A Chistmas Bulb

Everyone who grew up with Christmas as a Winter holiday has special Christmas memories.  I got lots of things as gifts as a child.

But today, I am remembering something of Dad's memories.  There used to be Christmas lights that had individual bulbs.  When I was a child, Dad had one from his own childhood.  It was a Santa Head.  It was oval, but had specific wrinkles in the beard and slightly raised eyes.  I can't even imagine how such things were made.

But, back then, the bulbs were all incandescent (with heated wire filaments that glowed for you young'uns).  They burned out regularly, causing the entire string to go dark.  Such bulbs typically lasted only a few years.

Well, Dad had this one Santa Head bulb that he cherished.  It just kept working.  Sometimes it took some tapping.  If you tapped old fimament bulbs, sometimes the heated ends would re-connect.  Some years, the bulb wouldn't light and Dad would keep tapping it in all directions.  And most years, it would light up again.

There came a day when it just didn't.  He spent time for days tapping at it on a light string he had in the basement for repairing stuff.  Finally, he understood it wasn't going to light up again.  I was probably about 12 then, and I wasn't there when he gave up trying to get the Santa bulb to light up "one more time".  But I noticed it sitting on his home desk for weeks.  And then, one day, it wasn't there.

When you are a child, you don't really understand your parents as having been children themselves once.  You just know them as "adults"  I think that, on the day I noticed the bulb missing from his desk, I understood that he had lost a precious childhood memory.  And maybe I grew up a little that day.

I found this image today.

It looks like the same one.  Memory says it is the same one.  Dad died in 2014.  When I brought him here to live with me in 2012, he might have remembered it, but he went downhill fast.  I wish I had thought to find and given it to him while he was here "compos mentis"...

Ponderosa Pink Heirloom Tomato

I got my first ripe heirloom tomato today.  It was a Ponderosa Pink.  It wasn't great, well, the first ripe tomatoes of any kind usually aren't the best.  But this one had a special meaning.

You see, my Dad (deceased 2014) loved them.  I think that is what his Dad grew and to him, that was THE tomato.  Dad used to save seeds from them and regrow them each year.  Dad wasn't a very good gardener.  He just planted stuff in bad soil and went full-out chemical on them.  It was a very "modern" 1950s/1960s thing to do. 

We kids hated his garden.  He grew kale, for example, and we had to eat it.  The kale was so "metalic" that a magnet might have stuck to it. The corn was always too startchy.  The beans were OK.

But the tomatoes were pretty good, the few that grew.  Ponderosa Pink.  Dad saved the seeds in a paper bag in the garage.  As the conditions were bad in the garage, I'm surprised that any sprouted at all.  The year Dad and Mom left that house and moved north, the bag of seeds disappeared.  Dad always said he gave me the seeds, but he didn't.  The loss of the family Ponderosa seeds was a deep disappointment to him.  I assume that the bag of seeds on the garage shelf just got left behind and the new occupants tossed them away.

I followed Grandad's gardening practices.  He was organic, and his veggies always tasted good.  I suppose he also had good Ponderosa Pink tomatoes, but I was too young to know about varieties then.

As years passed and I got my own space for gardening, I looked up some of the best heirloom varieties of tomatoes.  I grew Brandywine, Cherokee Purple, Prudens Purple, Aunt Gerties Gold, and Cherry tomatoes.  I didn't grow Ponderosa Pink. 

But I got curious about Ponderosa Pink this year and found a place that sold it (It doesn't seem to be very popular).  The shipping was more than the cost of the seeds, but, "well, what the heck".

So the first heirloom tomato I harvested this year was a Ponderosa Pink.

Dad, this one is for you...

Interesting Day, Part 2

So after the "energy inspector" left yesterday, I had other things to do.

First, there was yet one more form to get notarized about Dad's death.  Dad had 4 investment accounts and life insurance (and 2 days retirement pay), which all required some forms (several of which needed bank manager legal signatures and stamps).  So I had all but the last one signed, copied and filed.  The last was just a Notary stamp, and I had the envelope all filled out (just needing the one last page stamped).

I got that, went straight to the post Office (they were all oversize envelopes of 6-10 pages, so I couldn't just stick an extra stamp on them).  OK, that's all done. 

I'm conflicted.  I don't need the money (I've been fortunate to have done well enough myself).  But I'm grateful to Dad for having accumulated it over his life and I appreciate my portion of his life's savings.  And he knew from our financial discussions over the years that I was doing well. 

So I'm going to increase my giving to charitable organization that I think help the world best.  I'm not naming specific ones, but world hunger, world medical treatments, and the general environment are high on my list.  And there will be a local cat no kill-shelter (Southern Maryland suggestions are invited).

After getting home, I planted leeks among the corn.  There's enough sunlight around the base of the corn for the leeks to thrive.  It was nice to get some dirt under my fingernails!  I have the corns planted about 8" apart in bins (its an experiment), but I figure the small space the leeks require won't bother the corn.  SCORE!

And then I wanted to get my garden mailbox re-installed.  I use 2 mailboxes in the yard to store small tools.  One is in the garden itself (for hand tools).  The other is at the deck for hose nozzles and attachments.  This one was the latter.  The old attachment had been poorly constructed and a bit off level.  I fixed that today, and attached it to the center post of the new deck absolutely level. SCORE!

They I decided to hang the niger thistle-seed finch-feeder from the center of the deck.  But there were 3 deck posts and only 2 long hangers.  So I need a third.  But I did have the 2 to install, so I did that.  And in honor of the new deck, I did it RIGHT!

I set one about balanced sideways on the post and clamped it loosely.  I have this neat tool that gives an analog dial red at any angle.  Old but accurate.  I clamped the hanger in about the center and level position, then measured it side to side.  I attached a screw at the bottom, then adjusted the position of the hanger to be level and clamped it tight.  Set in another screw at the top (pilot hole for accuracy and all that ease of screwing).  Perfect.  Now I just have to plant some appropriate flowers in the baskets to be hung. 

After THAT, I dug up weeds around the tomatoes and the bell peppers I planted.  They are all doing well.

By tht time, it was getting near dark out.  I called the cats in.  They get kibbles as treats when the come in when called.  Dinner was a smoked half steak sliced thin with carmelized onion, red bell pepper, green bell pepper, and crimini mushrooms (cheaper lately than regular white mushrooms), bean beans, tossed salad, and M/V potato.

Father's Day 2014

I'm not sure what to say, because I just wrote a memorium for him a few days ago.  Yet, that was mostly about his life, not so much about our Father/Son relationship.  I'll think about that...

Dad was absent in most family photos.  I don't mean the formal family pictures where some else took the picture, but the everyday ones.  That's because Dad was taking all the pictures.  He just doesn't show up in the pictures of us kids much; they were of "Mom and Kids". 

But I have memories. 

