Exercising

The elliptical machine was delivered February 15, 2005. So I've had it about 30 months now. Up until January, 2007 I had missed very few days on it. But the fist 7 months of this year have been pretty tough with dad so I missed a lot. But I started over in early August and have a good record going.

The "basement" is a half-basement since this is a split-level house. So I have it there by the window so I can look out.

Much earlier I had a gym membership. The gym was nearby and inexpensive. It was great as long as I could leave the house. It was a little intimidating because during the day there were a lot of professional lifters there.

Then when I couldn't leave the house I started walking and jogging outside on the driveway which is a big, roughly circular thing. Ten laps is a mile about.

When I started exercising I was pretty out of shape. I could walk a mile but certainly couldn't jog one. That was my first big goal to jog an entire mile without stopping. I like walking and jogging outside. Really nothing like it. But weather is a problem and I can't really afford injuries. I had some ankle injuries and hurt my knees a few times and fell once on some ice. No ice on the elliptical. So right now inside on the machines is better.

I would really like to say "run" but I am not really in the "running" category. I think when I was in the army we had to run 1 mile in 7 minutes and 40 seconds or something like that. That's running. What I do is definitely jogging.

Across the room I have a little TV mounted high and connected to cable. There's a fan and a bookcase and a scale. But my favorite thing is a print of a painting of the Grand Canyon. The painter is Thomas Moran and the title of the painting is Grand Canyon of Arizona (I think). It has a date on it of 1912. I don't think it is particularly valuable and it has some damage evident through the glass. (The image isn't mine but I found it somewhere on the Internet and it was easier to acquire.)

I so enjoy looking at that thing. I imagine I'm there and then I try to see things in the painting that Moran must have seen when he painted it. I'd like to visit the Grand Canyon with Mrs. Flinty sometime and maybe do some hiking. I don't know if I'd really want to ride the donkeys down to the floor or not. I want to go in the off season I think.

Exercising is one of the things I do that really is the difference between being depressed and not. If I can get in an hour or so of exercise every day then everything else rather amazingly falls into place and I can handle any number of other crises.

Fashion

I visited Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia once. It was a great trip and I enjoyed it immensely. That's been so long ago now.

The thing I still remember from the "reenactors" (seems more like actors to me) was that so much of life in the original Williamsburg had to do with fashion. I was especially taken with the idea of wigs being worn for fashion. Hard for me to imagine myself in a wig.

I know Queen Elisabeth I is a little bit in the wrong period for Williamsburg but I like her red wig. Besides I couldn't find an image of James I with a wig.

My sense of fashion falls more towards Sam Walton's than Mr. Blackwell's. Or maybe Mr. Blackwell is only for women's fashion. I don't know that just like a lot of other stuff about fashion that I do not know. Mr. Blackwell's name is not Mr. Blackwell and I do know that.

A few years ago I realized I had to make significant changes in my life if I expected to survive and thrive as a caregiver. One of the things I knew I had to do was to get out of the house. At the time my wardrobe was rather scant, old, and worn out. I had a sport coat I wore to funerals which was pretty much the extent of my social life.

Recognizing my own few and paltry gifts lay not in the fashion area I turned to a local haberdasher (a word I truly love). I like how he calls on occasion and says "this is your haberdasher." It makes me feel good to have a haberdasher. Surprisingly it makes me feel good to dress up, too. I try to dress up every Sunday in coat and tie. And even when I go casual I try to look nice. I think it is because my usual uniform is my exercise shorts and shirt. My haberdasher does a nice job of making me presentable.

He chooses things that go together for me from socks to ties. Pretty much any combination will work, too. I'm pretty short but he still has me in these over-the-calf socks except in my case they are nearly to my knees. Still, I like it that when I cross my legs in church that only the sock shows. I wondered for years how other men pulled that off.

He has taught me how to better care for my clothes. And the wardrobe he helped me acquire has already served me very well.

I am very surprised that dressing up actually relieves a great deal of stress and makes me feel so much better about myself. I think it somehow causes me to be more confident. And I think being more confident helps me feel better about my entire life somehow.

I have greater appreciation now for the place of fashion and ritual in society. This is mom and dad in their wedding photograph taken in 1947. Dad was 30 and mom was 33. They are very fashionable I think.

This is a photograph that mom had hanging just outside their bedroom door. On the other side of the door is a framed grouping of photographs of me from 1st grade through 12th grade. Directly across the hall is a similar one of my brother except he took his home with him so that spot is empty now.

Dad and I used to stop every night before we retired and he would look at this photo of him and mom and he would tell me the story about how they met and how beautiful she was and how he immediately knew "she was the one for me."

She was a stenographer at a lumber yard and dad was a bookkeeper for a roofing company. Dad had become acquainted with mom's boss and they saw each other frequently at lunch. Mom's boss told dad that there was a young woman that had been recently employed that he thought dad should meet. And so a meeting was arranged.

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise!

Wednesday, September 5, 2007 - about 7 AM.

In 6 days it will be the 6th anniversary of the terrorist attack on the United States that destroyed the twin towers in New York City. I have begun thinking about that day and what I will write about it.

