Every November 9

Part of this post was originally published in November of 2015.  A fellow blogger inspired me to rerun it with some changes and edits.

It is a common meme for bloggers to give advice to their younger selves.

Today, 58 years after my mother died during the 1965 Northeast blackout, I would love nothing better to reach out to a 12 years old girl who had just been through one of the most traumatic nights of her life.  Me.

Back in 2015,  I blogged about a blackout, which affected some 30 million people in Canada and the Northeastern United States on November 9, 1965. (Note, some of the links in that post may be dead).  One of my commenters on that post asked if my Mom had died because of the blackout.  I don't think so, although it may indirectly have contributed.

My mother had not been feeling well that day, and had come close to calling my father at work and asking him to come home.  But she didn't.  As a result, when the lights went out about 5:27 pm, my father was on a New York City subway, one of some 800,000 riders in transit that evening.  He didn't get out on the street until about 10:30 pm.

My Dad had to wait on a long line for a pay phone to call home.   (If you are wondering why the phones worked, it was simple - these were true landlines, in 1965, and worked independently of the power grid.).

It was too late by the time he reached us. 

My father, eventually, did make it home.  Only as an adult, and later, as a mother, did I ever think of the trauma he went through that night and in the days and weeks later.  He had the added responsibility of having to raise me alone, in addition to losing the wife he loved.  

It's sobering to realize that most all of the adults I interacted with during the blackout (and the people in those historic pictures) are now dead or elderly.  

Today, it's still hard for me to blog about that night.  But one thing my Mom installed in me was my love of growing things.  Even though my Mom only had  the space on her apartment windowsill to grow her beloved houseplants, I still remember the trees in the housing project I grew up in.

Pictures taken October 26, 2023

I wonder if any of the trees in my childhood housing project (not these!) that witnessed the blackout are still alive.  I actually went on Google Maps yesterday to look at where I grew up, so long ago.

Returning to what the senior me would tell that 12 year old girl, it is simple:

"Dear 12 year old me, who spent years blaming herself for her mother's death, you were not responsible.  You can't put responsibility on yourself for your mother's illness, or the events of that night.  But children, and in many ways you were still a child on that night, think in ways different than those of adults.  One day, you will know that. "

Even now, it is hard for me to write about the events of that night and how they changed me forever.  Instead, I will turn to a book called Motherless Daughters - The Legacy of Loss by Hope Edelman. As it happens, the therapist I eventually saw in my 40's was herself a motherless daughter, and knew this book would help me.  In some ways, it was like the book had been written just for me.  In fact, it was written as a result of hundreds of interviews with motherless daughters.  Daughters like me.Ms. Edelman said, in the book:

“When a daughter loses a mother, the intervals between grief responses lengthen over time, but her longing never disappears. It always hovers at the edge of her awareness, prepared to surface at any time, in any place, in the least expected ways.”

In some ways, I envy those who have had their mothers all these years.  I never got to know my mother as an adult.  I suspect that my teen years would have been extremely stormy with her.  I sometimes wonder how different my life would have been.  Her hopes for me were not what I wanted to do with my life.

As Ms. Edelman also said:  “I truly believe that the death of my mother has made me the way I am today. I am a survivor, mentally strong, determined, strong willed, self-reliant, and independent. I also keep most of my pain, anger and feelings inside." It took me years to learn the lesson that sometimes you just have to reach out for help.  But still, I am a bit of an over planner - I tend to have plans A, B, C and D where others may be lucky to come up with a plan B.  I know this is a trait of motherless daughters.

I had a lawyer write my first will when I was in my 30's, before I even had a child.  How many women in their 30's write a will?

Getting back to what I would also say to the 12 year old me, how about this:  "You are a good person. Be good to yourself.  Be kind to yourself when you are feeling low. You can't control many things in life.  But you are stronger than you think.  You are capable of great things. Your life ahead will be full of adventure, happiness, but also more great sadness and hurt.  But you will get through it all."

 Sending love now to my 12 year old self.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

The Medicare Wellness Exam

I was working full time when I turned 65 and became eligible for Medicare (the American health system for seniors).  When I first enrolled in Medicare, I became eligible for an annual "wellness exam" fully paid for by Medicare  I got the first one, then skipped the next couple. 

This year, I decided to get it.

The good news is, I don't have dementia.

The nurse said I scored 100% overall.

But the questions...This was a trip down memory lane and a peak into my future.  And, perhaps, yours.

The reason for this exam is to have a personalized care plan based on your risk factors for various conditions.

The questions the nurse asked brought back the times I was a part time caregiver for my late mother in law.  I remember when they tested her for dementia and other conditions.  Some of the questions were too familiar.

When she had her tests, they asked her if she did her own cooking and housework.  She said "yes". But she could do neither.  She was speaking her truth, though. In the world of her mind she was still fully independent at a time where she needed home health care.

"Have you fallen in the past year?"  My mother in law fell....too many times.

Meanwhile, back in the present, the nurse read down the list of questions mandated by Medicare for this type exam.

"What day of the week is it?"  (I don't know why they ask this; every retired person I know has a problem with this.  As a part timer, I have to know when I report to work and when I don't, so I always know.)