1.  Every Summer we spent a week with each set of Grandparents (who lived in New England).  The trip was easy when we still lived in Massachussetts, but became longer as promotions brought us to Maryland and Virginia.  And there were few highways back then.  So we got in the habit of stopping at the same motel overnight on the way.  It was kept clean and there was a swimming pool.  Well, I hate cold water and one day I was standing at the edge reluctant to jump in.  Dad walked behind me and gave me the slightest shove that sent me in! 

Later, while Dad was watching my young sister, I walked behind him.  And with the confidence that comes of "growing up" (I may have been 11/12).  He fell in.  Frantically waving the towel he was holding.  It was the last dry towel we had.  Well, not after he fell in!

2.  At about the same age, Dad taught me golf.  I'm sure he mostly wanted me to learn the game that both he and Mom loved, but he also wanted a caddy.  I of course wasn't good enough at the game to actually play with his group (Dad was a scratch golfer in those days), but I could pull his cart.  Well, I wasn't much of a prankster, but I had my moments (and still do - and learned it from Dad - see #1 above). 

I had found a fake golf ball (made of chalk but with a plastic coating and label that made it LOOK real) at a store.  I kept it with me each week and waited, and waited and waited.  FINALLY, he had a bad drive and had to hit a provisional ball (used in case the first ball could not be found).

Dad asked me to toss him a ball from his bag.  He set it on his tee, swung, and the ball turned into a cloud of dust!!!  He stood there in complete shocked silence for about 10 full seconds before I, then a playing partner, then the other 2 collapsed in fits of laughter.  And Dad STILL looked around confused for a moment before he realized what I had done.  THE BEST TRICK I EVER PULLED ON ANYONE MY ENTIRE LIFE! 

But you know what?  He never ever mentioned it in my presence. 

3.  Dad HAD a sense of humor.  He had one of the first battery powered electric shavers.  I didn't know about that of course, Dad shaved in private and my parent's bedroom suite was as foreign to us kids as the Taj Mahal.  So when he was one on the adults chaperoning us Boy Scouts on Operation Icicle 1966 (Operation Icicle is when we camped out on the coldest weekend of the year, usually in snow, and it got down to -5F that year.

So the first morning, Dad got up and stuck the plug of his electric razor into tree bark and proceeded to shave!!!  We were all stunned.  To our astonished questions, Dad just replied "Its all about understanding how to use electricity".  Which was true, of course, but none of us kids knew about rechargeable batteries in 1966.

4.  This memory involves both my Dad AND his brother.  We visited New England one year and my uncle brought us to a lake he knew well.  Uncle Allan was a professional fishing guide, so anyplace he brought us was sure to be successful.  Basically, we trolled around the perimeter of the lake with trout flies on weighted lines (technical details on request, but its too long for here).

Well every time we passed a particular spot, I caught a fish.  And the 2 "better" fishermen didn't.  After it was 3-0-0, Dad asked to use my rod, same setup.  No luck.  So Uncle Allan tried it too.  No luck.  When I had the rod back, I caught another at the same spot.  It is a mystery to this day.  I think I just had the "right touch" of twitching the fly that one day. 

5.  This one is a bit indirect, so bear with me.  I have been tearing up my 25 year old raised framed garden beds and the stuff I set between them to avoid muddy paths for 2 months.  Today I started hauling out the cut up chunks of old carpet, synthetic burlap and black plastic sheeting, and dumping them in my hauling trailer.

The brother of a neighbor came by and mentioned he had landscaping work skills and wondered if I needed paid help cheap as a cash side job.  I was tempted.  I feel worn out by this garden renovation project.  At 64, I can't do wht I did here at 36.  I could hire people to do this while I watched.  But doing it myself is a point of pride.  I got that from my paternal Grampa and my Dad.  They both taught me that you do any work you can until you are exhausted then you rest a while and go back at it.

So the neighbor guy's offer of below-standard-pay help was very tempting, but I declined.  It won't mean anything if I don't do it myself. 

Dad did heavy work when he was older than I am now.  I honor his work ethic by continuing to do as much as I can for as long as I can.  Like Father Like Son...

As many differences as we had, we had that in common.  There are many things I have learned to do in my life that Dad had no part of.  But there are many more things I have learned that Dad taught my very deliberately. 

For those things Dad taught me, I thank him.  For those things I learned on my own, I thank him for that too, because he taught me to learn new things.

6.  I will no longer be making birthday and Father's Day cards for Dad.  I will no longer be arguing with him in my mind (tell me you never "argued" with a parent in your mind). 

But on this Father's Day, for the first time, I do not have a living father (and Mom died in 2010).  And it is feeling strange...  Not mournful, Dad was 92, and died of general old age.  Its a sense of absence of elders I suppose.  I'm now the eldest of my immediate family, and that feels VERY odd.

Old Photo

 My sister sent me the most AWESOME photo yesterday!

I can surely guess that it is from late Spring 1922, and probably where it was taken (Ohio).  I have no certainty who the 2 gentlemen on the left are.  I can guess about the guy on the right.  Why?

Because the baby being held is my Dad!

I'll assume the guy holding my dad is my paternal grandfather.  I'll make a logical guess that the 2 gentlemen on the left are my 2 paternal great-grandfathers.

WOW!

Remembering Dad

I just received The Call from my sister yesterday.  Dad is dead; my sister was pretty upset, but she’s been keeping the vigil there.  I've been expecting this call for months, but it doesn't make the reality any different.  For whatever it means, I am suddenly the oldest person in my immediate family. 

How to you interpret news like that?  It's not like I'm the patrirach or anything.  Sister is the executrix of dad's estate but mostly because she was nearest to him in his last year at the assisted living home, and she has some experience at this stuff.  According to family traditions, there will be a cremation.  I suppose as eldest, I might get his ashes.  Well, I have Mom's, they might as well be together.  Each of us kids have our own lives.  I mourn of course, but it wasn't unexpected.  I even expected it earlier.  Dad was physically incapable, in diapers, and demented.  I think he no longer knew who he was.  I consider his dying a relief from the struggle to continue living.  He didn’t want to keep surviving, himself.  It was kidney failure at the end.  He was 92.

But beyond that, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do, if anything. We don't have a family tradition of funerals.  Dad will be cremated, and since I have Mom's ashes, I will probably receive Dad's.

I wrote the obituary.  Its hard to pack a life into a short space.  So that’s why I’m writing now.  He deserves more than an inch on newspaper column space…

Where to start?  Well, when I was a child, Dad was the most perfect person (next to Mom, of course).  He was the fixer of things, the person who built things, the person who just taught me how to DO stuff.  He knew EVERYTHING, until I was about 16.

Fast-forward some years...  Dad wasn't the genius when I was 30 that I thought he was when I was 10.  Well, who is?  I had my own thoughts at 30, and they weren't Dad's.  Some guys have the same political views as their Dad.  I didn't.  Mom and Dad were at my house when Barrack Obama was elected in 2006.  I cheered while Dad declared Obama "the most dangerous man on Earth".

