memories

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.

Ted Lasso

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I really do hate admitting that Debbie is right. It is a feeling that I do not think is unique to her. I felt the same towards Cheryl. It seems a man thing to me.

She told me that I would like Ted Lasso. I think I was resistant on principle. It had little to do with the actual show. Just the fact that she said you are going to like it, made me resistant. She is right. Streaming it is better because I can keep watching episodes while doing less interesting duties such as laundry.

When Cheryl was still alive and home with me I tended to bury my day with a lot of chores that come with taking care of a person with ill health. Now that it is just me those chores are easy to ignore for longer. There are less of them. That is another fact of me, myself and I. There are some days when I have less get up and go, less vim and vigor, less energy.

Ted Lasso reminds me of Mom and her “Monday, bloody Monday” attitude about the first christian working day in the week. His wild enthusiasm starting the morning is incredible to those around him. He can be too much and at the same time infectious. He also does not allow others to help him. It is an infectious show. Ted is able to help and influence all of those around him.

But that is not the story here. Ted Lasso is a metaphor for us all. In his world there is happiness, sadness, love revenge, vindictiveness, ego, ambivalence, scurrilousness maybe a little unscrupulousness tossed in to balance the spices. About a year ago, a few months after Cheryl’s soul left her body, I was feeling a little better. I bought a new bike and started riding it in earnest. It got me out of the condo and into the sunshine. I spent 3 – 4 days a week riding the Little Miami Trail. I put my bike on the back of the car and kept it there. In my mind maybe a trail would pop up and I would ride it. That “go ride at a moments notice” became my occupation and passion. It took over the emptiness I felt from Cheryl’s moving on.

In October of last year I met a woman because of a mutual acquaintance with a friend from church. Lately we have been having an off-the-wall discussion about what to call our relationship. My cousin likes the term Life Partner which although descriptive is less so in our case. Labels are interesting in their implications.

This Spring and almost summer season is not cooperating weather-wise and I have not ridden as much as I would like. So, I have filled several empty hours thinking about Debbie and where we are going. It is a recurring thought theme. That particular thought thread strings my thoughts into what is my purpose? I imagine most older adults think about this issue.

I do not spend much time with it. Sitting here at my desk writing, there is a copy of Cheryl’s picture that was published in the newspaper as a part of news of our engagement. She is a beautiful young woman in that picture. The photographer did a great job of posing and lighting her face.

I wonder how she is doing. Ted Lasso reminds me that there are somethings that cannot be known.

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/

Questions for God and other Thoughts

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The Grief Share topic for this meeting was “Questions for God.” For me I was grateful that the universe accepted Cheryl back into its keeping. I am sad, of course, for the loss of her companionship and love but there is no value to complaining to God and cursing the existence of the universe. It just is. It (or He) has no grievance with our existence. Why should we wonder why? That concern uses a lot of time but adds nothing.

The video makes early reference to the Book of Job (which I have always heard as joeh-B long O). This sent my mind off into the task of reading the Bible and its stories. In the Book of Job, the first of the poetic books, in my New American Bible is spelled j-o-b and Job did a good job at the beginning of the story and at the end of the story. In the middle he did not waste any breath on cursing the universe that he knew as God for all the unfortunateness that happened to him. Shit happens. He said, “When one door closes, another, maybe better one opens.” I paraphrased. Because he had that attitude, God chased away Satan and did not smote his asses any longer.

God even accepted Job’s praise and forgiveness of his drinking buddies Bildad, Eliphaz and Zophar after they told Job, of course God crapped on you. You crapped on us. It is good to have friends to explain alternative truths and help you to think about things. In the 28th verse, Job talks about how it is easy to dig ore and smelt metal and grow crops but getting wisdom is a bitch. It takes time and patience and then one still does not attain wisdom (smarts about life.) It is like reading Michael Lewis talk about markets and baseball.

I think I get a different take on stories I read in the Bible. (… Kish said to Saul, “Take a servant with you and go out to find your asses…”) Find an older copy of The New American Bible – 1 Samuel 9:3

Mom would have said, “Pull up your socks!” about Job’s predicament but she did not write any books for the Bible. It took me much of my life before I understood what she meant by this phrase. My interpretation of her thought is, you can pray about it but you have to help. Job says much the same thing, albeit, with a lot more words. In Job 40:7 “ Gird up your loins, like a man. I will question you and your will give me answers!” These days we would say, “Get your shit together, Dude! Grow a pair!”

