"I . . . "

My step father had a hard time saying “I love you.”

Once, in his last days, Miriam sort of forced him to say: “Dave I love you.”

He was one of those “I tell you I love you by feeding you” kind of guys, You know the kind.

So, I suppose it was inevitable that I would either learn from him or take a whole different tack on life.

I choose the different direction. As a teen I decided no one around me would ever wonder if I loved them, if I did. In fact, I figured that if anything I might be accused of being too verbal with those three words.

So my daughters hear those words directed at them every time we meet or talk or do email. My sons in law have to put up with it too. “I love you Sid.” “I love you Curtis.” and being a modern family, we have had more sons-in-law than daughters!

My dear Miriam is the one who is lavished with “I love you.” I tell her at night when we roll over in bed, I hug her and tell her when we wake up and every chance I get all day.

“I am so glad I married you.” “You sure look nice today.”

With Alz living with us now the latter one gets a bit more tricky, as grooming skills deteriorate. I say it anyway. She will always be beautiful to me.

My motives are not totally selfless, I suppose. I know the time is coming when she will be harder to love, when, if we were starting over, it would not work, this romance thing. So I am working on my head in a tiny way.

When she looks good she deserves to hear it, and I need to have that idea soldered into my head a tiny bit more.

But, that is future stuff. For now it is easy to say it, and mean it.

“I love you, Miriam. I am so glad you are my wife and friend.”

who?

My mind is feverish with random orbital thoughts.
There may be a pattern, but. . . where?
We will adjust to what lies ahead.
That is the cowboy way.
Says who?
I don’t even know a real cowboy

Nurse Miriam (or: Of Course I Loved Her)

fall along the umatilla

what if?

When we travel Miriam worries a lot about Lewis and Clark. Our trip along the Columbia was the same route they took a couple hundred years ago.

“What would they think about . . .” she asks.

It is my job to come up with the proper rejoinder.

And since we are traveling with our old friend Alz, the questions keep coming.

Still, she has a point.

What would my grandpa’s grandpa say as he traveled from Iowa to Walla Walla behind a team of horses, and later a team of oxen? We don’t have any idea of what he said, if there is a surviving journal, it didn’t make to my part of the family.

Miriam worries about that too: “What would your grandpa think if he showed up now and saw these roads,” or whatever.
It is a good question.

Grandpa made the trip from Iowa in 2 years, wintering over in Salt Lake City. There he traded his lame horses for a pair of slow oxen. On a good day he might make 15 or 20 miles, we do that much a few times an hour.

Distance is relevant. When we were 40 we did some long distance bicycle touring. We would travel in a day what you can do in a car in an hour. Still we went faster than grandpa’s oxen.

Miriam is right: “What would they think?

Yesterday we drove 210 miles from Walla Walla to Portland.
I’ve been making that run since the late 50’s. I’d fill my VW with gas for about $3 and drive. Shucks, a new VW sold for $1600 and change back then.
Louden, Touchet, Umatilla, Irrigon, Boardman. About Wallula Junction the mighty Columbia river shows to the right, not too far down from where it is joined by the Snake. The rest of the way to Portland the Columbia is there, with Washington State on the other shore. Both sides have busy railroad tracks and highways.
The interstate system was being built when I first started this trek. The new roads are faster, but the old road was a lot more interesting.
A few things are nearly the same, most are hugely different. There is a LOT more trucks on the road now, and more farms where there used to be desert, and the price of gas...

We had a good drive. Miriam enjoyed herself, so did Leo the italian Greyhound.
My friends who have experience with AD tell me to travel all we can (and can afford) and enjoy it as much as possible, for the time is coming when travel is not in the cards.

Every time she goes into the restroom at a rest area, I am a bit nervous, but so far she has done just fine.
But what will I do when she cannot be trusted alone? When she needs help one way or the other, will I stop traveling? In Oregon the sign says that I can take a handicapped person into a restroom of the opposite gender.
Hmm. There sure is no way that I am going in the women’s room!

Leo, our italian greyhound

Lest. . .

. . . I get myself in deep trouble, I need to explain the next poem.

My love in this case is my house. My "loins inseminate" means can I build again.

Don't get me in trouble!!

my old house

Unfinished.
One hard year.
Work hard, make a buck.
Work hard, advertise, make a buck.
Good bids mean profit
Bid carefully. Like
A good Quaker. Don’t
Take advantage of anyone,
Even your self little david.
Little david,
Little david, son.

