Blogoversary # 2

August 24, 2007 was the date I logged in my first blog post and here I am two years later writing my 497th entry at Ahead of the Wave. I'm surprised that I've kept right along writing, somehow finding things to say, always coming back after several dramatic pronouncements about taking a break or never showing my face again.

Today I'm reflecting back on these two years. Two years is not much time in a life already lived over half of a century but I must say, these particular two years seem "heavy" with moments to be remembered. Maybe it's because I've written about many of them. Maybe it's because I have pictures. Who knows?

I started blogging about the Danskin Triathlon in 2007; an amazing experience that launched me into a writing frenzy even though I haven't participated in another triathlon since. Crossing the finish line was my peak moment for those 24 months, without a doubt. That's why I feature my Triathlon photograph on my home page. I'm hoping to get back there again whether it be through participation in a similar event or finding a new passion that boosts those brain endorphins in a similar way. It's all about finding passion for one's work and one's life. Work Worth Doing; I've written about this before.

So, in between wondering and writing about what I want to do with the second half of my life, musing and lurching 3 steps forward and 2 steps back, learning to surrender to the wave, lots of "things" have happened in the two years since I started this blog.

My son graduated from college and got a good job. My husband graduated from law school and passed the Washington State Bar Exam. He also got a job. My daughter spent a year studying abroad in Europe. She returned home safely with amazing experiences.

My son met a wonderful young woman and asked her to marry him. She said yes! The wedding will take place in November this year.

I've been traveling; to Italy, Las Vegas, San Francisco, Vancouver Island, Portland, Spokane, and the pine-y forests of the Cascade mountains in a tent. I've eaten wonderful meals and shared countless bottles of white wine with the man I love.

I've also helped move my parents three times in these 2 years. I've driven hundreds, if not thousands of miles in the car to and from, to and from, to and from and spent many nights sleeping in Mom's room when things were not going well. Doctor visits, hospitalizations, deteriorating physical and cognitive abilities, never ending needs and requests, bills and paperwork are tenaciously adherent to my existence. Of this I am bone weary. Things are certainly better now but all the "help" in the world can't take away the emotional pain of watching dementia run off with a loved one bit by bit.

What else in the last 2 years??? More good things: Our street is quiet now that construction on our new neighbor's home is complete. We treated ourselves to a new furniture in our family room this year; lookin' good after 15 years of tired old stuff. Last summer we had eight gorgeous Leyland cypress planted along our fence line in the backyard; baby trees that have grown enormously in one year and delight us with the promise of shade and a wall of green. We've had more blooms from our night blooming cereus plant in the last 2 summers than we've had in 18 years in Seattle.

I've written some poetry. I've laughed raucously. I've cried like a crazy loon. I've wasted time. I've been productive and obsessive. It's been 2 years of blogging and living. I have no idea what comes next.

Of Sunday, Church, Dread, and Memories

This post wrestles with a complex subject. Touchy. Full of emotion. Difficult. And, since today is a Sunday, it's the perfect day to tackle the topic that has been swirling about in my head for days, the one pertaining to the recurrent and persistent requests I'm getting from both Mom and Dad to ".....take us to church some Sunday, soon".

"Oh my", I whisper to myself, "do they have any idea what taking them to an hour long service, including a 30-40 minute commute each way by car all by myself entails?" The walkers, perhaps a wheelchair for Mom, the parking, navigating the 3 steps at the side entrance to the church (better than the main entrance with the 10 steps), getting over to the pew they like to sit in, making it through the service, sitting on my own version of pins and needles, and then breathing a huge sigh of relief when I get them safely back home without a mishap, a slip, or a fall. If they had only asked once and forgotten about it, my conscience wouldn't be eating at me. But, the subject has come up at least a half dozen times from Mom and twice from Dad independently. So, it's on their minds and therefore important. I've got to make it happen and I will. They haven't been to church in a long time, a really long time and the church community used to be a regular part of their lives.

