Moon Landing Day

55 years ago today...

My paternal grampa told me he felt so lucky with his life.  He said he experienced the first airplane flight (by news, not personally of course) and lived long enough to see humans land on the moon and return safely.  He was very impressed by that.

And that was from someone who experienced WWI, The Great Depression, and WWII...  I was only 19, so I did not properly understand the event at the time.  In my life at the time, scientific advancement was routine and success was assumed.  

Medicine was much advanced.  I suffered appendicitis at 18.  At my grampa's age, I probably would have died.  And I was vaccinated agains several serious diseases.  In college, I was using a computer data center to write code (on punch cards) in Fortran and COBOL.  I could drive the family car, which was relatively solid and safe (station wagons were the SUVs of the time).  Food was refrigerated, safe, and abundant.  We had TV and A/C.

At my age then, grampa had none of those things.  And I suppose grampa was impressed by those things too when I was 19.  But the moon landing seemed to impress him very greatly.  In spite of the negative events of his (somewhat difficult) life, he remained a fairly cheerful and positive person.  He saw the advancements more than the failings of the world.

He was an organic gardener.  "Garden" doesn't quite describe it.  It wasn't a residential garden like we are familiar with today, but neither was it a farm.  It was about 1/2 acre, which he attended to happily when he wasn't building stuff in his large workshop.  I followed in his organic gardening habits and wood-working because of him (though on a much smaller scale.

And I don't want to leave gramma out.  She cooked wonderfully (Pennsylvania Deutch style).  When we visited, I would sit on the porch with her de-stringing beans and de-silking corn, helping in the kitchen too.  When I'm not strir-frying, I'm cooking basically like she did but with a a bit less frying.  "Like", not remotely as well (I still can't make a decent dumpling)...

But I mention her because she was fascinated by "outer space".  When we landed on the moon, she told me that if we could go "out there", then some other intelligent species could come "down here".  And she trusted the advancement of intelligent species.  She said that if a spaceship landed here, she would volunteer to go aboard.

So for both of them (and for general reasons), I wanted to honor this day...

Pearl Harbor Day

 I'm old, but not so old that I was around on Pearl Harbor Day.  But it WAS "recent history" to me as I grew up.  And as I get older, events like that start to become "past history".  But I do not forget.

The war in the Pacific was brutal.  I had an uncle who fought there (Air Force).  Family lore says he dropped a bomb into a Japanese Destroyer's smokestack ship and blew it up.  The land forces had it harder.  

And I know history.  I know the Japanese actually tried to "declare war" officially preceding the attack but failed  because of translation issues.  And actually, the US fired the first shot on a mini-sub.  Weird stuff happens.

It was an utterly evil and brutish war, similar to the Nazis and Soviets at Moscow.  As US General Sherman once said "War is all Hell".

I don't forget Pearl Harbor.  But sometimes out of chaos comes peace.  The Japanese changed their views to the world.  They, former Nazi Germany, and former Facist Italy are now democracies and allies.  History is weird sometimes.  

The world continues...  But memories linger.  War IS "all Hell".

In Issac Asimov's 'Foundation' books, one character says something like "Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent".  In real history, someone (Bismark?) said war is "the failure of politics".

So I am remembering today as a "failure of politics" that came from a series of historical developments that lead led to utter horror and butchery.  

Still, I cry today the the loss of life...

Iza Burial

Part of the reason for this blog is to opine on various subjects and part is to just document my life.  And some of that involves sad events.  That can sometimes be disturbing to my readers and friends.

This is Iza's burial event.  So be aware there are some pictures that can upset gentle souls...

I mentioned previously having to wait to dig the hole due to a knee problem that flares up now and then.  And after that, I had difficulty with the hard clay soil under the 6 inches of topsoil that has built up in the flowerbed over the years.  Filling the shallow hole with water each of several days helped, and I finally got through the clay to sandy loam beneath, and the full 2' deep was easier.

