Temperature - 92 degrees
Humidity - 55%
Pop's outdoor walking attire: Black suede shoes, baseball cap, cardigan sweater.
After his walk, he comes back in the house, strips off the sweater and sits with his head in hands trying to cool down.
I look out the window, he is outside walking again wearing his black suede shoes, his baseball cap AND his cardigan sweater.
I give up!
Friday, June 11, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Themes, Patterns, Phrases and Repetitions
These days Pop seems to communicate through ingrained themes, rote patterns, memorized phrases, with regular repetition. These themes, his fall back positions, seems to provide the means by which he can still communicate. He is quite able to answer our questions, but original thought and absorbing the subtleties of daily life, as the rest of us do so effortlessly, is beyond his ability anymore.
"Was I too noisy?"
"How'd you sleep?"
"Whatever you are making sure smells good"
plus many walks a day and several tea times are all examples of his canned phrases and repetitions that help him communicate and keep his foggy life consistent.
"Was I too noisy?" is a phrase that seems to have its roots in my dad's career. Pop was employed by Pacific Gas and Electric Company for 30+ years at a substation in the small farming town of Milpitas, California, about 35 minutes north/west of our home in San Jose. The substation was nothing more then a little box, maybe 900 square feet with walls and walls of dials and gauges and a few desks for the workers. The office was situated on an acre or so of land with huge wheels, or at least my childhood memory is that they were huge, which had to be manually turned to maintain the proper flow of gas to the outlying communities. Today, like a mini-ghost town, that little substation still exists, man less now, smaller and totally operational by computers. But in my dad's era this little substation had to be manned 24/7.
The crew worked three shifts; days, evenings and "grave yard" (grave yard meant working all night). My dad working grave yards was one of my strongest recollections in the Sawyer household because our mother's nightmare was having to keep two small children quiet while daddy slept in the day time. I recall distinctly her repeated exclamations, "Shhhhhhhhhhhh, Daddy is sleeping!" At the evening meal, before he prepared to leave for work, his sleep or lack of during the day was always the topic of discussion sometimes ending with my being firmly reminded that I needed to be more quiet. I believe his shift work ingrained in him the concept of maintaining a quiet household.
Living with us now, he usually rises after we have. Finding us around the kitchen table, his 1st question is, "Have I been too noisy?" To the common observer one would pick up on the fact that my husband, son and I had been up for some time. But this does not compute with him. He still asks if his morning ritual of toiletries had bothered anyone's sleep.
"How are you feeling today?" is another common phrase. As a child my dad struggled with asthma, so much so that he missed a whole year of high school and graduated with the class behind him. These asthmatic attacks seemed to have made him acutely tuned into health issues. I remember what a faithful care giver and companion he was to my mom through various illnesses that she experienced during their marriage. Interestingly, I have noticed that he never asks this health-question of my son or husband, only me which gives the clear impression that my gender is somehow wrapped up in his gesture of concern. I wish I could say that I appreciated his questioning. But being the strong assertive type that I am, I have to admit his regular questioning causes me to feel that I am being viewed as sickly which I resent. Sometimes I'll ask him, "Do I look sick to you Pop?" His response, "No, I just wanted to be sure you're OK." My response back is with a hearty, "I feel fine!!! And how are you feeling today?" He responds back, equally heartily "I feel great! Great!" It ends a tit for tat.
Tomorrow my dad will rise from his night of slumber, mosey out into the kitchen and ask, "How'd you sleep? I hope I wasn't too noisy." Later in the day he may inquire as to how I'm feeling, thank me profusely for the meals, take numerous walks, and drink numerous cups of tea. Such is life in Don's world -- full of themes, patterns, phrases and repetition.
"Was I too noisy?"
"How'd you sleep?"
"Whatever you are making sure smells good"
plus many walks a day and several tea times are all examples of his canned phrases and repetitions that help him communicate and keep his foggy life consistent.
"Was I too noisy?" is a phrase that seems to have its roots in my dad's career. Pop was employed by Pacific Gas and Electric Company for 30+ years at a substation in the small farming town of Milpitas, California, about 35 minutes north/west of our home in San Jose. The substation was nothing more then a little box, maybe 900 square feet with walls and walls of dials and gauges and a few desks for the workers. The office was situated on an acre or so of land with huge wheels, or at least my childhood memory is that they were huge, which had to be manually turned to maintain the proper flow of gas to the outlying communities. Today, like a mini-ghost town, that little substation still exists, man less now, smaller and totally operational by computers. But in my dad's era this little substation had to be manned 24/7.
