2020 in Review

My Sister…The Devil wrote a 2020 retrospective post; and, not to be outdone, I decided I would take a look back as well.

As tempting as it is to declare 2020 a total loss, a glorious example of Turd Theater writ large, the sinking of the Titanic brought back to life, etc., that is not entirely fair to the actual performance of 2020 as opposed to any other arbitrary time period in history. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking for a repeat of 2020. I am just enough of a pessimistic realist to know that history/karma/The Great Spaghetti Monster is out there lurking in the wings waiting to say “Here, hold my beer and watch this!”

So, let’s start off with the really craptacular aspects of 2020 from the perspective of Castle Daddy Hawk.

January – Oma went on Hospice care due to her Alzheimer’s. This was really a good news / bad news situation. On the one hand, it was long overdue. On the other hand, I had to all but force it down Opa’s throat with him kicking and screaming. While I can’t say enough good about the Hospice folks and the things they were able to do for us, I really wish they could have done more for us. We were at the end of our rope by that point (which was no fault of theirs), and we should probably have pulled the trigger on that decision about 3 months earlier than we did.

February – One of our cats, Binky, was not feeling well. So, a vet appointment was arranged; and, silly me, I thought they would give him some antibiotics and send him home. Turns out he was positive for feline leukemia and anemia. The vet really didn’t even offer any other options beyond euthanizing him. He was not even 2 years old yet. So, that was a bit of a downer.

March 1 – As previously written here, March 1 dawned with Oma shuffling off her mortal coils. As expected as it was and as much of a blessing as it was, losing a loved one SUCKS no matter how you slice it.

The rest of March and into May – COVID lock downs and toilet paper hoarding. Need I say more?

Actually, I will say more. Opa, in addition to some chronic physical health issues (which he will do nothing about), has more than a few quirks. His most serious quirk, bordering on mental illness (actually I think he qualifies for full citizenship but I’m not a licensed mental health professional), is INTENSE germaphobia. One side effect of this issue is a profoundly wasteful use of paper products. Specifically, toilet paper and paper towels. He goes through about a roll of paper towels a DAY for various uses including touching anything that he thinks might have germs on it including the freshly washed dishes in the dishwasher, he tears off the first layer or two of toilet paper and flushes that down the toilet before using the next several layers of toilet paper to cover the seat (since he has to share a bathroom with others) not including the unknown amounts he uses to wipe his own bum,….you get the idea. He refuses to shower on a regular basis and instead uses baby wipes by the box full to wipe down with. So, despite repeated warnings that paper products were in short supply, it was a constant battle with him to keep the house supplied with TP and such. So, pretty much anytime we found useful paper products, we were stocking up and hiding it from him. No, I am not ashamed in the slightest for doing so.

One other side effect of Opa’s germaphobia is that he now refuses to go out in public for ANY reason because he is afraid of COVID. He refuses to go to the store, pump his own gas or pretty much anything else. He waits until the last possible minute to ask The Queen or I to get him what he needs and then acts offended when we get frustrated at him or advise him that his lack of foresight does not create an emergency on our part requiring us to change our plans. This will be revisited shortly.

April – if losing Binky was unexpected and unpleasant, waking up one Saturday morning to M&M’s beloved rabbit Taco being unexpectedly deceased was a whole new level of suck. M&M LOVED that bunny. To be honest, we all did. He was outwardly in good health, and it was a complete shock when M&M came in the kitchen sobbing uncontrollably. We all still miss him terribly.

May and June – Aside from the continued insanity of COVID restrictions, the stress of caring for and losing Oma caught up with The Queen causing her health to crash and burn. Among other issues, she developed Tinnitus which drove her absolutely mad.

July and August – DID. NOT. HAPPEN. They were the months that henceforth shall not be named nor discussed.

September – During August, Opa finally went to visit the home of my brother-in-law for an extended stay that lasted most of the month. It was a welcome break for The Queen, M&M and I (In addition to being generally stubborn and set in his ways, Opa has been having quite a bit of difficulty adjusting to life as a widower. That makes for many frustrating situations. He is, in many ways, trying to fill an Oma sized hole in his life and frequently crosses lines he should know better than to cross.). Sometime during that visit, Opa got sideways with my BIL’s wife and harsh words were said. The net result of that confrontation was that Opa, who had originally agreed to go with BIL and wife on the annual fall church festival trip and plans made by all accordingly, decided he was not going after all. He waited to tell us until less than 2 weeks before departure. He also started dropping hints, subtle and not so subtle, that he wanted us to invite him to go with us. Due to his health issues and the ongoing challenges with The Queen’s health, his going with us was simply not an option given the distance we were traveling and the limitations his physical issues put on his ability to travel. So, we managed to prep the house for him to operate solo before departure and bid him farewell while praying very hard that there would be no disasters upon our return.