Job lived to be 140. Mom lived to be 95. Both were intelligent loved people.

Sorry, I have wandered off the beam – the video makes early reference to the Book of Job but the discussion is the questions that many ask after death, Why? Is my faith shattered? Is there an afterward? An afterlife? Is there a reincarnation? The Bible tells all. It also has a lot of great war stories and poetry.

I do not wonder why Cheryl died. She was very ill for a long time. If anything I wonder how she hung on for so long. I do not wonder why she became ill. Many people become ill and eventually die. Everyone dies eventually. I personally just hope it won’t hurt much.

I hope our spirits will connect again somehow.

Do I miss her? Absolutely everyday, I miss her. These days, I have a new person in my life to aim my love at. She is off vacationing with her kids and grand kids. I miss her also.

We are destined to miss those who touch us and connect with us in life. It is a source of heartache, home-sickness and bereftness. We miss those to whom we have a strong connection. It is love with no place to go.

Carpe Diem.

The Last Service to Her

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I finished filing our income tax stuff today.  I had put it off for a long time. I knew I (we) would owe this year. She helped me by keeping her Met Life stock in an account I had forgotten about. It was enough to cover what we owed.

Curiously as I was finishing up the state return it (Turbo Tax) asked for her state ID number. I found her purse in the drawer it’s been in for a year and fished out her ID. I suddenly realized that I was not going to need this information any longer. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that this is the last thing that I needed to do for her. This is the last time we file jointly. I became suddenly sad and I am still a little as I write this. It is a grief ambush. They pop up every now and then.

Part of that sadness came when I had to fill in the date of issuance and the date of renewal. Cheryl did not make it to her birthday last year. This nuance reminded me of a conversation I had with her youngest brother a week or two before her death. I cried at both of these thoughts.

I pushed send in the Turbo Tax website and got in the car to go visit Cheryl and report that the taxes are complete. Next year I will not file jointly. It is the last thing that I will do for her and that fact makes me a little sad today.

This has been a year for lasts. This has been a year for firsts.

It is the first year of my life without Cheryl. Sometimes that hits me hard. I am a work in progress.

Carpe Diem.

Daffodils and Forsythia

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I think of these as two of the basic food groups of the Spring flowers. The picture included here is immediately behind my little condo on the next property. Some kind soul who is probably no longer with us on our journey planted this bush and the clump of daffodils near it just so Wisdom could show me the beauty of nature.

This particular forsythia had its ruffled skirt trimmed off by my neighbor upstairs who felt that it was unfurling too invasively across the meager lawn covering last season. At that time in my life I was preoccupied with the end of Cheryl’s life and my own stupidity after a bout with too much vodka one evening. I did not speak out in behalf of this fine example of nature’s finery. This year I feel better suited to defend its propensity to thrive into its natural shape both ungainly and glorious though it may be.

We humans have a propensity to modify, adjust and change the world to our own design. Why is that? Are we unable to accept nature in its natural form? I enjoy formal gardens as much as anyone but I also enjoy woods and flowering plants in their natural habitat. With Cheryl gone almost a year I am slowly and considerately adjusting my living space to me and my habitation of it. The view of this forsythia and its companion daffodil clump are very special to me. They shout, SPRING IS HERE. I can hear them.

Soon our landscaper folks will show up to tune up the gardens around the building, spruce up the mulch and generally trim things. Rigor will be added to the plantings. The forsythia will be ignored, thankfully, because it is on another’s property. We do not own the woods next door.

Further down the property others have cleaned out the forest floor to plant and maintain various gardens and “improvements” to nature. I will not. But I will trim up my little space around my patio after the landscaper does his thing.

Rains come down, daffos dil, sun shines, birds poop and honeys suckle. The landscape is unfurling as it can and should. The vernal has had its equinox and light is returning to our part of the planet. Wisdom speaks again.

Carpe Diem.

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.

More To The Story

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Cheryl was very supportive through this period of my life. When she came home and found me frantic in my desperation about something as silly as a job she yelled at me. “Yell” is my term for her showing a great deal of concern. She was very worried about me. I was stuck in my own bad situation and needed to get out of it.

Looking back through the lens of thirty years it is easy for me to notice how I slowly let myself get trapped in an untenable situation. That will not happen again.

Carpe Diem.