Parkinson disease, or dementia at study entry (baseline) in the US.

You have got to love those numbers. Health care workers have been drinking coffee for forty-three years. And recording it.

Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA): https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jama/fullarticle/2844764

From JAMA — Conclusions and Relevance:  Greater consumption of caffeinated coffee and tea was associated with lower risk of dementia and modestly better cognitive function, with the most pronounced association at moderate intake levels. (I want to say, “Hell yeah!” here.)

Association — Association refers to the general relationship and is normally used for studying relationship between two nominal/categorical/ordinal attributes;

Correlation — whereas correlation refers to a linear relationship between two quantitative attributes. It would not be out of context to mention here that the relationship between two quantitative variables can even be a nonlinear as well such as curvilinear or exponential.

[from https://journals.lww.com/cmre/fulltext/2021/11010/understanding_statistical_association_and.7.aspx%5D

Causation — Causation means that a change in one variable causes a change in another variable.

So, to conclude, not drinking coffee does not cause dementia. It might cause those sleepy “whaat?” looks that teens display in early morning classes but the WL study is incomplete at this time.

I am interested in statistical analysis. The math is attractive to me. I am deficient at recognizing patterns but I do recognize my wakefulness after coffee in the morning.

A shot of whiskey in the evening seems to aid in sleepiness at bedtime too.

Carpe coffee Diem.

Thoughts

Posted by

0

I bought a cocotte from King Arthur’s baking. A few weeks ago I re-interested myself in sourdough bread and other similar recipes. Although I used my dutch oven for this in the past I felt the need to up my game.

The cocotte is red and made by Staub in France. Ou la la – but here is an intriguing thought – check out these definitions from and online dictionary and Merriam Webster’ online dictionary:

co·cotte – (/kōˈkät,kəˈkät/)

noun: cocotte; plural noun: cocottes; noun: en cocotte; plural noun: en cocottes — a small heatproof dish in which individual portions of food can be cooked and served; a Dutch oven.

And M-W

cocotte (kȯ-ˈkȯt)

noun: Definition of cocotte: as in prostitute; a woman who engages in sexual activities for money

Those are very different definitions. M-W gives examples of use in a sentence;

The skillets, cocottes, braisers, and baking dishes are all oven-safe and come in a uniform matte black finish. — Clint Davis, People.com, 15 Mar. 2025; The dishes available in the Gourmand collection include cocottes (with and without lids), mini braisers (with and without lids), oval bakers, rectangular bakers, and skillets. — Sophia Beams, Better Homes & Gardens, 27 Feb. 2025; Get some cute the itty-bitty pans, like GreenPan mini egg pan, or a tiny cocotte from the maker of our favorite Dutch ovens (these are perfect for baked eggs). — Wilder Davies, Bon Appétit, 16 July 2024; At under $100, this adorable cocotte set won’t break the bank. — Amber C. Snider, Peoplemag, 25 May 2024

Down the rabbit hole I went. One is a pot. The other is a word for the ladies that General Joe Hooker, coincidentally buried in Spring Grove Cemetery in Cincinnati, brought to his troops to be assured that his men were satisfied in every way. (You can laugh.)

From the American Heritage Dictionary – affectionately known by me as the big dic – a clue! The etymological entry writes – French – originally a baby’s word for hen.

AHA! The connection between available females and chicken pots. One of the recipe photos included with the pot shows a roasted chicken in the pot.

Off to find recipes for my new pot to christen its use, I found this one I had saved previously:

Old-Fashioned Beef Stew – By Molly O’Neill – Updated Sept. 30, 2024

Ingredients (Yield:4 servings)

  • • ¼ cup all-purpose flour
  • • ¼ teaspoon freshly ground pepper
  • • 1 pound beef stewing meat, trimmed and cut into inch cubes
  • • 5 teaspoons vegetable oil
  • • 2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
  • • 1 cup red wine
  • • 3½ cups beef broth, homemade or low-sodium canned
  • • 2 bay leaves
  • • 1 medium onion, peeled and chopped
  • • 5 medium carrots, peeled and cut into ¼-inch rounds
  • • 2 large baking potatoes, peeled and cut into ¾-inch cubes
  • • 2 teaspoons salt

Step 1 – Combine the flour and pepper in a bowl, add the beef and toss to coat well. Heat 3 teaspoons of the oil in a large pot. Add the beef a few pieces at a time; do not overcrowd. Cook, turning the pieces until beef is browned on all sides, about 5 minutes per batch; add more oil as needed between batches.