Today I awoke before 5 and decided to head for the exercise room. This is a low intensity day. I checked dad before I went down and he was snugly snoozing away.

I had about 15 minutes left when he surprised me by walking into the exercise room. He waved at me from the doorway. I waved back. I wondered if he was still angry with me from yesterday. Apparently not , so I guess we're buddies again. So he sat on the chair and waited for me to finish. Reminded me of Gomer Pyle's "Surprise, Surprise, Surprise!"

It is a busy day for me today. I have a long lawyer meeting at noon, an appointment with the dermatologist for my dermatitis, errands, and a haircut appointment.

Wednesday - about 9 pm

I'm back now and it is still Wednesday. Supper is over and we're in dad's room watching TV. I had left the laptop downstairs and it took me a while to retrieve it. For one thing I was too tired to care.

The lawyer (there were 2 of them) meeting was 2 hours going over a lengthy contract. It is very important. I should have been better prepared. But I wasn't. And I'm on the knife's edge of anger. Eventually I will make sure I have studied it in detail. Even then I will feel guilty about it.

Many weeks ago now Dad scratched my neck and brought blood. Ever since I've been fighting this rash that has spread all around my neck and into my scalp and the tops of both forearms. It was bad enough that the blood bank refused to take my blood because of it. And it itched like crazy. After two appointments with my primary doc he referred me to a dermatologist. My primary gave me an injection, an oral antibiotic, and prescriptions for 3 high dollar creams. He treated it both for staph and fungal.

The dermatologist is not spending his money on an office facility for sure. And it takes forever to get an appointment, even for a follow-up. Dermatologists' waiting rooms are not the happiest places I've ever been. Nor the exam room for that matter.

Staring at me from a poster on the wall is the beautiful body of a young, female cheerleader. She would really be sexy except that her face has apparently been prematurely aged and cured in someone's smokehouse. Next to it is a baby with the same kind of face. Headlining both posters is text that declares that 80% of sun damage occurs before we're 18.

On the way to the exam room are more photographs and posters with various skin diseases. Makes me slightly sick to my stomach and wonder if I shouldn't try to escape.

These are not comforting images. It is a good thing they didn't care about taking my blood pressure because I'm pretty sure mine would have been elevated. If the purpose of the posters is to scare the life out of me then they were successful. Since I'm pretty far beyond 18 I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do about the sun.

Another thing I found somewhat disconcerting was that one of the young women working behind the counter was feeding about 100 million pages of something or other to this rather large document shredder. Just struck me funny a little but I'm in a peculiar mood today.

I waited in the waiting room for 15 minutes. Then I waited in the exam room for 15 minutes. I was thinking that I am really good at waiting. Also thought that this wasn't much different than my normal routine except dad isn't with me.

Well, the doc said my rash is lots better but not quite all gone yet. Plus my neck is discolored. I knew this of course but I suppose it was good to have a pro confirm it. He examined me from about 3 feet. I wondered if that was peculiar to the profession. Given the posters and pictures on the wall I would be uncomfortable at 3 feet. More prescriptions for more high dollar shampoo and high dollar cream. The last little tube of ointment was $70 after insurance but he assured me this new stuff is much cheaper. And I have to go back in a month.

I had my hair cut appointment afterwards. I could audition for the caveman show my hair is so long. But I figured it would freak out my barber to try to cut my hair with the rash and all. My hair cuts are $24. I wonder what a $400 hair cut would be like.

My errand was to buy some CD-Rs because Mrs. Flinty is entertaining relatives (that I do not know) on Friday and we are scanning photos and burning CD's. Originally I was supposed to pick up barbecue but I was relieved of that duty. And relief is the right word, too.

Dad is still up and sitting in his chair. He's been up at least 16 hours and shows no sign of being tired. He keeps saying something about "Where is he?" and pointing to his empty bed. I think he is talking about himself.

Wednesday - About midnight

Still up although I dozed off. Dad escaped during that time and has been on a tour of the entire house apparently. He has eaten all the cookies out of the cookie jar again but I only put 3 at a time in it.

Might as well post this now - since it is past midnight - and the new day is upon us.

Appearances

Dad was doing pretty well before the end of December, 2006. This photo was taken in early December just a few days after I was last able to get his hair cut and his beard trimmed. We've managed to shave him a few times since but haven't been able to cut his hair. He was still wearing clothes then, continent, and taking care of himself to a great extent. Sometimes it is so hard for me to remember what things were like.

When I took this photo I would have had no way of knowing that by the end of the month things would change so drastically.

Dad's been having a lot of trouble staying asleep the last few days. He falls asleep and I quietly sneak into my room. Time passes and he gets up - I think to find me. I intercept him and get him back in bed. He falls asleep. Then we start all over.

Tuesday morning he was combative again and didn't want to get up. Wouldn't or couldn't talk to me. Finally about 10:30 I managed to get him sitting on the side of his bed. But he wouldn't let me change him. The bed was wet and his gown and everything else. Applied the ABHR and waited but nothing. Finally after employing all my tricks I managed to get him changed and the bed made and the laundry started. I didn't come out unscathed but got it done all the same.