First, I placed a blue towel on the bottom.  She always looked good on blue.

Then I placed Iza's body on the towel.

She loved to rip the skin off her rattley mousies (I sure bought a LOT of them during her life)  and I scattered most of them around her.  I saved a few as remembrances for me.  I also added 1 brand new one.

I will leave out filling the hole...

I placed her marker over the spot.

Iza has now joined the original Mews, Skeeter and LC.

And 2 pictures of her memorial marker, in place...

With the shrub behind them cut down, I plan to place a large sheet of heavy-duty corrugated cardboard under the markers and covering the area where the shrub was to prevent weeds and shrub roots sending up new shoots.

By the time the cardboard decays in 2 or 3 years, the area will be weed-free and I will plant some nice non-spreading weed-smothering perennial flowers behind the markers and place a narrow strip of plywood under the markers to keep the markers weed-free.

The Proper Place For a Deceased Cat

The proper place for a deceased cat should be a place of beauty because cats are nearly the definition of beauty.  And grace, agility, and movement.

The proper place for a deceased cat should a place it enjoyed in life because cats are almost the definition of knowing where they look their best and they know thos locations.

The proper place for a deceased cat should a place you look at frequently in the normal course of your life, because cats deserve to be remembered.

The proper place for a deceased cat should be a place you will maintain free of weeds and briars and invasive plants so that their final spot will not be lost.

The proper place for a deceased cat should have a decent marker.  They deserve it, and making (or buying) one is a final act of love and respect.

The proper place for a deceased cat should be in a sunny spot.  They adore sun.  They won't know it is sunny (maybe), but you will, and that will comfort you.

The proper place for a deceased cat should include gravegoods in honor of what they most loved in life.  Some treats, some Nip, a couple of toys.  Add anything you think is good.

The proper place for a deceased cat should include a bit of ceremony.  When the last shovelful of Earth's is added and tapped down (gently of course, cat's don't like loud sounds), play a bit of soft music, sit by the spot and contemplate the individuality of that cat.

The cat who shared space with you for a few or many years deserves time for you to recall its habits, likes and dislikes, loves and fears, and how it adjusted to you as you adjusted to it.  It was a living, thinking creature.

Cats are still essentially feral animals.  Yet they adjust to our world, come to adopt us as we adopt them, accept most of our household rules and get along so gently.

The last thing we do is remember them after they have gone OTB.  So do it well...

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"...

Baseball

I love baseball.  I understand it.  You hit, field, catch, pitch.  You stand around and watch a lot. 

I tried other sports.  As soon as I reached minimal competence, I was bored.  In some I was simple unable. 

The minimal competence ones were tennis, golf, and soccer.  The unable ones were basketball, football, and rugby.  At 5' 7" and 135 pounds out of high school,  I was too short for basketball, too light for football, and I never figured out the "scrum" in rugby. 

I could play tennis a bit.  It was basically ping-pong on a larger field.  And the phy ed teacher had us doing some skill exercizes of bounces the ball first on one side of the racket then the other.  When he saw me bouncing the tennis ball on the edge of the racket, he dragged me off to more detailed play.  But I never could serve the ball hard or accurately, so off I went. 

Golf was similar.  I could hit the ball, and putt well enough, but I actually got worse the more THEY tried to teach me.  Went from a soft hook to a wicked slice under high school coach "help". 

But baseball always made sense to me.  And I mention all this only because I just finished re-watching Ken Burns' PBS Baseball series.

I started off bad! 

The pictures there are fake.  Well, "posed".  Truth be told, I kept my bat on my shoulder in play and the one time I recall swinging, I hit it just over 2nd base.  Dad cheered that I finally got a hit.  I usually got a walk though and was a demon on the base paths.  I stole 2nd base a lot.  But my team was so bad I seldom got any further. 

I was a good 2nd baseman.  I knew how to drop on any ball near me and get it to first base.

