Picking up the pieces

Well, by now I am at least able to take full breaths and push the panic down to where it doesn't debilitate. I have cried, sworn, slept fitfully, and also had to process Leonard Cohen's death. Watching the news and seeing the smug faces of Gingrich, McConnell and the like still gives me a queasy feeling.

But, here is what I have decided.

I am involved with local government as a Council Person. I am one of two females. To be honest, local government doesn't really involve much partisanship. We vote about which roads to pave, whether to buy a new garbage truck, things like that. The President of Council is a well-meaning man who has been serving for many years. In private once, he told me what an asset I am and that he is happy I am there. In public, he makes jokes about females. But no more in my presence. I plan to call him out about it the next time it happens, the more people there, the better.

I have many relatives, friends and acquaintances who are very conservative. Some of the acquaintances may drop off my radar screen, because turning 60 has helped me reset priorities about how I spend my time and my serenity. With the relatives and friends,  for the most part, there has been an understanding that we will always disagree, so we rarely go there. I usually pass by their facebook posts and choose not to respond in face to face conversations. They are people I love, even if I don't love what they believe.

My issue is that I was raised by a family whose background was of not having much to spare. My mother was one of eleven siblings, eight of whom made it to adulthood. My grandfather, whom I never knew, was injured in a steel mill before the days of unions and protections. So, my Granny went to work and he stayed home and cooked and baked and took care of the children who still needed caring. They both cried almost every day about that. She worked in restaurants and cleaning for people and doing whatever it took to put food on the table.

My mother, 90, lives with us in the house where she was born and raised, where we moved in 1980 to take care of my grandmother. The defining characteristic of life in this house has always been to share and welcome anyone and give them what they need. She talks of how my grandfather would never let anyone leave without having something to eat or drink. And how he stood to one side every day at dinner and didn't eat until he was sure his children had had enough.

That attitude is part of the very structure of this place. I enjoy having people here, and we have made friends of many strangers who have passed through. Throughout the years, we have opened our home, sometimes for months, to people who needed a place to stay and help in whatever endeavor they were involved, whether it was attending school, trying to find a permanent Pittsburgh home, or passing through on their bicycles as they journeyed through the U. S.

We never stopped to think about whether they "deserved" our help and hospitality. We didn't vet them through any agency to see if they might be unworthy. We just opened our door. To be sure, in some very few cases, we may have felt that they actually could have stayed elsewhere without great burden to themselves. But, even in those cases, we found their company and conversation to be interesting enough to have them back.

When I talk to anyone having a bad day, or going through a particularly rough period, or just trying against odds to accomplish something, my immediate reaction is to start thinking about how I might help. Most of my family is the same. I have a cousin whose daughter recently donated a kidney to a 4-year-old stranger, surpassing anything I have ever done to boost someone's efforts or ease their way.

That is why when I hear people talk about whether others "deserve" the help they might be getting, whether through health care, or EBT, or whatever it may be, I literally don't understand the conversation. When people need help, they should get help. Period. It is what Jesus did, it is what my grandparents did, it is what I do. And when the same people who question this consider themselves good Christians (and I know they do, because they tell everyone), it confuses me even more.

This week, we all suffered a blow the effects of which wont be known for a bit. People have been sharing their thoughts. But, here is what else we need to do: act. Share your thoughts through your actions. I have contacted the local Democratic Committee to see what steps I can take to help make a difference in the mid-term elections. I will call out those who use sexism and racism and other forms of intimidation against those of whom they dont approve, when it happens. Most of all, I will continue to help others, regardless of whether they seem to be deserving of my help. Because that is what I do and that is what I think we should all do.

2015 buyer's roundup

So, I have read many reviews of 2015, ranging from best movies to worst Trump quotes. We are in the process of making some changes in the house, both minor and major, and so have been doing more than our fair share of adding to the economy. We usually do consult customer reviews of products we are considering, but if I have friends who have experience with certain items, so much the better. And every now and then, something exceeds expectations, always a pleasant surprise.

In no particular order, here are my favorite purchases of 2015:

Our 4K 55" television. I had no intention of replacing the flat-screen Vizio that still seems new to me until our neighbor and friend mentioned that her husband was having trouble seeing their tv because of vision problems and she wanted to get him a new bigger screen for Christmas. She was going to opt for what seemed like a super deal, but involved an unknown brand. We decided to do a swap and give her our tv, a 42-inch HD that was five years old and hopefully has some good hours left in it and replace it with the new set. I didn't think I would notice the difference, but it is amazing. There is almost a three-dimensionality to the picture, and it amazes me every time I turn it on. P. S. Costco rocks!

Revlon paddle brush dryer. I am still enjoying long hair, which might seem strange unless you know how short my hair was for 20 years. It has just enough wave to be annoying, but not enough to make it  beautifully curly. I use a keratin treatment and a smoothing shampoo, and I was drying it with a regular dryer and a round brush. I spotted an ad for this dryer and thought it might be worth a try. It does exactly what I want it to with my hair and saves me time, space in the bathroom drawer and is much easier to use. 

Pre-lit Christmas tree. We held out, always taking pride in not replacing something unnecessarily, but there it was in Costco, with its switchable lights and remote control. We took the plunge, and I must say that the 10 minutes it took to assemble (as opposed to two hours), was worth every penny. 