"Do you need help eating, toileting, dressing, bathing?" (but if you do, I pondered later, what then?  Medicare doesn't pay for most home health care and getting the same is a nightmare for every caregiver I know.  And I do know a couple right now.)

"Do you have trouble managing your money or your medication?" Back came the memory of the day my mother in law denied she needed any of her many prescriptions, even when we showed her the bottles with her name on them.

"What year is it?" (My mother in law couldn't handle this one, nor did she know who the President was, given that she watched a news channel most of the day).

"What town are we in?"  With all the doctor visits I had this month I actually had to think about that for a minute.  They are all in different places.

"Write a sentence with a noun and a verb in it." (Don't they know I'm not the best with grammar?)

I passed the three word test, where the nurse tells you three words and you have to remember them a few minutes later.

Then came, for me, the stumper. The nurse said:  "You have a choice between spelling "world" backwards, or counting backwards from 100 by sevens."

"By sevens, is that what you want?", I said, disbelieving.  "Yes", she said.

I chose spelling a word  backwards.  I've always had trouble with spacial concepts and I'm surprised I could do it.  (Later, at home, my spouse, who loves numbers, did the "count backwards by sevens" without any hesitation.  Showoff.)  I did manage "world", to my surprise.

There were, though, the questions they don't ask during this exam.  The answers many in the United States would give are all too familiar.

"Can you afford your prescription medication?"

"If we order tests today, will you be able to afford them?"

"How hard is it for your caregivers to provide care for you, and how many times do people they hire to help out never show up, quit without warning or interview and then ghost your family?"

"Do the programs we are referring you to have a long wait list, not enough funding, or have an income maximum that is just low enough for everyone to be ineligible?"

I can't help thinking back to when I was a caregiver for my mother in law, and ahead to when I will need help, if I live long enough.

Our system is broken.  Ask the woman I know whose mother has dementia and other health issues and needs someone with her 24 hours a day.  Ask the woman trying to take care of her 100 year old father and help out her only sibling, who has a serious and possibly fatal illness?  I know both those people.

There are millions more.

It's nice to have a Medicare wellness exam, but our country must ask itself:  How much longer will we fail our most vulnerable?

Sad Thoughts and Irish Whiskey Salmon

Sad thoughts and Irish Whiskey Salmon.  What a combination.

I was getting ready to publish my Saturday post, which was going to discuss a wonderful recipe my spouse made for St. Patrick's Day dinner. (Long story, but the traditional corned beef, cabbage, Irish Soda Bread, and potatoes are waiting for tomorrow.)

Then I opened up Facebook and saw the news that someone I had known through the blogging world (and a Facebook friend) passed away after a short illness.

I didn't know her exact age but I suspect she was at least 15 years younger than I am.  Those are the kinds of deaths, especially when unexpected, that tend to stun me a lot more than some others. 

I didn't know her in the non-virtual world, but, reading her Facebook page and comments from family and friends (and remembering some of the posts in a blog she wrote about caregiving) I am sad that I didn't.

May she rest in peace and may family and friends receive comfort though the memories they have of her.

And now, the topic I was going to blog about today.  Looking for a simple Friday night recipe (for my spouse, not me!) I found this.   Here's salmon marinated in Irish whiskey, honey, cider vinegar, thyme and lemon zest, then baked.  The recipe is in the link.

Turns out this must be a popular dish - there were a number of these recipes online.

The result?

It was delicious.  The whiskey gave it an interesting flavor, one that I wouldn't have guessed.  For two people, we halved the recipe and only had to buy one miniature bottle of whiskey.  We had the other ingredients.

So, a strange combination, these two topics, but they are both part of life.

Age Is Only a Number

Spouse and I were walking in one of the neighborhoods of Binghamton, New York yesterday when a man walking across the street from us started to wave to us, and motioned us over.

I couldn't place him at first.

"Do you recognize me?" he asked.  "I used to work with you."

It's been almost 25 years since we talked.  I'm not the best with faces or voices but he recognized me right away.

We caught up.

I had to dig back into my memory for some of the questions he asked me.  Then, when I got home, other memories started to flow.

My son, my son who is in his early 30s now, used to head for this man's office when I took him to visit me at work, knowing that a piece of candy awaited him.  How old was my son back then?  Five?  Was my son ever that young?

My co-worker's favorite expressions was "age is only a number".  Today, one of those numbers is "7". He has no intention of retiring, but he was in an accident several months ago and it's been a hard road back. 

Life isn't always kind. In a random moment, everything changed.

That, and, of course, the pandemic.

Despite everything, my ex co-worker says he has no intention of retiring.  If anything, he said enthusiastically, he enjoys his work more than ever, as his understanding of his career field deepens.

This is not the blog post I intended to write today.  I wanted to blog about something I recently heard or read, about the pandemic having provided a kind of reset for many of us.  Each of us has decisions to make, to decide (as we shed pandemic rules) if we want to resume the life we had or embark on a different direction.

Now, I have some new inspiration.

My ex co-worker has made his decision and is working his way towards the day he can resume his career once again.  I'm still pondering my life to come.  This encounter, though, was a reminder that as much as we plan, the unexpected always strikes.  After all, how many of us were changed by 2020?