Still he went right back to bed and refused to walk more than a step or two. I had to practically carry him to the chair while I made the bed. Still no words. At noon I prepared his breakfast and took it up. Finally he ate but immediately climbed back in bed.

Two hours later my hospice volunteer arrived for my 90 minute respite. By this time dad has now become sufficiently energized to walk down the stairs and join me on the porch, much to my utter amazement.

The aide, annoyingly cheerful, joins us on the porch and is absolutely effusive that dad is again sitting on the porch and looking so chipper and healthy and so on. I say "Dad, here is Michelle." And he says "Yes, I know her!" which of course he does not. He begins "chatting" her up - or some reasonable facsimile thereof.

I think to myself that Michelle is blissfully unaware of all the remarkable ups and downs in the intervening week that's passed since last she was there for her 90 minutes. Two hours earlier she would have seen a different person. Four hours later he would be back in bed and again uncommunicative. But for her he is much the same this week as we was the last week.

I did not know how to answer her question: "How's he doing?"

This photo was take on Monday, September 3, 2007. At least that's what the time stamp says. I honestly do not remember Monday any longer. The time stamp says this was in the morning about 7 AM.

Brothers

I believe this photograph was taken the first day of school, 1959. My brother, on the left, was 6 and this was his first day of school period. There was no kindergarten or preschool then. I was 11.

I was kind of geeky even then - and I think that was before the word - or at least I hadn't heard it. But notice the ink pen in the pocket of my shirt. The cap is off and the thing is on the outside of the pocket!! And, yes, I did get a 6" K & E pocket slide rule but that was later and it was very expensive.

We both had our sack lunches. Behind us is the front door to our home. It was an open porch until my brother was born. Shortly afterwards dad enclosed the porch creating a room that my brother and I shared as a bedroom. We had this "trundle" bed that was right in front of that door. I slept on top and he slept on the bed that rolled under.

We didn't really have visitors much so it wasn't a problem with the bed being in the "entry." Our clothes, what few we had, were in a built-in set of drawers on the back porch. As I recall we each had 2 pairs of blue jeans and a few shirts and a pair of nice pants for Sunday school. We had a pair of dress shoes for Sunday, too, and sneakers for everyday school. Then our work clothes were in a closet on the back porch.

The back porch was where we ate breakfast and lunch. It had a table with a yellow plastic top of some kind. There was an old steam radiator out there, too. When it was cold I would come in from feeding the cattle and put my feet under the radiator and my hands nearly on top of it.

Dad would always thaw the standpipe to get water for the cattle when it was really cold. He'd remove his big old leather gloves and work right out in the bitter wind to get the water running. I always thought that I'd know I had become a man when I could do that.

Still waiting.

Blackstrap Molasses

One of our errands last Friday was to stop at the health food store and pick up a few items. Mrs. flinty was leading the way with me in tow. My job mainly is to push the shopping cart (thank you very much Mr. Sylvan Goldman) and to occasionally lift something requiring a man's strength, such as a case of Fiji water. Navigating the aisles of our store is a bit like threading a needle given the exhibits placed here and there amidst the bodies of the shoppers. It is a difficult task but so far I've been dependable if not outstanding.

Suddenly that lovely domestic scene was interrupted by my sighting of something particularly fascinating. I am easily distracted in health food stores. There are just so many interesting bottles and foods and what have you. But it was the Blackstrap Molasses that had captured my attention.

I said to Mrs. Flinty, "Do you remember blackstrap molasses?" to which she replied "Why do they call it blackstrap?" "I don't know" said I while stopping to inspect the various bottles.

I remember long ago in my childhood someone giving us some homemade blackstrap molasses in a Mason jar. It was very black and very thick and I thought it tasted terrible. But the adults were keen to eat it with hot, homemade cornbread and butter. This was still the day when the Crisco can sat in a prominent place in the kitchen and butter was actually butter. I remember at the time it was a serious waste of otherwise good cornbread ruined by pouring that black goop on it.

Blackstrap is just a very cool name. But what does it mean for goodness sake? Of course I had to search all over the Internet for some explanation of "blackstrap." Apparently this stuff now has health and medicinal benefits. Really. There are people swearing that this stuff reverses gray hair and cures or aids any number of other diseases.

So far all I know about the blackstrap part is that's what is left after the third boiling and extraction of the sugar from sugar cane. In other words it is the dregs of the dregs. But that's what makes it loaded with all kinds of good minerals and vitamins and stuff. So that's why it is good for us. And that's what blackstrap means but still I can't find out why it was called that.

Maybe my next blog title with have blackstrap in it. I kind of like the taste of it. It is certainly bitter for something that is sweet. I hope buttermilk isn't next.

Dad was combative this morning taking particularly great offense at my audacity in wanting to change his Depends. It was a pretty good match and he got in some good licks. But once again I prevailed and we are sitting on the porch watching the holiday takers spoil the Labor Day of the labor givers.

I think he was up a lot last night but I more or less slept through whatever it was he did when he was up. One time I checked on him and he was just sitting in his chair. I feel a little guilty for not having stayed up with him but I'm healing pretty quickly.