Water-Pik water flosser. I have always had a problem with accumulating plaque, and that is probably enough said. After my last dental checkup, which included the half-hour of scraping and other indignities, I decided that see if the Water-Pik would make a difference. Costco (hmm, they should pay me!) had one which included a smaller travel unit, so I have been able to use it every night except during our trip to England, and I think it is making a difference. I will know at my next checkup, and just like the Christmas tree thing, the les time spent doing that the better.

Apple Watch. You all saw this one coming, right? As David Pogue said, no one "needs" one of these, but I decided to treat myself last spring and have not regretted it. It has helped in exactly the ways I hoped it would. I can discreetly check incoming calls when I am at meetings, I can see who is calling when I am on the bike, and in a pinch, answer. It can check emails quickly and track my daily exercise and activity, and I can even make it tap my wrist every time the score changes in a Penguins game.

So, for what it is worth, those are y thoughts about those particular items. Sad, in a way, that we are so surprised when something turns out to be worth it, but hey. Better than the other way around. 

Shuffling off this mortal coil

I read a theory once that the mobility that came back with our generation (remember that our grandparents and great-grandparents were the ones who moved across an ocean) was an attempt to hide from our mortality. If you don't watch familiar people growing old, you can ignore growing old altogether. 

Living in the house I grew up in shoves it into my face on a regular basis. Most of the neighbors who were here and part of the "village" that raised me are gone. I have very vivid memories of family and friends stopping by, and daily life with my Granny and my uncle because we lived here with them. My mother and I both grew up in the house where I live now. 

It was pointed out to me that this is a particularly Pittsburgh arrangement. Evidently there are more people who live in a family property here in Western Pennsylvania than anywhere else in the U.S. My husband and I have made many changes to the house and yard over the years, but it remains essentially the place I have always been. I was once even interviewed as part of a feature newspaper story about this phenomenon.

My mother's aging has been particularly difficult. She has suffered almost every illness known to medicine with the fortunate exception of diabetes. She has had several serious falls, and sometimes debilitating depression. By far, however, the worst thing has been the post-herpetic neuralgia that resulted from shingles back in 2005. She is never without pain. 

She moved in with me and my husband after knee-replacement surgery in late 2011. So I am constant witness to her physical and emotional decline. She can't fix any of her own meals, can't dress herself, needs help with the smallest of daily tasks. Nonetheless, she soldiers on. She has one of those devices which is a set of pedals that can be worked while sitting in a chair. She faithfully pedals 200 stokes while hooked up to her oxygen concentrator. She works therapy putty in her hands while she watches television from her bed. She uses her one-pound weights while sitting and talking with us in the living room. And every Friday she irons the four shirts my husband wore to school that week.

Her appearance has remained important to her. Hair is done weekly, and acrylic nails redone every few weeks. We match her outfits and she gets compliments everywhere we go. She doesn't leave the house without earrings. But there is a sadness to her life, rooted in her aloneness. She is the last of her immediate family: mother, father, ten siblings all claimed by death before her. My father has been gone for nearly twenty years. Many of her friends and most of our neighbors have died, and at 87, I am sure she thinks about what happens next. 

Recently, her oldest friend was convicted of third-degree murder. He was her childhood buddy and high school sweetheart and they had reconnected in recent years. He shot a man during an argument and shocked us all. My mother knew he owned the gun and worried about that, but he felt safer in his home with it. We are sick over the whole thing: a man is dead, a 90-year old is going to prison, both families are changed forever.

But I have a perspective on the situation that I only gained because of taking care of my mother and witnessing up close the powerlessness that comes with this kind of aging. I think that geriatric depression is greatly under-recognized and under-treated. Just stop and think about how you would feel if all of your choices were taken away and you had to depend on someone, even if a loved one, to do everything for you. 

The man had built up a business, raised a family, taken care of everything all his life. Gradually, he had trouble even caring for himself. In their frequent conversations, he talked about how tired he always was and how he missed the past when he felt useful and normal. 

None of this justifies taking a man's life. But I think I have a window into the souls of the elderly. Even those who have remained relatively vital, and I know several of them, admit to thinking about their mortality. And now I do, too, theirs and mine. I am hoping to remain vital; I do not have the health problems my mother had even when she was much younger than I am now. I exercise and eat well and try to stay mentally fit. But we can't predict when an illness, an accident or the normal aging process can rob us of what we take for granted. Not sure yet how to deal with all of this. But definitely admitting it is there to be dealt with. Hence my current love affair with the Serenity Prayer. Amen.

There are too many people in my kitchen!

Anyone who knows me well knows that I cook, therefore I am. So it was no surprise the other night that my dream involved my kitchen. Though retired, I juggle many activities.  With lots of help from some friends, my sister and I take care of my mom, I work very part-time at Pitt Medical School as a Standardized Patient, I serve on our Borough Council and chair the Planning Commission and in between try to have a life. 

This coming June, our friends from England are crossing the pond to spend a few days here in Pittsburgh and then the six of us will head down the Great Allegheny Passage to the C & O Towpath and on to D.C. on our bikes. We can't wait to see them, and had a flurry of preparations back in November setting up accommodations for the trip. Yes, we had to do it that early. Finding rooms for six in the peak of bike touring season on one of the most popular trails in the country meant early planning. 