So, my ex co-worker and I, we went our separate ways, but we may meet again.   He lives on one of my regular exercise walking routes.

I hope he can age with grace.  I hope life gives him that opportunity.

Because, after all, age is only a number.

The Next Chapter

In 2017, I participated in a "cousins" family reunion on my father's side.   I don't know if there will be another one.  It gets harder and harder to fit things in.  And, sadly, one of my cousins (he couldn't make it) died later that year and the wife of another one (who did) died earlier this year.  We are at that age where people seem to get together mainly for weddings and funerals.  Especially funerals.

One memory of that reunion sticks in my mind.

After eating, we talked on the phone with our last living biological uncle, who is in his early 90's. His wife, who is younger, is our last aunt.  They live about 850 miles from us.

When asking him how he was doing, he said "not bad for an old man".

I flashed back to when I visited him as a teenager, when he was an energetic man in his 40's, raising three children (my youngest cousins).  Now, those young children are in their 50's.

Last week, Last Uncle celebrated his 95th birthday.  There was a party Saturday at his church.  His children (only one lives locally, and another lives overseas, but they all came) and grandchildren attended.  What a wonderful occasion.

One of my cousins texted me to tell me she was sending me some pictures of Uncle's birthday party.  But then there was some additional news she needed to pass along.  One of the cousins at the reunion had recently been diagnosed with cancer.  She already has health issues that cause her a great deal of pain.  Now, this.  She will have surgery sometime in December.

I can't help but think of the cancer that has hit my family (it's not what my cousin has) three times:  pancreatic cancer.  Twice on my father's side and once on my mother's side.

We are blessed, we who are alive and in good health.  I ponder this almost every day now, even as I watch someone on my floor at work battle cancer, and think of a former co worker on another floor who faced her own cancer battle earlier this year.  I have a feeling that the universe isn't just sending me a message, but, rather, screaming it.  It's about time I paid attention.

I was taught that we inherited an imperfect world and we are charged with leaving it better than it was when we arrived on Earth.  I can't say that my still working full time as I near age 67 is a bad thing, but I am feeling it is time to turn my talents to something new.

I just don't know what that is.  And I never realized you could still have "midlife" crises this late in life.  Why is it so hard for me to make this decision?

One day, I can only hope, my spouse and I will be saying "not bad for an old man" or "not bad for an old woman" to the children of the next generation, my future first cousins once removed. 

Thank you for coming along with me on this journey. 

Retirement? #blogboost

Today (it started yesterday several minutes before sundown yesterday, and will conclude tonight at nightfall) is Yom Kippur, the day of atonement and the holiest day in Judaism.

Observant Jews do not eat or drink or work, and spend their day in prayer, looking within themselves and praying for forgiveness.  I am not that observant, but I do observe certain aspects of the holiday.

This year, I am inspired by the example of an ex-President, Jimmy Carter.  At age 95, he still volunteers with an organization, Habitat for Humanity, which works to provide housing for those who can not afford it.
Even after he battles cancer.  Even after a fall.

And now I, on the cusp of retirement, plan what I will do in the next stage of my life.  How can I best use my talents to help repair the world?

I'm still a bit stuck on that question, to be truthful.  And I don't want to retire without a plan.  That's a sure path to failure, as I've learned by observing others who have gone without me.

Any suggestions?

In the meantime, I'll be back after nightfall tonight.

Day 9 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge #blogboost

The Mad Ending

I am in mourning.  Mad Magazine is going to cease publication (more or less) later this summer.  First, no more newstand sales. Then, later in the year, almost no new material.

I remember reading Mad magazine (a satirical magazine that started to publish, as a horror comic book, the year I was born) all through my childhood and teen years. The man I met in college and ended up marrying also loved Mad magazine, and his youngest sibling (12 years younger than he is) loved Mad also.  The YA section of our local library still carries the magazine.  If my son (who is in his late 20's now) ever got into it, he never told us.

Eventually, my spouse and I stopped reading Mad, but we spent part of yesterday afternoon reminiscing.  It can't be.  Perhaps we thought Mad would always be there.

Tell me this ain't so.  For so many of us, it was part of our formative years, even Weird Al.

It makes me wonder about Al Jaffee - still cartooning for Mad at age 98.  What will he do now?
Yes, age 98. 

MAD (as many of us called it) was the fountain of youth to many of its artists. Mort Drucker (who is "retired") is 90.  Sergio Aragonés is 81.  Some others now deceased (Dave Berg, for example) drew for Mad for over 50 years.  But Al Jaffee is the iron man of the lot.

I don't even know how to begin to list Al Jaffee's accomplishments.  Perhaps what he is most noted for, though, is inventing (and still designing!) the Mad Fold-In . How many of us got our latest Mad magazine, and tried so hard to do the fold in without mangling the magazine.

This video from Beck shows fold ins if you don't know the theory, and one mentions Al Jaffee.

 When Al turned 85, comic Steven Colbert had a cake made for him.  When the center portion was pushed out, making it a kind of fold in, the cake read...well, look for yourself.

Al, you are inspiring all of us.

But, back to the demise of this satiric magazine.  In our world gone mad, perhaps we don't need a magazine called Mad any more. 

Perhaps our entire daily lives are an entire Mad magazine.