I even got an unassisted triple play once!  I jumped up high to catch a line drive,  touched 2nd base to catch the runner going to 3rd thinking it was a hit, and tagged the kid running from 1st to 2nd who also thought it had gone into the outfield.  My high point in little league.  Also my last year playing because the pitchers got much better and I couldn't even get walks.

And I tell you that to tell you THIS:

I got a lot better years later after college.  I had a temp Summer job with the navy and they had a softball team needing "anyone" and I became catcher.  Not much of a respected position in softball, but hey, I was on the team.  I there I was among big tall strong navy guys.

But I discovered I could hit the ball!  Pretty much anywhere I wanted...  I had completely changed from 12 to 22!  I became a fearless swinger.  My specialty was hitting between 1st and 2nd basemen, but when they shifted for that, I just hit between 3rd and shortstop.  And when they pulled the shortfielder (there were 10 players in that league), I just stepped into the plate and hit it over the right-fielder.  The right-fielder was always the worst player on any team...

What mattered to ME was that it DIDN'T matter that I was smaller than the navy guys because I could hit the ball wherever I needed to.

So all this is going through my mind while I watched 'Baseball' on DVD.  And there comes some celebrity saying that every fan thought they could do as well.  The difference in hitting between pros and "wannabees" was really only about 40'.

And then they showed close-ups of the pro hitters.  Their arms looked like my legs!  Only with more muscles.  LOL!

I'm sure glad I went to college and got a degree in something that demanded I "think" instead of "hit"...

To this day, I am "competent" at nearly anything sportswise, but not "good" at anything in particular.  And I'm satisfied with THAT!  So, don't worry, nothing profound here, I'm justunspooling some memories I guess.

You ever do that?

Remembering John F Kennedy

I spent all of Friday watching specials on TV.  And I was still too worked up to write yesterday.  On this 50th anniversary of his assassination, maybe I'm ready...  I'll try...

I was 13 when JFK was killed in Dallas.  Home life was good, private life was good (as good as it could be for a 13 yer old boy trying to "figure out things").

But, as they say, everyone of a certain age remembers that day. I do too, generally.

But what struck me as I watched the various TV shows detailing the events, I do not remember them as accurately as I thought.  Over 50 years, some recollections are just plain wrong and some are "iffy" at best.

The major details are accurate, the ones we all know from history.  Date, time, place, shooter, etc.  But my specific personal recollections are in doubt.  Things that I thought were factual, aren't (and I'm not talking about conspiracy theories here.

I have the clearest recollection of looking at the school "public address" (PA) box at the top of the cinder block wall above the teacher suddenly announcing that the President had been shot and killed in Dallas Texas.  The PA box was light wood colored, square with rounded corners, black cloth behind a open wooden grid.  It was angled slightly downward.  We were told that those of us who walked or rode our bikes to school should immediately return home.  Those who took busses should line up at our usual spots and wait for the buses to arrive.

I rode a bike to school, so I went straight home. 

And yet, my memory has the time and location wrong in some way.  In November 1963, I lived in Maryland.  When my memory looks out the classroom windows when I hear the announcement, I am seeing the previous year-before Virginia school I attended then (we moved around every few years).  I can't have been in Virginia in November 1963.

And the time is wrong.  My memory says we got the announcement just after lunch, about 12:30.  That was Eastern Time.  That isn't possible.  JFK died at 1 PM Central Time, 2 PM Eastern Time.  It took a while to get the news spread, and the school administrators could not have reacted immediately  (needing to arrange buses, plan students leaving, etc).  It had to be at least 3 PM before the announcement came over the PA system.

That's a shock to my memory.  Wrong place, wrong time.

The other memory problem is that I recall being at my grandparants house watching the funerial ceremonies for several days.  The memories are VERY clear.  My gramma was crying, my grampa was watching intently (but not crying), my dad was not very interested (at least not watching the small TV).