October to December – more of the same more or less. I’m not going to discuss the election. I don’t even know where to start with that mess, and I’m not even sure how to sort out fact from fiction on that front. 

On the positive side of things, there is still much for which to be thankful.  

First, Oma is finally at peace and awaits God’s Kingdom. She had been gone (mentally) for at least a couple of years; however, her physical shell had deteriorated dramatically in the last six months of her life. As I mentioned earlier, it was a relief as much as it was sad to see her go. The Queen, while sad to lose her mother, has been handling the loss extremely well having had several years to get used to the idea that her mother was dying.

Second, with COVID, my company made permanent what I had been doing unofficially and unsanctioned already: working from home. It started with the company sending everyone to work from home in mid-March. Due to the year’s financial challenges, the company decided to radically reduce its real estate footprint. To that end, all small to medium sized offices in the company were closed including the one to which I was assigned. So now, not only do I get to officially work from home permanently, the company is picking up the tab for my internet too. That’s a nice little benefit.

Third, as suggested by the second, I’m still gainfully employed and didn’t have to miss any work because of COVID. That’s not nothing. The company was strong enough to finalize an acquisition of another similarly sized company too. So, while we missed some financial targets and there was a voluntary separation program offered to those above 55 and with at least 5 years with the company, the company should be around for a while yet.

Despite all the challenges with supply chains and hoarding, we were blessed to never miss out on any necessities. I will count that as a win.

Summing things up, 2020 could have been much better and could have been a lot worse. For 2021, The Queen and I are trying to finalize and implement some long discussed plans which have been on the back burner for far too long. Further updates as events warrant.

Burritos and Jews: A Memorial

It has been four months today since Oma passed away. I intended to write this and post it much sooner, but it got back burnered for a variety of reasons. My apologies. 

While I recognize that the title of this post may sound a tad insensitive and even offensive to the uninitiated, I assure you it is not. At least not intentionally so. The explanation will sort itself out as we go. I hope. I would encourage the easily offended to reserve judgment until the end. Or, better yet, take your judgment elsewhere.

So, who was Oma?

She was born in San Pedro, CA and was the younger of two children. She graduated from high school but did not pursue higher education. She lived for a few months in Hawaii. Sometime after her return from Hawaii, she met the young man who would eventually become Opa. According to family lore, Opa proposed to Oma three weeks after they met; Oma, having nothing better to do, accepted. 56 years ago, they eloped and went to Las Vegas to get married (a fact Oma desperately tried to hide from The Queen for years until a friend of the family innocently spilled the beans).

Oma was a homemaker and a stay at home mom who gave birth to three children at home from what I have been told. The oldest, a boy, died from the flu when he was only an infant. The Queen is the youngest. Between The Queen and her brother, there are four grandchildren (including The World's Cutest Little Girl M&M) and now two great grandchildren. The most recent great grandchild was just born a week before Oma's passing. Unfortunately, the littlest wasn't able to make it by the house to meet Oma as his momma hadn't fully recovered from giving birth yet. The older great grandchild was able to meet Oma briefly in January. He won't remember it, but we do have photos of the event.

I've shared a few snippets of life with Oma since the Alzheimer's. So, I won't spend too much time on that now.  It is kind of funny how some of the things which were seriously annoying in the moment (like the whistling, the drumming, the Sundowners, and the "S" word) are now almost fond memories compared to watching her waste away over the last month. Oma would have been mortified had she been in her right mind.

So, what was she like before Alzheimer's?

For starters, she was an indifferent cook if we are being generous. Oma herself said she was allergic to the kitchen although she was only too happen to clean up the kitchen for anyone willing to use their culinary efforts for her benefit. Oma would cook for sustenance, but there was no art to it. Spices were a foreign concept. If she roasted a chicken, it would behoove you to add a large helping of your favorite condiment to reconstitute some level of moisture to the bird and add a flavor...ANY flavor...to the meat.