I have one remaining question:  what sound should I use in mourning Mad magazine?

Are you a former (or present) reader of Mad?  I'd love to know your memories of Mad in the comments.

Tribute to a Human Wormhole

It's been over two weeks now since my spouse's aunt passed away at the age of 107.  This aunt was born near New York City in 1912.  In some blog posts I called her a "human wormhole", a term I did not coin.

Here's a sample of life (and music) in 1912.

When my aunt-in-law was born:

Women in her native New York State had not yet won the right to vote.
The Titanic had not yet sunk.
The world had never fought a world war.
Kellogg's Shredded Wheat Cereal was brand new.
The electric traffic light had not yet been invented (that came later in 1912).
The first commercial radio broadcast had not yet been made.
Fenway Park was getting ready to open.

Just think of the many things she lived through which might have been thought of as "science fiction" when she was born.

Horses being replaced by motorized vehicles 
World Wars I, II, and the Cold War.
Transcontinental phone calls.
The popularizing of air travel.
Organ transplants
Humankind going into space.
Radio, TV, the Internet.
Cell and smartphones.

As a child, the city she spent all her life in had many rural spaces.  Horse drawn wagons would come and deliver live chickens to the housewife.  She picked edible greens such as violets and dandelions from the side of the road.  She also showed musical talent early in life.  She had some vague memories of the 1918 "Spanish" flu pandemic that killed up to 50 million people world wide. As an adult, her interests were wide, her curiosity was boundless, and she even traveled on her own (to see a sister in the Western United States) occasionally, into her 80's.

As a young adult, this woman would walk for miles.  She worked in a factory during World War II, helping to manufacture bomb sights. 

She crocheted, and made beaded flowers. 

The last time we saw her, in March, this woman who used to walk up to 18 miles in a day and ate with the heartiest of appetites could not get out of bed or feed herself without help. 


I don't know if this remarkable woman, who loved opera and a good discussion (she kept track of current events until relatively recently) ever used the Internet.  But she did many things women could only have dreamed of doing when she was born in 1912.

Goodbye.  Our world will not be the same without you.

Remembrance- #AtoZChallenge

Today, there is so much to remember.

Today is the 20th anniversary of Columbine.  No, not the flower.   To Americans it means something else.  As a former teacher at Columbine explains, "it's a brand...a verb, a metaphor".  Our shooting in Binghamton, New York (in an adult classroom) on April 3, 2009 (our 10th anniversary just passed), in fact, is tied with Columbine in number of deaths - a grim statistic.  The pain the people of Littleton, Colorado are feeling today is unimaginable.

The week of April 15-20 is a grim one in United States history.  The assassination of Abraham Lincoln.   The bombing in Oklahoma city (April 19, 1995).  The sinking of the Titanic.

Remembrance. Which leads me to this.

We all like to remember the happy parts of our lives.  Call it nostalgia.

I can remember good times visiting Charleston, South Carolina, and walking on the Ravenel Bridge.

Life has given me many R's to write about.

Such as a beautiful Redbud blooming in West Virginia in April of 2017.

But not today.

We are entering a portion of life, my spouse and I, too often devalued in our Western society.  That should not be. In some societies, the elderly are honored as keepers of wisdom.

Several months ago, I blogged about "human wormholes" and my spouse's last living aunt, who was alive when the Titanic sank and survived a worldwide flu epidemic.  She witnessed all the events above, and many, many more.

Today, I have something sad to report.  My spouse's 107 year old aunt has been placed in hospice care.  She has months, possibly only weeks, left to live.

My spouse and I traveled down to see her last month. She had lived at home until last December, when her younger son, who was caring for her, died unexpectedly.  She was then cared for by a niece who lives in her neighborhood, with extensive help from aides.  But it could not be sustained.

I won't be more specific except to say it was heart rending.  Dementia has taken her to a place of pain and suffering.

The ending of life can be very, very hard and I am not sure we will be able to see her again to say a formal "goodbye". 

Sunset, May 2017

So this post may have to do.  Today, while she is still alive, I remember her.  I remember first meeting her, almost 50 years ago, and admiring her fine crochet and her beadwork.  She made the most beautiful doilies and beaded flowers.

She told me stories of when she was young and the miles she would walk to and from her job.

She told me about how she contributed to the war effort during World War II.  She told me of watching her neighborhood change from one mostly rural to an urban one.

This woman who walked from one city to another can not sit unassisted anymore.  She can not feed herself.

We are left with our memories, even as she loses her.  What can I say but farewell, dear in law.

Have you had to say goodbye to someone you've loved for years?

"R" day on #AtoZChallenge.  My theme:  Finding America through Photos.

Plane Train and Automobile

I was at a reunion nobody wanted to happen.

My spouse and I, newly arrived by car, were sitting in a pizza parlor in Pennsylvania. Facing me was a cousin who had flown in from Texas and on my right side was another cousin we had just picked up at a train station.  The fifth member of our merry group wasn't very merry.

We were there because of him.  Or, to be more exact because his wife of nearly 40 years had passed away three days before.  We were in Pennsylvania for the funeral.