I won't discuss our different political views other than to say Dad said "sink or swim" (and he meant it) and I said "I won't watch someone drown".

For all my adult life, I have had imaginary arguments with Dad in the privacy of my own home.  I always won those arguments of course.  But there will be no more even imaginary arguments now.  He's gone.  It is hard to imagine that.

He had great strengths and talents.  I feel stupid trying to even list them, and I can't do him proper justice.  He was an engineer and could build about damn near anything he wanted to build.  My early life was enriched by things Dad built.  30 years ago, I had the opportunity to visit the house we lived in in the 1950s.  The stone wall he built was still standing solid and proud (and I’m sure that, at 8 years old “I helped”).  There was no one home, and I decided not to trespass.  I wish someone had been there to talk to.  But I did look at the yard through Google Earth and some of the 1950’s work is still there.  My friends joke about me that I "over-enginneer" everything I build.  Well, I have a tradition to maintain.

Dad built ships during WWII and started college when he was 20 and met Mom at the Univ of NH when she was a freshman (freshwoman?).  She said she didn't date men who didn't play golf.  So he learned to play golf.  And with his usual determination, he was a 0 handicap golfer in a few years.  Damn he could hit a golf ball perfectly.  It would start off low and then rise as it went straight down the fairway as if drawn on the golf map with a ruler. 

He succeeded in almost everything he turned his attention to but he failed at some.  He was a terrible gardener , for example – Never paid much attention to the soil because there was FERTILIZER!  I learned my organic habits from Grampa.  Dad was bad at most cards, too.  You could practically see his tail wag when he had a good poker hand.  His Mom was a demon card-player; Dad didn't get those genes (so neither did I).  But he was a killer at any game that involved logic.  You could not beat him at Clue, for example.  He had a SYSTEM for showing cards (took me a year ta figure it out).  And we both got so competitive at stadium checkers together that we could call every marble drop for a full 360 degree ring rotation. Ruthless at cribbage, but I finally got about even with him by the time I left for college.  

Logic isn't strategy though.  Mom taught me chess and when she couldn't beat me at it anymore at age 10, she turned me over to Dad, who, when he couldn't beat me by age 12, decided it was a stupid game and never played me at it again.  Yeah, some Father/Son dynamics there.  Dad never had any sense of board strategy.  Hey, he was a engineer.  He wanted RULES to figure out, and strategy isn't about "rules".

But I owe him so much.  I know guys who can't drill a hole in a board because their dads didn't know how or never showed them.  But I do.  Yet he was better at it at 30 than I am now at 64.  Engineers study “perfection”.  I was a Political Science major and “What Works” was good enough. 

He hated the way I played golf.  He was methodical and I "went for it".  Golf course cards show straight lines to where par shots should go.  He lived by those lines.  I didn’t.  Sometimes MY ball went into the deep woods, but sometimes I could slice a 5 iron 200 yards and it landed on the sweet spot of the green while he did his usual methodical single-digit handicap round.   Drove him crazy...  But in 1988, I had the hot round of my life in the rain, and we won his Club's Member/Guest tournament.  Proud moment for us both.  Literally, “different strokes for different folks”, LOL!  Also the last time we ever played golf together.  He couldn't stop trying to "improve" my game (make it like his) and I was done letting him try.

I'll never be an engineer like Dad.  But he taught me enough that there is darn near nothing I'm afraid to try.  There's a fence surrounding the whole back yard, a 2 layer deck, and a toolshed (among other stuff) to prove that.  And he taught me a basic rule.  "If you need a hole in the ground, you dig one".  Which means, do what needs to be done, and sometimes plain hard work is important and pays off.

He taught me how to hunt.  I don't anymore for personal reasons, but I know how to.  Because of Dad, I can follow a trail of faint drips of blood every few yards through the woods.  If things went bad, I would not starve.  But there is more to the hunting story.  When I was 15, Dad decided that shooting deer with guns was “just too easy”.  So we (Dad, Me, and Matt) took up using bows.  I wasn’t really good with a bow (can’t recall about about Matt and I apologize for that). 

They say you practice something 10,000 times and you get good at it.  Dad did, I didn’t.  Hey, I was having more fun playing football with friends.  But he had an advantage.  In 1966, he was 44; I was 16.  He used a 60 LB bow with a 30” draw.  I could only use a 45 LB draw bow at 26”.  At 16, I was smaller and weaker than he was.  He was 5’10” and 170 pounds, I was 5’4” and 125.  Stronger bow and longer draw makes the arrow trajectory flatter and faster (meaning way easier to aim).  He could hit a 10” paper plate 80% of the time and didn’t miss the other 20% by much.  I was lucky to get 30%.  But I was game and decent in the woods (Matt was better in nature).  But it was also because he just practiced more.

Dad could always get a deer the first time we went out.  But I did have a talent and there were raised stands at some places we hunted.  I could stand silently for hours.  I did well on those.  One spot where I stood in the rain all morning, a single deer came by right under the stand.  I almost (REALLY) jumped on it from above holding a arrow to spear it.  I still regret I didn’t.  It would have been a family story for 2 generations.  But I shot straight down and it drove the deer to the ground.

And it got up and ran away and we never found it.  I was shocked, and so was Dad.  And while searching for it, I lifted a leg over a fallen tree and stabbed my self deeply on my very sharp 3 bladed hunting arrow head.  End of hunting for that year.

The next year, I was hunting with a friend of Dad’s, had a long shot at a doe, hit her right in the heart and she dropped like a rock.

But this is not about me.  I’m telling you that so I can tell you this about Dad.  When Dad decided we should start bow hunting, he went all the way.  Well, almost, we didn’t make our own bows.  But we made our bowstrings and arrows.  And Dad designed and built stuff to do that from scratch.  He made an adjustable bowstring maker with knobs to twist the bowstrings in 2 directions, a metal spool holder to twist heavy thread around the bowstring at the nocking point, a cutter template for making leather bowstring silencers, a gadget to attach feathers in a very slightly curved arc around the arrow, and even a heated metal wire to burn off excess feathers down to an aerodynamically perfect shape.  I came up with the idea of heating arrow nocks in hot water then squeezing them on a popsicle stick so that they barely held on to the bowstring but released easily. 

Yeah, there’s a “like father like son” thing going on too.  But the point is, he created ideas in his mind and then just casually went and BUILT them. I have to work HARD to do that, and I don't do it as well.

I recall Mom saying a few times that Dad endeared himself to her parents.  He would visit for a date and would spend an hour just “fixing things around the house “.  Bad light switch, radio antenna, leaky basement pipe, etc.  Drove her crazy at first, and apparently they arrived at movies and dances late sometimes.  And while impressing “the parents” is not the usual way to win a woman’s love, it WAS “some guy who was not her Dad or my brothers”, and seems to have worked.

