memories

She’s Done it to Me

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She did it again this morning. At least that is what I thought when I found most of my ingredients out to remind myself what I intended to do today.

A couple years ago, when Cheryl was struggling physically more with Parkinson and her struggle with the dementia aspects of it was taking away her ability to follow simple directions, she coerced (maybe too strong of a word) me into helping her make cookies. I did not want to do it at the time.

Once or twice these were Snickerdoodles. And a couple other times we made chocolate chip cookies, the recipe is on the two pound bag of Nestle’s morsels. “You have to get the yellow bag!” she said to me once when I when I returned from the store by myself in the midst of the COVID pandemonium and price-shopped for supplies. “Those won’t work.” I was disheartened. I had purchased the store brand of chocolate chips. I argued my case for twenty-two milliseconds before realizing that there was no point in contesting the issue further. I returned to the store for the correct chips (“Morsels! It will say morsels on the bag. The bag is yellow.” She spoke to my back as I left.)

I can hear her voice. Little stories like this help me to recall her voice.

Yesterday, because I could avoid it no longer, I went to the grocery to restore my larder to its previous vigor. At the beginning my list had only two things, dried cranberries and raisins. Both of these I add to overnight oats which has become a new favorite breakfast treat. I have a pint Ball jar that is just the right size to contain a half cup of rolled oats, a cup of milk and whatever else I put in with those usually raisins or craisins some honey and chia seeds to set in the fridge overnight. I have also added at times cocoa powder, cinnamon, cardamon, vanilla or tahinni and used brown sugar instead of honey. This mixture goes well with my assembly of the coffee in the evening as well as drinking the coffee in the morning.

While putting all away I discovered that the bag of dried cranberries that I purchased would not fit into my quart jar I use to save dried fruit. Alas, some remained in the ziploc bag that only zips most of the time. I left them on the counter to become a healthy evening snack near the apples and bananas.

After preparing some lunch I hunted for some sweetness to satisfy my heritage and hit upon spreading the Nutella look-alike I purchased at Aldi sometime in the past on a saltine cracker and sprinkling cranberries on top. That tuned out pretty good. (If you are not a believer, try it.) I realized that I was inventing a variety of cookie – biscuit or digestive to the Brits out there – and heard Cheryl say, “You could try making a chocolate cookie with stuff in it.” I blame Cheryl when I hear these inventive thoughts about cooking. She was not very inventive with ingredients but very inventive with technique.

I launched myself into search for a basic chocolate cookie that I could modify with extra ingredients. Below is the final product:

  • 2 C. all purpose flour
  • 2/3 C. powdered cocoa
  • 1 tsp. baking soda
  • ¼ tsp. salt
  • 1 ½ C. white sugar
  • 1 C. unsalted butter
  • 2 large eggs
  • 2 tsp. vanilla extract
  • 1 C. chocolate morsels (in the yellow bag)
  • 1 C. dried cranberries
  • ½ C. smashed walnuts (crushed in the bag but I smash them further)

I creamed the butter, eggs, vanilla and sugar for a bit. Whisked the flour, salt, soda and cocoa together in a separate bowl dry and then dumped them into my mixer. (I bought a new mixer recently. It has extra paddles.) After a bit of mixing I tried out my folding paddle and dumped in the rest of the ingredients.

Bake in a 350F (177C) – medium oven 8 to 10 minutes. This lump of cookie dough makes about 4 dozen if you use a teaspoon from your table wear set to scoop and spoon some on to UN-greased cookie sheets like I did. (My mind always wants to grease the cookie sheet and Cheryl always tells me, “No!”)

After 8 minutes on the timer, I rotated the cookie sheets in the oven and added 4 minutes to the time. This worked for me because I dislike (maybe hate) chewy soft cookies. There is something special about just the right crunch that makes me smile.

Cheryl! You turned me into a cookie recipe experimenter. It is all your fault. (Dammit.) I love you and you are right. These are good. The tricky part will be spreading them out in my eating habits. I have eaten three while writing this story. They go well with coffee.

In future experiments I may try crushed peanuts and raisins. GORP cookies sounds good to me.

I wonder which wine pairs well. Pinot Noir? Chardonnay?

A conundrum. There was a big one there in the gap. It was begging to be eaten before I took this picture and I obliged.