Strangely enough, that's not to say that people don't remember her cooking fondly. Ask anyone who knew her for any length of time what they remember most about Oma's cooking, and, invariably, they would say her "Bean Burritos". What do I mean by a bean burrito you ask? To answer that, I have to tell you this. Oma was a classic introvert to Opa's gregarious extrovert (though you would never have known she was an introvert if you met her at church). According to The Queen, Opa had a habit of inviting a number of people over to the house after church for dinner...and not telling Oma until they were in the car on their way home. Oma would blow a gasket, threaten Opa with bodily harm (occasionally inflicting some) and then set throwing together a meal with whatever was on hand which usually meant speed cooking a massive pot of pinto beans, mashing them up, heating up some tortillas and setting out the burrito fixings buffet style...complete with Mayonnaise. No joke. That family has kept Kraft and Hellmann's in business over the years.

Oma had one, to my eyes, very odd quirk in the kitchen. She would "dissect", as she would call it, her eggs. For reasons I could never get her to explain, she would crack eggs into a bowl and proceed to stick her fingers in the eggs to remove the white, stringy stuff next to the yolk (my quick Google Fu tells me this is the Chalaza which are spiral bands which hold the yolk in place in the egg whites). She would readily admit that she could not tell the difference of whether the Chalaza was in cooked eggs or not, but she would not cook an egg without removing it. Odd that. Go figure. 

Oma could also be quite resourceful. In true Scottish fashion, she was also a penny pincher and a bit of a hoarder. Anytime she was out walking in public, her eyes were fixed firmly on the ground in search of loose change, lost fasteners and other items. We would sometimes have a bit of fun with her and toss coins in her path. She would get so excited until she figured out what we were doing. When we cleaned out their house, there were stashes of coins and hardware everywhere. She was not above stopping the car to inspect items left on the curb by others and not a few items were deemed good enough to be salvaged and repaired. 

Oma was also somewhat mechanically inclined. Opa is a procrastinator of the highest order; and, as I have mentioned in other posts, he is the only man I know who is cursed with the "Anti-Midas" touch when it comes to mechanical objects. He would (and still does) put off preventative maintenance until well beyond it's due date. Oma would step in and change the oil on the cars or whatever needed doing. Opa tried to get the minister to tell her to stop doing that, and the minister told him to let her do it if she was good at it. 

Finally, the last tidbit I intend to share. Oma was convinced that everyone is a Jew. Everyone. No exceptions. Bear in mind that Oma was raised as a Christian; and, to my knowledge, never set foot in a synagogue or had any Jewish ancestry whatsoever. I didn't matter what your ancestry is, what you looked like, skin color, you name it, she didn't care. She was insistent that you were a Jew. You can imagine some of the looks she got with that one. It was downright comical when she said that to one of African American brethren in the Church. I'm pretty sure they got whiplash when the cocked their head to the side trying to make sure they heard her right. 

So, there you have it. A brief memorial to The Queen Mum, Oma, and some of her more endearing qualities and quirks. May she rest in peace. The next time you eat a bean burrito, think of her. 

Rest In Peace Oma

As the title suggests, The Queen Mum, Oma, passed away peacefully in her sleep early Sunday morning sometime between 3:30 AM and 9:00AM. She was 77.

Friday night had been a difficult night for her. Fortunately, hospice had sent over Sir Morphine and his squire Lorazepam to help Oma's pain and anxiety. I spent a sleepless night tweaking the dosages from the recommended starting point suggested by hospice until finding the right combination that made her comfortable.

After finally getting to sleep at about 6:30AM Saturday morning, I had no intentions of getting out of bed unless there was a winning lottery ticket or Ed McMahon involved (you younger kids will have to look up the Ed McMahon reference to understand why that's amusing to me). At roughly 1:30PM, there was a banging on the door. The Queen hinted that I should be a dear and find out who was rudely disturbing our slumber on a Saturday afternoon.

I stumbled through the house bleary eyed with my hair sticking out in all directions. I peered through the peep hole in the door to see the blurry shape of a vaguely male figure in a white shirt and tie. Since I had left my glasses on my nightstand, that was as good as it was going to get ID wise without opening the door. I took a risk that I wasn't about to get preached too before having been caffeinated and, hoping Ed had finally brought that huge check from Publisher's Clearing House, unlocked the door. I figured the risk of a well dressed home invasion was pretty slim.

Turns out it was a long time friend of my wife's family and his daughters coming to visit Oma at my brother-in-law's suggestion. So much for sleeping in. I woke up The Queen. Opa was in the bathroom taking care of his necessary business which takes a fair bit of time as he has to catheter and generally ends with him walking through the house butt naked back to his bedroom. Rather than scar non-family members for life, I gave him a heads up that we had guests and brought him his clothes so that he could exit the powder room somewhat decently attired.