But wait, how did I get from Maryland to New England?  I'm not sure I was really there.  Would my parents have taken me out of school to go watch the funeral services in New England?  That was a very serious trip in 1963!  But the personal memories are SO strong.  Maybe we did go to New England for family grieving.  But how can I know?

Gramma and Grampa are long gone, Mom is dead, Dad can't remember where he lived last year.  I'm the eldest child; my younger siblings can't know (at 11 and 7).  Its not like there are any records I can check now.  My parents never kept a journal of events.  The only thing I have are old photographs and no photos I have show anything about that time at home or on travel.

I have clear memories of there being nothing on TV for several days except JFK's death and funeral march.  That has to come from somewhere, but whether from Maryland or New England, I cannot tell.

It bothers me greatly that I can't determine the accuracy of my memories of the events then.  Some MUST be false, some MAY be false, some are accurate.  But there comes a time when you can't know which are which.

And I don't mean to say that my memory is failing exactly.  Its more that the ongoing historical shows over the years have caused some "adjustments" to my memories.  I do understand how that works.  But it is sad to see the proof of that the past few days.  It is a shock to me.

And one of the TV shows about JFK's death was about personal recollections of "Where You Were".  I have to wonder about the accuracy of THEIR recollections.  Some of them were my age or younger.

I DO know that, even at age 13, I knew something horrible had happened and that history had changed (I was big into history at a young age and also reading alternate universe fiction).  JFK's death probably had some major part of why I studied "Government and Politics" in college.

Its odd to think that, had Oswald missed his target, I might have majored in history and had an entirely different career.  But I was considering mechanical engineering too.  Maybe I'd be designing a Tesla car today...

Maybe JFK is why I love alternate history stories.  Just think of a world where he wasn't killed and a story starts "The visit to Dallas was a great success, won him Texas, and led to the second Kennedy term..."

But I'm wandering.  JFK's assassination was a major event in my young life that has had serious repercussions through the years, and I have found I misremember parts of those personal recollections.  It's disturbing, possible inevitable, and maybe important or not.

Are YOUR memories of the event (should you be of that age) as accurate as you think they are?

A Day In The Life...

I had a busy day.  Now, I'm not trying to compare MY busy to others.  I'm retired and until Dad moved in 3 months ago today, I lived alone.  So some people are busy 25 hours a day, 8 days a week and I wasn't one of them.

But, for me, it was busy.  I got up at 10 am.  That would seem luxurious, but it was only 7 hours sleep because I was up late on the computer.  The only "me" time I get is after Dad goes to bed at 11:30.  So I stay up late a lot more often than I used to.  After the usual getting showered and dressed stuff:
1.  Fed the cats.
2.  Made lunch (fancy sandwiches with crudites, as usual).
3.  Read the whole newspaper.
4.  Took the newest captured groundhog to a relocation site.
5.  Grocery-shopped
6.  Farm market-shopped.
7.  Let the cats outside for 30 minutes while accompanying them around the yard.
8.  Brushed the sticky-seeds out of their fur after coming in.
9.  Mixed dough in the bread machine for making dinner rolls.
10.  Marinated pork chops in minced fresh garlic/ginger/basil/sage leaves.
11.  Pressed down dinner roll dough lightly on silpat to even thickness and allow rising.
12.  Started breadloaf in breadmachine.
13.  Played with cats 15 minutes.
14.  Prepared dinner.  Cut tops of green beans, made salad, cooked potato, cooked corn.  All fresh.  Coated pork chops with home-made "shake&bake".
15.  Just as everything is almost cooked, Dad insists he must fill up the salt and pepper shakers which I do not realize yet).  Typical confusing conversation ensues:  D:  Where is the salt and pepper?  Me:  On the table.  D: I can see that!  Me: What???  D: I need the salt!  Me:  (I check the table, there is salt and pepper there), its right there.  D:  Where is YOUR salt?  Me:  Its in the grinders, but don't ask me this NOW, I'm cooking.