Carpe Diem. (life is better with cookies and chocolate)

Wordle and Remembrance

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Knowing They Can Fix Me

The gentleman said as a response to an unknown question in an advertisement about a medical institution. I was watching the morning newsy program(s) and thinking about the day. It is a concept that many, myself included, wish for. The hope is that a higher power, a greatness, a consciousness greater than one’s own will take care any difficulty and fix it whatever it is. Is that realistic? What about self reliance? All of this became too hard to think about, so, I awakened the New York Times Wordle game page and did it for a minute or two of distraction.

I inadvertently touched the archive button which I had paid no attention to previously. I found that it would let me go back and work on incomplete games. (down the rabbit hole I went) November of last year was when Cheryl moved to Bridgeway Pointe in the memory care section. There were a half dozen incomplete puzzles. I kept going backward in time working puzzles and thinking about what was happening in our life.

I got to my birthday in August of last year (2023). I did not finish the puzzle that day. I cannot recall anything about what went on that day. Perhaps it was merely another day filled with Parkinson. That goes without saying. The beauty of a journal or a blog is that often I have noted what happened on a certain day in the past. From my blog/journal:

—

That day I wrote about our day. Cheryl was struggling.

—

I am not surprised that I cannot remember my birthday last year. The event itself was unimportant to the task of keeping up with her Parkinson and her dementia. Perhaps one day an oncology style doctor will emerge to straddle the care complexities of PD, dementia and dying which no doctor seems to be able admit is the prognosis for this damnable combination of symptoms and inabilities. The phrase – no one dies from PD, usually you die with it – is very much a distinction without a difference. In fact it might peg the meter on my bullshit detector.

Perhaps next year I can recall what I did this year for my birthday and smile instead of cry.

Carpe Diem.

Dear Cheryl

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Dear Cheryl,

It has been six months today. How are you in your new existence? I have to admit to myself that I still miss you greatly. You were so much of my life how can I not?

I wrote on my blog (I am sure that you read it.) about my own personal “If Only”. If Only is the title of the next section of the Grief Share series. I have not watched the video yet but I will later today in preparation for helping Sr. Janet tomorrow.

In case you forgot, here is what I wrote the other day:

If Only

There is no percentage in “if only”. None. Although many of us spend considerable time with if-only style thoughts. If only I had completed (insert item here) I would be (insert perceived superlative or horror here). If only I had asked (him, her, them) about the consequences of (this, that , those) we would be (better, worse, still wondering). One can go anywhere with a good if only.

There is no percentage in it. Nothing is gained by speculative thought and other attempts to predict present out comes from “if only I had”. Additionally there is no real risk except perhaps diminishing self worth. God (or whatever one’s concept of God is) as the eternal knows the future and needs no predictors. Past, present and future is the same to the eternal.

Fuzzy philosophy there but what-iffing your past actions does not help today’s actions.

Grief Share talks about this in long winded generality. The “if only” that I deal with often when it jumps into my head is why could I not see that she was moments from leaving this existence when I kissed her good night the evening before she died.

This is my “if only”. What would be different today if I had sat up with her as she took her last breath? I will never know.

If Only.

At the time I was experimenting with prose poetry in a way. You know what a corny poet I am. I still have those old letters we wrote each other in high school. I have yours and mine because you never threw anything away. Neither did I. Those notes are special to me. Not long after you died, I read some of them and thought that I should put them together and match the dates. I did not. Much like looking through old pictures (I found the packets from our trip out west with the kids.) I look through your letters and then find my reply. Good heavens, I was smitten with you back then.

I am smitten with you now as I think about those days and the life we had together.

A fellow blogger wrote this comment to me: “I was with my dad in his final hours, lingering long. My older brother wondered aloud if he was hesitant to leave while I was there, as if to protect my sensitive soul. When I went home to sleep, he went on to eternity.

I hope this might bring you some comfort. “

(Karen 🙂 — comment posted to my blog)

I wrote back: “ … And that is what I tell myself. My father (I think) waited until Cheryl and I left to eat a little lunch. When we came back – Dad was gone. I simply did not want her to feel abandoned. I think that is the source of my sadness when it pops into my head. — and this thought and how it affects me is what I will think about today as I walk and try to enjoy this beautiful Autumn day in Ohio. Those thoughts make it all about me and I do not want to feel that way. At other times I think Cheryl hung on as long as she did because she wanted to be sure that I would be okay. That was her personality. (that thought also makes it about me.) Today is Monday. Cheryl died on Monday April 22. Six months ago today. I think I am missing her a little more today.
Thank you for reading and your comment. It is a comfort.”

Do you remember that? We went to be with Dad that day at Hospice and we went to get some soup in the little lunch room they had there. That is a vivid memory of mine.