And there was some religion involved.  Mom’s family was ferociously French Catholic.  As she used to say she was taught “If you were BAD, you went to Hell.  If you were worse, you became a Protestant"  But she didn’t like that idea very much and Dad was a Protestant (of no particular group – I think his Mom was a Quaker).

So in spite of the fact that her parents liked Dad a Whole Lot, they threw her out of the church for marrying a Protestant.  And amazingly, they were happy all their lives in spite of that.  And I mean, as close as I can tell as a child living at home, and as an adult afterwards, they were happier together than any 2 people I have ever met.  Things worked out VERY well...

One thing I can say for sure; I wouldn't be the person I am today without both of them...

So ends the story of Burdell Dodd Spencer and Doris Ursula Beaulieu, loving husband and wife for 61 years, both now gone from this world forever.  Unusual and special people both.  Their descendents remain to have our own stories, but we will never be them.
 

Dad

Well, Dad died this morning.  Technically, it was kidney failure, but at age 92, there wasn't much that WAS working.  He was basically comatose for the past week, but before that he had expressed a desire that all the difficulties "would just end"...

I wrote an obituary a couple days ago, but those are so incomplete.  I will summarize his life a bit more tomorrow.  We kids are sad that both Mom and Dad are gone now, but neither death was a surprise and my family has never been big on serious mourning.  Tomorrow, we will get on with the rest of OUR lives.

Dad's Birthday

Dad is 92 today.  He doesn't know it (he thinks he is over a 100 now).  I'm pretty sure he doesn't know who *I* am most times.  I sent him a hand made card.  And a letter.  About all I can do these days.

He moved in with me 2 years ago.  I was able to take care of him for a year.  It was good in some ways, not so good in others, but I did what I could.  It was the first time I took care of another person in that way.

I got used to making traditional meals (separate meats and standard vegetables every day precisely at 6 pm and sandwiches at Noon).  Going to bed at traditional times.  Watching traditional TV.  We watched more of his favorite old 1960's TV shows than I knew were available.  And he complained about THOSE!

It was horrible...  But it was only a year.  Still, it was a loooooong year.  I'm glad I did it.  Its the kind of thing you only have to do once (and should) and once is enough.  I wouldn't want to do it again though.  I hope you understand.

Dad was not too bad at first, but fell apart fast.  The first month, he could walk around the yard looking at the flowers and the garden.  The last month, he saw "things" in the yard and people wandering around in it and he wasn't sure where he was.  I know that, sometimes, he wasn't sure who *I* was. 

Today he is being cared for by professionals who guide him to his meals, get him in front of a TV, change his 'depends' and probably do more things for him than I want to know about. 

Happy Birthday Dad, where ever you think you are and whatever you can remember...  I hope you think that Mom is in the next room and you will be talking to her soon.  I can only hope you have some good memory of the day...

Dad Update

I've been asked how my Dad is doing.  He is not real happy, but there isn't much I can do about it.  He lost the ability to take care of himself about 2 years ago when he turned 90.  Some of you may remember that I had to fly down from MD to FL to retrieve him from a rehab hospital where he had been held for a month due to doctor-judged incapacity.

I and my brother got him up to my house where I took care of him for a year as he gradually became less able to manage daily affairs even with my help.  Last April, my sister found a good assisted-living facility near her where she and my brother and assorted nieces could visit him regularly.

We got him to sell the FL house Fall of 2012 and 2 condo investments he had in NH this past January.  They were decent investments, but he kept saying he should move to one of them, so we had to get them out of his thoughts.  He doesn't recall either of those places anymore, so that is something less for him to worry about.

Dad gets regular visits from local family.  I hate to drive, so I mostly write letters every few weeks telling him things I am doing.  He likes to read about "accomplishments", as he was a very dedicated D-I-Y type himself (more than I will ever be).

I get the impression that he his generally happy except after family visits.  I know that sounds a bit of a contradiction from above, but it's timing.  Left alone, he is generally OK, mostly complaining he doesn't get to watch all the Fox News political talk and Golf he wants.  Well, that's because there are more ladies there and they like to watch Soaps and Shopping Channel shows and they outnumber him.

We tried a TV in his room, but he can't manage the channels and mostly forgot it was even there.  So he sits quietly and watches whatever is on.  There are scheduled activities, but Dad was always bored by arts and crafts and socializing, so he retreats to his room.

I feel sad about it all.  He wishes his body would just give up and stop.  He's in better physical health than mental health.  Physically, he could live to a 100.  He can sometimes express a fear that he will start living physically without any self-awareness.  I understand that.  He can't do anything about it (personal decision).  By which I mean that *I* hope I can just crawl out on the deck some cold Winter's night and end it all when I think the time has come for ME.  But he doesnt think that way.

He isn't religious in the organized sense, but he does have a residual idea that deliberately ending his own life is somehow "wrong".  I don't agree, but I have been very careful not to say anything about that.  I don't want to influence him in any way.  He is confused enough about his life as it is.  I am not wise enough to give him advice about his last years, and he wouldn't pay any attention to my advice if I gave it to him (I'm just a "child" after all, so what could *I* know).

So I write letters to him that I suspect are barely read and little understood.  I avoid anything complex and (back to the top) about DIY things he might still understand in general and that might give him the reminder that I am DOING THINGS, hoping he likes that.

*sigh*

Bye Bye Dadio

Yesterday...

Well, my sister and BIL picked up Dad and all his stuff today. I had all his stuff packed.

Dad put on a warm shirt "because its cold out there".  It was 76 and humid...

BIL secures all the stuff.  We had to redo it because of Dad's rollercart.

Dad leaves the house ad Sister escorts Dad along the sidewalk.

Dad inspects the packing job and makes suggestions.

Dad finally gets in the car...

And then they all wave goodbye.  Dad waved behind the back window, but you can't see him.

And away they went...

I'm sad that that Dad is going to the final assisted living place.  So is he.  But he beat the odds, you know?  Not everyone reaches 91. He is proud of that, and I understand.  If I live another 28 years, I'll be his age.  I see my future in his stay with me.

Dad and I hugged before he got in the car.  We cried a bit.  Well, it was a serious year he stayed here, and I will never forget it.  But he knows what his future is, and so do I.

He is suffering dementia, but he's not stupid.  He KNOWS he doesn't understand things well anymore.  He KNOWS he forgets things.  Deep in his mind, he knows that things he thinks happen aren't accurate.  He's said so, he's talked of it.  As crazy and frustrating our discussions were at times, I understand how desperately he was trying to hang on to reality.  And I know that he appreciates that I was trying to help him there.  He said so, and I'm going to believe it.  For the rest of my life...

The last moments we were together alone, he thanked me for taking such good care of him the past "couple months".  Well, it was 11 months, but it wasn't a time to quibble.  I know he meant "a long time".  Sons and Fathers sometimes get awkward speaking to each other.