We spent over two hours in the pizza parlor, talking.  The flying cousin and the mourning cousin are both in their late 60's.  In fact, they were both born in Brooklyn - born two weeks apart.  They were close when young, but then both their parents moved - over 100 miles apart.  They kept in touch, though.

And then several years before, the flying cousin had moved to Texas, to be closer to his brother in law. 

We all were aging.  The flying cousin's wife had to stay home - she was suffering from a physical issue that would make it difficult for her to fly.

One of us remarked that the only time it seems people of our generation get together anymore wee for weddings and funerals.  We'll swear we were going to get together but then life intervenes.

We talked and talked.  We exchanged jokes and puns.   Texas cousin confided that he was having problems making friends in Texas.  "Why is it so hard to make friends as you age?" he asked.  We all nodded agreement.  We've all had the same problem. 

We (minus the mourning cousin) were staying at the same motel and shared a Chinese takeout dinner together.  We talked and talked at a table in the lobby as we shared lemon chicken, wonton soup, beef and broccoli, and more.  The next morning, we had breakfast, and went to the funeral.  Spouse and I had to leave early because of the weather, and the cousin who came on train was returning home that afternoon.

Quickly we said goodbyes, as snow swirled around us.

We left with an invite from the Texas cousin to visit him and his wife.


Will we, before another reunion nobody wants occurs?

Old Age is a Privilege

Last night, I found out that my cousin's wife, whom I had blogged about shortly after my last visit to her,  may be approaching her final days.

She will never have the chance to become a senior citizen, a status I was granted simply (simply?) by living past age 65.

I am convinced, as arduous as old age can be, that being granted old age is a privilege - a privilege not all of us are granted.

I remember a friend, now deceased, telling me "the best part of waking up is waking up".

I feel now, that major decisions in my life are ahead.  I still work full time.  Do I want to keep doing that, knowing that life can hand you its pink slip at any time? How long do I want to take with this decision?

I'm finding that the snowbirding I am interested in is harder to research than I dreamed - perhaps a blog post on that process is forthcoming.

I am moving forward with planning in the meantime- we have an appointment with an attorney to update our important documents (will, powers of attorney, etc.) and recently had an important conversation with our grown son.

I had a long conversation last night with the cousin who is our family's contact with my cousin whose wife is in that hospice.

All we can do is make plans, and hope that life does not laugh at them.  And, I will continue to crochet, although I suspect that the lap blanket that my mother in law didn't live to see completed (and nor may my cousin's wife) will end up with my cousin.  If he doesn't want it, we will find a good home for it.

I'll keep you updated on the progress of my planning, during what may turn out to be an interesting year in my life.

New York Alligator

After a day Monday that began with a phone call informing me that my mother in law was being taken to the emergency room and ended with her hospitalized with double pneumonia and other issues, I decided to take it easy today.

I am sharing this photo I took Saturday in Otsiningo Park in Binghamton, New York.

I suspect someone saw the same thing in this log as I saw, but added two stones for eyes and some "prey".

Does it look like an alligator to you?

My mother in law is slowly getting better, but there seems to be a lot of pneumonia going around recently, possibly due to our recent weather conditions.

Perhaps that is a blog post for another time.

Falling Wednesday - Aging Isn't a Place for Sissies

For a number of Fridays back in 2015, I featured a Falling Friday series, featuring what I had learned in a falls prevention course I took in the summer of 2015.

This past Friday, I was able to talk briefly with a former neighbor whose father was our neighbor for over 25 years.   Remembering a man who was so generous, so giving, and so kind to my son, I wanted to repeat this blog about his late wife, who also suffered from dementia, and who was as good a person as they come.  Her death was fall related.  July 4 of this year was the sixth anniversary of her death.

Most of the following post was written in July of 2011, after the wife of my next door neighbor of many years passed away.

I dusted off the post in June of 2016, right after her husband turned 91. I only hope he knew it.

Why?

Because the last time I talked to my neighbor, he had no idea how old he was.  He has followed his late wife down the road of dementia.  Dementia took someone who was once a wonderful person and neighbor with it.  He still has some lucid days, but is under 24 hour care at home. He was put in a nursing home several months ago, because his caregivers could no longer give him the care he needed.

Fortunately, he has a large, loving family.

He's 92 now, and still with us.

Here is that post from July, 2011 updated in 2017:

Today at work, I heard that the mother of a co-worker had passed away.  When I went to the local online obituary, I saw a name I knew well.  Not the co-worker's mother, but a different woman.
It was my next door neighbor of over 20 years.

She had passed away yesterday, unbeknownst to me.  Her death was fall related.

I immediately called my spouse.  He already knew, and, in fact, had just come from the neighbor's house, where he visited with family for 40 minutes.  (I visited tonight, as out of town family started to arrive.)

Her husband....her widower....seemed to be taking it well.   He said to my husband "She died on the 4th of July.  She went out with a bang."

They had celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary less than a week ago.  In the last stages of dementia, she never knew it.

 I don't care what they say about old age.  It stinks.  It robs us of the essence of what we are.  Don't talk to me about the "golden years".  There is nothing golden about those years.  Those years took the mind and then the life of a wonderful woman, who was loved by everyone who knew her.  My neighbor was a deacon of her church.  She was a retired elementary school librarian.   She did a lot of charity work.  She raised six children and at least, tonight, her husband is surrounded by their very large family. (Her husband was an only child and wanted a large family very much.  He got it, thanks to her.)