I can still see Dad’s gray face. I can still see your gray face. I can still see Mom’s gray face. I can still hear the silence when Laura stopped breathing.

Even when it is expected, death is unexpected. If you had wanted me there to be with you that morning and could not wait any longer, I apologize for not getting there to be with you. Please do not think that I abandoned you. If you knew when I was coming that morning and did not want to upset me with your silence, thank you but I was upset anyway. (pretty sneaky, girl)

I miss you today. I am going to take a walk in the sunshine and think about it all.

If you are allowed to, save me a seat next to you. We will talk more when I get there.

As always with love,

Paul

Autumn Haiku and Inner Thought

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friday comes with cool
sun peeks higher in the sky
autumn is awake

she speaks in my head
often with her quiet voice
our love continues

this day Cheryl is
this day memories of us
happy memories

Haiku form – 5 : 7 : 5 – is a favorite poetic form to me. Real poets, I do not consider myself a real poet, are able to paint a picture, elicit an emotion or start a meditation with seventeen syllables. Distilling feelings and ideas to their basic form. I have noticed in myself that many times words do not work. The search for a word with the perfect nuance of what I feel alludes me often. Perfection at reading what is not there is not my strongest ability.

And yet, funneling feelings into seventeen sounds is sometimes satisfying.

Meditation (I use that word instead of prayer) comes in many forms to me. Today it is distillation of thought into seventeen bits of non-prattle.

abracadabra
in mind appears some pictures
our happier times

grieve companion lost
happy memories abound
love is present, found

Thinking about Cheryl today as I write about our life with its past joys and wonderful trips and the sadness and struggles near the end has pushed me into haiku today. Waiting to see what the rest of the day brings and the realization that existence takes care of itself without my help is comforting.

Is that prayer?

Carpe Diem.

If Only

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If Only

There is no percentage in “if only”. None. Although many of us spend considerable time with if-only style thoughts. If only I had completed (insert item here) I would be (insert perceived superlative or horror here). If only I had asked (him, her, them) about the consequences of (this, that , those) we would be (better, worse, still wondering). One can go anywhere with a good if only.

There is no percentage in it. Nothing is gained by speculative thought and other attempts to predict present out comes from “if only I had”. Additionally there is no real risk except perhaps diminishing self worth. God (or whatever one’s concept of God is) as the eternal knows the future and needs no predictors. Past, present and future is the same to the eternal.

Fuzzy philosophy there but what-iffing your past actions does not help today’s actions.

Grief Share talks about this in long winded generality. The “if only” that I deal with often when it jumps into my head is why could I not see that she was moments from leaving this existence when I kissed her good night the evening before she died.

This is my “if only”. What would be different today if I had sat up with her as she took her last breath? I will never know.

If Only.

On that sad thought – Carpe Diem.

Connections

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I really enjoy playing this game from the New York Times. It gets me to think beyond what I perceive.

One of the words today was “shiva”. To me in my environment in my meager knowledge of the world, other cultures, other traditions, “shiva” says mourning and is part of Jewish faith tradition. I am also a poor speller. That shiva is spelled with a h on the end. It can also be something that one does in a cold late Autumn drizzle while waiting for the bus if you are located in the part of New England where the r is often dropped at the end of the word. These two thoughts in combination led me to type shiva into Google’s AI driven (assisted?) interface.

The Hindu god of destruction appeared with a picture. All became clear. Before I returned to the NYT Games page to search for the rest of the connections to shiva, I spent some comfortable blissful time reading about Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. (Creator, Preserver, Destroyer) I play this game every morning but I do not always finish it because I become impatient with myself and the search for the connections. Patience is a virtue that has to be practiced often even in small ways to become comfortable. And I am not a keen observer of pop culture. Some connections are those kind.

All of this came while I am baking another new recipe and became distracted with thinking that Carl Sagan had written a book called Connections but his book is actually entitled, “Cosmos Connections”. I used to have it somewhere. His show from the 1980s is called simply Cosmos. Astronomy, planets and stars and night time sky phenomena also fascinate me. Oops I have fallen down another rabbit hole but it has led me to thinking about Cheryl. Or maybe the smell of baking has caused me to think about her.

Cheryl at the very end of her life became enamored with the moon and its phases. A couple times sitting with her in the evening in front of our home watching the moon and airplanes and the international space station go by, I saw the wonder in her eyes and voice as she marveled at the bigness of it all and the smallness of us. These little snippets of lucidity appeared at random. I think she was sensing something that I could not.