Step 2 – Remove the beef from the pot and add the vinegar and wine. Cook over medium-high heat, scraping the pan with a wooden spoon to loosen any browned bits. Add the beef, beef broth and bay leaves. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a slow simmer.

Step 3 – Cover and cook, skimming broth from time to time, until the beef is tender, about 1½ hours. Add the onions and carrots and simmer, covered, for 10 minutes. Add the potatoes and simmer until vegetables are tender, about 30 minutes more. Add broth or water if the stew is dry. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Ladle among 4 bowls and serve.

Sadly, I am out of onions and potatoes. I purposely used them up before going to Florida two weeks ago. I will go shopping very soon. Stew seems like a good idea when it is cold outside.

This is fancier than my stew but it is my new cocotte.

Carpe Diem.

Friday

Posted by

0

This day of the week has over time become special to me and to Debbie and I.

Last year the part time teaching job I had with a local community college involved maintaining an open lab on Wednesday and Thursday evenings as well as Tuesday mornings. Debbie works in her profession on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday also. I remarked once to her that our Friday came on Thursday, so our Saturday came on Friday. It was our day of relaxation, dinner or lunch and other dates.

The movie theaters are very uncrowded on Fridays. Sometimes in our favorite theater us and one other couple are watching the film. I like that.

When I bought tickets to the play we are going to see tonight I specifically picked the Friday performance.

When we started dating, that term seemed foreign to me. I referred to our outings as field trips. I think, I am certain, I was hunting for a term that would not hurt Cheryl’s feelings. Cheryl had passed on from this earthly existence but then as now she is still in my heart. Field trip is a term Debbie and I still use to describe our date activities. Much like a term of endearment it is a code, a phrase with a personal meaning for being together and enjoyment of an activity.

“We need a field trip.” she will say. My reply is yes we do and off we go to dinner and a movie or something.

Today the field trip is an afternoon luncheon and later this evening the play at Cincinnati’s Playhouse in the Park. The performance is “Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women” an adaptation by playwright Lauren M. Gunderson. I am looking forward to it for several reasons. It is coming to Cincinnati directly from Portland where my sister lives. Some of the actors are from there. I could not get through the book earlier in my life so I am inclined to find it in the library and read it again to see if my reading tastes have changed as I grow older. However, the real reason is that I have an opportunity to spend time with Debbie.

We will talk and muse about the past week. We will discuss Florida again. It is currently snowing in our part of the world so we will complain a bit about that. Afterward we will discuss the play itself over a glass of wine and maybe a snack.

We are going tonight because our trip to Florida bumped this play from our schedule last week. Another field trip is what we both need during this snowy season in Ohio.

We could stay in and whine about the weather or we could ignore it and rejoice in life and its pleasurable attributes. Soon the snow will be over.

Snow-mageddon be damned. We are going to the play.

Carpe Diem.

Can Tenor be Read?

Posted by

0

“The Tenor of Their Texts”

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.

I will have to learn at a faster pace.

Carpe Diem.

What If?

Posted by

2

Once in a while, not very often, but once in a while when someone I care for says something that piques my interest, I think, what if? This time around it was Midwest Mary who in a chat about writing fiction she said, fiction is when you play what if with reality. That comment spiraled my mind into lalaland. It may never come back. I have been thinking about that on and off all day for the past several and to me “what if” falls into the category of second guessing one’s own decisions and actions in life.

But what if the reality of those decisions and actions cause a different reality to develop. Second guessing reality. Those three words seem to suggest all sorts of outcomes.

Recently the newsy folks, the Congress of the United States, some guy in New Jersey and a lot of people who do not look at the night sky leaped to the conclusion that Iranian drones were spying on people and activities in New Jersey and southern Florida and to avoid detection those drones had their running lights on. What if? Are we about to be invaded or attacked by Iran? This sounds a bit like a Stephen King story. (One of my favorite story tellers is Stephen. He makes me interested in going to Maine for something other than chowder.) A better question might be why? But asking why the Iranians might be standing off shore of New Jersey flying drones to spy on us and looking to see if President-elect Trump putts out or just picks up, takes away from a good fictional story.

