my story?

“Here dad, write the story of your life.”

One of my daughters once gave me a big blank book with that message (or one something like it) on the fly leaf.

My mother had done the same thing with my grandfather. He was in his early 60’s, had just had a heart attack, and was bored. From that came his autobiography, a smallish but intriguing volume. Interestingly grandpa lived to be 98 a long long time after his heart attack.

I began writing in the book with great vigor, not knowing where to start, and blundered on -- in quick, hard to read cursive. It was not too long before I flamed out. Right now I am not sure where that book is. Sorry Arline.

This blog began as a record of my involvement with Miriam and her Alzheimer’s. It was a place I could vent and scream if I choose, and tell stories about her and us otherwise.

It began at the suggestion of my young friend Stefanie, who helped set it up and taught me how to enter pictures and text. (I still have not figured out all of the details, and it will likely stay that way).

But Miriam’s brand of AD is a boring one (at least for now). In the 9 years since she was diagnosed she has digressed to somewhere in the middle stages of this disease. She can still do a lot of things and tasks, but the list slowly is decreasing.

As she reminds me once in a while (often with the wrong details), there is no real proof that she has Alzheimer’s disease. I read that there are around 80 variations of dementia, the umbrella name for this class of diseases. Which one Miriam has is not of much concern to me. Something is not right, and it really matters little what title you put on it, and Alzheimer’s is as good as anything.

But this has morphed into the story of my life, and my head, with emphasis on our life with AD. It is becoming the story of my life and our life. I go back in my memory sometimes and talk about other chapters in our story. Ours has not been an exciting life, as some count it. It has been full of love and caring and abundant good food and mostly fun times together.

December 7 has a lot of meaning to me. I’ll write on that day about what it means, and I’ll meander wherever my thoughts go. It will be mostly the musings of an old man, and should be given equal amounts of humor and long suffering!

Don’t bother with the seat belt, it will probably be a boring ride!

my stuff

Simplify Simplify Simplify.

That is my old friend Henry* talking.

I remember my mom telling about she and my dad moving and doing it in some one else’s car and they had other riders. That was before I was born, obviously. The first move is the easiest one it seems, from there on out it adds up.

Good friend came back from some years in Africa, brought little with him, but now he is moving after almost 20 years in the same place. He has accululated a good bit of stuff.

Then I look at our place.

We had an auction once. We brought the auctioneer in, set up camp and had a “farm” auction. Sold most everything. We were 48 and it was wonderful to have reduced our collection so drastically. Then we went off to Texas and graduate art studies.

Artists not only collect junk, we manufacture it. Sculptors, especially “multi-media” sculptors like me, collect a lot of stuff that might be usable, and we know from experience that as soon as we throw someting out we will need it next week.

Some one said that if you really do not like your kids, keep everything you can and fill your house with stuff that they are going to have to deal with when you are gone.

Old Hank must have been like my mom and dad in their early marriage days. I envy him and them.

Our personal stuff has not returned to the old days, but Miriam was such a talented artist in so many media and it is very painful to throw away, or absorb the tools and materials. She was so good with an air brush. We have a good one sitting here.

I have too many tools. But mostly I have too much stuff that I “might” use “some day”. I have lots of cabinet wood, Oak, Alder, Maple, Walnut, who knows what else. And hardware. Boxes and drawers and trays full of the stuff. I will never use 90% of it, so it is destined to go away.

I did give away a whole pickup load of photography darkroom equipment, including a 5 by 7 enlarger. But we will have the camera I used in the old studio: a 4 by 5 Super D Gaphlex, for the curious!!

We have not even begun to talk about books. How can I throw out a book (even if boring) that belonged to my dear grandfather and has his signature and date on the fly leaf.

But, if I don’t, some one else will have to.

* Henry David Thoreau

tupperware and pyrex

I am impressed with my daughter Linda’s kitchen.

It is not that she has a huge pantry, or the largest refrigerator.

Look in her cooking pan shelf and there is one set of pans that nicely nestle together. The lids for each are in a space on the right. Her mixing bowls are a series of nesting stainless steel bowls. Her kitchen hardware drawer has just what she needs, no duplicates (except for wooden spoons).

Her dish cabinets are a bit more complicated since she has two different sets that she uses from.

Today I decided (I was looking for a “lost” part to our flour mill) to take mixing bowl / small appliance cupboard apart. I got Miriam busy doing something else.

We have at least two dozen bowls that might be used as mixing bowls. I cut that back to the number we use regularly. We have every Tupperware thing ever made, and I set them aside.

I know I cannot go getting rid of stuff as long as she is here, so the stuff I want to go away I stacked I the back of the bottom shelf. I put the two crock pots, the waffle maker and the popcorn popper up front to hide the stacks of plastic behind.

The top shelf nicely holds all the storage and mixing containers we ever use. We do have two huge Tupperware bowls (maybe 15” across). I use those a lot for all sorts of things, but jello moulds, cake pans for heart, diamond shape cakes went to the back, along with pans for angle food cake and cheese cake.

I found a half dozen nice 9” pie pans, and a dozen or more of those throw away aluminum foil kinds. They were designed to be thrown away, but not in this kitchen. And Pyrex. We have several of every size ever made, I am sure. I stacked them back in the top cupboard.

Yogurt cups, sorta nesting freezer containers, storage stuff of every Tupperware vintage all went out of in the back of the cupboard. I replaced them with recent transparent plastic containers.

In Miriam's defense I have to say that we have the accumulation of my parents, my grandparents and Miriam's parents stuff. No wonder our collection is so broad. And there is something not quite right throwing out perfectly good kitchen goodies.

When no one is looking the back of the cupboard will slowly get less and less crowded.

go?

She was 19, I was 39.

It was her wedding day. I was her father.

Just before the actual service began we stood together and visited. She and I were very close, some said we had grown up together, then they would qualify that with a question about whether I would ever grow up.

The wedding was outside in the back yard of a dear friend. It was very a casual service. She had made her own dress, shirts and ties for the men. There were a hundred people there, I would guess. Friends and family. My old grandfather who was 90 was there. Miriam's dad was there, both of my parents.

It was a joyous time at the end of a hot summer day. The shade was refreshing. The refreshments after the wedding were fresh sliced peaches and ice cream.

As current weddings go, it was very inexpensive, but it was attended by people who knew and loved. Me, the former wedding photographer, walked the bride down the isle with my trusted Leica in my other hand. Went through the ceremony of giving her away (not very good thought if you think about it), and then raised my camera and took a picture of it all. The pastor was an old friend.

But back to that moment before we went down the grassy aisle, between those borrowed chairs.

I turned to her, and said: “Arline, I have a lot of mixed feelings today. I really do hate to see you go. I have loved you all of your life, but on the other hand . . . I am glad to see you on your way.” I hesitated really expecting a smiling rebuke.

“You know Dad, I have the exact same feelings.” We laughed together.

This week we had company, daughter 2 and her family. We throughly enjoyed every minute they were here, but in a way that almost makes me feel guilty for saying so, I was glad to send them on their way too.

Maybe that is the reality of all visits -- both ways!!

Footnote: That wedding was 32 years ago, they are still married (to each other);.