The assisted living facility is where he won't be challenged about time and accuracy of memories (which I did far too often).  They will know how to speak to him in only the present tense and avoid all the inconvenient discussions of the past that I could not avoid at times.

In the past year, I learned some things about his life that I never really knew before.  He did more civilian stuff in WWII than I realized.  Like building ships.  He had a patent on a gadget once.  He was a real mechanical engineer.  I knew some of that vaguely. but in our times, Dads didn't really bother to explain their careers to the kids.  That is precious.  He may have learned a few things about me, too.  Like I "know science stuff", that I'm a (sort of) writer (he read a couple short stories I got published in a semi-vanity press and said "your mother said you wrote good stuff, but I had never read them before (meaning that he didn't care for it himself, but was impressed I wrote it) and that was good enough for me.  He has admired all the daffodils he saw this last month that I planted in past years.  He was never here at this time of year before.  He said, "you care about beauty, like your Mom".

And he said he was surprised I like Escher prints (4 hanging on the walls the whole year).  Very "engineerish" he said.

I think it was all a final compliment as he left.  Things he never said to me before.  At 62, I don't really need validation. But I don't mind it either.  You probably can't ever not like validation from your Dad.

He will be a "resident", not a parent, at the assisted living facility.  Someone they will care for and not challenge sometimes in frustration as I sometimes did.  They will not care about (or know about) the parent/child dynamics.  And that will be good for him.  Dad will end his days only around people  like him to talk to and a staff dedicated to just taking care of him. 

And now I have to figure out what to do with this blog...

Vote for the best thing...

1.  Keep talking about Dad (what little I learn).
2.  Get back to the pre-Dad yardwork and house projects.
3.  Get WAY back and become a liberal political pest.

Moving Day Minus One

 Oops, this was supposed to be posted yesterday.  So pretend it was and I'll put up today's post tomorrow...

It felt strange packing up Dad's stuff today.  It wasn't that there was all that much (there wasn't - he came up here with what fit in a sedan and he is leaving with less), it was the act of preparing to have him leave tomorrow.

I'm a bit torn about the whole thing.  Sometimes he refers to me "kicking him out", which is not very nice.  But I understand that he would very much prefer to remain in a regular house with a family member.  Moving in with a bunch of strangers has to be scary.

At the same time, he generally understands that he needs more professional care (if not today, then soon).  Sometimes I too wish that I could take care of him for longer (to delay this inevitable final move).  But I can tell that I can't take care of him much longer without turning myself into a full time nurse and I don't have the training or experience to do it much longer anyway.  Heck, I can't even simply pick him up when he falls.

I'm not feeling exactly guilty.  Indeed, I will be relieved to be free of the responsibility.  I will be relieved to not have to be around the house as much as possible, to not have to explain why I am leaving it and for how long and why.  I will enjoy being able to just go outside without worrying he will fall and hurt himself while I'm out.

I am relieved that he is taking this change in his life as well as he is.  When I first talked to him about assisted-care living, he said he didn't think I could make him leave.  I envisioned having to nearly carry him to the car and driving him away screaming he was being kidnapped (as he nearly did when my brother and I moved him from FL to here).  At least now, he seems quietly resigned to the necessity of the move.  He also understands that this move will eventually end in hospice care at the "end".

But it will feel odd not to have him here.  I'll have to re-learn my old habits.  I'll be eating WHEN I feel like it, eating WHAT I feel like, going out WHEN I want, staying up as LATE as I feel like, getting up WHEN I feel like, etc.  I may even start playing golf and going fishing again.  I didn't do those last things the year before he arrived, but for the last year I felt like I couldn't, which is a big difference.

I will focus on the thoughts that he will have better personal care and more companionship.  I will focus on the thought that, after a couple of weeks, he will actually be happier in assisted care (something I have been told by many to be "almost universally" true.  I will focus on the thought that, after a month or so, he will forget he was ever here (his memory of his place in FL was gone after only 3 months and his memory is much worse now).  Very soon, his memories will be only day-to-day and of events decades ago.  His recent past will just be absent.

There is most of the family nearby where he is moving.  I will probably visit every month.  The day he doesn't remember who I am, I will stop visiting.  I won't be visiting for my benefit. I don't have to see him to love him as my Dad.

He will eventually forget being here and who I am.  But I will remember this past year...

A Place For Dad

Well, I got word today that the assisted living facility (ALF) will have a room for Dad April 18th.  I don't plan to think of "why" so suddenly; sad things happen.

I'm suddenly busy with making plans for next week.  And Dr appointments...  I'm glad I got Dad to a dentist this week; one thing out of the way.  And I got Dad to the eye Dr today; it turns out his cheap drugstore glasses are just fine for his needs and he has no other vision problems.

I need to get Dad to his geriatric internist Dr ASAP for the ALF medical evaluation and will call for an appointment tomorrow.  They can usually arrange an appointment in 2-3 days, so that's OK.

The difficult plans are getting Dad, his personal stuff, and bed to the ALF (near the rest of the family and about 90 miles from here.  I suggested 4 plans to my sister and am waiting for her thoughts on them.  All plans involve a family member driving down here and only one doesn't involve me driving up there.  I hope she likes the one where I don't do any driving.  LOL!

It is all a bit more sudden than I expected.  But if it all works out, I will sure be relieved.  I know that doesn't sound very kind, but I'm a bit worn out.  Even Dad says he feels bad about how much work I do to take care of him.

I won't say I'm "happy" to do it all, but I'm "willing".  I'm sure you understand the difference. 

When I retired from office work in 2006, I came home and told the cats "I'm here, forever, and I'm yours".  I felt complete freedom to just live "my way".

When Dad leaves here in bout a week, I will feel much the same way.  It's been a hard year, and it was an important experience in my life.  I would have gladly skipped the experience, but I'm sure you know what I mean. 

I'm going to speak some truth here.  I won't miss his daily presence.  He has been a demanding "guest" for 11 months.  I was perfectly happy with him living down in FL, and I will be perfectly happy with him living in the ALF for the rest of his days.  I don't have to see my family every day in order to love and care about them.

If Dad had been 10 years younger when he moved in with me, things would have been different.  We could have talked, shared some experiences, etc.  But that was not the case (and he wouldn't have moved in with me 10 years ago).  Every time for the past 4 months, I have regretted each conversation beyond "its dinnertime, go to the table".  His mental confusion has driven me nearly crazy.  Any accidental reference I made for months has caused a long, confused explanation that left me mentally exhausted.  It's not his fault, it's mine.  I should have learned what to talk to Dad about.  Meals, weather, golf channel, etc.  I talk too much when someone else is around.

But the move is about set.  I could make a joke about "the long national nightmare is over" (Ford about Nixon), but that's not really true.  I know how frustrated Dad is about is inabilities.  I know how angry he feels at himself when he can't find words (and I try to comfort him about that).  I know how frustrated he is when he can't walk easily.  I have learned how much he struggles to maintain his personal life and do what he needs to do on his own.