The rest of the day Saturday was spent entertaining as my brother-in-law, his wife and my niece arrived around 3:00 and were later joined by another family friend. Oma had a pretty good day overall with the help of The Queen and Sir Morphine. The Queen had nice music playing in her room, a breeze was blowing in throw the window, and she was surrounded by people who loved her. In hindsight, it is pretty apparent that she slipped into her final coma sometime during the afternoon/evening.

I went to bed around 3:30AM Sunday morning after a final check in on Oma at which time she was still breathing. The Queen and I chatted for a bit about how much longer this would go on. I told The Queen I felt the end was very close. She asked me what made me say that to which I replied it was just a feeling based on what the nurses had said and watching Oma over the last several days. I had no idea how right I was. The Queen tried to sleep but reports tossing and turning with no real sleep. She checked Oma a few more times also finding her still breathing. Eventually, The Queen was able to fall asleep shortly before sun up.

It was 9:08AM Sunday morning when Opa woke us up completely distraught saying that Oma was dead. The Queen and I jumped up and went to their bedroom. Sure enough, Oma was gone. I called Hospice, and the on call nurse arrived within 45 minutes to take care of the final details of pronouncing her death, calling the funeral home, arranging pick up of the medical equiment, etc. The funeral home arrived within an hour of being called taking Oma for her final car ride.

So, the grieving process has begun. The Queen is handling things much better than I expected. Opa is handling things much harder than I expected. I suppose that is understandable as he didn't exit denial mode regarding her condition until about 2 weeks before Oma died. It remains to be seen whether he can come to terms with his life without Oma or if he will give up and follow her.

That is all for now. I will share some more details about the woman who was Oma in another post. 

Oma - December 1942 to  March 2020

Tough Day

Today has been a tough day emotionally. One of the hospice nurses stopped by the house today for a regular visit. I was busy with work and did not get to sit in like I do when I can. I was stuck on yet another monotonous conference call about how our business unit can support the larger corporate goals for 2020....blah, blah, blah. How about we try focusing on fundamentals for starters and quite trying to "innovate". Seems like every time some wet behind the ears manager gets a wild hair, we have to sit through unproductive training as they roll out another useless tool that robs our efficiency and distracts us from our core jobs. If they would quite screwing with us and just make the tools we have actually work as they are intended, it'd be a nice start. But, nnooOOOOooo, we have to innovate and play with shiny new toys because someone had a light bulb moment instead of asking whether we really needed another new turnip twaddler.

I digress.

The Queen reported the findings from the nurse visit: Oma is starting to show signs that her body is shutting down. Of course, they cannot say how long she has left; however, based on what's happening, we are looking at days to weeks as opposed to weeks to months. The Queen, understandably, has been taking it very hard.

M&M is handling things surprisingly well for an 8 year old. We've been extra attentive towards her and listening more. We also have plans in place for when things appear imminent. So, we've been thinking ahead on that front.

I've given my boss a heads up that bereavement leave is probably in the near future. She appreciated that.

Opa, while also taking things very hard, has finally moved out of denial mode. I don't think he is fully at acceptance yet, but he's making progress. So, that's healthy. I was able to have a good heart to heart with him this evening about arrangements for Oma which he has been avoiding for months now. It went better than I expected, but I had prayed for wisdom before approaching him too. So, maybe a small answered prayer went a long way too.

One small insight that came to me during the discussion with Opa was something I really don't think many people consider when they get married. Opa and Oma have been together for over 56 years now. Opa has said a couple of  times now, "What am I going to do without her?" I told him, "Genesis says the two shall become one flesh. That's more than just a physical bonding. It's emotional, mental and spiritual as well." Opa has relied on Oma for so long, I'm really not sure what's going to happen with him when she is gone.

Sorry for the Monday evening downer post. It's just helpful to write about it. Gives me a way to process what's happening so that I can focus on The Queen's and Opa's needs.

Where's Daddy Hawk Been?

Inquiring minds, or at least Cederq, expressed some mild concern that we here at Preachers and Horse Thieves had fled the coop for the dark side and forgot to turn off the lights or leave a forwarding address. Such is not the case. 

Although, he mentioned something about cookies AND pie...might have to investigate that a little further.

Life, as usual, has stampeded through my free time and taken what little extra bandwidth I had set aside for blogging for a glorious white water rafting adventure down the toilet bowl. 

The main reason behind all of this has been the rapid decline of The Queen's mum, Oma. As reported in previous updates, Oma has been developing a case of Alzheimer's for quite some time now. She was formally diagnosed in September with "Stage 6 Dementia/Alzheimer's". At that time, she was still able to walk relatively well, unassisted for normal distances to/from parking lots, etc. She would still feed herself for the most part. 

