"I'll Be Me"

On Sunday of this week, the ET network and the CNN network aired a documentary-type program about Glen Campbell's good-bye tour.  I watched it, and I hope you did.  Everyone needs to see it.

Glen Campbell is a country music singer who brought country to the "pop" level back in the 70s.  He was always a favorite of mine, although I'm not much of a country fan.  He had good looks, a fine singing voice, and excellent guitar skills.  (I never cared much for his personal life, but that has nothing to do with his talent.)  Glen is now in his 70s and is, unfortunately, suffering from Alzheimer's disease.  At present, he is living in a "memory support" facility, mostly unable to communicate, at the end stage of the disease.

The film, however, didn't go there.  Most of it is about his final tour which started in 2011 and lasted almost two years with 151 concerts.  His family decided when to pull the  plug on the tour...when his performances were getting dicey to the point of knowing they were pushing things to expect more. He needed a teleprompter to help him with lyrics and would forget the key a song was in...and sometimes would stop a performance to talk about nonsense and silliness.

But then there was the reality of what was (and was not) going on in his brain.  Through his entire good-bye tour, the whole Glen Campbell-loving audience knew they were looking at a man with Alzheimer's.  One wonders if they showed up just to watch what kind of train wreck he would be. But he wasn't.  I was fascinated by the fact that this man, who couldn't think of words in his cognitive mind could still play the guitar like a whiz.  His voice had not left him.  AND, the showmanship in him was so very obvious onstage when the rest of life's stage was passing him by.

And I cried.  I cried because all I could think was "What a waste!"  The Glen Campbell we all knew and loved is now gone forever--not dead but unable to even remember the names of his wife and his children.  I cried because I saw so many parallels between Mr. Campbell and his wife, and my brother-in-law and my sister.  I cried because this thing happens to people without regard to gender, societal status, race, creed...rich or poor...and there isn't a blasted thing we can do about it.  Even Former President Ronald Reagan died of it.  And so it goes.

Dealing with the disease is a drain on everyone who is charged with caring for the sufferer.  Sadly, it doesn't stop until the sufferer dies, which doesn't happen quickly.  All that can be left in the wake of Alzheimer's or dementia in general is the hope that the damage isn't more than the caregivers can handle.

Here are the lyrics to the last song he recorded:

I'm still here, but yet I'm gone
I don't play guitar or sing my songs
They never defined who I am
The man that loves you 'til the end

You're the last person I will love
You're the last face I will recall
And best of all, I'm not gonna miss you
Not gonna miss you

I'm never gonna hold you like I did
Or say I love you to the kids
You're never gonna see it in my eyes
It's not gonna hurt me when you cry

I'm never gonna know what you go through
All the things I say or do
All the hurt and all the pain
One thing selfishly remains

I'm not gonna miss you
I'm not gonna miss you

May God bless Glen Campbell and those who are providing his care.  And may God bless all of the dementia sufferers and their caregivers.  I don't know what else to say about that.

And no, my brother-in-law did not pass the written driver's test yesterday.    

The Driver's License

When my sister returned home to Illinois after her visit here, she was facing dealing with a problem that came up just before she left.  Her husband, with FTD (dementia) had scored so low on his last visit with the "memory doctor" that the doc's office was required, by law, to report it to the Secretary of State's office.  In short, just before she came here, a letter arrived from that office saying that Roger would need to take driving tests...both written and on-the-road...in order to maintain his driver's license.  The deadline for taking the test is tomorrow, June 29th.

Truth be known, Roger still drives pretty well, although he does get distracted, sometimes to the point of being frantic.  But being "out and about" is a daily quest with him.  He has a list of favorite waitresses at certain restaurants that he wants to visit daily...plus, starting in August, he is ready to go out driving to see the fall colors (which haven't even begun to happen yet).  His dementia requires that he mails paid bills the day he receives them, which (to him) means driving at least five miles in to town (rather than just putting them in the mailbox for outgoing mail).  I'm pretty sure he could pass the driving portion of the test if he kept his mouth shut.  But can he pass the written test?  He doesn't think so, and neither do the rest of us.  His brain gets easily confused.  Words are the problem.  He has lost lots and lots of words.

This isn't something that we haven't all seen coming.  I think we all just hoped it wouldn't happen YET.

When Roger found out that he had been reported to the state, he thought his wife (my sister Shari) was the one who did it, because she is the one who has had to talk to him about it in the past.  At first, he said he was just going to drive anyway, with or without a license.  Then he was just going to throw the letter from the Secretary of State's office in the trash.  Then, he told her that he would take the letter and just kill himself.  (This is a constant threat.)  Then he told her, in no uncertain terms, that she needed to call the S of State's office to tell them that he drives just fine.  (Yeah...that will fix it!)  I think he must have figured that since he thought she had called in the dogs, she could could call them off.

I think there is some resignation now.  A couple of days ago, he threw the Rules of the Road book in Shari's lap and told her that she had to help him.  She has tried.  In fact, today they are "cramming" for the test, with no promises.  His mental confusion is the problem.  If he doesn't pass the test, my sister's life will become so much more complicated than it already is.

I'm not sure that Roger SHOULD still be driving.  He does some strange things and begins to show signs of not knowing where he is going...but...losing his license means double duty for my sister and family.  Dealing with him sometimes requires standing ground that didn't used to have to happen. She will now have to tell him (and everyone else) that she won't ride with him if he decides to take off without a license.  It might require locking up the keys, selling the second car...whatever it takes.

I have so much respect for what my sister is going through in dealing with all of this.  She appreciates every moment of respite that she gets...and those moments are few and far between.  Caring for someone with dementia is a drain on energy, morale, time, and feelings of self-worth.  The ads on television show dementia patients as quiet and well loved by their caregivers.  Don't believe that for a minute!  They are well loved, but they are far from quiet!  They get combative, accusative, and nasty. I can't count the number of times that Roger has thrown things and broken them out of frustration.  I think his favorite comment when Shari tells him she doesn't want to go out to eat for the fourth time in a week is "You are being mean to me."  Even what they watch on television is governed by his disease!