He likes salt and pepper shakers, I like grinders.  His salt and pepper shakers were only 25% full and it distressed him, so he "needed to get then refilled at once".  I was busy trying to get everything out of the oven and stovetop pans and he has to worry about that RIGHT THEN?

This is a habit of his I am discovering.  He bothers people with time-consuming trivial matters when they are most busy.  I guess that is "passive-aggressive".  Thinking back, I see that has been a lifelong habit of minor manipulation.  When I was a teen, I enjoyed the process of making meals.  I used to send time with Mom in the kitchen being useful at small stuff (peeling carrots, chopping lettuce for salads, etc).  I recall Dad coming in and asking odd questions even then. 

I have always had a fine relationship with both my parents, in their own special ways, but now I have more sympathy for Mom at those times.  Of course, each had their own individual ways to annoy too, but I learned to deal with those.  But I've got Dad's all day these days...

I ordered him OUT OF THE KITCHEN and told him I would deal with the salt&pepper crisis later.  He is not used to that.  Well, we are BOTH on a learning curve...

16.  We had a fine dinner of baked breaded pork chops, salad, corn on the cob, baked potato (OK, M/V potato, but there's not much difference) and green beans overcooked as he likes them.
17.  Cut the risen dinner roll dough into squares and set them in the oven to bake.  Recipe says 30 minutes, but they came out hard last time.  Made it 25 minutes.
18.  Took the bread machine dough out to remove the mixer handle before baking.  This really helps.  If I take the loaf out with the handle in it, it tears a chunk of bread out of the bottom.  More timing effort, but better results. 
19.  Put the dough back in the breadmachine to finish "loafing".  Dad loves my bread (so does everyone).  Adding garlic powder, onion powder and a lot of oregano, and using beer in place of water really makes great bread! 

Oops, be right back, I just heard the TV go to a color signal, which means that Dad is losing the nightly struggle with the remote control... 

OK, I fixed that (again). 

20.  Took the breadloaf out to cool and started the mixer going for more chocolate chip cookies.  Dad has both a sweet tooth and a starch tooth.  Cookies, coffeecake, potatoes, bread.  He can eat spaghetti with bread and a potato, and cookies for dessert.  I suppose that, at his age, it doesn't really matter.
21.  Played "toss mousies" with Iza while I ate dinner.  She loves that.  She attacks them fiercely, and often fetches them back to me. 
22.  Dad can't stay away from Fox News.
23.  Put half the dinner rolls in a plastic food bag on the counter, the other half in a okastic food bag in the freezer.
24.  Dad will be wanting a bowl of ice cream soon.  I try to get him to eat fresh fruit, but that was never something he got used to.
25.  Cleaned the litter boxes.
26.  The rest of the night: Visit cat blog friends, make tomorrow's post, email those who have written, listen unhapily to Fox News on the TV from 3 rooms away (Dad is hard of hearing).
27.  Just before going to bed, feed the cats.
28.  After going to bed, sleep with cats...

Tomorrow, repeat again and again and again...

Living With Dad, 4

Lucidity comes and goes, but some subjects are more confusing for him than others.  Yesterday, we were talking about a few events from years past and he remembers them, providing rich accurate details.  Yet today, we were filling out a customer survey from the rehab hospital he was in for 2 weeks in May and he can barely recall the stay there.

I knew, abstractly, that old memories can be recalled easier than new ones in elder parents, but seeing the actuality of it is jarring sometimes.  And I am comfortable helping him relive the things he CAN remember.  It gives him something unconfusing to talk about and me something unconfusing to listen to.  And I find out a few things I never knew before.

Like that HE was golfing friends with the fathers of a couple of high school acquintances.  How come we never got together even on the golf course as Fathers and Sons?  Well, I knew that Dad never connected HIS friendships with MINE, but you would think that would have happened even by accident occasionally.  Ah, well, mysteries abound around Dad now and in the past.