Now...sheesh. Wow. You would not recognize her from September to now. She is homebound now, unable to stand or walk without assistance, and she is forgetting to swallow her food. The OMA we knew is gone. In late December, I burned several days of vacation time to get home health aides set up, discuss funeral arrangements and finally get her approved for hospice. The hospice folks have been wonderful. They even came to the house on New Year's Day to do the formal assessment so that I wouldn't have to take another day off from work. 

There is a lot of internal family drama that would be very cathartic to write about but which would probably bore you to tears and only wind up widening the rift into a gulf. As I told The Queen the other day, I will stand before God on Judgment Day to answer for my mistakes. How I've handled the care of her parents won't be one of them. Others in the family will have some answering to do. That's  all that needs to be said about that in this forum. 

So, I haven't gone anywhere. I promise I will give this blog a proper shut down if it ever comes to that. Due to higher priorities, posting will remain light with scattered bursts of my usual drivel and humor when possible as The Queen and I are handling the majority of the care giving with hospice assistance. 

A Brief Lesson in Auto Mechanics

I've been tinkering with cars for almost as long as I can remember. My mother, the sainted Mimi, attempts to tell the story of my "working" on my little red pedal car when I was a wee lad of 3 or 4 years of age. I say she attempts to tell the story as I don't think she's ever successfully finished telling the story without hyperventilating in hysterical laughter. Oh well.

I have learned a thing or two along the way. One of the first things I learned was that a novice mechanic of a tender 16 years of age should never attempt disassembly of a 1973 Ford Thunderbird carburetor by oneself. Surprisingly, there are a bunch of tiny little parts inside one of those suckers, and the shop manual was not very instructive on how to find ball detent A and spring B after they shot across the driveway much less where they allegedly came from in the first place.

Live and learn I suppose.

Now, here I be a mere 30 something years later giving my father in law's Jeep the hairy eyeball after what seems like the 30TH time it has slit its metaphorical wrists in a pathetic cry for help or a desperate plea for attention.

I should digress here for a moment and provide some backstory. My father in law, Opa, while a genuinely good person in many respects, is nothing short of death incarnate to anything mechanical or technological. I've never seen anyone who has reached such an advanced age who is so completely mechanically inept. He once asked me to take a look at a previous vehicle of his (which was The Queen's former Jeep that was in perfect running order when it was turned over to his tender mercies) as it was having electrical issues. Electrical issues and I don't get along very well thanks to a sadistic grandfather (but that is story for another time), but I gamely agreed to give it a look. So, I popped the hood and immediately identified the problem. For reasons that I was never able to get him to fully explain, Opa had used a 3 inch decking screw to "tighten" the battery cable to the battery post. Said screw was, in turn, contacting the hood which, in turn, welded the screw to the hood shorting out the electrical system in the process.

Anyway, so Opa's current Jeep, which has been something of a basket case since the day we bought it two years ago (seriously, this was the 11TH time in 2 years I've had to diagnose and fix something on this vehicle), started running rough, hesitating on acceleration and at highway cruising speeds and generally being a pain to drive. It took me borrowing the Jeep one day to discover that something was amiss as Opa rarely mentions these things until parts are dragging the ground. I took a look at it a month ago with my handy dandy automotive code reader which dutifully reported that the Jeep was experiencing misfires on multiple cylinders and there was a fault in the EVAP system (essentially the fuel system's vapor recovery system). The misfires are pretty easy to deal with as they usually result from a bad coil or spark plug on vehicles of this vintage. The Jeep is a 2001 with over 170,000 miles on it. A post mortem examination of the ignition coil suggested that it just might be the original ignition coil pack installed at the factory. It was cracked and showing it's age. Not a good thing, and the most likely source of the misfire issue. After replacing the plugs and coil, no more misfire code.

One problem down.

After the plugs and coil were done, I moved on to noodling the EVAP system problem. Now, YouTube is a great resource for DIY mechanics like me. I watched a couple of videos on diagnosing and repairing the system. One guy did a great video involving a smoke machine, removing the gas tank cover, the rear bumper cover and poking around in the rear of the vehicle. It was a lot of wrenching and crawling under and feeling blindly around the back end of the car to get to a small hose that had a crack in it. But hey, he fixed it.