When I watch Dad, I see my own future.  I understand that a day will come in a future decade when I am in his shoes.  While I have a vague plan to "check out" just before I get to Dad's condition, I also realize I might not remember those plans at the right time.  Life is complicated and death is more complicated.

I will miss Dad, in a way.  This has been an intensely "togetherness" year.  But I will be gladder to get my life back.  And it will start in about a week.  I'm not doing cartwheels though the yard, but I will be relieved.

A Bump On The Road

Sometimes it seems the universe wants to throw boards onto the bike path.  The room that we were told would become available, will not be.  We didn't know the details, of course, but it seems the family got VA benefits to keep their elder at the assisted living house.

Now, the next room available will probably be from someone who is at hospice care level.  Hospice care is not long-term, of course, and the room might even come available sooner.

None of us want to see any elder taken out of assisted living care from lack of funds, and we sure don't want someone's loved one to die conveniently just to make a room available.  We will simply wait for the wheel of life to turn naturally and offer space for OUR Dad.  Meanwhile, I will "keep on keeping on" and hope Dad has good days until space at this good place is available.

I am going to decline the respite care available locally if I can.  I don't want Dad to have to move twice.  Once will be hard enough.  I can keep answering the same questions each day, the new weird questions, and the daily food difficulties (while at the same time hoping he does not get suddenly worse).

Tonight, Dad suddenly couldn't cut his chicken thigh (a favorite food).  Well, all meat has been becoming a problem.  He wiggles his knife 1/16th" and the meat moves that far too, so no cutting occurs.  He blames the meat or the knife of course.  I asked if he wanted help and he said that I couldn't possibly cut it either because it was so tough.

Well, he can't make full cutting strokes, but he was trying to cut through the bone!  I took care of it, "zip, zip, zip" and he was amazed.  I just said "Long knife-strokes, Dad" (as I've said almost every night for months).  I will take of that for all future meals.  I can get de-boned chicken thighs and serve more meals that don't require knife-work.

He does better with pork stew (roasted Boston Butt cubed up with diced potato/carrots/beans/onion and a flour-thickened herb sauce), peeled shrimp, Italian sausage smothered is slow-cooked red and green bell peppers or spaghetti with commercial meatballs (simmer crushed canned tomatoes with crushed garlic, italian seasoning, and minced onions with the meatballs for 30 minutes.  Commercial sauce has way too much sugar and salt).  No bones, and the meat is either pre-cut or easy to cut (like the sausage).  I slit the sausage down the side and remove the casing.  I've learned to make chicken breast strips (called "chicken fingers" locally) here with dipping sauces too (but Dad thinks he is supposed to eat the sauces with a spoon.

A smile:  Dad is so used to being "cheap" that a drop of sauce is all he wants...  I am so used to making grand meals ("Sunday Dinner" every day) that I hardly think twice about the effort.  That part of Dad's support is nearly invisible to me.  It really doesn't take much effort to make a sauce for two as for one.  I eat spaghetti for the tomato sauce*; Dad wants just a spoonful of ANY sauce.  Cooking for someone else is weird,

But I've learned to stop worrying HOW he eats his food (which used to drive me nuts).  If he thinks the pork stew is soup, that's fine.  If he thinks the dipping sauces are "side dishes", that's fine.  If he wants to scrape the wine/horseradish topping off his beef and put it in his salad, that's fine (as long as he eats the salad).  But I don't want to watch, LOL!  The important thing is that it all gets inside him.  But he eats his meals at a dining table (very traditionally) and I eat on a TV tray while watching science/nature DVDs (about my only TV viewing). 

OK, this has gone from Dad moving out to food.  That's OK, I love food (and at 5'7" and 163 pounds, I'm not too worried about it.  What I DO demand of my food is that it be varied and healthy.  Without ever intending to follow a diet, I find that I am close to "Paleo Diet".  Some meat, lots of non-grain veggies, not much sugar, and plenty of fruit.  I can actually eat "one potato chip" and I have one small piece of chocolate after a meal.  Good quality chocolate, though, LOL!

To connect this back to Dad though, he has to have a standard dessert, and large.  Big bowl of ice cream, a few chocolate chip cookies, I don't worry about it.  I try to get him to eat fresh fruit, buts that's actually more for the water (he avoids water).

We'll get by for the next month or so until there is a room at the assisted living facility that seems best-suited for him.  Waiting an extra month for "the best place he will spent the rest of his life" is survivable with an end to his time here in sight.

Do I want him to be out of here?  Yes.  Do I want my regular life back?  Yes.  Who wouldn't?  But I can keep going for now, and that's the important thing.  It's duty, responsibility, and respect for now.

Would I talk to him often if he was just my next-door neighbor?  Probably not.  He was an obnoxious pain decades ago.  His golf partners used to roll their eyes at the things he said.  At times, he could make Rush Limbaugh seem liberal.  But now is not the time to try to teach him anything.

My job now is to manage his "end of life" issues.

*  I once dated an ethnically Italian girl and at my first dinner there, they offered me the sauce first. I botched it by pouring a load of sauce on my pasta.  The relationship didn't last (for other reasons).  Interestingly,  a co-worker told me about HER first meal with an Italian family and SHE knew not to use much tomato sauce.  I would blame my parents for not teaching me such fine details, but they came from big sauce families.  ;)

"Laugh at the world; it won't care".

Mark

One Month

And so much to do.  Dr appointment for TB test and filling out the medical evaluation form for the assisted living house, dentist appointment for 2 bad teeth (that I didn't know about before a  month ago), eye doctor appointment for "real" reading glasses to replace those drug store magnifiers I discovered he has.  Clothes that fit.  He has been wearing 34/30 and he NEEDS 36 or 38/26.  And he really needs suspenders; belts are too complicated for him.

Its my fault, I let Dad decide what he needed  It seemed right at the time.  But I am correcting some mistakes as he moves out of my life.  I just wish I had been more forceful months ago...

And Today

Today, Dad is fighting the move.  The bedroom will be too small, he won't like the food, he will be a minority, the staff won't be friendly, etc.  I will have him talk tomorrow to my sister who chose the place.

But it won't relieve his fears entirely.  He fears the change, and I understand that.  He is happy here.  Too happy.  I attend to his every needs.  What he doesn't really understand is that his needs are growing greater each month.

He doesn't realize that he is reducing his routine every week,  He used to watch any of 5 channels, now he he wants only 2.  His food preferences are diminishing.  He is struggling to get to the bathroom "on time".  He talks bizarrely, but he doesn't realize it. 

Last night, he said that being in an ALF (assisted living facility) in a town 10 miles away from other family was good because he "could bicycle or walk to visit them".  It doesn't get much crazier than that.  He couldn't "bicycle" away from a starving crippled alligator.