What's at the root of my dread and the not-so-good memories?

I'm hitting the rewind button and heading back in time almost exactly three years to a fine Sunday in September 2006, the last time the three of us were at a church service together. That was a rough day and one for the memory book, one of those experiences where hindsight reads 20:20 and shines a spotlight on how a doctor-daughter's diagnostic skills can be overwhelmed by circumstance and relative blindness. Mom and Dad had just moved from their home into a 2 bedroom retirement apartment in Queen Anne, a rather traumatic transition as they left the majority of their things behind and downsized to live in a place where meals were provided along with other extra services. Dad surrendered his driving rights, dropping both the house and car keys on the dining room buffet as he left with Mom, ready for the next stage of life as an elder.

Within a week of moving into the retirement community, Dad's disposition started to change dramatically. He became suspicious, short tempered, and irritable. One day he insisted on taking a walk alone, got lost, and ended up taking a taxi back home, only able to remember the name of the apartment, not the street address. This was not street savvy Dad. His confusion escalated relentlessly. I had no idea what was going on but was so caught up with my own issues that I had little time to think about what might be happening with him. Mom kept pointing out his behaviors to me, especially his inability to sleep and I remember suggesting things like Tylenol PM. Not so good.

They wanted to go to church on that lovely September Sunday in 2006 so I met them at their apartment with my car. Both were nicely dressed when I arrived to pick them up. Dad had his cane but wouldn't use it; "I just carry it to ward people off", he commented. He had been up most of the night Mom said and had been talking about seeing things and people. I brushed it off as a symptom of exhaustion. As we pulled out of the parking lot he asked me where we were going; he couldn't remember. We made it through the service. People came over to greet them and were friendly. Someone advised my Dad to use his cane, that his gait seemed fragile, but he refused and carried it like a night stick. Odd, I thought. Something wasn't right but I had no idea that four days later he would be hospitalized.

My Dad spent over 3 weeks in the hospital and then was in a nursing home for another 6 weeks literally getting back on his feet from an acute,wickedly debilitating mental illness that nearly took his life. To this day he barely remembers any of what transpired during this time and that's probably good.

Although hindsight shows me that his life had started to unravel long before that last church service we attended together 3 years ago, I still associate taking them to church with that last experience when the shit started to hit the fan and life as we knew it up to that point began to implode. Things with my parents, first one and then the other, have been imploding in one or another way ever since. Three years is a long time.

I told them today that we'll wait until September comes; when church is back in "full swing", when the choir members and their director are back from vacation and ready to perform and the organist is ready to play. Mom wants to hear the music. Dad wants to greet his old friends and the pastors. It's the right thing to do. Neither of them, guaranteed, has any memory of the last time we were there 3 years ago. Just me.

Trifocals: Wishing for 3 Eyes

I finally understand why [some] people arrive at the unfortunate point where trifocal eye wear becomes a necessity. Trifocals provide three distinct focal lengths to allow for accurate navigation through daily routines involving close up paper work, mid-range computer work and far off distance vision.

Once upon a time I had eyes that managed to maneuver between all three ranges perfectly (sigh) but somewhere in my mid to late 30's (yes, it started early for me) I noticed the dreaded blurring of objects close to my field of vision. Reading glasses were the short term solution but after going through oodles of pairs and constantly losing them (on/off/on/off), I went for a contact lens, in just one eye. One eye for close up vision, one eye for distance vision; it was great while it lasted. Gradually though, I began to need stronger and stronger magnification on my close up eye and then my distance eye started getting blurry. Yikes! So, for awhile it was a lens in each eye, just different strengths; still one eye for up close and one for distance. And that worked for another few years.

Finally the dry eyes and relentless escalation in need for more powerful lenses necessitated a switch to glasses. So, out with the contacts and in with the eye wear! At least with progressive lenses, bifocals no longer sport those dreaded lines. I've been quite happy with my glasses for the last two years until.......