The crew worked three shifts; days, evenings and "grave yard" (grave yard meant working all night). My dad working grave yards was one of my strongest recollections in the Sawyer household because our mother's nightmare was having to keep two small children quiet while daddy slept in the day time. I recall distinctly her repeated exclamations, "Shhhhhhhhhhhh, Daddy is sleeping!" At the evening meal, before he prepared to leave for work, his sleep or lack of during the day was always the topic of discussion sometimes ending with my being firmly reminded that I needed to be more quiet. I believe his shift work ingrained in him the concept of maintaining a quiet household.
Living with us now, he usually rises after we have. Finding us around the kitchen table, his 1st question is, "Have I been too noisy?" To the common observer one would pick up on the fact that my husband, son and I had been up for some time. But this does not compute with him. He still asks if his morning ritual of toiletries had bothered anyone's sleep.
"How are you feeling today?" is another common phrase. As a child my dad struggled with asthma, so much so that he missed a whole year of high school and graduated with the class behind him. These asthmatic attacks seemed to have made him acutely tuned into health issues. I remember what a faithful care giver and companion he was to my mom through various illnesses that she experienced during their marriage. Interestingly, I have noticed that he never asks this health-question of my son or husband, only me which gives the clear impression that my gender is somehow wrapped up in his gesture of concern. I wish I could say that I appreciated his questioning. But being the strong assertive type that I am, I have to admit his regular questioning causes me to feel that I am being viewed as sickly which I resent. Sometimes I'll ask him, "Do I look sick to you Pop?" His response, "No, I just wanted to be sure you're OK." My response back is with a hearty, "I feel fine!!! And how are you feeling today?" He responds back, equally heartily "I feel great! Great!" It ends a tit for tat.
Tomorrow my dad will rise from his night of slumber, mosey out into the kitchen and ask, "How'd you sleep? I hope I wasn't too noisy." Later in the day he may inquire as to how I'm feeling, thank me profusely for the meals, take numerous walks, and drink numerous cups of tea. Such is life in Don's world -- full of themes, patterns, phrases and repetition.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Drying Dry Dishes, Vacuuming and Sweeping Clean Floors
I can tell by his pacing that he is bored. The things that used to fill his days and give him a sense of self worth, job, errands, car, banking, yard work are no long a part of his life. Now most of his time is consumed with searching for what he has lost, taking walks, filing his finger nails, searching for what he has lost, sipping tea, doing a few chores, and searching for what he has lost.
Often when these spells of boredom plague his day and I can't come up with anything for him to do, I'll hand him a dish towel and let him dry the dry dishes that might be sitting in the dish drainer. I know this sounds bizarre but you know the old saying, "what you don't know doesn't hurt you" and that seems to apply in this case. He thinks they need drying, so he dries.
Another fall back position is to pull out the vacuum and have him vacuum the clean carpets. I don't know what it is, the cords, the roar of the engine, buttons to be pushed, but all of this seems to bring out the machismo in him. Taking a grip on the handle he starts to move back and forth, back and forth making numerous repetitions. He's my man when it comes to carpets. Vacuuming does present some obstacles though as it is often tough to remember how to get the box operational. I've found him with cord in hand flipping wall switches. They are electrical aren't they?
Sweeping clean floors is another fall back. The tools of the trade are easily taken down from their hooks in the pantry and simple to operate. No electricity necessary. Often I have to remind him where they are located but once that has been determined he is able to retrieve them himself, sweep without my involvement and return them to their storage location. Keeping me out of the scenario is a major plus!
Thanks Pop for the driest dry dishes, and the cleanest clean floors in Austin, TX.
Often when these spells of boredom plague his day and I can't come up with anything for him to do, I'll hand him a dish towel and let him dry the dry dishes that might be sitting in the dish drainer. I know this sounds bizarre but you know the old saying, "what you don't know doesn't hurt you" and that seems to apply in this case. He thinks they need drying, so he dries.