After the itinerary was set, the next task was to stock up on wine. Since we normally drink French, Italian and South African wine when we are with them in England, I had decided that we would go with American wines while we are here. I have been collecting since January and have a little over a case now, to be supplemented with some "fizzes," as they say. 

Things have been rather hectic here of late. My new tenant is out of town on a school research trip. If she were still living in her previous place of residence, her housemates could have taken care of her dog, Mac. She is here alone, however, so I agreed to walk him several times a day, since I have a vested interest in preventing him from using the interior of my house as a potty. He is a good dog, well-trained and pleasant, but it adds a level of difficulty to days that are already packed. My mom has been extra tired of late, and we have a round of doctor appointments all squished into March since January and February's weather caused cancellations when the weather was just too bad for her to go out. 

I guess things had just piled up, and as they do, came out in a dream. In the dream, my friends were already here. I was trying to prepare dinner, but for some reason the house was full of people, all demanding my attention. My kitchen, especially, was attractive to them. My brother-in-law kept trying to get me to taste wine he had brought, my mother stopped by with giant chicken breasts that I decided needed to be incorporated into the dinner. At some point, I realized that all wine I had stockpiled was already gone and it was only their first day here. My neighbor came through to wash her hands at my sink and her grandson wanted me to help him practice for a job interview. You get the picture. 

Eventually, I just stood in the middle of the kitchen and yelled, "Everybody has to go into another room!" I woke up laughing about the whole thing, because everything about it was so, well, me. I love nothing more than to cook for friends. People do tend to congregate in the kitchen and I love to talk with them while I work. But once in a great while, it is too much. And now, I know that sometimes I need to protect myself from the kitchen becoming overcrowded, both realistically and metaphorically. We all need to clear our minds once in a while, step back and remember that we can only do so much. And then ask people to clear the kitchen. 

One Adam-12

You know your life has taken a strange turn when you find yourself chatting with police officers after midnight on a Friday night about how to break into your own house. (For the record, the best way to do it without breaking glass is to drill through the doorknob lock). The route to this means of accessing my own property is a long and circuitous one, to be sure.

It actually started in the 80s, with the demise of the steel industry. We were newly married, my father lost his job, thousands of people fled Western PA for prosperity elsewhere. Those who remained were either retired early against their will like my dad, retrained into more relevant jobs or just descended into despair and crime. The 90s came with their crazy Wall Street boom, real estate bubble, the birth of the variable rate mortgage, and more thousands fled to suburban greener pastures, leaving behind those of us who knew that despite its shortcomings, this area is a wonderful place to live. Close to downtown and Oakland, yet removed from the fray, we soldiered on, happy with our short commutes and long-time neighbors, whose quirks we preferred to think of as "colorful" rather than just plain wacky. For us at least, the grittiness was part of the appeal. That, and it was very affordable. Moving in to take care of my grandmother, who was 90 at the time, turned into a lifetime commitment to a very worthwhile cause.

As long-time neighbors died off their offspring, ensconced in suburban comfort, sold off their childhood homes for bargain prices to landlords who were only interested in the profit they could make. Over time more and more houses became rental properties with absentee owners who did not bother to vet their tenants well. Many of those tenants had "five-minute visitors," and property values overall fell. 

The police were very cooperative in keeping an eye on things, and the most troublesome residents did not last long here. And although everyone who came to visit agreed it was a great neighborhood, families did not flock to live here. Those of us who had just stayed became resigned to keeping an eye on things and enjoying our little corner or paradise, property values be damned.

So back to the police officers. Early last summer, we rented my mother's house to a medical student and his wife. My mom moved in with us two years ago, and we did not want to sell her house outright for several reasons. A one-bedroom house a few doors down had been for sale by owner for several years. We knew the owner, he had renovated it for his own daughter several years before, but she had moved because of her husband's job. One day at dinner, I said, "Maybe we should just buy Ray's house and rent it out, since we are already landlords." I had expected to be shot down by my husband and mother, but somehow there we were seriously discussing the idea. Our financial planner vigorously approved as well.

We bought the house a short time later and realized we could wait for the right tenant. And we found her. She is a graduate student in Pitt's social work program, a delight who was eager to start "living like a grown-up," as she put it. Very responsible, very social, very inexperienced with northern winters. From the south, she is not familiar with the realities of snow and freezing temperatures. In short, she thought that the heating system is comparable to lights: turn it off when you are not there. So when she dropped off a load of her things the week before her lease began, that is what she did. Combine that misunderstanding with last week's negative temperatures, and you end up with frozen, exploding radiators. 

This is why one buys landlord/homeowner insurance. Frantic phone calls to the agent, the plumber and the water company set us on track. Unfortunately, after an initial survey of the damage on Friday afternoon, the plumber locked a lock to which we had no key. Hence, the police. That night, because everything thawed, we could hear water running, but couldn't get in. A call to 911 brought two of our local officers with whom we debated the least destructive way to break into a house. (Drilling through a lock, remember?)

The damage seemed daunting. The first floor was flooded, the toilets were frozen, radiators had literally exploded, spewing dirty water through the only carpeted area in the house. So we turned off the water, brought the shop vac down and set things as right as we could at 1:00 a.m. 

The weekend brought an assessment by the plumber, a new meter from the water company and many  funny exchanges with the tenant, who was mortified at the havoc she had wrought. All is well that ends well, and we are on the way to a fully functional heated home. Theoretically all will be set right today as a result of an all-day stint by the plumbing crew. The tenant will be happy to have running water and heat, and oddly, we are not discouraged.