So...I wait and watch to see how things go with the driver's test tomorrow.  Another day; another situation to deal with.

I love you, Shari!  

Taking America's Inventory

"We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these rights are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." Having quoted that directly from America's own Declaration of Independence, allow me to say that I'm fairly certain that marriage can be considered a "pursuit of happiness" and that it is, therefore, a God-given right to all Americans. I am not the least bit surprised that the Supreme Court ruled in favor of same-sex marriage this week. It is now the Law of the Land...and all of the Constitution-pounders will have to accept that which the Bible-pounders can't/won't.

Our country came into being almost 239 years ago, yet it has taken us THIS long to live out the message in the Declaration. Consider this: at one time, black folks were white folks' property; blacks were given the right to vote MANY years before women were; wives could not establish credit in their own names; women were not afforded rights over their own bodies nor given equal status with men in the workplace; interracial marriages were forbidden by law; schools and whole communities were racially segregated; and homosexuals were not allowed to marry other homosexuals. All of that has changed--much of it in my lifetime--but it took political battles to make the changes happen...and most of those changes came by Supreme Court decree.

If you are of the LGBT group currently suffering from the nasty rhetoric of the people who feel that they somehow lost something after the Supreme Court decision allowing same-sex marriage, take heart. It will pass. You are a pioneer! Some day, you will be telling your children about "back in the day when people weren't allowed to marry the ones they loved"...and smile. If you live a good and righteous life, you have nothing to defend to anyone!

Yesterday, I could just feel the Judge of the Universe saying, as the Supreme Court did when the gavel came down: "It is so ruled."

I love that!

The Real Story about My Sister's Visit

My sister, whom we all call Saint Shari because of all she has to deal with due to her husband's dementia, planned a trip to come here.  It was in the works at least six weeks...making sure one of her daughters could be there to watch over "Daddy", and preparing him for her departure with daily reminders.  Still, the last thing out of his mouth as she pulled out of the drive to come here were, "Since you are leaving, I am divorcing you."  Pretty strong words for a man who has been married to the same woman for 54 years and has absolutely nowhere to go in his condition, but it's still hard to hear, especially since Saint Shari hears it on a regular basis.  If she does something he doesn't approve of, he says he is leaving her.  We all know he isn't going anywhere.  It's just part of his disease...but living with it on a semi-weekly basis isn't great.

Understand that Saint Shari lives in a beautiful home in the country just outside of Springfield, IL.  It was gorgeous when they moved in, but they've made a LOT of improvements.  I go there and envy the daylights out of their surroundings.  But then there is the dementia thing that just puts a pall on everything.  When Shari proposed to come here (without her spouse, obviously), I panicked.  My little house-on-a-slab in Plainfield, IN, doesn't come anywhere close to what they have.  But she is family...and I am infirm.  I did the best I could to make sure that the bathrooms were clean and the sheets and towels...and that there was food in the house.  And of course, the minute she stepped over the front door threshold, I knew I had worried for nothing.  Mi casa, su casa.  I didn't have to tell her twice.  She was right at home, relaxed, and not the least bit critical of my humble stuff.  In fact, she professed to envy it!

As kids, Shari and I fought.  She was six years older than I--16 to my 10.  A world apart.  But as we aged and became parents, then caretakers of our own parents, etc., we found a common ground.  There were rough spots, of course, but family prevailed.  And now in our so-called Golden Years, we are each other's cheerleaders and caretakers.  I love this woman.  I tease her about getting all of the "good" family genes (which is true), and the fact that I look like the eldest of the two of us (also true), but I don't think for a second that she would ever turn her back on me...and I know I never would with her.  We are sisters!

Shari's reason for being here was to have some respite from being the caregiver to her husband's needs.  She said it felt good.  I have to believe her.  We didn't do that many special things.  I got my hair cut; we both got pedicures.  We bought flowers for my patio.  We went out for a steak dinner at a local favorite restaurant.  We hosted a luncheon for my grandchildren's other grandparents....her idea and work...and so it went.  The rest of the time, we ate and drank and talked (and talked and talked)...and I loved every second of it.  When she had to leave, we were both sad but also in recognition that all good things must come to an end.

It wasn't all peaches and cream when she was here.  There were problems at home that tracked her down, but she still seemed to manage to get by that.  All I know is that I loved having her here and she seemed to love being here.  That's all I need!

What happens from here on out is up to God...but I will be there, all the way!

A Visit from Saint Shari (with apologies to Clement C. Moore)

'Twas the afternoon before Wednesday,
And all through the house,
Anticipation was stirring
For escape from The Spouse.

The home was spiffed up--
Some things done with great care,
In hopes that Saint Shari
Soon would be there.

The house wasn't dusted,
But the toilets were swished;
The sheets were all clean.
It was all that we wished.

When out on the lawn,
The Tahoe arrived,
Bringing sister to Plainfield
On a visit contrived!

We talked and we ate,
And we raised a few glasses;
"To us!" we declared
Before we fell on our arses.

We ran a few errands,
Enjoyed our sorority;
Then had to end
And go back to reality.

She left as she came,
On a wing and a prayer,
In hopes things at her place
Would all be still there.

Saint Shari's my sister
Whose love is so steady.
We both needed her visit;
I miss her already.

I heard her exclaim
Ere she drove out of sight,
"I hope to be back!
Don't turn out the light!"

My Prom Experiences

Do you know what the word "prom" is short for?  Anyone?  Anyone?  If you said "promenade", you are correct.  And now, the bigger question:  what's a promenade?  (I thought you'd never ask!)  A promenade is a walk or stroll in a public place, as if for display...or a march of guests into a ballroom at the beginning of a ball (dance).  When life was more genteel, formal society had balls as social functions.  We don't have too many balls these days--at least not here in the good ol' Midwest--except once a year in every high school in the country.  We call it Prom.