The main thing is the present.  Today's adventure was some bills he had to pay.  Property taxes for the coming annual year for 2 condos he rents out.  Payment was straightforward and he understood what the payments were for.  In spite of that, it took 45 minutes of care to get the checks written and registered and put in envelopes.

It will be no surprise to people with elderly parents, but he dithers over every little detail, and usually the same details several times.  I could have done the whole thing in 3 minutes, but it is important to him that he do these things as long as he can, so I spend the time. 

One big problem he has is writing.  He can barely sign his name, so writing out the details of a check is a BIG DEAL for him.  I finally realized that I could (legally, I hope) write out the check as long as he signed it.  So I did the complicated parts and he signed them after I showed him how each check matched up with the details on the tax bills.  It even distressed him to use one of MY return address stickers on the envelope.  I had to assure him several times that the return address sticker was only for the mailbox to return a misaddressed envelope to, NOT the person sending the envelope.  But I will make him his OWN address labels tomorrow (I have a program and stick forms for that).

Then there was the bank statement.  He was sure it was a bill at first and was distressed at the large dollar amounts on it.  I went through that with him line by line and showed him the same amounts in his checkbook register.  He can pay bills and keep track in his check register, but can't understand them weeks later.  I asked him about balancing his checkbook, but he said he trusts his bank statement.  I balance mine each month, but I have to admit that I have never found a statement in error in 40 years, so he may have a point.  Still, I will take a look at his bank statements to make sure there are no charges he didn't authorize.  "Accurate balances" is not the same as "authorized charges".  Dad tends to think charity requests (for good public services like fire and police) are "bills", and I need to make sure that they aren't abusing his support with repeated withdrawals from ONE donation.

Fortunately, I have made many file folders for his use.  He didn't like the file folders, preferring his "own system" (randomly stacked documents in a duffel bag, a briefcase, and a tote bag).  I made the file folders with bright yellow post-it notes stapled to the tops.  I'll make nice file labels when I know which ones he actually needs, but he can read the neon-yellow post-it labels clearly.  I have a file drawer emptied just for his use when all is settled, but for now they are in a box on the table.

After objecting to file folders for 2 weeks, he surprisingly did not object when I stuck his property tax statements (marked "PAID" in big letters) into a folder labeled "PROPERTY TAXES"  and his bank X statement into a folder labeled "BANK X".  He hates changes, but understands order "after the fact"...

I think that I can finally get him to allow me (with his oversight) to sort out his duffel bag and briefcase documents.  I've been working up to this slowly for 2 weeks, and my patience is finally paying off.  Some children, I think, get impatient and just unilaterally DO THINGS for their elderly parents.  I want to keep Dad mentally involved in all his financial processes, even if he doesn't really understand what they are.  I'd rather explain and show things several times then make him feel out of control of his life.

And then there was the medications...  Oh that must be one of the most difficult parts.  I have little experience with medications.  I just don't need any.  So I have to research each and every pill bottle I find.  Between the rehab hospital OTC meds and the several prescription meds I found today (when Dad said he had none, I spent time on the internet.  I won't describe the meds in detail for his personal privacy, but there are some he was supposed to be taking for months and hasn't.  Dad says a 2nd (unnamed) doctor daid not to take them.  I doubt that.

So tomorrow, I have to find a good doctor and arrange a "from scratch" physical and med regimen that I can talk to the doctor about.  Heck, I need a permanent primary doctor myself, so I will try to find the same one for both of us.  We are BOTH  seniors now.  I've read that the best thing for both of us aging guys is a male internist/geriatrics doctor about 5 years out of medical school.  Angie's List, here I come!  Well, AL got us a great dentist...