We will continue to try to rebuild our neighborhood and populate it with enthusiastic (if inexperienced) young people who will help revitalize it. Wish us luck. I think we are going to need it.

Random thoughts

What a week. We got home from volleyball perfectly fine on Friday, and on Saturday Bob woke up with chest congestion. We quickly evacuated the Mamá to my sister's house. From what I could see of his "affliction," it could have done her in, her lungs being her weak point. Sunday we visited MedExpress, by s request. That kind of scared me. "The flu," they declared. So we are treating symptoms with prednisone and Mucinex and hoping for the best. I have been trying to keep my distance and following him around with Clorox wipes. I have been taking echinacea and vitamin C and we wait nervously for it to pass and hope that neither she nor I end up catching it.

We have watched an amazing number of movies, and fortunately for me Sunday was highlighted by an NCIS marathon on USA. So that brings me to thoughts of NCIS. We were oblivious to the show for the first two seasons and discovered it while crossing the country on our bike. It turns out that wherever you are in the country and whatever day or time it is, when you check into a motel in any town and turn on the tv, there it is. So we got hooked. I spend what is probably a ridiculous amount of time thinking about the show and its characters, but lately I see posts on Facebook about shows like Breaking Bad, 

Downton Abbey, Scandal and the like, so I realize I am nit alone. It fascinates me that we can get so wrapped up in the characters  and plots. So I thought about what appeals to me about this particular show, besides that it reminds me of the epic bike trips.

It is the most watched show on tv and has been for several years. One theory I have is that everyone really wants their job to be just like this. They do meaningful work, use technology in innovative ways, get to handcuff people and they all like each other. What wouldn't you do to make your job that fun? And to top it off, there is David McCallum still looking amazingly good. Gibbs has an appreciation for substantive women and doesn't suffer fools lightly. They are a family whose members pool their talents and abilities for the greater good. The characters play off each other perfectly. 

See? Way too much thought. Tonight, after watching a movie about the race down the Great Divide on mountain bikes, we viewed an episode we had DVR'd from yesterday. It dealt mainly with the education of girls in Afghanistan, a year before Malala, and was fascinating for its depth. It also had Tony contemplating mortality and making his bucket list. So it got me to thinking.

What would be on mine? Knitting, for one. I learned to knit a long time ago, made one sweater and just never got around to doing it again, interrupted by a 17-year needlepoint project. (Yes, you read that right.) But I would like to do it again. Seeing Cuba, before it is overrun with McDonalds. Cycling in India. 

But the really odd thing about bucket lists at 57 is that you realize that there are some things that you will never get to cross off. I will never be a professional dancer or get to work with dolphins. I will probably never be really, truly fluent in Spanish, simply because the way my life worked out made that difficult. I most likely will not ride in Paris-Brest-Paris.

Some of these things are okay. Some not so much. But they are. And the trade offs have, on balance, been worth it. And on the whole, I think Gibbs and I would get along.

Who took my joy?

Yesterday was the harbinger of illness, literally. Bob woke up with chest congestion, fever and an overall bad feeling. I hustled the Mamá out of here and to my sister's to help her avoid the bad stuff, especially since he really complained about lung congestion and coughed like crazy.

Today started with a request for a trip to Medexpress, which confirmed a diagnosis of the flu, apparently one which was not "covered" by the flu shot back in October. I spent the day cleaning the bedrooms and hallway, so as to minimize contact with the infected one. A quiet day overall, enhanced by a well-timed NCIS Marathon, my personal guilty pleasure. 

Somewhere in there I realized that we really need to remember to notice and appreciate the joy present in our lives. We laughed about something while watching a movie, and it struck me how much I have been worrying lately. Every the proponent of not worrying, I need to remind myself of how much good there is. So noted. 

In the name of...

Rituals. Where would we be without them? They are related to the whole routine thing, but different and even more important. Athletes use them to bring good luck. We use them to express spirituality. They help us mark the passing of time.

I have grown to love my post-work rituals. The unhurried breakfast, followed by leisurely scanning Facebook, doing my Lumosity "workout," reading parts of the newspaper I previously ignored. The year is full of them as well. I was afraid that once I left teaching I would not be as aware of the passing of time. Starting fresh every fall makes one acutely so. As does running into former students who are now parents. But the year is still full of rituals. We just passed through the winter holidays, and are into the looooooooongest part of the year.

The other day, I was able to summon up just a glimpse of the dread I used to feel starting back after Christmas with no break to look forward to, still in the part of the year when it is dark or at least gloomy most of the time. I realized how lucky I was to be doing what I am doing. I resolved this year to use January as the Chinese do: make a clean sweep. The house, the attic, the soul. So far, so good.

The swearing off the negativity, especially on Facebook, has worked wonderfully well. Now if I could only get people to stop believing that every story they see reposted is real!