And he thinks the move is "too complicated".  OK, it isn't.  My brother and sister will drive down here and my brother will transport the bedroom furniture in his truck and sister will transport Dad.  He can't understand how simple that is to us.

He thinks none of us understand his investments.  I have been filing his investment papers for a year and arranged for his income taxes twice now.   I know them by heart better than he does.  He insists I can't possibly know "that stuff".  Well, of course I do.  10 years ago, he did too.  But not now.

This is going to be harder than I thought. 

I am reluctant to have him visit the place.  Yes, he might think it wonderful. But he is more likely to find trivial faults.

So, drive him 2 hours up to visit the place and 2 hours back, or not?  Pros and cons... 

The Decision

Well, the decision has been made.  An assisted living facility (ALF) has been chosen, I have forms to fill out, Dr appointments to make, etc.  The family has found a good place near most of them (out of my area).  Entry is available May 1st.

I am sad about all of this, of course, but relieved as well.  Dad needs more attention and care than I can continue to give without slipping into martyrdom.

There are so many things to plan. 

That doesn't mean that the several conversations with Dad were easy; they wern't.  But it does mean that HE accepts that he is going to need more physical assistance soon than I can provide.  I discussed that the precise costs depended on the level of care he needed and he asked what those were.  Oh thanks for smooth tranisitions and killer arguments...  When I said that the monthly care costs depended on whether someone could dress, bathe and use the bathroom themselves vs someone who couldn't, he blurted out "but pretty soon I'LL need that help"! 

And then he realized he was needing assisted living care soon.  I discussed waiting lists and the benefits of being where there was proffessional assistance just BEFORE he needed it.  He accepted that he needed to go to an ALF.

There are many more family members where he will be moving to than there are here (just me here and 6 where he is going).

He hasn't given up the struggle.  He raises trivial arguments.  It will be so complicated to move (no), he has so many billing addresses to change (no).  He needs to approve the bedroom (well, no, but only because its better than the one here).

He says he trusts my sister's judgement on the place (except he doesn't really).  He is afraid of something that I haven't gotten him to talk about yet.  We will discuss this again in the early afternoon when he is most alert.

My main purpose is to keep his focus on the positive aspects of moving to a good ALF.  The longer it goes with him accepting that he will be moving, the better it will be.

There will be some more awkward conversations the next few days, but every day without him saying "no" will be a good one.

Assisted Living Facilities

I researched local assisted living facilities and eliminated most of them as places Dad wouldn't like.  Some were for active seniors, lots of visits to the shopping malls and bingo games.  Others were holistic medications or foods Dad does not like.

I narrowed it down to 2.  The one I visited today was a very professional place.  The one I will visit tomorrow is a small group home.  The place today seems perfect.  A personal bedroom/bathroom and community TV rooms, dining rooms, activity rooms, etc.  Seriously good onsite health care, transport to local Dr of choice, individual meals at common eating areas, groups living/TV rooms.

Own rooms ranging from 2 in a space to 2 full bedroom apartments.  Friendly caring staff, medical assistants onsite 24/7, etc.  They can easily move Dad from assisted living to the dementia living area when the time comes.I think this is the place.

I saw the staff checking on the residents in the commom TV room area about how they were doing and did they want any snacks, etc.  The staff seemed pleased to be there.  No hulking guys to force anyone around.

Personal attention to meal preferences and not just for medical reasons.  If a resident prefers chicken and pork chops most meals, that's what they get.   Preffered snacks too.  Good medical staff, onsite barber, room-cleaning, laundry, etc included.

Plenty of friendly residents to sit and watch TV with...

Large enough so that there is generally a new place available each month, so no waiting list. and no fee for being on one.

They go by personal Dr intructions (resident's Drs, not staff Drs). individual for each resident.

I think it is perfect for Dad.  I will bring Dad to visit there next week.  They will even give him a free haircut and he will like THAT!

I still feel guilty just planning this.  Like I'm planning to kick him out of the house.  The Morningside House Manager said that was a normal feeling (and I do know that).  But it still feels like kicking him out.  I know, I know.  I'm doing the best I can for him.  He has reached the point where he needs more personal care than I can give, and that's the deciding point.

One nice thing is that the Morningside House is right next to the Safeway I shop at.    That means that I can visit Dad each week and then do my food shopping.  Sounds almost trivial, but having a reason to be RIGHT THERE each week sure makes it part of a routine to visit regularly.  And I can bring him treats from the Safeway.

I doubt that the smaller group house is going to impress me tomorrow.  But I will give them a fair visit.  It might have some advantages.  But I doubt it.

Problems, Problems, Problems

First, as always,  I never mean to compare my problems to those who have really SERIOUS problems.  I'm generally fortunate on the REALLY BIG PROBLEMS.  But problems are problems and I get to complain...

Dad fell again a week ago.  One finger was really sore.  He never tells me these things at first.  It was obvious a finger joint was out of place.  So I called his dr and asked what I should do (treatment obviously but I wasn't sure who to go to first).  He said to bring dad to him for a referral to the x-ray lab next door.    I never get the building right!  It is building 11345, and there is a small building between 11340 and 11350.  You would THINK that is 11345.  It isn't.

So I dropped Dad at the curb and parked the car 100 yards away.  When I got back I discovered my error and we had to walk across the enclosure street.  And the buildings on THAT side all have the entrances on the backside of the buildings (Is that dumb or what?). 

Walking is not one of Dad's good points these days, so we had to walk slowly.  A friendly passerby offerred assitance and helped.  When we got to the street-side of the building I thought we wanted, I saw a open door, so I brought Dad in there as a shortcut.  Someone in there got a wheelchair for Dad and brought us right to the front desk.  It was the xray lab! 

An assistant there offerred to go next door to the DR and get the referral.  I applaud such kind helpful people!  Dad got his fingers xrayed and we were told to go home and the DR would call us.

The DR called and said the finger was broken at the joint.  Not really serious, just put a popsicle stick on it as a splint with adhesive bandages for a month.  It could be taken off for bathing and reattached.

Good Old Dad decided it wasn't worth the bother and it would heal on its own.  I considered my options.  I could beat him senseless and apply the splint, but he could still take it off on his own.  I could drug him and epoxy a splint to his finger.  I could try to scare him into allowing the splint. 

I opted for trying to scare him into allowing the splint (less chance of me ending up in jail that way).  I mentioned immobility from the joint healing fused.  I suggested infection.  I suggested gangrene.  His response was that it didn't seen that bad and he might not live all that long anyway!

The finger is swollen and there are bruises.  He refuses to go visit the DR and I can't actually drag him that far.  I'll wait watchfully.

Then he fell out of bed last night and landed on the same hand.  First time THAT has happened!  I got him back into bed.  Then spent the next hour awake in my own bed thinking of how to build a bed rail that would keep him from falling out yet allow him to get up to go to the bathroom at night.