She loved romance novels.  She had hundreds of them, and she kept trying to give some to me.  She was an avid reader. She loved to have her grandchildren over to visit.

She spent so much of the last couple of years of her life a prisoner of her living room chair.  Her husband, once a telephone lineman, aged at her side.  He told me, tonight, that "I am happy".  We talked to their youngest son [the man I blogged about on Saturday], and he talked about her death.  It was a good death.  About two weeks ago, her voice became very slurred. Then she stopped eating. Then she stopped drinking.  She drifted away, asleep almost all of the time.

She died surrounded by the ones she loved, at home.

Her husband has also has a lot of health problems.    I don't want to say it out loud, but I fear for him now.

They were so much younger and full of energy and love of life when I first met them.  So was my mother in law, and my spouse's aunt who is (in 2017) age 105, and my good friend's mother, passed away in 2013 at age 94.

Like all of us, I must come to terms with my aging.   I may be looking at my eventual fate.  And perhaps that is what is affecting me now, as much as the passing of a woman great in her own way.

As Bette Davis once said "Old age is no place for sissies."

I hope you will join me, starting next Wednesday, for Falling Wednesday.

Day 12 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge #blogboost.

Summer Memories - Independence

Today, I think of memories of independence, not Independence Day.

Were you puzzled yesterday (July 4), the United States' Independence Day, when I blogged "The title of this holiday has a bit more importance to many of us than anytime in the past few years.  More (not political) on that later."

But later never came because sometimes life throws us a surprise.

There's a story behind that unfinished thought, and it has to do with another type of independence - a story that everyone in the world can appreciate.

Two years ago, I had a blog feature called Falling Friday for several months.  I was attending a class designed to teach seniors how to reduce their falling risk.  I am in my 60's, and have fallen several times.  I've seen, first hand, how falls have ended independence for people I know, or for people that people I work with know.  After a few months, I ended the series.

It isn't just seniors who are prone to falls.  Tragically, the son of someone I went to high school with died in a freak fall in 2015.  The son left a child and a pregnant wife, and the death stunned students where he taught.

So, back to my story.

Twice in the past week, my mother in law ended up in the emergency room.  The first visit came about after she reached up into a closet to get some napkins.  The box fell on her, and she fell back, hitting a cabinet and then the floor. Thankfully, the CT scan of her head was negative.

But she hurt.  And it was not getting better. 

The second visit, to investigate the pain, was not a medical emergency, but her doctor was unable to see her and their office recommended the ER.  It was the day before Independence Day, and much of our country closes down on the 4th. So, Monday afternoon, off she went.

An X-ray revealed that my mother in law had broken her coccyx.  It's an injury that can't be treated except to manage the pain  Here, time will have to be the doctor.

Right now, she's not supposed to move a whole lot.  She needs help even to get out of bed and into her lift chair and it will be an interesting next few days.

More worrisome, though, is the possibility of her losing her independence completely. At her age, even a few days without much movement will impact her strength and ability to care for herself.  The longer she can't move, the greater the chance of deterioration.

My memories flash back.  I've known my mother in law for some 46 years.  I remember her as an active woman who mall walked, bowled, and would gather with her friends after mall walking for bagels and coffee.  Those years are long over.

Losing our independence is what we fear the most.  The last thing any of us wants is for our adult independence to become only a memory.

Had falling education been around for my mother in law back then, would it have helped?  We'll never know and I don't speculate.

So that others might be helped, I've decided to rerun those posts.  I still do the anti-falling exercises I was taught.  I believe that if even one person is helped by me rerunning the series, it will be worthwhile.

So, starting next Wednesday, Summer Memories will be replaced by a summer rerun - my experiences with anti-falling education two summers back.  I hope you will join me, and let a friend know, too.

Day 5 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge #blogboost.

The Brain Cramp

At least I didn't accidentally shoplift from a charity shop run by nuns, like this midlife blogger did.

But in the spirit of confession, here is my story of what you might call a brain cramp.

In downtown Johnson City, New York, there is a wonderful little health food store.  It has been in business for possibly close to 35 years.

Twice a year, they have a customer appreciation sale.   They had one on Saturday.  They advertise this with a postcard.  If you bring in the postcard, you get a free gift, or entered into a drawing, plus a discount.  Who can resist?

Spouse and I walked in with our postcard, and started down the first aisle (this isn't a big store, so there aren't too many aisles).  Right next to the checkout, one of the first aisle items caught my eye.

It was a bottle, about the size of a 16 oz soda:  Amish formula to treat leg and foot cramps.  

I suffer from foot cramps, and occasional restless leg.  So I stopped to look at the bottle.   The ingredients?   Apple cider vinegar, ginger plant juice and garlic juice. 

Wow, I thought.  It's Amish and it's healthy.  "Does this work?" I asked the young cashier.  "Well", he responded (probably as he's been trained to do), "other customers have told me it does."

I wanted to have both hands free for the remainder of my shopping, so I tucked the bottle under my left armpit and went my merry way.

In the back were samples - delicious tortilla chips fried in coconut oil, organic sparkling water (it was so good!), yogurt, and...sigh, chocolate.