Family matters

We spent the afternoon eating and chatting with some cousins we don't get to see often. My mom was the youngest surviving child of 11, so she has a couple of nieces who are almost her age. Her late niece Rita was married to Dave Sinclair and they had 10 children. Their son Dave and my mom form a mutual admiration society that has gone on for many years and takes the strange form of an exchange of lamb-related gifts. (Long story) 

Dave called last week and we set up a time for him to bring his dad and visit. They arrived this afternoon with Chinese takeout and we enjoyed lunch and a couple of hours of reminiscence. The people who remember our Granny and all the aunts and uncles are few and far between, and most of us who are left don't see each other nearly enough. I brought out my iPad and streamed the video that we had done this summer of our old home movies. The videos themselves are not what anyone would call high quality. They are in their third form, having been transferred to VHS in 1987 by one of my students, then to a DVD and a website by Costco this summer.

My father was not the best cameraman, though he loved new electronic gadgets and was always the first to buy things like cameras and tape recorders. He panned quickly, so those with sensitive stomachs sometimes get queasy trying to follow the action. They are home movies, so no sound, none of the voices or chatter that we remember. But there they are, all the people who are gone now. In their prime, they jitterbug, polka and twist in game rooms in celebration of someone's anniversary, someone's birthday. They file into and out of church to share in the joy of a wedding. And though they are blurry and jerky, we watch fascinated and excited and call out, "There's Aunt Mary." "Look at Uncle Mike dance!" "Wow. We were learning the Twist." 

We get to see them again before they were gray, weak, infirm. Before terrible accidents happened, or heart attacks, or big misunderstandings that caused long rifts that were eventually healed. We see ourselves, in crinoline dresses, bow ties, slicked-back hair, tight perms. And it is a wonderful nostalgia, somehow so satisfying in the sharing.

So much more satisfying than much of the faux-nostalgia that somehow creeps into emails and Facebook posts about how much better life was before car seats and bike helmets. In truth, it is amazing that we survived as well as we did, surrounded by the second-hand smoke and tipsy drives that permeated our childhoods. But that survival does not validate those things, and I don't miss them. 

I do miss my Granny and my aunts and uncles, though, and I am always happy to be with someone who shares the memories.

The best laid plans

The first time I read The Great Gatsby, I remember getting to the scene where Mr. Gatz finds the notes that his son James made for himself that included his daily schedule, and thinking, "this is me!" Somewhere in my own "archives," there is probably such a list. 

Maybe that is why teaching appealed to me from a young age; perhaps I intuited that lessons had to be planned carefully. The idea of accounting for one's time, minute by minute, seemed normal and natural. And for 26+ years that is how I made my way. Then I retired, and started to help care for my mother.

Every day I wake up with a plan in my head. Unfortunately, some of the plans are formulated at 3:30 a.m., when I can't sleep. They usually include jumping out of bed at 6:00 when Bob leaves for school, accomplishing several tasks before 9:00 when I wake my mom up for morning medications and "breakfast," and then accomplishing several more tasks before showering and then getting her out of bed and dressed and having lunch.

In any case, a lot of what happens after that depends on her. Our plan might work just as it was conceived: smoothly and efficiently, allowing us to get everything done. Or it might not. Usually, it does not, and it is not always her fault. As in teaching, I monitor and adjust all day long. 

Oddly, I sometimes have to force myself to let go of the plan. I have to remind myself that many of my obligations are self-imposed, and if I don't get the bathrooms scrubbed today, or the groceries bought, or any of those things that keep life going, done right then, all will still be well. I have to slow down to match my mother's pace. And it is all okay. 

Odd that back then, my idea of discipline and efficiency was making a schedule and sticking to it, and now I feel successful if I am able to chuck the schedule without guilt. One Wednesday, I headed to the game room with the laundry and turned on the tv for company while I sorted. It was 7:00 a.m. And USA was running The Interpreter, with Nicole Kidman. U.N. interpreters are the rock stars of the translation world, and I love that movie. So I decided to blow off whatever else I had planned that morning and cuddle up on the couch and watch the whole thing. During commercials, I brought my breakfast down and had a second and third cup of tea. It was one of my best retirement moments so far. 

Well, back to work. Have to have the kitchen cleaned by 9:00!

New year, new plan

So, happy new year. Decided to try a new approach. I wanted to blog my last year of teaching, but retired earlier than planned, so that didn't work. Then I though I would blog my first year of retirement, but was actually too busy to keep doing that. I am a little more accustomed to the routine now, so giving it another shot.

Something that has really dismayed me of late is the amount of negativity everywhere, but especially on Facebook. I won't give it up, as some people seem to be able to, because it is a good means to stay in touch with some people in my life who live far away. But recent experiences with some people's comments have me rethinking the way I use it.

I subscribe to a couple of feeds such as Upworthy, which share stories that are supposed to be inspirational and positive. I must first say that I have questioned a few of them in terms of their qualifying for either of those labels. But what disturbs me even more are the comments I read. People seem to have a way of finding something negative to say about anything. And then arguments start, where commenters begin to attack and insult each other. This is weird. They are people who have never met, total strangers who seem to devote hours of time to tearing each other down in cyberspace.

You might ask, then, why it read them? Good question. It is one of those "train wreck" things, I guess. I don't watch any reality tv and try to avoid negative people, but sometimes I get sucked in and just scroll and scroll, fascinated by the nastiness. It started with reading the comments generated by Lance Armstrong's posts, but that is a topic for another time.