We had Prom back when I was in high school, too.  (That was the mid-1960s which, by today's conventions and standards, might as well be in the books as Ancient History.  Seriously.)  I went to Oak Park-River Forest High School in Oak Park, Illinois.  I also went to Prom.  Both of them.

In those days, girls were invited out by guys.  The only time a female was supposed to be able to invite a male to a  dance (or a date) was for the annual Sadie Hawkins Day dance at the school.  (The same thing applied to phone calls to boys.  I wasn't allowed to do that.  It wasn't proper.  It would make me appear "boy crazy"--something my parents didn't want for me.)  Prom was no exception. Girls that had steady boyfriends were assured of a date to Prom.  The rest of us who didn't--of which I was one--had to hope that someone would invite us.  That got tricky.  It was customary to accept the first invitation you got.  (It wasn't exactly appropriate to say, "Let me think about it and get back to you.  I want to wait to see if someone I like better invites me.")  So, we hoped and prayed that someone halfway acceptable would invite us.  The alternative was no Prom.  Was any date better than none at all?

Perhaps I should explain that there was no such thing as going "stag" to dances.  Either you had a date or you didn't go.  For the Prom, OPRFHS had some extra rules:  you could only go if you were a junior or senior, and your date had to be another OPRF student.  Tickets--called bids--had to be purchased in advance.  The dance was held in the school gym or a multi-purpose room.  There was no such thing as school-sponsored Post-Prom activities.  (We had to furnish our own after-Prom fun.)  Bands were live--no canned music with DJs in those days--and the music they supplied was almost always the "big band sound".  (Boring!)  But still, those of us dreamy-eyed teenage girls could fantasize that some secret admirer would come out of the woodwork, wine us and dine us in a fancy restaurant, dance with us, and take us someplace fun thereafter.  There weren't many opportunities to stay out late in my household, but Prom was on the "acceptable" list.  Here is also something that may be significant in your understanding of my saga:  OPRF was a BIG school.  The Class of 1965 had over 800 members in it.  In a school that size, if you found someone you wanted to date, it only happened in some smaller congregation, as it were.  And I wasn't exactly a social butterfly.  I was quiet, studious, and...well...kind of geeky.  The Covill kids weren't raised in the rich-bitch high society of Oak Park or River Forest.  We were just plain folk from the corn fields downstate.  And so, I waited for an invitation to the first OPRF Prom for which I was qualified to attend.

I can declare that I had dates to both my Junior Prom and my Senior Prom.  I am also here to tell you that BOTH experiences were absolute disasters!!!

Junior Prom (1964):
My best friend in those days was a girl that lived just down the block, Kristie.  She had been on a date with a fellow...once or maybe twice...who invited her to Prom.  In short order, his buddy decided to ask me.  We were going to double-date.  My date's name was Richard.  I didn't really know him.  Had been in a class with him, perhaps...but...  Prom isn't exactly the best day or time to go on a blind date, but I was grateful to have an avenue to get there...especially since I would be with Kristie and her date.  We could make it fun, maybe!  I should have been smarter.  As the day approached, there were no inquiries as to the color of my dress to match a corsage to it, nor was there any talk about where we would go pre-and-post-Prom.  My mother took me out to buy a formal dress.  It was white lace over a blue liner...sleeveless...and I thought it was beautiful.

And then, on the morning of the Prom, my so-called date called to tell me that he and his buddy had gotten into trouble with their parents the night before and both were forbidden to go to Prom as punishment.  I did not for a second believe that story, but short of having my mother call HIS mother to determine the truth, what was I to do???   I was crushed.  So was Kristie.

Somehow, word got around.  By early afternoon, a fellow called me saying that he had heard I didn't have a date, and did I want to go with him?  No...I really didn't.  This guy was a dweeb that followed me around like a crush.  He annoyed me...but...I had this dress...  I accepted.  I absolutely remember no more about that occasion.  Have no recollection of the evening at all.  I  only know that I felt totally rejected by the whole deal.  And so it was...

Senior Prom (1965): 
I was dating a fellow...sort of.  He was tall and buff and on the swim team.  He only appeared in my life after I had been on stage for a couple of plays.  I think we only actually went out together twice, but we spent the rest of our time in the hallways of the school. etc., and I felt "spoken for".  As spring approached, he seemed to be getting bored with me.   I was expecting an invitation to Prom.  It wasn't happening.  In fact, he began to ignore me.  We didn't break up because we weren't really going together, but I felt that we were...sort of.  ( One time, I appeared in new clothing, and he declared, "Great!  Most of the time, you dress like somebody's grandmother." Even after all these years, that is carved on my brain.)  During one period per day, I was scheduled into the library at the same time his little freshman brother was.  By passing notes, I was asking what was going on.  Little brother liked me but felt put on the spot.  He knew that his brother had no intention of inviting me to Prom, and I think he ratted to his parents.  (His father was a local Baptist minister.)  Shortly thereafter, I got a Prom invitation from Doug.  His parents forced it, but it wasn't to be fun.  I wasn't taken out before the dance, nor invited to go anywhere with him after.  Dance and home.  Done.  Never to be seen again.

As it happened, there were other kids who weren't  part of a Prom party that year.  We formed a posse and went to a Chicago museum together the morning after Prom, while all of the privileged folk drove to their parents' cabins on the Indiana dunes.

I remember nothing more, except when my own daughter came of age to attend Prom at Plainfield High School, she was dating a fellow from Ben Davis High School, and neither one of them had any desire to do the Prom thing at either school.  If I'd had a better experience with Proms, I might have pushed them a bit...but the truth is that Prom...at least these days...has no basis in reality.  I accept that it is a rite of passage...but when is the next time that a woman will be expected to dress up like that, pay for hair and make-up, get picked up in a limo and taken to a fancy restaurant, then back to the dance...then  taken to a place for fun and games, thereafter?  It doesn't happen.