Distracted by the chocolate, and the display of the delicious sparkling water (I drink sparkling water instead of soda, for the most part), I forgot all about the bottle of Amish foot cramp remedy nestling contentedly in my left armpit.  I browsed a few more minutes, picking up several more items.

Spouse and dropped off our selections at the checkout, manned by the same young man.  We paid for our purchase and started out the door.

"What about the bottle under your arm?" the cashier asked.

Uh....what bottle?

Oh, THAT bottle.  I must have turned five shades of red.

"Oh", he said "I thought you were holding it for a separate order."  Nice man.

So we paid for the Amish remedy, my cheeks burning, and left.

OK, it wasn't like stealing from nuns.  But stealing from a local business?   Could you see the headline now?  "Local Blogger AM Steals Foot Cramp Remedy from Store". I would have had to leave town.

So, here's my question: Is there an Amish remedy for brain cramps?

Falls Prevention

A couple of years ago, I blogged a "Falling Friday" feature for several weeks, while (and after) I was taking a course designed to reduce falls.

Not this kind of fall

At 64, I've already fallen several times.  I wanted so to prevent any further falls.

My mother in law, in her late 80's, has fallen a number of times, too.  Her last fall lead to some two months of physical therapy.

My heart sinks every time I hear of a senior falling.

Today, I found out someone I know had a death in her family late last week.  Her relative, 93, was active, still playing golf and still enjoying life - until he fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck.

You don't have to be old to have this happen to you.  Someone I went to high school with lost his son a couple of years ago in a freak fall.  The son left a wife and two children, one then unborn.

I was just thinking about how I was starting to slack off on the exercises I was taught in this class.  But then I remember how I couldn't even balance several steps on an imaginary tightrope without having to grab a support.


My posts two years ago discussed what I had learned, and showed some of the exercises, which can be viewed on You Tube (filmed by professionals).

I'm thinking of reposting some of these posts.  Here are a couple of my past "falling" posts:
The Non Persistance of Vision
Falling Risk
The Return (last year, when I thought about starting the feature up.  It didn't last long.)

Time for some reflection?

What do you think?  Is falls prevention a topic you are interested in?

Music Monday - Time

My spouse and I are now the senior residents of our block.  The man who had held that honor has gone to live in a nursing home.


He and his wife had lived next door to the house we've owned for nearly 30 years.  They had been there some 50 years.  Yes, 50 years.  I still wear a necklace he helped my once-young son make me for Mother's Day.  His youngest son, who loved to work with youth, used to spend a lot of time with my son when my son was a teenager.

My neighbor used to cane furniture and make jewelry.  He and his late wife (who was a librarian) raised six children.  He was active in his church and cared greatly for people.  His children are just as caring as he was.

He used to share some of his memories with me, back when he had memories.  His children kept him in the house, with caregivers, as long as they could.  But his dementia had gotten to the point where he refused to eat, to bathe, to let others care for him.  Now, he is adjusting to nursing home life in a dementia unit.


Perhaps it is best that we can not see our future.  I remember thinking, at one time, that we were fortunate to have such caring neighbors.  I remember nights when I was overcome by motherhood, and went over to their house to visit for a few minutes, just to get away.  But both of them were taken by dementia.  His wife first, and now him.

A couple of songs about time.  (Some may take up a lot of your time - come back at your leasure, if you want.)

 Time (Pink Floyd).

No Time (Guess Who) in a version you may not be familiar with.

I'll leave you with one more thought - there is something called music therapy for people with dementia.  I don't know if it was ever tried with my neighbor, but it is intriguing.  Here is a playlist of 15 songs said to spark awareness in people with dementia.

One of them, ironically, is sung by a singer in the last stages of dementia himself, Glen Campbell.

I dedicate this other Glen Campbell song to my former neighbor.

I will not say goodbye, neighbor.  Only Godspeed.

Music Monday - The Winter of My Life

Greetings, and welcome to another beautiful spring day.  We are under a freeze warning right now, and yesterday I saw some snow flurries.  My spouse, who is interested in the weather, saw streamers of snow in the sky.

Winter tried to return for a day, but failed this time.  But it reminded me (of course) of a song.

One of my favorite groups of childhood was the New York duo Simon and Garfunkel.  The other day, on Facebook, someone posted this video.

The Simon and Garfunkel song "Hazy Shade of Winter" was released in 1966, long before some of my blog readers were born.  But its theme is eternal.

In the song, the singer first declares:

" Look around
The grass is high
The fields are ripe
It's the springtime of my life..."

May 2016 My House

But, dreams unrealized, he laments, later in the song:

"I look around
Leaves are brown, now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter...
There's a patch of snow on the ground"

January 2016 Weedsport, New York

At least we missed the patch of snow this morning.

I wonder how the singer feels, now that he (in real life) is heading towards the winter of his life.

As I am, too.

How was your weather yesterday?

When Is A Fall Not A Fall?

When is a fall not a fall?

Last week, I blogged about how I had signed up for a falling prevention course because - well, I've fallen several times in the past four years.  I am only 62 years old and I know what this can mean down the road.