The other day I posted a link to a site that is made up of current and former residents of my hometown, about two women who want to buy and renovate a mansion here and turn it into a day spa and wellness center. They had a listing on indiegogo.com and were asking for startup money, something I have heard about other people doing on similar sites. I just thought people might be interested and maybe someone would be inspired to help them out. The nasty, rude and sarcastic comments I got made me sick to my stomach. If you aren't interested in getting involved, fine, but you don't need to tear other people down. Many of the commenters did not seem to be aware of this type of fundraising and really said mean-spirited things. I ended up deleting my post and thinking about the whole commenting thing.

I realized that it leaves me with a really bad feeling and seriously, who needs that? So I removed some of the feeds from my Facebook profile, removed myself from groups where the negativity seems to abound and resolved (knew we'd get to that word, didn't you?) to limit my feeds to the Penguins and Pittsburgh Dad and some of the bike feeds that have good information. I also will not be reading the comments on any of the things other people share that are not their personal posts.

I am also going to try to keep up with a daily blog, mainly because it feels good to write and I need a creative outlet. I will post the link when I think of it and if you want to read my opinions and rumblings, fine. If not, finer yet. Just don't make nasty comments, except inside your head. Because the last thing the world needs is more nastiness.

And in the spirit of positivity, it was a great Icicle Bicycle ride today. We had lunch at the Hofbrau Haus with a woman who was in the ride alone and got to talk about long-distance touring, which she has never done, but wants to. And then we had dinner at my sister's, which was excellent and gave us a chance to have a great visit. So, yay to starting out the new year right.

Deep thoughts

Yes, in this thing called retirement I have enough time to have deep thoughts, but not always enough time to record them. I spend most of my time contemplating mortality and old age. My mother has become just like Granny, and I still (again) live in the same house where I first knew both of them. All my working life I wondered what it would be like to be them: to be in this house all day, taking care of things and people and just being a part of life at home. Now I know, and it is good. Every once in a while, usually in the early mornings when Bob is gone and my mother is still sleeping, I get a glimpse into the past. It is usually a sound. With the windows open, I enjoy leisure with my breakfast and somehow the sounds that emanate from the yard are still the same. Of course, the mill sounds are missing and with them the heavy river, railroad and truck traffic. But there are enough of those to make a background. The birds are the same birds, and somehow when they sing, they bring it all back.

Is it good to be in the same place you were? Sometimes not, but mostly yes. Today I pick up a 90 year old to get her nails done and take her and my mother out to lunch. Tomorrow, I take a garden spade and dig the same ground my grandmother dug to coax tomatoes and squash. I sleep in the room where my parents slept.

Back to reality

Well, packing (and unpacking) have been accomplished. We enjoyed the cruise and made some new friends, but unfortunately the Mamá came home with bronchitis. We have so far managed to prevent it from becoming pneumonia by administering her breathing treatments around the clock every four hours. She sees the cardiologist this week and goes back to the PCP on Friday. She coughs almost constantly, but they don't want to suppress the cough, since that is what helps prevent it from becoming pneumonia.

We just spent a long weekend in NY. My sister kindly insisted on taking mom to her house for the weekend so that we could take advantage of Bob's days off. We had a great time, eating dinner on Carolyn's terrace the first night, cycling the northern part of Manhattan and visiting the Cloisters on Saturday, going to Carolyn's choral concert on Saturday night. Sunday was spent as Sundays should be in New York: at the Met and then relaxing in Central Park. We reluctantly came home yesterday, but feeling refreshed and renewed.

Drama and Trauma

Yesterday started out with me unable to find my wedding ring. I had been in a hurry the night before and could remember putting it into my pocket before heading upstairs, but not what happened afterwards. (Turns out I had thrown it into my change jar with my change.) I had to fast for a blood test, and in order to avoid having to go to the Quest lab twice, waited until after our 1:00 appts. to eat. So it was a starving and edgy me who showed up with the Mamá in tow to get blood drawn, something I hate anyway.

When the scruffy man started babbling about why he shouldn't have to pay for his testing, even though no one in the waiting room had made eye contact, I knew he was trouble. Sure enough, when the tech came out to call us back, he made his fuss complete with threats and profanity at many decibels. As if getting a needle stuck in your vein wasn't troubling enough. It upset the Mamá, and was a little unsettling to me.

Afterwards, because of another annoying idiot, I had to go to Pitt to get my photo id. They have started to require them to enter buildings because of the bomb threats. The Med school has not yet been involved, but with my luck they'll start Monday and I will be stuck for Tuesday's training.

All of this said, I did get my packing done for the cruise and plan to do my mother's today. That is my main goal, and to set up some time to spend with Bob this weekend. And so life goes on. It occurs to me that although I have now experienced August and September without having to start school, this will be the first time that I make it through the warm spring months with no obligations to sweat all day with teenagers. How lovely! I continue to savor the joys of being released from all that. It hasn't gotten old yet.

Maintenance

today we try to get mom's new partial denture fixed. The dentist who made it insists it's perfectly fine, but she has trouble getting it in and out and now one of the teeth has begun to work its way loose. Yeesh!

Trying to figure out how to fit in all the tasks before the cruise and balance time with Bob. I have taken an inordinate amount of pride in cleaning the house, but lately have had trouble keeping up. Next week brings a meeting with Bill Roth, an appt. for Mom with Dr. Knupp, training at Pitt and packing.

Randy returned yesterday and finished the back door before and after dinner. It's always nice to have someone around to provide a distraction for my mom and I think she is slowly starting to feel better after her most recent hospital stay. She does seem sad and scared a lot of the time. I'm never sure just how to deal with it, but we manage to get through the days. Trying to balance it all at times seems impossible.