He became particularly enamored with one of my disposable fountain pens this morning at breakfast. The photo shows him holding the fountain pen while eating his cereal. Notice the Wal-mart plastic coated paper plate underneath the Wal-mart Corning ware cereal bowl.

Dwell on these things

Finally, brethren,
whatever is true,
whatever is honorable,
whatever is right,
whatever is pure,
whatever is lovely,
whatever is of good repute,
if there is any excellence and
if anything worthy of praise,
dwell on these things.
Philippians 4:8 NASB

I like Eugene Peterson's Message Bible paraphrase, too:

Summing it all up, friends, I'd say you'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse.

That entire Philippians 4 chapter is rich enough for someone to mine for a lifetime.

C. S. Lewis in "The Last Battle" has Lord Digory say about the new Narnia “Its inside is bigger than its outside." “Yes,” said Queen Lucy. “In our world too, a Stable once had something inside it that was bigger than our whole world.”

It is fascinating to me that Paul wrote the letter to the church at Philippi while imprisoned in Rome (" ... I am in chains for Christ." 1:13 NIV) .

Somehow being imprisoned doesn't seem exactly conducive to thinking on good things.

The Porch

This is an image (I hate to say photograph anymore. Is there really such a thing as digital photography?) of the north side of the house showing the porch.

The upper window to the right side is in dad's bedroom. This is the western half of the house. The eastern half is 1/2 story, about, lower. The house has 4 levels - a split level home plan - that dad and mom modified.

They used to take all these farming magazines and every one had a house plan or more. So dad and mom would always look at those plans and occasionally they would find one they liked enough to keep. So they'd cut that one out and put in their collection. They wouldn't begin construction until they had the money saved to build it with no debt.

The depression always pervaded (a word for you cornbread) their thinking. Even the war (World War II that is) was of insufficient magnitude to diminish the depression's influence. Over the years Dad ordered 2 house plans. And of those two they finally chose to build this one.

Dad had a large, permanent table built for the porch. Then he and mom had another table surface they put up on some sawhorse supports when they entertained. Dad was president of their Sunday school class and it was the "movers and shakers" of their church. It was called the "Friendship" class. That was so appropriate because a visitor just could not attend that church without one or more of those "Friendship" people welcoming him or her or them. They are nearly all gone now. Besides dad I only know of one lady in Tennessee that remains. She calls on occasion to see how dad is doing. Still "friendship" to the very end.

So when they hosted a "Friendship" class party they would use the porch and every other room for that matter. People would bring food of course. They would gather around mom's cherished Conn organ and she would play and all would sing (well, most all - not dad though). Dad bought the Conn for mom just after the house was finished. For the time it was such a luxurious extravagance. It still works, too, even with all those vacuum tubes. My wife used to play it for dad and he would sit and listen for longer than she could endure.

Mom's father was a preacher (he had a mail order seminary education) and a carpenter. He would move to a town and physically build a church building. He pastored the church until a new pastor could be called and take over and then he would move on to another town and do the same thing. He played the trombone. Mom and her sisters sang in a quartet at first and then a trio. This was during the depression and they were desperately poor. They had only what the congregation could give them for food and shelter and clothing. And almost no one had anything.

My grandmother supplemented the family income by making candy and selling it. She made some of the best candy I've ever tasted. She had this one candy called "Aunt Bill's" that was my favorite.

It is Saturday morning. Friday is my longest weekly respite. Usually I get 18 hours. An aide is on from half past noon to 8:30 pm and then my brother takes over. Last night dad wouldn't let anyone help him. He sat on the porch and refused to budge until well after dark. He didn't eat his ice cream or drink his juice. But now I've gotten him changed finally and he is happily (I think) snoozing away in his recliner. I can see out the window of his bedroom if I stand up. I'm here beside him. He won't get in his bed.

We, my wife and I, had a great time yesterday. We went to Mimi's Cafe and had a wonderful lunch and ran some errands and watched a little TV. I love my Fridays.

Old Home Place

Not my old home place but my dad's. He was not born in this house though. That one burned and this one was built about 1925. It measures about 16 ft square and has 4 rooms. I took this with my Treo and was standing in front and to the right. This is the west and south sides. There was a living room, 2 bedrooms, and the kitchen. Both bedrooms had closets which my dad told me was a very modern innovation for the time. It seems so small for a family of 6 by today's standards. No wonder they were so close. My childhood home wasn't much larger. But I wonder if the larger homes we have now changes how close a family feels to each other?

The trees around the place used to be much prettier. There were pecan trees and about a half dozen pear trees. For many years my aunt and uncle would drive down and harvest both pecans and pears. There are still black locust trees right in front. But all the trees have been damaged by various storms over the years.

When I was a kid, I would accompany my dad to work on the old farm on the weekend. Sometimes mom would go and we would take the old Nash that had the front seats that fully reclined. We'd sleep in the car and I thought that was so cool. Later it would just be dad and me. We'd drive down in the old 1950 Chevy truck. The truck wasn't very good but better by a long ways than the roads.