Will it be easier to leave in a year?
Will my love lessen?
Will I be able to finally put my old lover away
To see her in the arms of another.

Could my old loins inseminate again?
Could there be another
House to love and live in
In?

I wish i knew

are we?

In time everything becomes refuse
Shiny new cars go down the road
Stacked
Twenty to a truck.
Crushed to save space.
New and spendy
Just a few years ago
Now just junk
Send to Japan, or China.
Let them make Toyota’s
Again.

Lord are we just cars too?

hmm

The cupboards are full of emotion
Memories
Regrets
Broken promises.
Hell on a half shell.

self portrait

plastic anchor

An anchor/thermometer/compass.

Useless.

The compass never worked.

It is cheap plastic.

Made in “Hong Kong” when that was the word of the day.

It would not get a bid at a penny auction.

But, it was a gift from my 2nd born when she was 12.

Macinack Island it says.

Thirty one years ago.

It reminds me of how much I love her

And how badly I sometimes showed that love.

look ma, no mustache

blog writing

Doing a blog like this is a bit tricky.

Miriam is doing quite well as this disease goes. She functions quite well much of the time. She knows I am her husband and doesn’t mind arguing with me. Her short term memory is a bit wacky, on a good day, but she is sweet and she is my dear wife.

So, dramatic stuff isn’t likely to happen this year, and maybe not next either. I feel for those of you who are deep into more advanced relationships, you have my deepest sympathy. I just don't want to borrow trouble here.

Make no mistake, I am not feeling bad that she is doing quite well. After 55 years of friendship I want that to continue as long as possible. We've had a good marriage and the years since she was diagnosed have been some of our best.

Now we are entering the world of retirement, on a fist tight budget. That has to be exciting.

So I will post with less than perfect timing. I will include stores and thoughts that are clear off base from Alzheimer's.

Sorry.

if...

(This one is has a little catch in it. Picasso, in his 85th year completed around 500 paintings. Virtually no one has ever been so productive. It is not a lament, but a realization.)

If I had my future in my hands
I’d live frugally
Except for my new Dodge truck
I’d grow vegetables
I’d grow flowers for my lover
I would spend hours and hours
In the comfort of my shop
Creating mounds of sawdust
The stuff that wasn’t furniture or sculpture
I’d stretch a canvas from time to time and
I’d spread paint. Thick or thin,
But mostly ugly.
Wood blocks, ceramic cups
I’d try to out produce Picassio.
Home made bread and calligraphy
Dostoevsky and Thoreau.

It wouldn’t happen,
It couldn’t happen
Of course,
But what a goal.
What a dream.

camping

alert

I live pretty healthfully.

I sleep pretty well, ok, I supplement restless nights with regular naps.

I eat well, lots of whole grains with fruits and vegetables. We are vegetarians, so no red meat issues.

Just do life pretty carefully.

But one really dangerous thing I do a lot: I drive a car.

Yesterday we drove 250 miles to be at “Grandparents day” at the school two of our grandkids attend, and I got to remembering.

As I have driven, through the years, I have come across scores of accidents. Some horrific, mind searing visions of hell, some just fender benders. But, more often than not, it is a one car accident where, quite obviously, the car just drove off the road. Out here in the west there are a lot of straight stretches, with a lot of really boring roads. Don't get me wrong I love the deserts, but driving through them at legal speeds is a bit mind numbing after a while.

I read that those accidents are caused by sleep depravation. The driver just went to sleep and drifted off the pavement. The results can be quite fatal.

So, I have a rule. No amount of healthful living will counter a car accident. Those things happen so fast and so permanently that they are hard to schedule. So, no matter what it takes I stay awake when I drive, I do it. I drive defensively, I work hard to drive carefully, but most of all I will do whatever it takes to stay awake.

That might involve taking a nap now and again. It might involve taking a quantity of caffein, and since my normal caffein intake is pretty low, it doesn’t take much to keep me buzzing. If I drove great distances every day, this would not work, obviously, but again the key is staying awake.

It’s sorta like birthdays. My next one is 71, not a comforting number, but it beats the alternative. My dad never got to 30, I am reminded. The process of staying awake is difficult sometimes, but it sure beats the alternative.