I miss that and I miss her. I am glad that our connection is so strong. I am glad that she leaves me little messages around when I hunt for things.

Carpe Diem… (I’m sure you can smell it. Banana Nut bread)

Yesterday

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Two days ago I tripped over this recipe from the New York Times for an apple tahini tart. I wondered what tahini could possibly be. That thought led me down the rabbit hole of reading and cooking. It is my favorite sort of hole to fall into. I can be lost for hours.

Tahini is merely toasted sesame seeds and some oil. I found a recipe and method for making my own from scratch. When I was finished the product had the consistency of peanut butter and a similar albeit milder flavor. I should back up a bit. After reading the entire NYT recipe and how to create my own tahini, I looked through my larder. Low and behold I had everything except for apples. (Apples generally do not last long in my house.) Off to the store for more on Sunday morning I went.

I made the tahini on Saturday and refrigerated it overnight. On Sunday I made the pastry and placed it in the refrigerator as directed to rest a couple hours while I went to the grocery store to find apples. IGA had Pink Lady apples just as I had hoped for when reading the recipe. (I become ecstatic when I can find all the exact ingredients to make a new recipe the first time.)

When I made the tahini sauce by mixing the tahini with the other ingredients I covered it with a piece of waxed paper to keep out any small fliers that seem to appear when I bring in tomatoes from the small garden we have. I asked Cheryl (I could feel her nearby.) where did you put the rubber bands? I could use one to put around the top of this container of sauce. I found the Rubbermaid leftover tubful of rubber bands that I had recovered from her office several months ago and carried it from my office into the kitchen. When I opened it to find a suitable elastic band I found also a note from Cheryl.

A yellow post it note was wrapped around a flash-drive with the message “Sr. Pat” and a crossed out phone number. The flash-drive contained a video file that our grandson Max had put together some time ago. That video is a collection of early Christmas videos that his Dad made twenty years ago. I could not watch it all the way through until today when I could give myself time to react to the memories.

October is tomorrow and this is the time of year when Cheryl would start agitating to decorate for Christmas and I would resist (because I did not share her enthusiasm.) She sent me a message. “Christmas will be here before you know it!” she would say (and was saying this time.) I would argue that it is ONLY October. Thanksgiving has not happened yet! Today I argued that I had to finish this tart first!

This will be the first Christmas without her. I miss this discussion. I wonder how I will react to that fact in a few weeks. I wonder how I will react to the first Christmas without her in a few months.

Yesterday I put the flash-drive aside to finish assembling the the tart. Here is the end result.

I took it to my son’s house to consume after the football game. I will keep this recipe to do again with other fillings.

Tahini Apple Tart By Andy Baraghani Published in NYT website Sept. 16, 2024

For the dough
  • 1½ cups all-purpose flour, plus more as needed
  • 1 tablespoon sugar
  • 1¼ teaspoons kosher salt (such as Diamond Crystal)
  • ¾ cup/170 grams unsalted butter, cut into small cubes, chilled
  • Ice water, as needed
For the tahini spread
  • ⅓ cup tahini
  • 3 tablespoons sugar
  • 3 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
  • 1 large egg
  • ¼ teaspoon kosher salt
Assembly and filling
  • 2 pounds crisp, tart apples such as Honeycrisp or Pink Lady (about 6 medium apples)
  • 1 tablespoon cider vinegar or lemon juice
  • 3 tablespoons sugar, plus more for sprinkling
  • 1 teaspoon ground cardamom
  • Heavy cream, for brushing
  • 1 to 2 tablespoons white sesame seeds
  • Vanilla ice cream, whipped cream or crème fraîche, for serving
  1. For the Dough: Whisk together the flour, sugar and salt in a large bowl. Dump in the cold butter and toss until coated in the flour mixture, separating any pieces that stick together. Use your fingers to smush and flatten each piece once.
  2. Drizzle ¼ cup ice water over the flour mixture. Repeatedly run your fingers through the mixture, as if rummaging through a drawer, until combined. The dough will start out looking dry then become very shaggy. Transfer to a clean work surface and use your palms to knead the dough together, forming a ball with no dry spots. You may need an additional tablespoon or two of ice water to help the dough come together, but even then it will be shaggy, not smooth or shiny.
  3. Wrap the dough with plastic wrap and use your hands to flatten it into a round disc about 1-inch thick. Chill for 2 hours or up to 3 days.
  4. Lightly dust a clean work surface with flour and roll out the dough, turning it to prevent it from sticking between rolls, into a 14-inch round. Gently gather both ends of the dough and transfer to a parchment-lined baking sheet. Refrigerate the dough while you make the sesame spread and apple filling.
  5. For the sesame spread: Whisk the tahini, sugar, butter, egg and salt together in a medium bowl until smooth. (You can make the sesame spread 5 days ahead; just bring to room temperature before using, so it spreads easily.) [Ask Cheryl where the rubber bands are located.]
  6. For the filling: Heat the oven to 375 degrees. Peel, core and thinly slice the apples (see Tip). Toss the apple slices, vinegar, sugar and the cardamom together in a large bowl until the sugar feels like it has dissolved.
  7. Remove the dough from the fridge and plop the sesame spread in the center. Use the back of a spoon to evenly distribute the sesame spread, leaving a 2-inch border. Arrange the apples on top in whatever manner you like. Fold the edges of the dough over the apples to form the crust, then brush the dough with heavy cream and sprinkle with sesame seeds and more sugar.
  8. Bake on the bottom rack for 40 to 50 minutes, rotating the pan halfway through, until the crust is deeply golden brown and the apples are tender. Let cool for 20 minutes before slicing and serving with the topping of your choice.