Slowly in this life I am beginning to see how to manage things without expecting the impossible of myself. We'll see if that sticks.

A scare

So, oxygen issues have been settled. I knew that once we saw the pulmonary specialist, no one would continue to talk about taking away nocturnal oxygen. The sidebar on the bed is back where it belongs, by mom's request. :) But Easter was another story. We were scheduled to have Easter dinner and the egg hunt here. She really, really, really looks forward to this, mostly I think because my sister shines and she is so proud. So we got through the Good Friday party with the volleyball crew and the Saturday dinner with the ski trip group. Mom really enjoyed that especially, since she stayed with us the whole time and loved the conversation and being included with the group.

Sunday morning was another matter. She complained of chest pains when she woke up and said she'd been having them since 5:00 a.m. I knew if we took her to the ER, they would keep her, an 85-year-old with chest pains. And they did, complete with an IV line which never had to be used. They did all the requisite tests, including another echocardiogram, and blood tests. Nothing indicated another heart attack and they said her echo actually showed some improvement over December. My sister called it: they had taken her off Imdur, which was controlling her angina pain for a decade or more, and substituted Coreg, a beta blocker which has actually made her heart a little stronger but done nothing for angina.

So now we readjust. It really does take a village, as my friend Bob once pointed out to me. Marianne kept asking about why they'd made the change, but I didn't know enough about each drug at the time to ask. And the fact is that if her own cardiologist hadn't been on vacation in December, it might not have occurred that way. She'll be back on Imdur and Coreg and we'll watch her blood pressure. I have a feeling I'll be learning that long before November when I'm hoping to train for the Normal Physical Exam at Pitt. It will feel good to go in there at that time with that already under my belt.

We need to keep in mind that none of this means she is totally out of the woods. She still has a weak heart and lungs, and still the balance issues. My plan is to hit the balance stuff hard when we return to Keystone Rehab. If she felt more confident walking, she'd feel more confident all the way around. So that's the plan.

We continue to get ready for the cruise. We'll have to finish her packing next weekend, so we may be working around our friends from Queens, who are staying in her house right now. People come and go so quickly here!

Moving along

Today I don't feel like the good caretaker. An argument with my mother first thing, about the rail on the bed. She insisted it be moved down, closer to her waist, which necessitates her scooting up on the pillow. It makes no sense, which is why I had it situated where it was, but my sister moved it for her one Friday night. Now she struggles to get into bed, all the while insisting it's better.

In the meantime, there has been yet another nocturnal pulse-ox test ordered. I believe the one in November is the one they're looking at and it shows she does not qualify for oxygen. I think she actually mistakenly used the oxygen that night. There was a test run in December, but nobody seems to have the results of that one. Steve won't let her exercise without her tank, so I don't see how she doesn't qualify for oxygen.

In the meantime, we are trying, trying, trying to keep things on an even keel.

January 13, 2012 New Year, new situations

I just reread my last post and it's incredible how much has happened. My mother's knee surgery went very well. I had my first case portrayal and it was a lot of fun and I got compliments from the preceptor who attended. My next portrayal won't be until next week, because of all that's happened in between.

To summarize: about a week after my mom came here to recover, she ended up back in the hospital with pneumonia. During that stay the doctors discovered that she had a heart attack sometime in November between her pre-op testing and her surgery. They probably would have canceled the surgery if they'd know, which is probably why she didn't tell anyone that she had the awful chest pains in the middle of the night. I remember a point at which she became too tired to do much of anything and we quit PT until after her knee replacement. Her energy level is very low at times, which makes sense considering that she lost a third of her heart function, and we need to monitor sodium intake and fluids more than before, but otherwise she is doing pretty well. There were a couple of weeks when she had no energy, but that is to be expected after pneumonia and with her heart issues. Her therapists are very please with her physical progress so far, and after another week or so, we will start again at Keystone Rehab. 

Bob's eye is coming along. His vision hasn't stabilized yet, so his glasses are not helping much in that eye. That is frustrating because it affects most everything. He returned to volleyball this week with limited success, but is going to try again tonight. He and Bob John have been trying to get out skiing at least once before Holiday Valley, but opted out of this weekend because of the low temperatures and the wind. 

I am holding my own. I have a Case Portrayal next week, which will get me out of the house and back into the swing of that. I was quite confined for a while, sometimes not leaving the house at all for almost a week. Different for me, that's for sure. I am trying to strike a balance between making sure my mom is doing the right things for herself and letting an 85-year-old indulge herself in some of the things she loves. (Her favorite snacks of olives and cheese are high on the sodium spectrum!)

Holiday Valley is coming up, and Roxann is going to stay here. My mom is actually a little more independent than she has been, able to use the bathroom by herself and get up and down more easily, so that will work.

In the meantime, the other big event was the death of Bob John's mother, Peg John. She had been in the nursing home since last March when she had a stroke. After a stint in a rehab facility, she went to a memory care place. She fell and broke her hip October and really never made it out of bed after that. He is at peace with the ending, since he knows he did everything he could and that her life wasn't really much fun for the past year.

So, we've begun a new year with new challenges. We've been pretty philosophical about all the changes and obligations, and I think ultimately we'll feel some satisfaction that we did things the right way. 