Another fall back position is to pull out the vacuum and have him vacuum the clean carpets. I don't know what it is, the cords, the roar of the engine, buttons to be pushed, but all of this seems to bring out the machismo in him. Taking a grip on the handle he starts to move back and forth, back and forth making numerous repetitions. He's my man when it comes to carpets. Vacuuming does present some obstacles though as it is often tough to remember how to get the box operational. I've found him with cord in hand flipping wall switches. They are electrical aren't they?
Sweeping clean floors is another fall back. The tools of the trade are easily taken down from their hooks in the pantry and simple to operate. No electricity necessary. Often I have to remind him where they are located but once that has been determined he is able to retrieve them himself, sweep without my involvement and return them to their storage location. Keeping me out of the scenario is a major plus!
Thanks Pop for the driest dry dishes, and the cleanest clean floors in Austin, TX.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
E-mail to my sister
Several months ago after returning from a trip to CA I wrote the following e-mail to my sister:
Well, I'm back ... entering the man's world of household chaos ... leaving behind the woman's world of emotional meltdowns and bling, bling LOL.
Pop hasn't bathed or changed his underwear in 2 weeks, Wink has two new brief cases, new shelving in his office and a new printer. They bought and returned 2 trucks all in the space of 10 days -- ahhhhh, testosterone. There is evidence all over the pantry floor of pop eating raisins, his blankets were on the floor at the end of his bed hidden under the comforter, and he has evidently been drying dishes because I can't find anything. I just hope the dishes in the draining rack are clean and not washed pop style, i.e. rinsed off under hot water.
Oh, and the cat is yowling at me.
Every time I walk out of my bedroom pop thinks he's seeing me for the first time and greets me with warmth. He wanted to know if I was home to stay or if I was going to go away again. When I informed him this morning that he needed to bathe I got the usual strained look. I showed him his bathroom and gave him his clean underwear. He wanted to know if the tub in his bathroom is where the dirty deed was supposed to take place. Then he wanted to know if the bathroom was available for his use. "Yes, pop this is your bathroom and it is always available for your use." Then he came out into the room and announced to me that he was going to be bathing. Pretty soon he came out again and said "See you later," and pointed toward the bathroom. I asked him if he was going on a journey and he said "No, I'm going to be taking a bath" and pointed toward the bathroom again. "OK, pop. I'll see you later," and he was gone. I just hope he doesn't get lost.
Well, the carpet needs vacuuming, the dishes need to be emptied from the dishwasher, clothes need to be washed and groceries bought. Better go.
I'M HOME!!!
Well, I'm back ... entering the man's world of household chaos ... leaving behind the woman's world of emotional meltdowns and bling, bling LOL.
Pop hasn't bathed or changed his underwear in 2 weeks, Wink has two new brief cases, new shelving in his office and a new printer. They bought and returned 2 trucks all in the space of 10 days -- ahhhhh, testosterone. There is evidence all over the pantry floor of pop eating raisins, his blankets were on the floor at the end of his bed hidden under the comforter, and he has evidently been drying dishes because I can't find anything. I just hope the dishes in the draining rack are clean and not washed pop style, i.e. rinsed off under hot water.
Oh, and the cat is yowling at me.
Every time I walk out of my bedroom pop thinks he's seeing me for the first time and greets me with warmth. He wanted to know if I was home to stay or if I was going to go away again. When I informed him this morning that he needed to bathe I got the usual strained look. I showed him his bathroom and gave him his clean underwear. He wanted to know if the tub in his bathroom is where the dirty deed was supposed to take place. Then he wanted to know if the bathroom was available for his use. "Yes, pop this is your bathroom and it is always available for your use." Then he came out into the room and announced to me that he was going to be bathing. Pretty soon he came out again and said "See you later," and pointed toward the bathroom. I asked him if he was going on a journey and he said "No, I'm going to be taking a bath" and pointed toward the bathroom again. "OK, pop. I'll see you later," and he was gone. I just hope he doesn't get lost.
Well, the carpet needs vacuuming, the dishes need to be emptied from the dishwasher, clothes need to be washed and groceries bought. Better go.
I'M HOME!!!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The Joke is on Me
As is the norm, each and every morning I pull from a little metal box two bottles of medications for my dad; Namenda which is for his cranial function and Flomax for his prostate. As I was preparing his pills this morning I was at the same time opening my bottles of vitamins which I take twice daily. Walking over to the sink I ran some cold water into a glass, raised my hand to my mouth and popped in the pills. As soon as I had done so the realization hit me. Those were not my vitamins I had just swallowed but my dad's prescriptions.