Perhaps I am sour-graping things based on my own failed experiences...but you know what?  This whole topic only came up because of a conversation I was having with my daughter online yesterday. I didn't create this but was, rather, a victim of it.  Thank goodness times have changed!    

  

Did You Miss Me?

I'm back...new computer and new learning curves for how to use it.
What have I lost, and what have I gained?
The new computer has Windows 8 on it.  That's a whole new world for me.
I decided, after many long years, to dump AOL software in favor of online experiences.
But after the initial set-up time, I have adjusted fairly easily because of--ta-dah!--a free program called Team Viewer.

Team Viewer is a program that allows another person to see and take control of your computer, just one session at a time.  Of course, it needs to be someone you trust...and I trust my daughter and son-in-law.  As soon as we got Team Viewer downloaded on the new computer, I turned it over to them...and, glory be!...I haven't had that tough a time working on the new systems.  They hooked me up to virtually everything on the Internet that I use.  (I'd really like to tell the Team Viewer folks what a godsend their program is, but I haven't found a way to do that.)

In short, I am very happy with the new configuration.  I have a full-sized keyboard hooked up to the new computer, which helps me a lot.  It's all I need in life!  I'm still working to tidy up the situation around the old configuration.  Works for me!  I have my land-line phone, my TV, and my computer.  All's right with the world!

Addendum to the Walmart Saga

Yesterday, my daughter supplied me with an 800 number for Walmart.  "Tell us how we can help you."  We had already moved on to purchase a computer elsewhere, but I wanted a reasonable explanation for the goose chase we had been on the day before.

The scenario of the day before:
The Internet says that three "local" stores are offering a certain Dell computer on sale.  "Pickup only." The Internet showed that the local stores had them.
One of the local stores doesn't have it in stock.  (Went there in person to determine that.)  I was told to order it online.  It would be available after order at that store just 2-3 hours later.  Huh?  Ordered it online.  That order was canceled by Walmart because "it isn't available at that store".
Tried the next store, with a different financial account.  Payment info not verified.  Tried again.  STILL not verified.
I gave up and went to bed.  My daughter continued to try with the third store, with both financial accounts (hers and mine).  No go.
By the time I got up in the morning, my daughter had moved on and bought another computer for me, with my funds.

Still, I was rankling about the whole Walmart thing, so when she gave me the 800 number, I decided to call.  The first call got interestingly disconnected mid-stream.  I decided to call back.  Got a different person.  Please understand that I NEVER treat people with anger or disrespect.  All I was asking for was an explanation for the previous day's goose chase, without any rudeness.  The gal I spoke to--African American--spoke so rapidly that I had to ask her to slow down so I could understand what she was saying.  She explained to me that these sales were only available at select locations (which I already knew), and that if they didn't have them, they didn't have them...  When I said, "So you are telling me that Walmart doesn't have the product they say they are selling", she told me, in so many words, that I should have just moved on to buy a different computer.  I said, "Which is exactly what I've done"....but she had already hung up.

So much for customer satisfaction!  I'm sorry, but I'm not done with this yet.  I got an online survey from Walmart asking how they did.  I blasted them...but I will find other ways to let them know that I won't support this.

Whatever!

Computer Plan B

My kids have determined with some certainty that the problems I am having with my computer right now are virus-related.  Malware...or something like that.  It's not a situation that is easily fixed remotely (by my kids), but they are sensitive to the fact that my computer is my lifeline--which is a whole lot more than I can say for the people that design computer viruses with no thought to the harm they do, randomly.  My current computer is five years old.  Time for a new one.

Megan and Denis stayed up long after I went to bed last night, working on a computer Plan B after yesterday's Walmart debacle.  (I talk about them as if they are in the house with me, when, indeed, we are separated  by 200 miles.)  When I got up this morning, I was informed that, using my bank account info, they had ordered me a reputable computer within my budget through Amazon.com.  Megan hoped I wouldn't be mad.  Mad?  I was delighted!  It will arrive on my doorstep tomorrow.  There will be things to be done and learned since I have been totally spoiled in the computer set-up department, but I'll put my big girl panties on and just do it.  (With a little help from my "friends".)

By this time tomorrow, I hope to be set up with a new computer.  Not looking forward to dealing with Windows 8, but even this old dog can eventually learn new tricks!

The Walmart Saga

How hard can it be to get a company to take your money?  Pretty hard, apparently!

Over the last two days, my computer has died.  Considering that my computer is my window on the world and keeping in touch with those that I love, I was frantic to either get it fixed or buy another.  Last night, I alerted my daughter to my problems, and she and her husband did some research.  Understand that my daughter is a whiz-bang on computers, but my son-in-law is a Senior Software Engineer with Toshiba.  Suffice it to say that I trust their judgment on all things computer...and they determined that I would be money ahead just to buy a new one.  Denis even figured out which computer I should buy, based on my budget, and where I could get it:  Walmart. But before I could buy anything, I needed to transfer money from savings to checking.  My computer wasn't working, so I had to ask Meg to do that for me, giving her my information....but then, of course, the bank didn't recognize her computer and wanted to call me for validation.  Fortunately, that worked.