Now, we finally arrive at the point of this whole story. I told you all that to tell you this. The first lesson of DIY mechanicing is to work from easiest solution to hardest. My code reader gives helpful suggestions on potential repairs to fix the problem. Check this. Replace that. Blah, blah, blah. I read through the list of suggestions and found the easiest solution and started there.

What was the easiest solution you ask? Tighten the gas cap.

That's it.

I checked the gas cap; and, sure enough, it was loose. Tightened it until it clicked, checked the code reader; and, voila, no more EVAP system code. Apparently, Opa hadn't tightened the gas cap until it clicked like he was supposed to last time he gassed the vehicle, and it caused the Jeep to swoon like it'd been given Hemlock or something.

Go figure.

Miscellaneous, Randomness and Other Stuff

In no particular order, I thought I would open the tap a little bit and relieve some pressure in the blog material accumulator before things get too jumbled up.

In the Frankensteinian "Fire Bad!" category, Number One Follower had an unfortunate incident in his home shop a while back. To add insult to misfortune, it was were the bulk of his firearms and associated accessories were stored. Neither NOF nor his wife were home at the time. Fortunately, a neighbor called NOF and the fire department before things got too out of control. That also triggered calls from NOF to the FD that there was ammunition and such in the shop. I also got a call to come assist with removing items as necessary. The fire department investigator said the fire was accidental. Based on the area of origin, the most likely culprit is faulty/damaged wiring. The good news is that NOF has pretty good insurance and should come out of the deal in pretty good shape overall. 

Formerly a plastic shelving unit full of ammunition. 

Ruger Precision Rifle with heat damaged barrel

The Queen and I decided it was high time for some one on one quality time not too long ago. We love our daughter, M&M dearly and will and have taken her pretty much everywhere with us. So, it was not much of a surprise to either of us that it had been more than 7 years since the two of us had taken  solo getaway. Plans were hatched, and we hoped in The Queen's chariot for a long weekend jaunt down to Corpus Christi. I should make a brief side note here. Anytime The Queen is in the car, her eyes are invariably drawn to animals in distress. This trip was no different. I was in the passenger seat, head down, working (being able to work from literally anywhere there is a half way decent cellular data connection has huge advantages for me) when I hear a gasp from the driver's seat.

I asked what the function was, and The Queen informed me that she saw a cat in the center median of the highway. Said highway being 1-35 in Kyle, TX just south of Austin which is six lanes of NAFTA's main thoroughfare in the US. So, I told The Queen to flip a U-turn at the next exit and go back in search of the feline. The Queen was conflicted for a moment between her concern for the cat and her desire not to ruin our trip. I reminded her that, if we did not make efforts to resolve the mystery of said feline's fate, The Queen would spend the rest of the trip worrying about it.

After a failed first attempt to relocate the fur ball, we were able reacquire the ungrateful fur turd cat on The Queen's pet radar with the second north/south U-turn circuit. Not wanting to spook the cat into running into the highway and also being fairly certain that the center median was not wide enough for the chariot, I had The Queen Park in the outside shoulder. After assessing the chances of making it across and back more or less in one piece, I found a narrow window in traffic through which I could reasonably shamble across three lanes of interstate without getting flattened by a semi or causing a soccer mom to panic stop a mini van.

Then, I began the process of trying to convince Kitty McDeathwish that I was a really nice guy who was not with the government but "here to help.(TM)" After a couple of tentative crouching duck walks and sidling shuffles, I was able to get within sniffing distance of the cat. He/she/it? (we were never on first gender basis with each other) gave me a cursory sniff before allowing me to touch its head briefly before retreating back out of arms length. After several more tense moments of getting back into arm's length and watching traffic (you'd be surprised at how many people can't stay between the lines [I'm looking at you white Ford SUV...you're lucky I didn't slash your tires]), I spotted a window in the traffic that offered a reasonable chance of success, grabbed a double handful of fur, and commenced to hoofing it back across the highway. The cat was pissed off thoroughly unamused and expressed its displeasure by trying to eviscerate my arm. Fortunately,  my wind breaker took most of the  abuse. Once we reached the grassy shoulder, I engaged the catapult and released it in the tall grass of the shoulder fully realizing we weren't done with the rescue yet.

Your Truly, trying to garner the trust of a feral cat and questioning my life choices.

After assuring myself that I was not bleeding to death and retrieving a bottle of water and a wet wipe from the car to wash the cat spit off my arm and out of the puncture wounds, I returned to my efforts to complete the rescue of the bag full of razor blades just in time to receive the assistance of one of Kyle PD's finest. We had to herd the cat (literally) to a spot where we could grab it. I got a grip on it just before it tried to imitate a speed bump in the highway again. This time, the cat got up under the sleeve of my jacket and did it's level best to chew my arm off. I handed the ugly, pointy thing off to the officer who, wisely, was wearing mechanics gloves and a bullet proof vest. He escorted the cat across the service road into the woods on the other side where it was released into the relative safety of the country side.