I often bake bread in a convection bake and I started this tart in a convection oven. I got used to doing this in our old house. The temperature is uniform in a convection oven. After the first twenty minutes or so I rotated the cookie sheet that I had put the tart onto. I also changed the oven setting to bake from convection bake. I gave it a few minutes over the allotted time. As you can see from the photo it needed perhaps a short time under the broiler to get that golden brown color. I chose not to burn it.

David and I both pronounced it excellent.

Carpe Diem.

Astral Planes?

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I have been reading a lot about death lately. Looking for something else in my little office, I rediscovered a book by Robert Fulghum entitled From Beginning to End, the rituals of our lives. It seemed to fit with my overall end-of-life curiosity and reading I have pursued of late so I placed it on the table near where I often sit to read in the evening. I have not re-read it yet. I have many of his books. I may re-read all of them eventually.

I did not think much about death before these past few months. I am driven in this direction because Cheryl is gone. When she was alive either with me or comfortable in the memory care section of Bridgeway Pointe, I searched for information about her condition, how to help, how to react, how to, what if, generally I was hunting for the manual. I became very observant while she stayed at BP. The other day I looked back through my journal. I read this entry: “Thursday, April 18, 2024: (after several notes) – I think today I see that Cheryl is close to death. Her eyes are receding into their sockets. Often her right eye does not open. Her voice is almost gone. – (list of vital signs)” Reading this several months later brought me to the realization that I anticipated her death many days before it occurred. This notation was 3 days before.

Jodi Picoult in her novel The Book of Two Ways which is about an egyptologist turned end-of-life doula, the main character in her role as doula helps the dying to transition. She also helps the caregiver(s) after the death. Being an end-of-life doula is a real occupation. Had I known there existed people who did this sort of work I would have tracked one down to help me and Cheryl (but mostly me.) In the characters role as egyptologist she delves into ancient Egypt, their gods, belief structures and spells and rituals. In 1500 BCE these guys were concerned with the resurrection of the spiritual body and the immortality the soul. The rituals of helping the soul to transition into the after-world are captivating to me. I still hunt for the manual.

I want to know what is next. I write that thought with the realization that I cannot know what is next. Even so, right now, it is a strong desire. I found a book called “Life after Death”. My first thought was “Aha! There is a manual!”

Deepak Chopra in his book Life after Death writes, “Soul bonds occur on the astral plane just as they occur in the physical world. Relationships in the astral plane mean that you are vibrating in concert with someone else’s soul and therefore feel a heightened sense of love, unity and bliss. … When the disembodied soul tunes in to the frequency of a loved one back on the physical plane, that person may feel the presence of the departed…” I sure hope that is what is going on when I feel Cheryl near me.

I long to hear, strain to hear her voice. She knows what is after this physical life. It is very hard to hear what she is saying to me from that higher plane.

I have so many more questions. I could not ask Cheryl about what is next. I think she knew but was unable to tell me what she knew. It was not until after she left this plane of existence that I realized I still had questions. She gave me little hints. I did not recognize those for what they were. Many months before she left, she spoke to me about not being here for her next hair appointment. Her timing was off a little but I remember at the time thinking, you are wrong dear. Most smart men know that their wife is rarely wrong.