11/18 The best laid plans

Well, we had a nice routine going. That was until the Mamá had a stomach virus all weekend. Then Randy got sick and spent Monday afternoon and evening in bed. Then Bob came home sick Monday, tried to work Tuesday and came home at 10:00 a.m.. Then Marianne got a stomach virus and threw up at the Penguins game Tuesday night. Randy bounced back the fastest, taking a bike ride on Tuesday after school, albeit a short one. Mama is still on slightly shaky ground, her insides gurgling a lot. Bob went back to school on Wednesday, but spent the evening under an afghan with hot tea. Marianne will finally go back to work today. And I've been knocking on every piece of wood I can find, along with taking echinacea with orange juice several time a day.

I am beginning to wonder if my skipping a flu shot this year was a foolish move. I reasoned that since I wouldn't be exposed to all the little "angels" and their germs, I should be okay. So far, so good. Lunch with Patti yesterday at Kaya was wonderful, one of those things I enjoy about being retired. She has a one-year lead on me, so I look to her for wisdom about what's to come. She agreed that for a long time there is almost a euphoria about being able to get up each day and make one's own plans. It's not as if I don't have to consider anybody else, or even as if I have no obligations. It's just different, especially with the things we were required to do for the last few years.

I had lunch with Jay on Monday, partly to get some information about the Standardized Patient portrayals from an insider. He agreed that even teaching on the university level was very different when he retired from what it had been when he started. I related the story to him about the man in the class I taught after Dr. Burrett died. He hounded me about his grade, and eventually I began to feel that for a temporary part-time gig, I was putting way more thought and getting way more stress than it was worth. But on the college level, students tend to think if they've paid their money they're entitled to a grade.

It was good to talk with Jay, because we do actually have other things to talk about than the SP program or even theatre. He does some respectable cycling, and we compared notes on bike trails. He has also done the trail near Franklin, though he said he stopped at the tunnel because he didn't have a light. He is possibly interested in trying the trail in Maine that was written up in the most recent Rails to Trails magazine. How ironic that one of the few people who does decent distances and rides fairly frequently is even older than we are.

The routine continues to settle in, despite the contagion around me. I have kept faithfully to the yoga schedule, incorporating a new video which includes vinyasas, which are good on the days I don't run or cycle.. I feel better physically than I have in a while, something I attribute directly to the yoga. I have continued with projects around the house, and hope to be able to keep a handle on things during the holidays.

In the meantime, the elderly continue to crumble. Irene is still in rehab, and Bob talked with her yesterday while I took my mother's dinner to her. (We don't want her exposed to Bob and his respiratory illness). He said she seems quite disheartened. It's ironic, since she has had her share of adversity. It's just that before now, her challenges have been emotional. Her first husband died suddenly, her son did the same a few years ago, and then Dad battled Alzheimers. During that time, she had some minor things go wrong with her, and her hip replacement, but was always strong and able to hold her own. I'm going to recommend the Benedum Geriatric Center to her daughter, in case they need to get her psychological help.

Our local mayor's wife died this week after a years-long battle with cancer. I never met her, but she was liked by one and all. Everyone I talked to said was a truly nice person she was. It makes me wonder what people will say about me!

Still on my to-do list: tea with David Lewis, calling the Watershield people, calling the exterminator back, taking more time to write. Randy is at Mary's parents' house until after Thanksgiving. That week, all hell will break loose with the knee surgery and my first SP case portrayal. Wheee!!

11/9 The value of routine and variety

So, here's what I've come to realize in the last few weeks. As much of a lover of routine as I am, I also need some flexibility. The last few days have finally settled into what is a heavenly way to live. With a little less yard work to do, and with cutting back PT to two days a week instead of three, my daily routine has become quite pleasant. I seem to have passed that exhaustion that I think comes with the change of seasons and I've been getting out of bed before 6:30. That gives me back the few hours I was losing to sleep for a couple of weeks. I've managed to finish the mulch, get a good handle on a housecleaning routine, exercise the way I've always wanted to and have time for some relaxation and fun. Couldn't be better.

We had a scare with Bob John's mother last week; they told him to call his brother up from Florida because they did not expect her to last the week. She rallied over the weekend, Gary returned to Florida, and she seems to be doing better all the way around. On the other hand, we found out that Irene had two toes amputated, which turned out to be better than the alternative "leg above the knee" option the doctor here was planning. Her family took her to Cleveland Clinic for a second opinion and they did a bypass in the leg to improve circulation. She is currently in rehab until she gets a handle on the walking thing again.

Had an epiphany. I am a lover of routine, so I have to be careful not to regiment myself too much. I have achieved an almost-perfect balance of routine and variety, so that my life at the moment seems perfect. I don't mean without problems perfect. Just that it's a comfortable pace, I am getting things done, I am able to relax some, I am not bored. I have enough exercise options that I can shake things up and stay in the best shape of my life. Life is good.

I have two case portrayals on my schedule for December, so I'll be getting my feet wet in the SP program. They seem to have the confidence I can handle these without an observation, so I'm going to give it my best shot. This morning I read a CNN article about people who have had memory impairment illnesses in their families and what they do to stave off the same in themselves. Ironically, ballroom dancing was considered the most perfect way to do that. It combines exercise, socializing and having to learn something, the three key items to staying healthy and avoiding memory impairment. Bob John would die!!!!