Megan's research on the Internet showed that the Plainfield Walmart had two of the ones Denis was recommending, so I drove to Walmart after church.  I handed the clerk the paper that detailed the particular computer  (a Dell) that I wanted to purchase.  It was on sale.  The gal took me to the computer displays  and showed me a Dell--not the right one--and said "This is the only Dell that we carry."  Rats!  But when we turned the corner and went down the next row of display computers, there were two more Dells.  They were also not the right ones, but I began to question the competence of the clerk.  I asked her then to explain to me why the Internet would say that they had several in stock.  She said it sometimes takes 24 hours for the Internet to catch up.  We went to a customer service computer, which was very slow (and apparently the only one of two that was working at the moment), only to find out that the computer I wanted was "pickup only".  Essentially that means that it has to be ordered online, then can be picked up at the store...but it was promised for just a couple of hours after the order is placed.  Huh?  If it wasn't already in the store, how would it get there that fast??

Frustrated, I decided I'd just go home and have Megan order it for me--but changed my mind.  Let's just order it here at the store.  Had to wait for another clerk...told her my problem...and since the one operational customer computer was in use, we attempted to use the other one.  It had to be rebooted, blah, blah, and three or four times, we tried to make an order, to no avail.  It skipped pages, wouldn't accept prompts, and (basically) worked as bad as the one I had at home!  I gave up and came home.  Meg ordered it for me, online, using my card information, etc.  It was promised to be "in store" a couple of hours later.  (I still don't get that.  If it wasn't in the store when I was there, how was it going to be there 2-3 hours later??)  Shortly thereafter, Meg called to tell me that the order had been canceled because the computer "wasn't available in the Plainfield store", but the money had already been spoken for in my account.  (Not spent...just not available).  It would take awhile for it to be released back into my account.

Next, we decided that we should try the Avon Walmart, just a few miles away.  The Internet said they had some of the computers, but since my funds had been encumbered, Meg ordered one online, putting the financial end on HER account.  Again, promised for a couple of hours later...but then, that was canceled because the system couldn't verify her financial information.  Thinking she could have made a mistake, she tried again...also canceled.  In desperation, I decided to CALL the Avon store to see if they had the computer.  After a few minutes of searching, the dude on the other end of the line told me that they didn't have that computer.  By this time, my daughter and I had been on the goose chase for hours and hours.  I asked the guy if there was someone I could talk to about how all of this works, and he transferred me to Pam in Customer Service.

Stupid as I am, even I understand that mere employees don't make corporate decisions and can't explain the unexplainable, but Pam listened to me and told me to call back in a few minutes...that she was going back to electronics to see if they had that computer, even though I told her that the clerk there had said they didn't.  When I did call back, Pam was on a register, but the gal that answered the phone went to talk to her.  She came back with Pam's response: She says we don't have that computer.  You'll have to order it online.  AAARRGH!!!!

When I called Meg with the news, we both had enough sense of humor left to laugh about it.  Something about Walmart's online operations is broken.  Tomorrow, I will deal with a Plan B, but it won't involve Walmart!  If it weren't still the Sabbath, I would curse.

If this post actually goes through, I will consider it fortunate.  This computer is barely working.  Hope to be back, in spades, with a new one in a couple of days!

I'm a Grandma Again!

Announcing the new additions to my life:  Lily and Mr. Gib (pronounced Jib...short for Giblet).  My grandbunnies!

Perhaps I should back up a bit.  Last fall, my granddaughter had a change of living venue.  She and her brother, Ryan, had been living with their father and stepmother; then due to some complicated circumstances, a change needed to be made.  Robin moved to live with her mother and stepfather and is doing well...and now, seven months later, it was determined that the children needed to be kept together (even though neither of them probably understands why)...so now Ryan has moved to Mom's, too.  Just yesterday!  And with Ryan came his two bunnies.

First of all, I wish to express, once again, my happiness and pride that both families, in spite of a divorce situation, have dealt with every single challenge without bringing in lawyers and court decisions.  They have met and talked and negotiated things without adversarial conditions, and that, my friends, makes it so much easier on the rest of us.  Dr. Phil would hold them up as examples of good stewardship for the kids.  Some day, the children will come to know what was done for them, on both sides.  I hope they will understand!

But for now, there are two bunnies now living in Ryan's room in a "rabbit habitat".  (Can we just call it a rabbitat?)  I haven't met the critters yet, but the resident cat has.  She is "vewy, vewy 'spicious". The bunnies have calmed down today.  Yesterday, they were transported in a vehicle, given a Texas bath looking for fleas, and placed in a new rabbitat.  Big day for the bunnies!

I am happy for all.  Lots to do and work on...but God provides!  God bless the bunnies...and everyone else!

Things That Make Me LOL

I live a solitary existence.  As I age, I find some things humorous that may not seem that way to others.  Some of the following are among the "you had to be there" anecdotes; others won't make sense unless you watch the same TV shows that I watch.  I just thought I'd share some of the things that make me laugh.

From the Dr. Phil Show:

Dr. Phil to a hateful and demanding man complaining about his wife:  You are like a chihuahua barking all up and down the length of a fence.  When you get to the gate, why don't you come on out and show us what you've got?

From Big Bang Theory (my favorite TV show):

Amy to Sheldon:  Kiss me where I've never been kissed before.
Sheldon:  You mean like Salt Lake City?

Neighbor Penny to Sheldon who is helping her get dressed (with his eyes closed) because she has slipped in the shower and dislocated her shoulder:  Is that my elbow you are touching?
Sheldon:  It doesn't feel like an elbow.
Penny:  Then maybe you should let go of it.

Jewish friend, Howard, lamenting the fact that he had been rejected in an attempt to score with a woman:  Is it because I'm Jewish?  Because I would totally kill my rabbi with a pork chop if I could hook up with her.

From real life:
Grandpa Artie (under his breath) after listening to Grandma Helen complain that the stray cat that came around would let everyone pet it but her, then watching through the patio glass as she reached out, grabbed it by the tail and pulled it back to her when it tried to walk away:  Well, there's the problem, Dumbass.

Honor students in my English class just before class started:
1st Student, (rubbing his shoulder):  How can you tell if your collar bone is broken?
2nd Student:  If you lie down on the floor and I put a desk on it, if it don't hurt then it ain't broke.