Usually we would leave really early and get down there while it was still dark. Dad's friend, George, would already be there. The old house was in good shape then. It didn't even have a lock. George would have made a fire in the old wood stove and a pot of black coffee would be boiling in that speckled enameled steel. We had cups of the same material and dad would put a bunch of sugar in mine. I still think that was the best coffee. The grounds kind of settled to the bottom.

Sometimes George would have a catfish he'd caught from the pond - which was new then - thanks to the county extension agent. If we stayed all day then he'd cook it. But usually we started back around noon. Then Dad would stop at a place in Chickasha called Fowler's I think it was. We'd get hamburgers and a chocolate malt.

If we had time Dad would take me down to the old swimming hole where he and his brother and sisters swam. It was fed by a spring then and always had water but it isn't there anymore. And then we'd look at the old chicken house and the barn and the well. My pop dug that well by hand. I was fascinated with the old cellar. It is still there but has a bunch of debris in it to keep the cows out.

When we looked at the cellar dad would always tell about being in there once during a tornado and how the tornado ripped off the door even with his father and everyone else holding onto the rope. He'd also tell about his brother making wine in the cellar and the bottles exploding.

He'd show me the old watermelon patch and tell about sitting down right there in the row and cutting a melon open with his pocket knife and how sweet and good it tasted.

We'd walk from one fence to the other and he'd tell about his dad (my pop) coming there as a very young man on horseback before statehood. I told my son those same stories and more about his pop as we walked together that very same pasture. Dad and mom built their "dream home" in 1964. I was already 16 and left just 4 yeas later. This is where dad and I live now. I'm sure that first place must have been just as much a dream for those people 100 years ago. I don't know why we keep the old place but no one wants to sell it. Maybe it's the dream part.

The Pendulum Swings

It was one week ago, Thursday, August 23, 2007, that Dad rather suddenly recovered enough to become ambulatory again. It was in the afternoon that he improved so much and so quickly. The hospice nurse had already come and gone. She and I had talked about his increasing need for sleep and how it was probably due to the steady encroachment of the disease. I told her he hadn't been up much all week and I had been having to bring his meals up to his room and he was not eating very much.

Each day since he has improved. Tuesday, August 28th, was the high point. He went down to the basement for the first time since last year. He was even talkative - at least to an extent - to the hospice volunteer. She remarked that it was the first time he had ever spoken to her.

She was just so happy and excited. I've noticed that reaction before in people and I still find it somewhat puzzling.

He let me bathe him and let the hospice aide shave him. Was that Tuesday or Monday? I don't remember. He had a ballpoint pen, a comb, and a mechanical pencil that he carried everywhere with him. He would not release them. He fought me a few times on changing.

Dad's shadowing also increased. Tuesday when the hospice volunteer came he tried to go with me but I hurried away. That's when he visited with the aide. My son and I watched part of the documentary Malcolm and Barbara: Love's Farewell. Then we went to Starbucks and sat on the patio and drank our Blueberry Frappuccinos®. I had a nice time. I was pretty screwed up really.

Tuesday night was the most extreme and we were up almost all night. It wasn't for any particular reason. He just didn't want to go to sleep away from me. So I'd sit with him and he'd fall asleep and I'd slip across the hall into my own bed. Then I'd hear him and he'd be up and hunting me and we'd start all over.

About 8 AM Wednesday morning I went into his room. He was sound asleep so I exercised. I returned and he woke up but would not get up. So I exercised some more. I took a couple of phone calls and answered some email.

Finally about 11 he was awake but combative. I applied the ABHR. Later he was not so combative but he told me he couldn't get up. I went down to fix some juice for him. He came down the stairs while I was fixing it!

I took him back up to change his pants and by the time we arrived in his room he was exhausted. I managed to get him changed but he went right to his bed. Said he had to. So weak to have just been so strong.

When we go up the stairs together he gets to the top step and reaches with his right arm to grasp the post. He pulls himself up then that last step or two.

So for lunch I fixed some yogurt and fruit. He fed himself just fine. He was recovered but would only sit on the side of his bed.

He's sleeping away and I'm trying to do the same this Wednesday afternoon.

He managed to come downstairs for supper and did fine. While he was eating he handed me something. It was a crown from his mouth. He hardly paused. I kept it. I don't know why.

We're back upstairs now. If I leave he hunts me. If I stay then he sleeps. He wants to sleep but he wants me to be here.

If I go to sleep or have my eyes closed and he awakens then he hollers at me "Hey Hey Hey" pretty loudly.

Sometimes I feel like I am in a vise.

Now it is past midnight on Thursday, August 30. I tried to come to my room about 10 pm the first time. It's been a repeat of last night so far. I'm going to try one more time to sleep in my room and if he still tries to get up and hunt me I'm going back in there to sleep in the recliner.

He's having a lot of trouble walking. His leg kind of crumples and then he catches it and straightens. Still the shuffle but with the added crumple. I bet they don't make an Alzheimer's commercial like that.

Greatest faith

Bad night last night with dad. He was up and down for a long time. I am so tired today.

I've been thinking a lot about faith.