My spouse had a relative who died from complications of a fall. My brother in law's mother in law has been hospitalized or in rehab since March after a fall in her bathtub resulted in a head injury.  Even my spouse's aunt, who is 103, has not escaped falling.  A fall when she was 102 (it wasn't her first fall, either) led to a partial hip replacement.  She will never be independent again, although (for now) she still lives at home.

Falling, for a senior, can be a death sentence at worst.  At best, it can result in broken bones, a trip to the Emergency Room, and/or the loss of independence.  So, if you are reading this post, and haven't fallen, you may still have elderly relatives to think about. Or, your taxes may be paying the medical bills of those who have fallen.  This is a problem that impacts all of us.

So, that's how I found myself sitting last Wednesday in a circle with six other women, and one man, and two facilitators.  The facilitators, both women, were retired RN's.  And, both had fallen.  We were all in good company.

We went around the circle, introducing ourselves, and telling our falling stories. So many of them seemed to involve walking dogs and uneven ground or gopher holes but there were some pretty nasty in-home falls, too.

Then the facilitators asked how many in the group had had joint replacements.  Almost everyone had had at least one, if not more.  In other words, I was sitting in a group of Bionic Seniors.

The program I am taking is evidence based and was developed in Australia.


Next, two physical therapists joined the class to teach us exercises we would do to build up our balance and strength, to prevent future falls.  Four exercises for balance, to be done daily.  Four exercises for strength, to be done three times a week.

I didn't feel out of place at all.  Certainly no one was giving me funny looks or wondering why a young senior was sitting in the class.

I talked to one of the RN's after class and she told me a person at risk of falling, no matter what their age, could take the class. 
 
The youngest person to take this class locally was in her mid 40's.  The oldest was 103 - she is 106 now.  So, it is never too early (if you have the need), or too late.  As we were told, age is an attitude.  There are people in their 90's who think more youthfully than people in their 60's.  I want to be one of those people.


As for the question "when is a fall not a fall?"  One of the RN's explained that when someone calls to register, she always asks, "have you fallen?" Many times, her question is met with several moments of silence, as the person on the other end of thephone thinks about it.  Was their fall a fall? 

Too many people think, the RN explained, a fall doesn't "count" if it doesn't result in a trip to the ER or a broken bone.  But, the RN went on, "it's like being a little bit pregnant.  You did or you didn't. You either fell or you didn't."

So, I've been doing my exercises.  In the future classes, we will learn about vision problems, medication issues, and even what to do next if we do fall.

I'm looking forward to the next class.

Worries for the Future Part 3

As regular readers of this blog know, I have a brother in law, in his 50's, who is developmentally disabled with a condition called autism.

Autism is a spectrum disorder - some individuals can live lives with less help than others.  Many never live up to their full potential.

For several months, my spouse, his oldest brother, has been trying to gain guardianship of his brother.   I promised you a "to be continued" and here it is.

We had had difficulties, but today, we received the last piece of paperwork needed to start the guardianship petition. Tomorrow, we drop it off to the lawyer.  Then, we'll just have to see what happens next.  It's not necessarily a quick process.  Meanwhile, time ticks away - my mother in law (and we) grow older every day.

Here's my last post, from September.

Worries for the Future Part 2

In an earlier post back in August, I posted about needing to plan for the future of my brother in law, who is developmentally disabled with a condition called autism.  

We live in New York State, and what you are about to read may not apply in your state/country.  I want to share this as a cautionary tale, not as a "how-to" primer.

We've (we and other siblings/spouses) been involved in other advocacy for him, but now the time for this big step of "what comes after his Mom" has come.  She is in her mid 80's, and eventually, will no longer be able to care for him.  Or, worse-the inevitable will happen and she will leave this Earth forever.
  
If, heaven forbid, she died tomorrow, this is the future the State of New York has prepared for my  brother in law and other disabled individuals without a guardian, according to a knowledgeable person we consulted.
 
1. He becomes a ward of New York State;
2.  He can't stay where he lives (if his Mom died, he's the only other person living in the house) because he would be alone, and the state will not allow that.  He is deemed to need 24 hour supervision, and the state can't provide 24 hour supervision where he lives now  So housing must be found for him;
3. the court appoints an "advocate" for him, and it is potluck - could be anyone - maybe a person that doesn't know my brother in law at all;
4. Then the State finds emergency housing for him - "first available bed" which could be something not at all appropriate for his disability, but too bad.
And, by refusing the placement, it may be years before another opportunity comes up.

We can't help him without one of us becoming his guardian.

People with autism, in the best circumstances, find it difficult to cope with any type of change.  And this, to use a cliche, would be the mother (no pun intended) of all changes.

Years ago, my mother in law told us recently when we discussed my spouse applying for guardianship, her husband (dead some 15 years now) and her were advised to apply for guardianship.  Her husband elected to ignore this advice.  After he died, she saw a lawyer and certain other documents were drawn up but again, guardianship never happened.

The blessing is, my mother in law is still alive.  She is trying to age with some kind of grace, but refusing to let go of her disabled son.   This man is blessed in that he has a family who cares for him. We are finding that a lot of older men and women in that situation are all alone. No one cares.

So, my spouse is seeking guardianship for his brother.  It's been an adventure, which I will write about more as time permits.

"To be continued".