We have been right on the edge of the Pacific Ocean most of this week.
Lincoln City was glued together a few years ago from towns that were Delake, Oceanlake, Taft, Cutler City and Nelscott. It is a tourist town with hotels and motels and lots of houses that are for rent by the day or week.
Daughter 2 organized it, and 12 of us showed up, 13 counting a boyfriend today.
In this town the building lots are small and the houses are tall. The original houses I’d guess, were short so people across the street could see over the top to the ocean. That was then, now the ocean side houses are two or three stories tall, and each layer back strains to look over the tops.
But we can see between the houses and to the north we can see a long stretch of beach.
This is a tourist town. Most who live here are involved in the tourist (service) business.
The beach is several miles long. It is smooth sand, but it also is fairly boring. One wave is a lot like the next and the next, varie mostly on whether the tide is coming in or going out.
There are no docks, or fishing boats or the other things that really excite my camera finger.
But we had good company, good food and a good time.
I could tell she was angry when she got out of the van.
“How would you feel if I did THAT to you?”
“What did I do?”
“Huh, you know.”
“But I don’t know. and the cycle of quetions and angry answers went round and round.
After a bit of digging and admitting any and all guilt I find that she thought I left her at daughters house a couple of days ago, and that I had left their house early in the morning and I had not said anything to her about it.
Well, it had been that day, and I left an hour and a half before they did, so I was not all that far ahead. Naturally and understandably, she is terrorized of loosing me. That is OK to a point.
It is one of those wonderful side affects of this wonderful disease.
Now that the disease is making bigger inroads into our lives, I am thankful for the good years we have had.
How a building ages is often more beautiful than it's original skin. In my town there is a big half block long ranch house that was built by a wealthy citizen right after world war 2. It is and always has been painted white. All owners have renewed that white. Not just the house, but the brick walls, the decorative fence out front, everything is brilliant white. It makes a statement, but it is dull still.
We are traveling again, this time to a family weekend with my 2nd daughter and her husband and kids, the other grandparents and a couple of cousins. I don't think there is internet, so for a few days I may not be writing, or I may write and go to Starbucks to post! We will see.
The building was locked, and the low paid women died in huge numbers when there was a fire.
So, I always wondered (but not enough to look it up) what was a "shirt waist?"
There was a piece about the garment on the front page of today's NYTimes. So I read and learned.
Up to that point women wore really awful clothing.
They lived in a horse economy. Said another way the roads were paved, with horse poop to put it mildly. And women were expected to wear ground length dresses, corsets, bustles and who knows what else (I am a guy so I skipped the chapter on the history of how we expected women to dress).
So a shirt waist was what we might refer to as a "dress". A simple, button up the front, garment made much like a man's shirt only long enough reach the mid calf, but over a foot above the horrors of the day.
Imagine going from a whale bone corset to a simple dress.
Talk about liberation, and talk about moral outrage.
It is always amazing to me what we men have done to our women in the name of something we thought was noble, and was not.
My mother would plant spinach in the fall. In spring while the rest of us were just getting our gardens in place, she was eating and freezing spinach. I cheat and grow spinach in a simple unheated cold frame.
This blog began as a spot to vent about my life with Miriam and her time with Alzheimer's disease.
She was diagnosed in '99 and her decline has been quite slow. In fact some of our best years of our long marriage have been these recent years.
Alzherimer's, at least her version is a disease of waiting. One shoe drops and it can be a very long time before the other one drops.
So life goes on.
At the beginning of this blog I told the story of our courtship and marriage, about out family and our personal journey with this disease. The part that scares the most is the anticipation as the disease slowly progresses.
So, I will touch on that subject from time to time, but the entries will tend toward comments on life. I'll leave politics and religion for others to worry about, not that I don't have strong opinions!
I have my hands full just looking after my wonderful Miriam.
We met when we were 6, began dating at 15 and have been together since. We will have our 56th anniversary this June.
We have four wonderful daughters. Smart, independent, awesome. They have given us 7 grandsons and 4 granddaughters. None of them are little any more. The oldest is 28 and married, the youngest is 14.
Until this last fall we lived in a hosue I designed and built in the '70's and it is pretty weird and wild, but very comfortable. Last summer the girls came to the conclusion that I really did need help dealing with Miriam. Now we live on a couple acres with daughter 1.
Life has been good. There is not much I would do different even if I could. We are rich beyond belief but chronically short of cash!
And, unless stated otherwise all the photographs are mine.