Me to my daughter Megan:  Lately it seems that you correct virtually everything I say.
Megan:  Not everything!

A picture shared on the Internet of an upper-arm tattoo, quoting Deuteronomy (Bible scripture) declaring that homosexuality is an abomination to God...while apparently not noticing that, just a few verses later, tattoos are also forbidden.

Student getting a failing grade on a worksheet that he hadn't completed because he failed to see that there was more on the back of the sheet:  Huh!  There's a whole 'nother side!

Student who came to me to inquire how he could improve his grade.  When I explained that he could start by doing his homework, he responded:  Ms. McNary, I care...but I don't care THAT much.

And so it goes.  I'm sure there is more.  I'll just have to keep thinking.  My world...and welcome to it!

Putting Lipstick on a Pig

The origins of the expression I quote here are long and varied, but the message is the same:  You can put lipstick (or perfume, or a bow) on a pig, but it will still be a pig.  Some things cannot be disguised as something else...as in a wolf in sheep's clothing.  As in not being able to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.  Or...and this is probably the same thought with a softer connotation...a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.  (Thank you, William Shakespeare!)

I give you Bruce Jenner.  Bruce Jenner, the 70s Olympic athlete who won it all.  Good looking fellow with the world as his oyster, who married Kris Kardashian Jenner and became part of the reality TV show Keeping Up with the Kardashians.  Bruce Jenner who, after 20-some years of marriage, divorced Kris Jenner and...uh...disappeared as a man.  He is now a she, or wants to be accepted as such. The name is now Caitlyn Jenner, and a picture of him/her has been published on the cover of Vanity Fair, along with a two-hour TV interview with a noted television journalist, all in the past month. The media hype has been pretty dramatic.

I have followed the story, and I've tried to understand.  Really, I have.  I am as liberal as they come, politically and philosophically.  I totally comprehend homosexuality.  I understand that sexual attraction is probably hard-wired into people at birth--not necessarily just a choice.  But I am struggling to figure out the whole transgender thing.  Picking a sex partner is personal, but picking a gender when one has already been assigned at conception just seems outrageous to me.  If you want to be a woman but were born a man, why not just dress like a woman and act like a woman? Surgically altering the genitalia renders it ineffective in function.  There cannot be a "normal" sexual relationship thereafter.  It's all just play-acting.  I don't view it as immoral.  I just view it as vain, expensive, and stupid. Caitlyn Jenner considers herself heterosexual.  What does that mean?  If she has become a woman and is still attracted to women, does that make her a lesbian?  She says no.  Please explain to me how that works.

When I was a kid, I can remember telling people that I was supposed to be boy...and I was a bit of a tomboy in those days...but I never, ever considered that I was born in the wrong body.  Transgender wasn't even a glint in the eye of society in those days!  I mean, how can you change what is?  In the real world, I know two transgender people--one of whom is a pseudo-family member--and I have to tell you that "she" makes for an ugly woman.  Caitlyn Jenner isn't exactly ugly, but she isn't going to cut it as a woman, either.  I wish her well.  To me, however, she will always be a man playing dress-up. Bruce Jenner in drag.  Lipstick on a pig.          

FTD--Not Just a Florist

In all my years of keeping this blog, I've relayed my victories, frustrations, and opinions. I have tried not to be a whiner, attempting to see issues with an eye to the humorous.  I've never set out to defame anyone or deliberately hurt anyone; I've never prevaricated details in order to pass them off as truth. (There are people and things that I haven't talked about in order to prevent just those sorts of things.) And I've never really imparted any of the moments of my deepest despair, of which there are many. (Even I, talker that I am, realize that words often do not do justice to what we feel deep within.)

Having said all of that, I'm going to talk about a family member in this post.  I hope my sister understands!  This is about her husband of 54 years, my brother-in-law since I was in 8th grade...the father of my two adult nieces, grandfather to five, and great-grandfather to five--plus some "steps" in there.  It's been a long run!

Let me begin by saying that I love Roger.  We haven't always seen eye-to-eye on things, but he has been a good provider to my sister, and I think he loves me, too.  Roger has, however, never been a particularly easy person to live with.  He was adopted as a baby in Canada.  If that influenced his life/thinking, we will never know.  Suffice it to say that he measured his success in dollars rather than relationships, and did not take perceived rejection or criticism well.  He was demanding and (yes, I'll say it) emotionally abusive to his wife and children, at times, with temper tantrums and ugliness that went beyond the situations that created them.  For years, I said that my sister was either a saint or a dummy for putting up with him, but she always managed to get through.

Why am I speaking about Roger in past tense?  Roger is no longer Roger.  Not even the Roger that we had all learned to tiptoe around.  After he retired, he started getting professional help for what was labeled as "depression". ( I'm more inclined to think that he had anxiety issues that were morphing into OCD, but he was put on depression meds and monitored by a psychiatrist).  This was his choice, although my sister wasn't supposed to talk about it to anyone because he felt it was a fault.  It didn't seem to help, and slowly, he began to lose words.  His memory was failing, so his "shrink" sent him for a brain scan and referrals to other doctors.   The scan showed that one of his brain's frontal lobes was shrinking...much smaller than the other... and he was diagnosed with FTD--Fronto-Temporal Dementia, with Primary Aphasia.  (Aphasia means failure to understand or remember words.)  This diagnosis was given in 2011, with the admonition that it could quickly turn into Alzheimer's Syndrome.  (These days, everyone with dementia is said to have Alzheimer's, which is far from the truth.)  Roger's descent into dementia has been slow but steady, but in recent months, his decline has sped up.  He knows what is happening to him; I think he is terrified.