Maybe I am too clinical as I think about background, situations and possibilities. The Martian is a great book and was made into a great movie. A what if. The atmosphere on Mars is so light that a violent storm is pretty much like turning on the ceiling fan in my bedroom on low. Beyond that though, all the rest of the actions are believable as reality. Great story tellers are not concerned with this reality. They are making a new reality in the story. Mary has a strong argument. (Thank you, Mary for making me think about the ordinary and extraordinary.)

I do not live on Mars.

I have no desire to be there. I exist in this world and I am unable to imagine another so no doubt I will not be a fiction writer. I should embrace that in myself. There is a new person in my life and life moves on into the future. This is my reality.

We first met in a coffee shop and talked for two hours or so. We were total strangers then, not so now, but we connected that first time. We have met several times to have a meal. We have eaten brunch, lunch and dinner. I have cooked for her which at the time I think surprised her. We have seen a couple movies. During one of those I reached over to hold her hand. It was a comfort to me then and it is now. We went to a bookstore and shopped for books. She is a buyer of books, I am a library borrower of books but I bought a book anyway. We are both readers of books. We met in local winery to have a glass of wine and just chat. I cannot think of a better word than connection. Between us there is a connection.

Cheryl and I connected the first time we met more than fifty years ago. That is a long time between connections. I had forgotten how important connection and conversation is to me, is to us as humans.

In between all of those meetings we exchanged many many text messages and phone calls. I am interested in her family and her life and her thoughts about stuff.

She makes me feel like a teenager. I am happy around her. I am uncomfortable around her like a teenaged boy. I say stupid teenager like things because I am less guarded in my conversation. I enjoy her conversation and she is a good friend. It is not all about her when we talk. (I try to not make it all about me when we talk.) I do not know where this is going but I do know that within myself I miss relaxed conversation about anything and everything. With Debbie’s presence I can have that conversation and comfort. I hope this feeling does not escape from me. I hope it does not escape from us.

Ten weeks or so later and I feel as though I have known her longer. I can tell her my stories without fear of boring her. She tells me her stories and I listen with great interest. We have a lifetime of stories to tell each other.

We only just met. So what is up with that? When see sends me a text message I have to respond even though it may not require a response. When we are chatting I am comfortable with her silence until a new thought appears. We tease each other like young people do – not vicious teasing, it is light, warmhearted and fun loving teasing.

Where is this going? Where are we going? I should take my own advice and Carpe the damn Diem. I will and I am. I am grateful that Deborah is seizing it with me. I am grateful that we found each other.

Carpe Diem.

Be It Resolved

Posted by

4

This time of year many make resolutions for the new year. Me too, of course. My resolution to myself is to be a better me. And I have no idea what that means. Yet, the idea that I want to be a better me implies I know myself now and there are improvements that can be made for the better.

Do we ever really know ourselves? How old does one have to be before acceptance as is becomes the norm?

This past year as I passed through three quarters of a century and Cheryl did not, I began to emerge from a deep funk, a depression, the sadness of her death, the gladness of her death, half a decade of overwhelming anxiety about her care and looked toward an open road and at the new sunrise and wondered, what next?

A new person entered my life who knows me only as me, a man, single, a writer that exposes his emotions to the world, who tries to be of service to others around him, and maybe shares too much of himself. She does not seem to mind my nuances of self. Like everyone I have many of those nuances, sides, aspects. We seem to fit.

Another resolution, perhaps a better one is; stay in the moment. Being a better me is a look into the past and attempting to improve. Staying in the moment is not looking back. Nor is it planning for some future that may not come. For now fitting is enough.

These are thoughts that come to me as I think about a new relationship.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. (Max Ehrmann)

Thanks Max for reminding me about life.

Carpe Diem.

Do Crabs Have Eyebrows? And Other Questions

Posted by

3

Early in the morning after awakening I find coffee and turn on a newsy program to get information about the latest weather history. This time of year and on this day that Google Calendar tells me is Native American Heritage Day but the sale folks tell me is Black Friday, the weather folks are doing their best to get us out to shop before the temperature gets to absolute zero. In between the commercial advertisements are entertaining.

A cute little girl asks her mother, “Do crabs have eyebrows?” Today it made me laugh. Why did I laugh on this day?

Who knows? I certainly do not. I tripped over a Spotify playlist of Lindsey Stirling and her high speed electric violin playing and it picks up my spirit today.

And the ads have made me think of Christmases past and hope for Christmases future.

Perhaps I need to be in a crowded place with a hot chocolate in my hand.