“… I went in seeking clarity

I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains
We go to the doctor, we go to the mountains
We look to the children, we drink from the fountain
Yeah, we go to the Bible, we go through the workout
We read up on revival, we stand up for the lookout

There’s more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
(The less I seek my source)
Closer I am to fine …

Songwriters: Emily Ann Saliers / Amy Elizabeth Ray

Carpe Diem

Grief and Sharing

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I recently asked to be a part of and help with a ministry at our church called GriefShare. It is a support group for those of us dealing with the loss of a loved one. Mother, Father, Sister, Brother, Son, Daughter or Friend – Any or all of these losses in life. They are common and expected but not hoped for losses and we grieve.

I do not know what I am hoping to gain from this experience. For me, having spent a great part of the past few years caring for Cheryl, it may simply feel comfortable to help others.

The program itself which has a website and an abundance of videos and formal presentations seems to be aimed at guiding the participant toward some stable existence without whoever has left this existence. In many ways much of that journey occurred with me while Cheryl was struggling with her Parkinson and her accompanying dementia. I purposely try to remember things we did before her Parkinson. Sadly, perhaps because those are are farther in the past or perhaps because the Parkinson and dementia were so overwhelming during the past six years or so, this memory exercise is hard. I still make the effort.

It is not so much that I want to forget the past few years but it is very important for me to remember the fun we had for the few years prior. Those are the years when we hiked in parks and through the woods. Those are the years we out bid everyone for overnight hotel stays. Those where the years when we hopped in the car suddenly on a weekend and drove to Illinois because a grandson was coming. Those where the years we hopped in the car and drove to Indiana because a granddaughter was coming. Those are great memories. And when I purposely think about those times I do not see her deathly ill face.

Cheryl still lives in me and I do grieve for her but I think the long time we had with Parkinson and cognitive issues (I think) helped me to come to terms with her eventual death. She was very much not the wonderful person I spent fifty years of my life with during the last six or so years as she drifted deeper into dementia. I have written this before to myself but I am happy for her that she is gone. She is in fact not suffering anymore.

And with that thought I do wish for her to be here with me. Happy. Disease free. Without encumbrances. Without walkers and canes and wheelchairs. I wish she was her slightly overweight but curvy self wishing to lose a few pounds by doing water aerobics. I wish, I wish, I wish.

I have let her go but I still grieve for her and will always. How can I not?

GriefShare emphasizes that grief is a journey. Life is a journey too. I use a picture of us that my daughter took of us just a few years ago as we walked back to our spot after completing a fund raising walk for Parkinson research. I still use it and another version where Cheryl is ghosted. We are still journeying through life. She is still with me. I hear her admonish me for being a stinker because I am upset about something, usually a trivial something maybe yelling at another bozo driving along. She would tell me to calm down while she was still riding with me physically She is still traveling life with me even though she is not here. I still talk to her. I think of grief as a nuance to life’s journey.

Grief will always be there. My sister died in 2008 of MDS a form of blood cancer. My father died a few months before that in 2007 of colon cancer. My mother died in 2016 of old age. My brother died in 2020 of heart failure. Grief will always occur in life. It is one aspect of the journey.

At this stage of my life I search for purpose. A few years ago as Cheryl’s situation worsened I convinced myself that my purpose was to take care of her. That was true but I am beginning to think that there is more. I am wondering what that more is.

Carpe this Diem and all the more you are given.

Love is in the Bin

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Girl With Balloon

By Dominic Robinson from Bristol, UK – Banksy Girl and Heart Balloon, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=73570221

This picture gives me writer’s cramp (whatever that could be.) The image is powerful by itself. The other graffiti merely enhances the photo.

As I work my way through this early period after Cheryl’s death, I notice that poetry, music and simple art speaks to me internally. This piece by “Banksy” who is a mysterious graffiti artist in England is one of those. Recently another version of the image is in the news in a smash and grab robbery story. I was reminded of this image that I saw somewhere some time ago. This image is from 2004 well before Cheryl’s Parkinson appeared. She was passionate about deep water aerobics then. Life was good. We were good. The kids were good. The world was just plain good.

Another version of this same image was sold at Sotheby’s and shredded at auction. Its name was changed to “Love is in the Bin” and it was sold for 18 million pounds.

There is something philosophical about spending a very large sum of money (made of paper) on an artwork (made of paper and wood) neither of which will survive very long in the big scheme of things. So much in life is fleeting and impermanent.

I wish I had 18 million bucks and could buy back a healthy Cheryl.

I wish for a lot.

Carpe the fleeting Diem