No good deed goes unpunished.

After thanking the officer and stopping the bleeding (again), we made tracks to the nearest Starbucks for a more thorough clean up with hot water in the restroom. I'll be darned if those puncture wounds didn't bleed most of the rest of the day. They were pretty tender for the next several days too. As of this writing a couple of weeks post rescue, I still have one puncture that is still scabbed over and serving as a reminder to wear armor and bring tazers when dealing with stray cats.

M&M continues to grow like a weed. She just finished the second grade, she got a gold medal at her piano theory test, auditioned for the national piano guild and is generally continuing to be her amazing self.

Tinkle and Taco keeping a watchful eye on the pups. 

The puppies are also growing like weeds. They are inseparable. Literally. Take one away, and they both whine and cry like they've been beaten. This, of course, creates cute and humorous moments.

Dawww...the cute version of spooning

The funny version of  spooning

Oma's Alzheimer's continues its inevitable march down the drain. While generally happy when she is riding in the car or watching TV with Opa, she has developed a stubborn and belligerent streak when asked/told to do something she does not want to do...which is pretty much anything other than ride in a car or watch TV. She has also rediscovered cursing; and, while not ideal, we are thankful she latched on to "Sh*t!" instead of the universal adjective.

Lastly, we were sad to learn this past week of the passing of a long term church acquaintance of ours. I have known/been acquainted with this family for over 20 years now, and my wife has known them even longer. The family is no one special in terms of wealth or fame. They are just good people. When The Queen was going through her mystery illness and I was stuck commuting between Dallas and Houston because of work, I would call the husband semi-regularly just to have someone to talk to on the long drive. They had six kids who are all grown now.  We found out a while back that the wife had been diagnosed with cancer; and, more recently, we found out that she was bedridden and on hospice care. We took a "day off" from work to drive out to their place to visit (they live a couple hours east of us), catch up and generally give encouragement in whatever way we could.

During our visit, the wife said something that really struck me as profound. She was talking about how her bedridden state has left her totally at the mercy of others for her care most of which falls to her husband. The thing that struck me was when she said this was not what she had in mind when they said their marriage vows. She said this was not what she wanted for her husband to have to care for her and clean her and watch her in that state.

That got me to thinking. Most people say their marriage vows without ever really thinking about what they are promising or giving even a moment's thought about what the future may hold. I know I didn't really comprehend it at the time either. Everyone focuses on the "to have and to hold" and forgets about the "in sickness and in health" or "for richer or for poorer" parts of the vows. She told us that she had to learn the hard way what those vows really meant. The Queen and I understood what she meant.

She passed away peacefully surrounded by her family. I know her husband would trade anything to have her back with him and healthy, but they fulfilled their marriage vows in every sense of the word. That's increasingly rare these days. I count myself blessed to have my Queen by my side as we continue fulfilling our vows.

Living With Alzheimer's

As I mentioned not too long ago, Oma (The Queen's Mum) is afflicted with what appears to be Alzheimer's Disease. I say "appears to be" as Oma has never been formally evaluated or diagnosed because she and Opa have a serious case of avoiding the medical community. Said avoidance is partially rooted in their religious beliefs that God is the source of all healing, and their faith that God will heal them in His time (which may or may not be in their physical lifetime). Some of said avoidance comes from Opa's  pathological, and nearly obsessive/compulsive, germaphobia (which is a story in and of itself for another time). The remaining reasons for their avoidance is a mix of distrust of  medical doctors, too much internet, major procrastination and a few other things to boot.

Having said that, Oma exhibits many telltale Alzheimer's symptoms. So, some may quibble and say she has dementia instead of Alzheimer's. To them, I say "po-tay-to" / "po-tah-to". The end result is the same: Oma is nuttier than the backyard squirrels.

So, what's it like to live with an Alzheimer's person?

Strange is probably the best description. Frequently illogical and frustrating. Occasionally terrifying or amusing. Always sad, and generally unpredictable.

In a way, it is like living with a young child. You are constantly watchful for dangerous behavior, correcting, guiding, etc. The unfortunate part is that, unlike a small child who is constantly learning and developing, the Alzheimer's afflictee is incapable of remembering new information and begins to loose their grasp on long established behaviors.