But the next morning, I needed to go grocery shopping.  No lunchmeat and few veggies. 

Remember I brought Iza and Ayla to the vet Tuesday?  Well, I forgot to close the back of the SUV after taking the carriers out.  The battery was dead!  No grocery shopping today...

I did that last year once and the battery wouldn't fully recharge after being jump-started from a boat battery.  I had to get a new one.  Minor cost, but an annoying process.  I HATE sitting around a repair shop (the dealership) for an hour or two while they do a 5 minute job.  So I tried recharging this baterry.  It got to 63% charged by dinnertime (after the repair shop was closed) and no further!  It's dead.  And tomorrow is SATURDAY, so they will be super-busy. 

I will call them to see if they can replace the battery fast, but I may just go to an auto store and leave the car running while I buy a replacement there.  THEN go grocery shopping. 

I thought of a couple bed rails I can set up tonight, and I'll do that.  Dad is frightened of rolling out of bed again.  I also found some nice ones I can buy online and have delivered in a few days.  Dad is contradictory about this.  Afraid of falling out of bed again, but not willing to allow the more professional bed rail to be purchased.

This MAY be the tipping point of getting him into assisted-living care.  But if he won't spend $80 on a convenient fold down bed rail, I doubt he will agree to $5,000/month for assisted living.  He would be happier in many ways in assisted living and he can afford it just on his monthly annuity, but he is SO CHEAP!  But seriously, he is getting to the point where I can't take care of him as well as professionals could. 

Its time I just TELL him that I am going to visit some local assisted living places and see how good they are.  And then DO it.  I know what he might accept (to the extent that he would accept anything).  A simple bedroom/bathroom unit with a kitchenette for snacks, a common TV room where other residents are there to watch TV with and idle chatter, and meals with others on schedule.

I went and checked the battery charger.  It was still on 63% after 5 hours.  I turned it off and tried the engine.  It started right up, so I drove it around for 30 minutes to give it a shot at recharging the battery fully from the engine.  Safely in the garage, I turned it on and off twice and it seemed to work fine.  I guess I'll just put the 2 boat batteries in the back for possible jump-starting and hope for the best.  I still don't trust that battery.

When I got back, I set up the temporary bed rail I thought about for Dad.  He griped and fussed that it wasn't perfect (while still fearing falling out AND STILL not wanting a commercial version).  He is impossible to please.  But that's not new; he's always been that way.

Neediness

Dad has become for needy of my physical presence lately.  It's not a new thing, but it has increased the past month.

He has previously been "lonely" if I do not sit with him in front of the TV, and sometimes he has suddenly walked around the house searching for me if he doesn't know where I am.  Its annoying.  Like the way a Mother can hardly go to the bathroom without toddlers banging on the door...

At least, with toddlers, you can expect them to grow out of it.  With an elder, you know it is only going to get worse.  It used to be that, if I got involved with yardwork or cleaning the basement, it would be a couple hours before Dad got worried about where I was.  I could always tell when I started hearing banging on the floor above going back and forth along the hall rapidly (for him).  So I would stop whatever I was doing and go upstairs to let him know I was around, remind him that I had told him I was working in the basement, and see if I could find him something interesting to watch on TV.

Then, I could return to what I was doing for a while with Dad at least remembering where I was in the house for another hour or two.

That time has shrunk to about 30 minutes.  I can't get away from him for very long.  Its not like I'm "hiding in the basement".  The gardening season is starting, and I am way behind in getting the place organized for the new season.  In previous years, I have kept the basement relatively organized; this past year, I have just not had the time.  It needed hours of cleanup and organization.  I have taken all the shortcuts I could since Dad arrived, and it caught up to me!

I've tried to do things an hour at a time, then spend enough time around Dad so that he knew I was there and go back to what I was doing in the basement.  I'm worn out...

The other problem that is getting worse is Dad expecting me to go do bed every night when he does.  He used to sometimes go to bed after me (and could turn off the lights and TV) .

And, BTW, I just did my 15 minutes of talking to Dad and "watching" his Fox News show, to comfort him with my presence.  I don't say that mockingly.  He needs a reminder of my presence to feel like he has not been abandoned.  Sometimes when I go out grocery-shopping, he is desperate for attention by the time I get back (about 1.5 hours from driving and shopping time).

I spent the last 30 years living by myself (with the various combinations of cats).  I LIKE living alone (with cats).  I used to just get up at 5 am, feed the cats, shower, dress, drive to meet my carpool, spend 9.5 hours at work, carpool back, drive home (after doing some brief grocery-shopping) by 6 pm.  I had 3, maybe 4 hours before I had to go to bed, and I spent a lot of the weekends sleeping.  I had to pack everything I wanted to do otherwise into those few weeknight and precious weekend hours.  Many of you do too.

I'm not used to accounting for my free time, in spite of so much more than I have now that I am retired.  But I was so happy with retired life and here is Dad dropped in...  I hate it.  I'm a responsible child, I always was (elder child syndrome).  I'm doing this because I "have" to.  I'm doing this because I should, I'm doing this because its "right", I'm doing this because because I was the right person to do it when the time came.  That doesn't mean I like it...

Well, yeah, few people like caring for an elder parent.  Its awkward, it changes the routine of life, it's difficult.  But am I right that MOST people who care for an elder parent are doing it with help from family?  A spouse, local children who visit, some old friends of the elder, your own friends who visit you and relate to the elder parent sometimes?

I don't.

I wish he really needed an "assisted-living facility".  He doesn't yet (by my unprofessional guess).  But I need him to need it. 

I live a rational, knowledgeable life.  I don't understand really what it means not to know how to do simple things like open curtains, flush a toilet, separate metal from compostable stuff in different containers,  read a simple 1099 tax document or a monthly bank statement, etc.  Answering the same questions about those things every single day is driving me nuts.  Sometimes, it is the same question 3 times in 15 minutes...

Nothing in my entire life has prepared me for this.

Dad Here

Well, it looks like I am stuck with Dad until he is utterly unable to be cared for by me.  Sister has been avoiding finding a place for him near her and I understand now that she REALLY does plan to leave the area when she retires in a year.  So it IS best that he be HERE or in a place nearby.

I was hoping to get out of this relationship, but I'm the only one he has left.

That realization is hard.  I don't hate him, but I don't like him much either.  And I don't say that because he is batty (though he is); its the day to day living that makes it hard.  I lived on my own for 30 years and the change is so hard.

When he watches Fox News, he thinks it is like the word of god.  He says "damn right" sometimes and I look at him with dropped jaw.  He really does think that most of the people in the US are "MOOCHERS"!  I pointed out to him that  Romney meant me and him because we get a Federal Govt retirement, and it just went right over his head...

Its going to be a really hard year or so before Father Time catches up with him...  But he is here and for his "long haul".

I'll try not to mention it often...