Food is still working well here.  Dad eats anything, but fortunately, I love to cook from scratch and have a naturally healthy diet (the old fashioned kind of "some" meat, several veggies and a couple glasses of red wine).  I wish I could get Dad to stop demanding a potato and white bread with each meal, but be thing at a time.  Maybe I can convince him that sweet potatoes are "potatoes".  But he is already eating better here than even at the hospital (they overcooked all his veggies, I sampled them).  I steam mine.

I want Dad to gain some weight, but not as fat.  So I make meals of (for example) a marinated baked chicken thigh with a tossed salad with carrot and tomato, a green veg and a orange/yellow veg (and dammit a half a potato).  He wants cake and ice cream for dessert, but I've been adding some fresh fruit slices to that and he DOES dutifully eat everything on his plate.

Thankfully, he doesn't miss having a car.  He doesn't wander.  He knows where he is in terms of the house, though he isn't always sure of what State he is in and confuses past residences.  FL is becoming a vague memory.  He doesn't seem to have any signs of Alzheimers, but some of early Parkinson's (repetitive foot-tapping and hand tremors, and he has the shuffle-foot problem where he can't LIFT a foot enough to START walking most times).

On the positive side, that means he can't raise his feet enough to step on the cats...  The cats appreciate that.  OK, just a little humor there.

He is close to falling over often, but he is aware of the problem well enough that he walks very carefully with support structures (tables, chairs) in sight at all times.  And many times he can walk very confidently.  I'm not sure what to make of that.  Just this morning, he suddenly got up, walked down the inside stairs and the outside steps and got the newspaper.  He walked quite confidently!  So THAT comes and goes too.

I still haven't figured out how to resolve the thermostat problem. Dad wants it at 78, I want it at 70.  Its set at 74.  I have to admit, I am adjusting to the warmer temperature.  But Dad still complains about being cold all the time.  I've gone to wearing shorts and the lightest shirts I have every day, so there isn't much more I can do.  Yet Dad insists on wearing light pants and a light knit short-sleeve shirt (without even an undershirt).  And complains!

I gave him a couple of old long sleeve shirts, but he complains they are "heavy".  Well, yeah, he's not used to those.  Well, I'M not used to shorts either.  I work outside in the gardens a lot on my knees and my knees are complaining as if I was suddenly going barefoot on rough ground.  I'm drawing  line on the temperature.  Dad has to learn to wear warmer clothes!

He doesn't seem to understand anything between light short-sleeve shirts and sweaters.  I offerred light long-sleeved shirts, but he doesn't like them.  I think it's the wrist cuffs that feel odd to him.

Any suggestions?

And to anyone who has read this far down through this very lengthy post, THANK YOU!

Fun With The old Watch

I have a very old digital watch.  My Dad bought this digital watch for me when I was about 16.  It didn't cost much, but it has simple time/date controls and it keeps perfect time.  I have it on a simple velcro watchstrap (I'm not into BLING).

It keeps near-perfect time  and it suits me well, so for 44 years, all I've had to do is get the battery replaced every couple years.  I've spent more money on batteries than the watch cost.  More on velcro straps, too.   

It's fun bringing it to the local jeweler,  The same old guy is there every time, and every time he mentions that he hasn't seen a watch like that in 30 years.  I think he means it, just that he forgets he saw MINE a couple years before.  But I get to tell the story of the watch, and it seems to please him.  I wonder who is pleasing who, sometimes, but he seems sincere. 

Someday, the watch is just going to die.  I hope it lasts as long as I do, at least.  I'd hate to have to get used to a new one.  It is strange sometimes, looking at that watch.  Like looking at the strange light bulb way up in the ceiling of a warehouse that has been lit for longer than anyone can remember. 

If you'll forgive a similar memory, there was an odd Santa Claus head bulb in our old Christmas tree lights when I was young.  Dad remembered it from when HE was young. One year, it finally didn't light.  I missed that bulb, but I know that Dad missed it more.  It was something he trusted to keep going on.

Like I do my watch...