My sister, God bless her, has been challenged with dealing with his moods, which range from wanting to go out to eat every meal, to saying he is dying several times a day...calling her names because SHE isn't able to get him in to see doctors as quickly as he wants (although no one can ever find anything physically wrong with him).  He threatens to kill himself almost daily--everything from freezing up in the woods to deliberately wrecking the car.  (And yes, he's still driving.)  More and more, Shari is discovering that he gets befuddled when she isn't where he thinks she should be, and more and more, she is trapped.  Roger is now like a retarded toddler who wants what he wants when he wants it.  Childlike.  Unforgiving.  Shari is doing the best she can to manage, because she always has.

If Roger were truly into an Alzheimer's state of total oblivion, it would be merciful.  Not so.  He still functions remarkably well with money and puzzles...lots and lots of puzzles.  (In fact, he can finish a sudoku puzzle in one-third the time that I can.)  But life isn't all about money and puzzles.  My sister is in this life totally alone now, except for the somewhat limited help that one of their daughters can provide.  She is planning to come here in a couple of weeks for a few days of respite.  She needs that!

 Society talks about moral support for caregivers.  Ha!  Log onto any dementia site on the Internet, and what you will find is what to expect from your dementia-affected loved one...NOT how to cope with each new development.  In all of Springfield, IL--the state capital, for Pete's sake--there is no support group to join or any way to know when it is time to take away the car keys, get the Power of Attorney, or have a backup to let you know that you are doing the right thing.  Basically, the lunatics run the asylum. Caregivers must get by with trial-and-error...and I'm here to tell you that it's a scary road to follow.

A few days ago, Roger had an appointment with his memory doctor.  It was determined that he had slipped in the cognitive part of his tests, to the point that he will probably be reported to the state to make sure that his driving skills are tested.  His doctor wants him to wear a bracelet or necklace identifying him as mentally impaired, and it was recommended that my sister consult with an attorney "soon" to get Power of Attorney, etc.  She is reeling.  None of this comes as a surprise, but now it is getting more critical, requiring things that are going to tax her more than she is already taxed.  Truth:  I'm not sure if I feel sorrier for the sufferer or the caregiver.  Nobody wins.

FTD has robbed my sister and her husband of their "golden years".  They have means.  They could be touring Europe or living in the lap of luxury in Florida were it not for FTD.  I hate this for them.  We simply don't know what is around the corner for us, do we?  Once upon a time, I envied the daylights out of them for their social contacts and fun excursions--snowmobiling, boating, traveling, partying, and just having fun.  Now?  I would not trade places with them for an instant.  I love them.  I pray for them.  I want everything to get better, knowing that it won't.  The progression of the disease is that it will only get worse before it is inevitably over.  In the meantime, dealing with the sometimes-combative nature of a loved one wears on the soul.

Trying to make sense of Roger's thinking is trying to make something irrational into something rational.   It just doesn't work.  We can try to understand, but his mind doesn't operate as normal minds do.  What is a family to do??

To my sister:  I care.  Words fail.  God provides.  We'll just have to continue to figure things out as we go along.  Thank you for trying to preserve this man-child's dignity when he sometimes embarrasses the daylights out of you.

To the rest of my blog readers:  If you are a caregiver for someone with dementia, learn to ask for help.  If you merely know someone who is a caregiver, drop by for a visit.  Sometimes it is nice just to be able to have a normal conversation with a sane person, even if the only topic of conversation is the one in need of care.

God bless you all!

Playing Doctor Roulette

I'll admit that I don't have a very good track record when it comes to doctoring.  (There are a lot of reasons for that which I will save for another post.)  I mean, even the night of my ruptured brain aneurysm, I refused to go for medical attention because I didn't feel good enough!  I was vomiting violently and painfully through the entire night, and even though my sister was faithfully tending to me, I didn't want to be disturbed in my misery.  It wasn't until the next afternoon that I acquiesced to seeking medical care and discovered that I had a brain bleed.  By all rights, I should have died that night...but I didn't.  I was spared by expert brain surgery, with no residual disabilities, a couple of days later.  God is good!

The next event was the heart attack.  This time, the medical system kind of had me by the whing-whang (to quote my father-in-law).  In order for my needed medicine prescriptions to be refilled, I had to see my cardiologist every six months for a few years.  Thereafter, I was down to once a year, but for the same reason.  I couldn't exactly find ways to escape the appointments and blood tests. Thus, my cardiologist became my ONLY doctor...and he knew it.

Every time I go in, the "system" asks me for the name of my Primary Care Physician (PCP).  Well, guess what?  I didn't have one.  Haven't had one for many years...ever since my "family doc"--a female--told me that I had an STD and needed to inform my sexual partners.  I was curious about that because I wasn't sexually active, nor did I have any sex partners, but when I told her that--or tried to--she was walking out of the room and waved her hand at me as if to say, "Yeah, yeah...I've heard it all before." And that was that.  I never went back to her.  If my integrity as a patient didn't hold water with her, I didn't need the disrespect.  Thereafter, if I needed medical attention, I went to the Immediate Care office just down the road from my house.

Last fall, I took on a Medicare supplement insurance policy.  The application asked for the name of my PCP, and said that they would assign me one if I didn't have one...so they assigned Dr. Freeman out of Plainfield, just down the street.  I've not seen him; hence, I feel weird claiming him as my PCP. Then, last Tuesday, when I had my routine cardiology appointment, Dr. Gill wrote up a "request" for a pulmonologist consultation "soon".  As I was checking out of the office, the guy offered to make an appointment for me.  I said I would rather work through my PCP, just to get started with him, but I took the phone number for a pulmonologist and promised to make the appointment.  He told me that if I had problems getting in to see one soon, I should call back because sometimes they can work inside the system to pull some strings.

