"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!