Now Jesus started on His way with them; and when He was not far from the house, the centurion sent friends, saying to Him, "Lord, do not trouble Yourself further, for I am not worthy for You to come under my roof; for this reason I did not even consider myself worthy to come to You, but just say the word, and my servant will be healed.

"For I also am a man placed under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to this one, 'Go!' and he goes, and to another, 'Come!' and he comes, and to my slave, 'Do this!' and he does it."

Now when Jesus heard this, He marveled at him, and turned and said to the crowd that was following Him, "I say to you, not even in Israel have I found such great faith." Luke 7:6-9 NAS

A Centurion would be something like a company commander in the US Army. Normally that would be a Captain rank and a professional soldier. He would have commanded at least 80 men.

My first thought was that it was interesting that he would care so much about a servant. But upon further consideration I actually think that's very much in character for a military leader. Leaders are often painted as uncaring and unfeeling but my experience has been the opposite.

It is clear to me from the passage that the remarkable thing about this man was his understanding of the nature of Jesus.

He understood that Jesus was of great rank and importance. The centurion did not feel worthy to even meet Jesus personally much less for Jesus to enter his home. That's a lot of respect.

He also understood that Jesus had such authority over the entire creation that Jesus only needed to give the order and that order would be executed.

That's truly remarkable. I really do understand why Jesus marveled.

Malcolm and Barbara: Love's Farewell

I'm posting a 2nd entry today.

I became interested in Malcolm and Barbara Pointon due to a recent post on the Alzheimer's Forum. So I did a little searching (can't really call it researching can we?).

There have been 2 documentaries made about the couple's struggle with Alzheimer's disease. The first, Malcolm and Barbara: a love story, was shown in 1999. The second is Malcolm and Barbara: Love's Farewell. The final episode was aired August 8th, 2007 and was embroiled in controversy.

The controversy to me was ridiculous. It had to do with whether Malcolm actually died in the video. He actually slipped into a coma and died 3 or 4 days later.

Malcolm was diagnosed at age 51 and died in February, 2007 at age 66.

I found 4 parts on YouTube of Malcolm and Barbara: Love's Farewell:

1. Part 1
2. Part 2
3. Part 3
4. Part 4
   

I found the final segment here on Mike Powers website.

Pretty difficult to watch.

There's probably more - but this is what I found.

Insecurity, Fear, and Anger

Sometimes we express something exactly the opposite of how we really feel. A lot of times we don't really know how we really feel either.

• Someone who really feels inferior acts superior.
  
• Someone who feels he has failed criticizes others that he perceives as successful.
• Someone says he knows who he is but deep down is so lost.
• Someone says he is optimistic but acts pessimistically about everything.
  
• Someone says he loves but exudes hate.
• Someone says he is happy but acts angry.
  

Anger is interesting. Anger can be aggressive and confrontational. But anger can also be passive. There's even a term for it, passive-aggressive.

Dealing with passive-aggressive people is so frustrating. The Lord gave an interesting example of passive-aggressive behavior in The Parable of the Two Sons in Matthew 21:28:

"What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, 'Son, go and work today in the vineyard.' 'I will not,' he answered, but later he changed his mind and went. Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, 'I will, sir,' but he did not go. "Which of the two did what his father wanted?"

The second son exhibits passive-aggressive behavior. If he were asked why he would deny disobedience. He would say he forgot or hadn't gotten to it yet. He would be all sweet and nice on the outside but seething on the inside. He would see himself as the victim, too. He would never take responsibility for anything himself. He would act superior and even think he was superior to everyone else. He would claim to be a certain kind of person and never realize that he was so obviously the opposite.

The Lord was talking to a bunch of Pharisees. As a group they were passive-aggressive. They wore their righteousness on the outside and walked around criticizing and complaining about everyone else. They really hated The Lord.

I've read that passive-aggressive behavior is often the result of repressed anger from childhood.

I suspect that's true, too. I know a little about repressed anger. Sometimes I've been so angry at my dad but I know that he is not responsible and so I try with all my strength to never direct my anger his way. But invariably I run into someone who has done absolutely nothing to me and that poor innocent gets the full load of my repressed anger.

I've noticed it is a lot easier for me to be angry when I am afraid. I think anger is defensive. It's like the little Chihuahua dog that bristles and barks like crazy at the huge Rottweiler. Since we are impartial observers and notice that the Chihuahua is 6 inches tall and weighs about 5 pounds and the Rottweiler is at least 24 inches and 110 pounds it is rather apparent who is going to win the fight. I think our anger is like the Chihuahua and our fear is like the Rottweiler.

On the other hand you can watch the Rottweiler who peers down at the Chihuahua. Sometimes he is rather bemused but mostly just unconcerned. That's security.

If you can't tell I've actually watched that Chihuahua and Rottweiler (not mine).

I'd rather be the Rottweiler.

That's pretty much it for this post - just a bunch of random thinking that escaped. I need to keep a better hold of it but sometimes it leaks out.

Working a day

I asked my aide if she could stay with dad from Thursday noon overnight until Friday afternoon.

She scrunched up her eyebrows and looked at me like I had asked something a little crazy. I thought her reaction was a bit strange.

But after she left I thought about it.