So I have started the process.  Or at least I've tried!
*Dr. Freeman (the PCP) has two offices, Plainfield and Brownsburg.  The gal making appointments told me that she had NO available appointments in Pfield because the office is being remodeled, and the first available was August 24th in Brownsburg.  Okay...put me down for that.  I can't wait that long, but at least I am in the queue.
*I decided to make a pulmonology appointment on my own, using the phone number that the cardiology office gave me.  Hmmm....sounds like a fax number.  No answer...just a lot of squeaks, squawks, and squeals.
*Called the cardiologist office back to ask them to work their magic.  I explained my problem.  They said they'd get back to me.
*Two days later, they called back, obviously not understanding what my issues are.  I explained again...and the gal said she would forward my information to a couple of lung docs in that particular hospital...and I should hear from them at least within a week.

So here I am, a week later, no better than when I started.  I get a little freaky about this stuff because last year, I got a call saying that my blood sample had been dropped on the floor and that I needed to come back in for another...and several panic phone calls later from them indicated that it had NOT happened, that my blood sample had already been processed, and they were trying to track down the info that I got.

When we are sick, we often have no choice but to put our well-being into the hands of people we don't know.  Most of the time, it works.  Sometimes, it doesn't.  I'm not blaming anyone for anything here...I just would like to be able to pick up a phone and make an appointment as requested by a doctor, and hope it works.  Not sure who is dropping the ball on this deal.  I just don't want it to be MY ball that is dropped!

Sad News

My phone rang this morning.  The Caller ID couldn't tell me anything about who was calling, but I took the call.  "Peg?  This is Marilynn Bradley."  Marilynn Bradley!  Now here was a welcome name from way back in my youth--the sister of my childhood sweetheart!  And yet I knew in an instant that this was not going to be a social call.  And so it wasn't.  She was phoning to inform me of her/their mother's death.  Sad, sad news.

I'll save the story of my first love for another post, but what was it about Marjorie Bradley Scholl that made me love her so?  She was nothing like my own mother, whom I adored, but she had many attributes that made her refreshing to be around.  She was a little naive...very positive and optimistic...a teacher and homemaker supreme, who loved God and her family faithfully.  She was beautiful inside and out.  When I fell in love with her son, Jim, during a multi-family camping trip in the summer before my 8th grade year, I fell in love with the whole family.  (And I honestly think they loved me, too.)  They lived in Rice Lake, Wisconsin.  We lived in Oak Park, Illinois.  Worlds apart in terms of distance and culture in those days.  I spent at least a week every summer with them until well into college.  Jim and Marilynn spent some time with us in the winters, but it was never the same as being in my Northern Place of Escape.  I learned much about peace and grace by watching Mom Bradley do things in those years.

So very many things to remember!  I've stayed in touch with Jim via occasional emails each year.  I often have envied him the fact that he is only a year younger than I but still had his mother with him in life.  I know he and his sister are suffering right now, but Mom Bradley isn't.   I attended her 90th birthday party in Bloomington, IL, a couple of years ago.  She was well then, but I guess things went downhill somewhat after that.  Ninety-two years isn't a bad run.  Her sweet, caring, optimistic demeanor will be missed by all of those who knew her.  I am honored to be one of those!

Thus, I bless her memory and ask for God's enfolding love for her family in this sad time.  It never seems to get easier....

Upside Down World

I had occasion to be talking to my sister about learning responsibility as children.  Looking back, I really had it pretty easy.  First of all--and this is important--the age of majority was 21, not 18 as it is now.  Things were different back then.  Sometimes, I think we should go back to that!

In those days, men were the breadwinners and women took care of the home and children.  Children were expected to be children...to play outside with friends until it was dark or homework time...then come in to do what was expected (homework, bath, bed).  Men generally took pride in providing for their families and did not want their wives to have to work.  My mother taught school for a few short years during WWII, but when Dad got home from overseas, she became what is now known as a stay-at-home mother.

For my generation, the natural progression of life went like this:
A.  Go to school and get good grades.  No need to get a job, even in high school.
B.  Go to college for an education that will set you up for your future.  Parents would pay for this.
C.  Get a job, in case you never get a husband or something happens to the man who is supposed to take care of you.
D.  Save money for a home and family.
E.  Get married when you are financially secure.
F.  Have children.

I wasn't expected to have a job in high school.  I had  no car to feed.  My "job" was to do well in school.
I wasn't expected to do my own laundry.  I WAS expected to keep my room clean, set the dinner table, do the dinner dishes, and help out as asked.
I wasn't expected to pay for my college education.  I don't think the folks had a fund for that, but it was always their intention to pay for my college.  We weren't rich...
I WAS expected to begin to pay my own way after I graduated from high school.  My dad delivered me and picked me up from my first real job, for which he asked $5 a week for gas.  My mother made it clear that I would always be welcome to live at home after college but would be expected to pay rent.  (Secretly, I was offended by that, but remember that I was still yet young!)

Somewhere along the line, society began to mess up on the natural progression.  More and more girls were getting pregnant out of wedlock in (or just after) high school and deciding to keep their babies. More and more young fathers were abandoning their pregnant girlfriends, or marrying them, only to leave later.  (Hence the modern term "baby daddy".)  Families adjusted, but the children were born into poverty that will most likely follow them through life.  The lucky ones who actually have both parents are often left to themselves to figure out how to get through each day because both parents have to work outside the home.  I have many former students who are trying to get an education to better their financial situations while trying to keep a home and take care of children that shouldn't be born yet.  It's backwards to me.  I applaud those who are able to make it all work!

With the "new" progression, I have questions (and, of course, opinions).
At what age should a child be made to do his/her own laundry?
At what age should a child be required to get his/her own breakfast and make his/her own lunch?
At what age should a child be left alone in a house with no one answering texts or phone calls?
Inquiring minds want to know!  

And it all goes back to questions I have had forever about nurturing vs. enabling. We do what we do for reasons that work for us but don't always help the ones we love.  To me, the modern world feels upside down, and that is totally the reason why it's probably best that I am no longer in charge!  My wisdom isn't always welcome, but I sure do care!