Carpe Diem.

Stream of Conscious – Touch

Posted by

0

Two days ago when I sat with Cheryl in the common area of where she is staying, I noted in my journal that she seems to need touch. I think I do too. On these occasions when she does not seem to be in the present, somewhere in her head she needs to feel, manipulate and touch.

It seems to me that these days Cheryl has to have more touch. That is just my thought in my observations when I see her. I am just sitting with her and seeing how she’s doing. But that is what I see and think. I think also that I need the same kind of touch. I sit there and turn the chair so that I can we can be side by side and I can hold her hand. Doing that action is important to me. I observed that about myself today. Today for awhile, about an hour or so, we sat holding both hands. She was holding my left hand with her left hand and I was holding her her right hand with my right hand and we sat that way for a long time.

I am writing this using an app that I downloaded that transcribes spoken words into printed words. I will see how that goes. It looks like I can write in a crude fashion. I can just send this text to myself via email and then paste it into a document and then spend some time trying to figure out exactly what I am trying to say.

It is hard to describe. What I see and and I mean as I think about what I am internalizing when I’m touching her or feeling as I am feeling her knee. Cheryl has gotten very skeletal over the past few weeks.

Even as she looked around at things in the room and told me some story that I could barely hear because her voice is so soft. There is a lot of ambient noise; television in the main room, television in one or two side rooms, Bluetooth music and the occasional phone call, she would simply just sit holding my hands. She was okay to sit that way. Every now and then I had to move my hand and scratch my nose or whatever and every now and then she would let go and you know touch something else or scratch her nose or whatever. It is fascinating to me as this goes on how much it is important for the both of us to touch each other.

The whole thing about touch is sort of interesting to me. I think we have always had that throughout our married life but as I as we get further in this Parkinson’s journey, the sense of touch is is important to me and I think I really do think it’s important to Cheryl. We are communicating our presence to each other through touch.

She does not resist it. She does resist things that that bother or sometimes hurt her. Her sense of pain can be strong. I am sure she feels pain because every now and then she says stop doing that, it hurts me or something like that, or maybe she’s having a cramp in her leg or whatever the deal is, but simple touch is very different. She will also grimace if something causes pain.

I have been exploring the nuances of touch in my head and I don’t really know how to describe differences of instance. It is interesting to me that it is important to her and me at the same time.

Now if she is sleeping or she’s very tired or trying to doze or she does not feel quite right or she is hungry or she needs to go to the toilet or needs to move, then touching gets in the way. When she was still home here with me, it seemed like we would fight (not the right word) when I was helping her with one of these activities. She would be dissatisfied with any any help that I would give her.

I sometimes just reached over to touch her leg to see whether or not there is anything left there. And I realize that I am holding on to her thigh bone, for example without hardly any any any meat. She used to be a much bigger woman. She used to be a lot fluffier. Just a year ago, I would have had a very hard time picking her up and holding her up and helping her into and out of bed. These days, in some book somewhere, I read somebody describe somebody as a bag of bones, that is a pretty good description of Cheryl. She still has a lot of muscle strength when she decides to squeeze and grab something, but she really doesn’t have a lot of mass. There is little subcutaneous fat left on her body and that too makes me want to touch her just simply so that I know in my own mind that she’s still there and she’s still alive. Without touching her she still in my heart. I think about her all the time but somehow there is a physicality that happens when when I actually touch her.

She is very skinny. Touching helps me to understand.

Carpe Diem.

Things People Said (or say)

Posted by

0

Lately I have been in a deep blue funk, a pile of heaping morosity, unsure of where to go from here. Vocabulary.com writes: When someone is morose, they seem to have a cloud of sadness hanging over them. This word is stronger than just sad — morose implies being extremely gloomy and depressed. We all can be morose at times, like after the death of a friend or family member. Whether you’re morose due to an event or just because you’re feeling blue, you should try skipping or whistling a little tune to perk things up. To find the other side of that mood, I do chores and concentrate on doing those efficiently and well. I am still arranging my little condo into a bachelor pad (for lack of a better description).

While doing chores I play Spotify on the TV or on a Bluetooth speaker I carry with me. A song list called “Classic Road Trip” is long, does not repeat until 700 songs later and sounds like old WSAI without all the Coke ads.