Really it is only in the caregiver universe where working days and nights without interruption seems not only reasonable but normal.

Had to laugh at myself.

We're thinking we're going to try a little trip this week. Kind of a practice run before our slightly longer trip for our anniversary.

Size

I read a news article from Reuters on Thursday, August 23, 2007. The first part follows:

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - A giant hole in the Universe is devoid of galaxies, stars and even lacks dark matter, astronomers said on Thursday.

The team at the University of Minnesota said the void is nearly a billion light-years across and they have no idea why it is there.

"Not only has no one ever found a void this big, but we never even expected to find one this size," said astronomy professor Lawrence Rudnick.

A light year is a little less than 6 trillion miles (6 with 12 zeros). A billion is 9 zeros. So that's a total of 6 with 21 zeros. That's really, really big. And we didn't know it was there - or not there - as you prefer.

Sometimes I can see very small living things. If I am walking through the pasture for instance I might stop at a red ant bed and watch them for a while. I am so much larger than they are and yet for the most part if I am careful about where I step they seem to be unaware of my presence. And believe me that's best.

Or I've seen these really tiny little spiders on the tile floor in one of the bathrooms. They are much smaller than the ants. But I can still see them and they are spiders. I think they are fascinating in themselves but what really impresses me is that because I see them I can infer that there must be yet smaller creatures that the little spiders eat. They pay me absolutely no attention. I know that there are things even smaller that can only be seen with microscopes.

And I know the universe is so huge and it is filled with so much larger things compared to us. Even large empty things. It is rather amazing that we just found this really, really huge empty area. It has been there all along and it is just unimaginably big. But we didn't know about it.

Sometimes I wonder if we are like the ants or the little spiders or even the microbes and we are just so small we are unable to see the really big things around us.

That's it - no point to this - just something I was thinking about.

Instructions

I have a friend who, most of the time, can build things and put things together without any instructions at all. He envisions the end product and then takes all the individual pieces and puts them together. It's perfect, too.

Whatever that is that allows him to do that is not present in me. I need instructions and tools and patience and it still takes me longer to put the thing together. Usually I have mistakes even then.

I've noticed that sometimes when my friend puts something together he might deviate from the written instructions. He can do that because he knows what he's doing. He "sees" the end result and he "sees" various ways to get there.

I understand some of this although not in exactly the same way. I am good at certain things. I take liberties with what I am good at. So I understand a little. In my case it is mathematics and computers. I didn't find out about computers until the late 60's because they weren't much around before then.

I recall when we started getting those "thought" problems in grade school and everyone had so much trouble solving them. I never did. I just knew the answer. I remember the teacher telling us how important it was to learn the method of solving the problem. I thought that was kind of funny because I didn't really need a method. I could usually "see" more than one way to do it. Back then you had to show your work and if you didn't follow the method then your grade suffered. You could even get the wrong answer but still get points if you followed the method correctly.

I had a friend that was an artist. She could always tell you the answer and it would be correct. But she had no idea how she arrived at it. She didn't get good grades because of that.

But real life is not like school. In real life it is the answer that counts. No one cares about the method you used. Well as long as you avoid prison at least. For instance if you are a car salesman then your paycheck will depend on how many cars you sold period. You won't get money or gold stars or anything for following a certain script.

Caregiving is real life for sure. It is all about results.

Dream

My friend skygirl wrote a few words about her dream not long ago in her blog Counting Blessings.

Not dream as in dreams during sleep. But dream as in my dream house or my dream vacation or my dream job. Except in this case it is my dream life.

I am afraid to dream if I am totally and brutally honest with myself. Because it involves life after caregiving. And life after caregiving means dad has died.

It isn't that I am afraid of death, either my own or his. I have absolute faith in our afterlife. I know we will reunite. So it isn't death itself but rather the vacuum that occurs after the hustle and bustle is over. Its a big empty feeling. I guess it isn't even that feeling because that feeling is temporary, too. It is the transition. It is so sudden. It is like hitting a wall at 100. I know it is brief but I still don't like it.

Then there is the uncertainty of that time. Will I have something to do? What will it be? Will it be fulfilling? I feel so old but will I feel younger again? I am certainly not young anymore. I've written about this previously.

I want to be with my wife. I owe her. She married me in the midst of this. It is one thing to find pain as an in-law but quite another to knowingly embrace it.

I need a dream.

Little by Little

When mom died I wondered how dad and I would manage. Mom and I talked. Dad listened for the most part. So it was with some concern that I considered how the two of us would get along.

But we did just fine. Dad continued getting up pretty early just as he always had. I made breakfast just as I had been doing. Except that mom always wanted an egg. Dad always wanted cereal. Doesn't take long to make cereal. Then we made the beds together. Dad and mom had done that until she was unable.

Trash occupied a considerable amount of dad's time. He would cut up boxes and separate out his containers and jars for his collections. And for a long time he remembered the day he had to take the container down to the road. It's kind of funny because trash seems to still occupy a good part of my time.

For a long while we drove around the pasture picking up trash. We'd usually drive down the east fence to the south boundary and then west and so on until we had driven the entire perimeter. I got us stuck once and we had to walk back to the house.