Cousin Bobby

My cousin Bobby, about the same age as me, drowned at about age 12.  I cant remember the exact time anymore.  I remember Mom sitting on the edge of the bed trying to explain what happened,  He had cramps swimming in a quarry hole with other kids and drowned.

We visited my Grandparents, where he lived, the next summer.  I still expected to see him again.  Stupid, of course, but I did.  And he wasn't there.   He had polio at a younger age.  He pulled himself around by his arms and he was real strong.  He recovered, and could run around as well as I could.  But one day, suddenly, he was gone.

While we were visiting, I saw a telescope Bobby enjoyed using.   I asked for it.  The adults didn't understand.  I didn't want the telescope for itself, I wanted it because it was something he had handled and enjoyed.  I wanted it BECAUSE he had used it.  That made a connection to me for my lost cousin.

The adults just thought I wanted the  telescope for itself...  As if I just wanted a gift.  They never understood.  And I was too young to explain it right...

I wanted a remembrance, something Bobby had touched and used.  I wasn't given it.  Instead, I got a new telescope as a Christmas present that year.  None of the adults understood what I meant by my request.  They thought I wanted a "thing". 

All I wanted was something to remind me of Bobby.  And no matter how I tried to explain, I never got anything he used. 

I am that way still about lost loved ones.  Just any little thing is fine...  Something tangible to remember them by is all I ask.  I've been luckier lately.  I have Grampa's carved whale, Dad's wooden-built tool chest (he's still alive), Mom's corn-on-the-cob plates and the imitation Tiffany Lamp she loved...

These things are treasures to me...

Reflections on 2010

2010 was not a good year.  It was a hard year for many people, but I'm not talking about that.

And, since I am alive, healthy, and my 2 current cats are young and happy, I'm not talking about that either.  I'm looking at the "related" losses.

My dear cat, LC, went over The Bridge in January.  While she wasn't "the cat of my life", she was a good cat.  Friendly, neat, undemanding, and companionable.  Mostly, she was Skeeter's friend.  And since Skeeter was "the cat of my life" until Dec 2008, her companionship to him made HIS days wonderful and I thank her for that.  After Skeeter left us, she was a good friend to me.  Both of them lived past 16 years old and are missed.  Burying her in the frozen January garden was very hard, physically and emotionally.  And when she went, that was the last contact with Skeeter.

The garden was a disaster last year.  The Spring was cold and rainy, the Summer hot and dry.  The small crops never grew, the cukes and pole beans just sat there at a few inches, and the heirloom tomatoes died in July.  I got only a dozen tomatoes and I LOVE tomatoes.

My youngest sister died in August.  She had some brain blood vessel problem that took her life short.  She was a dear friend, a fellow organic gardener (much better than me), a wonderful mother to 3 kids, and I miss her very much.  She was 16 years younger than me and I was her adored older brother.  I wish it had been me instead.  I'm just a single old guy and my loss would mean little.  She had a family who needed her..

I lost my Mom in September.  She was old and had Parkinson's and other problems.  But she was the person who taught me to read and write, and to love Broadway musicals and classical music when I was older.  She taught me to cook. She did so much else, but you get the idea.

A tale of a vegetable peeler...  When I set up my first apartment around age 20, Mom gave me a few items.  One was a cheap vegetable peeler.  It was old when she gave it to me 40 years ago.  Over the years, it has been honed to perfection.  It takes the thinnest peels off carrots and tosses them off.  A new one I bought does not.  Every time I use that old peeler, I think of Mom.  And I have a few other kitchen tools like that.  Goodbye Mom, I love you.  And I will remember you every day by the things I have from you.  Things that you used and touched...


So I sadly say farewell to those I have lost this year and hope that 2011 is kinder to those I know.  And if this happens to be my year to go, I want everyone to know ahead of that time that I enjoyed our time together.  I loved it all.  No one knows when the last day comes, so I want to make sure to thank everyone "in case".

Well, let's see what 2011 has to offer.  I hope it is kinder...