I started noticing ever so slowly (isn't it always this way?) the mid range vision used for desk top computer work becoming fuzzy around the edges. Suddenly my neck was in a spasm of flexion as I strained to focus on the screen through the lower half of my glasses. Do this day after day and it becomes clear that bifocals alone are not going to cut it. Trifocals? Really?

If I had 3 eyes, I could get a 2.5 power for my reading eye, a 2.0 for my computer eye and a 1.5 for my driving eye. Sweet.

In the meantime, I stick with my progressive bifocals and use my cutsie pair of leopard print 2.5's for my as needed computer use. Oh, and I use my 1.5 sunglasses for the highway (I literally have to wear readers to drive). On/Off/On/Off. Here. We. Go. Again.

To those of you who've had to deal with myopia and corrective lenses/contacts all your lives, I know I'm whining about small potatoes. Forgive me. For those of you who've enjoyed pristine vision all your life....it's coming. And for those who have had good vision and are now in my boat, I know you get it. It bites.

August

August is dusty;
the green foliage dulled
by a film of brown,
the grass at curbside
turned to straw twigs,
the blue sky overcome by fall's filter,
as if seen through sunglasses,
shadows creeping in.
August surrenders the summer.

Monday, a Good Day

I like Mondays....

This year my work schedule has me off every Monday. That's probably the first reason why I like Mondays so much. After an on-call weekend, to wake up the next morning and know that the day unfolds before me unencumbered is pure sweetness. Having made the trip to visit Mom and Dad both Saturday and Sunday this past weekend, I don't have to go again today. The day is all my own. My conscience is clear.

The family across the street has finally moved into their new home. Construction has ceased! The noise, congestion, and mayhem is finally over after nine months. Hooray! We have some sense of civility restored in these parts. Nice.

The inside of this house of mine is quiet too. Denny is at work. Laura just left for her job. The hours are mine. I have no specific plans and that's just fine. I've taken to watching Netflix-on-demand on my laptop, eating ice cream, and napping with cat.

One other wonderful thing about this particular Monday is that it's not only TRASH DAY and YARD WASTE DAY, it's RECYCLE DAY too. Think of all that STUFF that is leaving our house. We're getting lighter and lighter. I like that. Sweet Monday.

Celebrating 92 Years

We enjoyed a nice party this afternoon with live "Big Band" music, punch, cake, ice cream, and multiple generations gathered together to sing Happy Birthday to the honoree-- the wonderful lady in this photograph, wife of 68 years to the man on her left. She's a Mother, Grandmother, and Great Grandmother. A musician, teacher, and writer. A fabulous cook with a keen wit. Kind and generous, wise and sensible.

I love you, Mom. Happy Birthday to You!

**photo taken by J. McGrady

Finish up with your House, Please....

Eight months drag by slowly when we're talking about construction of a new home from the ground up. Last December new neighbors broke ground on the lot they purchased directly across the street from our house. The older home had to be demolished and hauled off in pieces allowing for the construction to begin in earnest. As with most annoyances like these, when the end is near, the days become almost unbearable. The noise, the trucks, the dust, the congested parking that has been going on for months has suddenly worn down my last nerve. I'm left to stew, fret, and try to fast forward myself into next month (at least mentally) when this mess will be over and we'll have relief from workmen, power tools, and the god awful vehicles that accompany them to the work site.

Seems as though seeing a pile of mulch has got to be a good sign that they're winding down to the final bit of business; landscaping. Please, oh please, let that be the case.

Meanwhile because of this monstrous garbage bin (named Re-Nu) that gets switched out several times a week by an enormously noisy, smelly, obnoxious truck, I can't park (safely) in front of my own house anymore. I have to drive up onto the grass parking strip to allow vehicles to pass in the street. More than once I've come close to a dinged fender by a someone trying to maneuver between this garbage receptacle and my parked car. Sigh.

Let's get a move on neighbors. Enough already.