I had this outfit come in and clean up the old oil well pad but while it was there we would go there and walk around. I had this idea maybe that he and I would tear down the old barn but he had already lost too much by then so I hired it done.

At 9:30 each morning we stopped for our coffee break which by then was hot chocolate for him. That's when we would read the paper and the obituaries. He read to me at first and then later I read to him.

Lunch was at noon. I fixed him a half sandwich. Sometimes turkey and cheese and sometimes peanut butter. Then a cookie and some fruit and juice.

In the summer he mowed and I would watch from the porch. He would wave at me as he came around. In the winter we watched a lot of History Channel and listened to music and did various things. We had our coffee by the little fireplace in the winters.

We visited the cemetery every day for a long while. I bought him milkshakes at Sonic on the way back home. We even went to supper once or twice with old friends. He helped me fix supper and we made cookies together. We went to buy groceries together. Sometimes we would visit my daughter and her family or we would see my brother. We had occasional visitors for a long while, too.

Once or maybe twice we drove the 2 hours to the farm of his birth and walked around on it. Then we went into town and visited his grandparents' graves at the old cemetery.

When I was working he would sit in the office with me. I would program and he would sit and look through different magazines and books. We had several business meetings in that room. We would listen to music.

I don't remember what changed first or the order things were lost. One day he couldn't set the table any longer. He would take a plate from the cupboard and put it on the table but then he would put it back. I helped him by putting everything on the table and then he could take it from there for a while longer.

One day he just lost interest in trash. He didn't remember the day any longer.

One day I told him the grass was pretty tall. He said "No, it was alright." He never mowed after that. So I started mowing and he sat on the porch. And as I came around he waved at me from the porch.

Little by little things changed. Reminds me of an old song by Dusty Springfield, although I don't think she had Alzheimer's in mind:

Little By Little

(buddy kaye / bea verdi)

Little by little by little by little by little
Little by little by little by little by little

You’re messing up my life
Tearing me apart
Breaking up my world
And I’m giving up my heart
Little by little by little by little

I’m losing all my pride
It’s really getting bad
Hurting deep inside
Is a-making me go mad, ooh
Little by little by little by little

Little by little
Bit by bit
I’m going crazy and you’re causing it
Little by little
Bit by bit
I should stop caring
But my love won’t quit

Little by little by little by little by little, yeah
Little by little by little by little by little, all right

I don’t know where to turn
Don’t know what to do
I’m walking on thin ice
And it seems I’m falling through, ooh
Little by little by little by little

Little by little
Bit by bit
I’m going crazy and you’re causing it
Little by little
Bit by bit
I should stop caring
But my love won’t quit

I’m the queen of fools
Know the deck is stacked
On a losing streak
But I’m a-gonna get you back

Little by little by little by little
(little by little by little by little by little)
Yeah, little by little
(little by little by little by little by little)
Ah, ah, ah, little by little
(little by little by little by little by little)
Little by little, mmm
(little by little by little by little by...)

Little By Little

Aloneness

I had not really lived alone until my divorce which was coincidental with my children leaving home.

Coming home to the big, empty house required considerable adjustment. I was no longer a husband and my father role was drastically changed. What in the world was my role?

I still recall going to a restaurant by myself the very first time. I could not figure out where to look. Later on I noticed that a lot of single diners had books or magazines or papers to read. Attending church one Sunday morning I could not help but notice the couples and families so tightly grouped together and interspersed here and there were little individual islands of us singles. The singles kept a distance between themselves.

I think the biggest thing for me was realizing that there was no special person anywhere that cared whether I got up or not. And for a while I certainly didn't much care myself. One morning in church there was a young couple sitting in front of me. The woman casually patted her husbands neck and let her hand fall down his shoulder and arm. It was so beautiful it made me ache. It is the smallest thing that seems to cause the flood of emotion.

By the time I came to live with mom and dad I thought I would never adjust to living so closely with people again.

Why am I sitting here?

Sunday, August 19th, 2007

It rained all last night and most of the morning. It was raining so much I decided I'd better stay home so I canceled my aide. Tropical storm Erin was coming through.

Dad didn't get up until middle of the afternoon. Well he made it two feet to a chair at least. He finally ate his breakfast and fed himself. His right hand is so shaky. It is painful for me to watch him. He has this thing about wanting to be so far away from his food. It is driving me nuts. He stayed up an hour or so and then went back to his bed. He seems to be cold.

He got up again to the chair about 9 pm and ate a little supper. I had to feed him his ice cream. Then he got back in bed. I moved to my room.

But I sat with him all day. He slept. I sat. I thought why am I sitting here?

It reminded me of the times in the hospital with mom and then later with dad. Mom was in a month the first time. Dad and I stayed all but a few nights. He would not leave her and I would not leave them.

The dietitian was of Asian heritage. The first time she came in we were all there with mom: me and my brother and our dad. The dietitian said we were like her family and that Americans didn't usually do that. I think she meant us non-Asian Americans. She said most just dropped their relatives off and left.

I have to figure out how to live again with him always in bed like this. I wonder if it will change again though.