“I Ain’t Missing You at All“ by John Waite has words in it that captured my attention today. Usually the music is just background. This place is so quiet without Cheryl in it. Or maybe there is a hole that keeps me from being whole, nevertheless, he sang, “… And there’s a storm that’s raging through my frozen heart tonight. I hear your name in certain circles and it always makes me smile. I spend my time thinking about you and it’s almost driving me wild and that’s my heart that’s breaking…” I had been singing along but that got to me for a little bit. I had not noticed that the lyrics are generally sarcastic.

But I hear other’s words and relate them to things that I am feeling. I collect them on little scraps of paper. I found several while cleaning up a bit. Sometimes they are words to live by. Sometimes they are clever colorful descriptions from novels. Here are a few. It is up to you to discover the meaning.

To serve is to live. — Frances Hesselbein

Life is about living not existing – Arnold Schwarzenegger

You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear – from South Pacific

Marooned in a blizzard of lies. – social media rant

Oh, to be thirty years old again and have a prostate the size of a peanut. – wistful thinking by an older man.

It is not often that you realize the benefit of talking to close friends, with no pretense, with no excuse. – unknown

This last line I read somewhere. I wrote it in one of my many notebooks. It is very true. Simply being with friends and enjoying their conversation, the conversation past, “how is Cheryl?”, “how are you?”, which are two questions that I wish I were never asked, is generally enjoyable and relaxing. They know that I will volunteer information if I want to do it.

Carpe Diem!

Pizza Tuesday

Posted by

0

Sometimes You Can Be Surprised

There are special people in your life that unbeknownst to you are looking out for your welfare.

A wonderful thing happened to me last evening. A friend – I thought Cheryl’s friend – asked me in a text message if I was still going to a favorite pizza place on Tuesday evenings. I am not.

This was something that Cheryl and I started many years ago as a reason to have some time out of the house and enjoy each other’s company without the distraction of other things. We started the pizza tradition on a Friday night twenty or so years ago. Her Parkinson was non-existent. Our favorite pizza store at the time became very crowded on Friday and over time we tried different days until we landed on Tuesday for no other reason than it was not crowded on Tuesday. “Anything goes Pizza Tuesday” was born.

It is amusing as to how little family traditions are born. Our pizza Tuesday was born this way. On some Tuesdays we would try a different pizza store but it was always pizza. Sometimes Cheryl wanted a calzone. On those occasions I would get a hoagie sandwich. But Tuesday was sacrosanct and pepperoni was king. If it did not have pepperoni on it, it did not count as a pizza. It was merely flatbread with stuff on it.

As Cheryl’s disease progressed I kept up our outings for pizza. I invited our good friend and neighbor to come with us. I invited other friends and family. Some nights we had a crowd. Some nights it was Cheryl and me. During the pandemic pandemonium I carried out from our favorite pizza store and we ate around our dining table with our neighbors.

I kept this going for longer than was probably necessary. The last few times we went on a Tuesday evening Cheryl had little mobility and I would push her around in her transfer chair.

But I have digressed a bit. When Mary Jo texted me and asked about pizza Tuesday, I asked her what did she have in mind. After a few exchanges we settled on a time and she and her husband would pick me up. Two days ago, Cheryl had been mostly sleeping away the day as a result of all her activity on Monday. After our chat with Dr. Y she had three visitors in succession. That sort of thing tires her out. Sundowner Syndrome is annoying to deal with in winter but Showtime which she is still able to muster up for an hour or so just plain wipes her out. So on Tuesday she mainly slept. And on Tuesday I went to the bar with Gary and Mary Jo.

Help from Many Others

Two women have been a great deal of help to me over the past couple of years are Cindy and Linda. Both are cousins-in-law. Cindy is married to Cheryl’s cousin. Linda was married to my cousin Frank. Frank is gone from this Earth. Both asked how they could help me spontaneously without me asking for them to help. Men are not good at asking for help of any kind, especially me. Cindy recognized that first and volunteered to come and sit with Cheryl for a couple hours once a week while I went to ride my bike and got some exercise. Linda did a similar thing. I was able to twist her arm to get her to sit with Cheryl while I attended a seminar on caregiving a couple years ago. They will always be front and center in my mind when I think of people who have helped me the most as Cheryl’s cognition deteriorated.

If I look with different eyes I find myself surrounded by caring and kind people just like Cheryl is surrounded by caring and kind people at Bridgeway Pointe. Sometimes you just do not know who will step in to help.

Carpe Diem.