Case on point: hygiene. You, me and pretty much 99% of the population older than the age of 3 or 4 has a pretty solid grasp on what's involved with going to the bathroom. Take care of business, wipe, tidy/clean up as necessary, flush the toilet, wash your hands with soap, dry your hands and go about your day. For the Alzheimer's person, each step in the process is an opportunity for disaster. We pretty much have to be eternally vigilant to insure that each step is properly taken care of in the proper order. We frequently have to remind Oma of one or more steps in the process. It goes something like this:

Us: Oma, you need to wash your hands.

Oma: I just did.

Us: No, you didn't.

Oma: Yes, I did.

Us: Oma, we were standing right here. You haven't washed your hands yet.

Oma: What do you mean?

Us: Oma, please just wash your hands again.

Oma: Okay, but this is crazy.

Us: Use soap Oma.

Oma: What's soap?

Us: [praying silently for patience]

She can, and has, forgotten one or more steps in the process on multiple occasions, and it's akin to Russian Roulette as to which step will be the odd man out on any given day.

Getting her to shower is a challenge. She can sit there smelling riper than a summertime outhouse and adamantly insist that she just took a shower when you suggest it's time to bathe. Ditto for brushing her teeth.

I mentioned in a previous post about Sundowner Syndrome which is a joyful aspect of Alzheimer's. That's still hanging around. Her anxiety really increases an hour or two after sunset for some reason. Tonight was especially bad. We were out for dinner at a crowded restaurant, and she kept wanting to get up from the table to go looking for Opa (who was at home). Unfortunately, her anxiety was so overwhelming, she couldn't even form a coherent sentence to communicate what she wanted. She just kept pointing towards the door and saying "Can we...um...over there....him..." or similar things.

One rather annoying trait that has manifested itself is an apparent compulsion to whistle constantly. Everyday. It's the same few songs. Over and over and over again. It's like she has a very short playlist stuck in her head, and feels the need to whistle the Blue Danube Waltz, Take Me Out To The Ballgame, or a handful of other songs at any given moment.  The mood usually strikes when she gets bored (which is often) or when anyone else in the house happens to whistle for any reason (it's like speaking the devil's name and he will come). We try to distract her with reading magazines (which she chooses to read out loud for some reason) or old TV shows. The Andy Griffith Show has been on nightly reruns here at the house for the last 3 months or so ever since Opa discovered the complete series on Netflix.

There is a set of related behaviors that I find really odd and particularly frustrating. She will get into anything and everything, move things around or take them, and then hide things. There was almost a knockdown fight between The Queen and Oma over her raiding M&M's piggy bank. The Queen discovered the situation just in time to see Oma stuffing M&M's stash of small bills into her pants. Oma steadfastly denied taking anything even when confronted with the evidence. We have to keep an eye on Oma's every move because she is constantly taking things and putting them where they don't belong or stashing them. M&M's stuffed animals are frequently moved around the house. If Oma doesn't finish her dinner, she will stash her leftovers in the cubbyhole of the headboard on her side of  the bed (which, interestingly, is also her chosen place to stash dirty underwear) or in the oven.

Oma can get downright creepy sometimes. I will occasional banish myself to the couch or M&M's bed (when M&M has jumped into our bed) after The Queen has poked me for the 5TH or 6TH time that evening for the unpardonable sin of snoring and keeping her awake. I have been awakened a couple of times by Oma fumbling her way around the house in the dark on her way to or from the bathroom for a late night potty break. If I'm really lucky, Oma is wearing clothes when this happens.

She has also lost any concept of personal space and tends to be a bit grabby. She's got a pretty firm grip too.

So far, we haven't had to worry about Oma wandering off, but we also don't let her go outside unattended. We also have had to prevent her from just answering a door knock without checking who is there.

Not everything she does is a negative. She remains very thoughtful in some ways. When we bring her a plate of food, she always offers to share it with whoever is nearby. "You want some of this?" We always remind her that that's her food, and that everyone else has their own food. She is still a happy person overall when she's not frustrated with us over asking her to take a shower or wash her hands. On the plus side, she no longer tries to convince complete strangers that they are Jewish or have Jewish ancestry (which was actually pretty funny...especially if the strangers were people of color).

It saddens me that her memory has more holes than Swiss cheese. She does not remember M&M is her granddaughter and doesn't even know her name anymore. She sometimes forgets M&M is a girl and asks where that "little boy" went. Most days she doesn't even remember her own name. She still knows that Opa is her husband, but I don't think she remembers his name either. She doesn't remember who her kids are.