Calling the pharmacist I was assured that I would not begin growing male genitalia. Although it would be nice if the Namenda helped my brain function a bit.
I'll let you know how my prostate feels and if my mind seems to be a little clearer today.
Calling the pharmacist I was assured that I would not begin growing male genitalia. Although it would be nice if the Namenda helped my brain function a bit.
I'll let you know how my prostate feels and if my mind seems to be a little clearer today.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Candy Bar, Lucky Stars and Guardian Angels
Arriving at our home with a bouquet of flowers for the dinner table and a large candy bar for Pop, we welcomed our friends, Mike and Mary for our little dinner party. While I put the flowers in water, Pop exclaimed over the sizable gift; 1/4 pound of chocolate to be exact, all for him and him alone to satisfy his enormous sweet tooth.
When it came time to sit down to dinner, Pop preferred sitting by himself at his own table. Not able to follow the dinner conversation anymore, coupled perhaps with the fear of being asked a question he won't be able to answer makes dining with strangers uncomfortable for him. Why waste a great meal feeling uncomfortable must be his line of thinking. In earlier years he would have been gregarious and friendly, often exhibiting his warm sense of humor. I remember him always as the life of the party. Watching him from across the room, sitting alone in his strangely silent world, where he now lives, is almost eerie. Hopefully the ravages of his disease have erased the tendency to compare the present to his past.
In younger years, my dad loved an evening with friends. I recall fondly the many occasions our family spent with my parents friends. As a child I would be off in another room enjoying "kids play" with the other children. But drifting into our space would come an occasional burst of hoots and laughter from the adults, spontaneously erupting from one of my dad's jokes or one of his crazy shenanigans. Listening to the joy, the laughter made me feel safe, happy and a bit proud of the fact that it was my dad who was the hub of all the fun.
Being a busy hostess, I attempted to juggle the needs of our guests along with the needs of my dad, checking on him from time to time. Eventually the delightful conversation at our table got the best of me pulling my full attention toward our guests.
Now, I do believe in guardian angels. And if I understand correctly their job is to protect and warn, among other things. Either mine also has a terrific sense of humor and was enjoying so much what was taking place at my dad's table that he did not want to alert me to the gluttony. Or my dad's angel was sleeping on the job, because there was nothing that drew my attentions toward my dad until his deed was fully accomplished. When I finally turned in his direction, I observed the LAST bite of his 1/4 pound candy bar being popped into his mouth! During the dessert portion of our meal he had consumed all 4.5 ounces in one sitting!
My husband and I, along with our guests quietly chuckled aloud at the scene being played out before us. My dad, off in his own world was not aware that he had once again stirred the warmth of laughter in us and our guests. But he had. Knowing him as I do, I believe he was probably thanking his lucky stars, or his guardian angel for his wonderfully, chocolaty evening. He was content and full!
When it came time to sit down to dinner, Pop preferred sitting by himself at his own table. Not able to follow the dinner conversation anymore, coupled perhaps with the fear of being asked a question he won't be able to answer makes dining with strangers uncomfortable for him. Why waste a great meal feeling uncomfortable must be his line of thinking. In earlier years he would have been gregarious and friendly, often exhibiting his warm sense of humor. I remember him always as the life of the party. Watching him from across the room, sitting alone in his strangely silent world, where he now lives, is almost eerie. Hopefully the ravages of his disease have erased the tendency to compare the present to his past.
In younger years, my dad loved an evening with friends. I recall fondly the many occasions our family spent with my parents friends. As a child I would be off in another room enjoying "kids play" with the other children. But drifting into our space would come an occasional burst of hoots and laughter from the adults, spontaneously erupting from one of my dad's jokes or one of his crazy shenanigans. Listening to the joy, the laughter made me feel safe, happy and a bit proud of the fact that it was my dad who was the hub of all the fun.
Being a busy hostess, I attempted to juggle the needs of our guests along with the needs of my dad, checking on him from time to time. Eventually the delightful conversation at our table got the best of me pulling my full attention toward our guests.
Now, I do believe in guardian angels. And if I understand correctly their job is to protect and warn, among other things. Either mine also has a terrific sense of humor and was enjoying so much what was taking place at my dad's table that he did not want to alert me to the gluttony. Or my dad's angel was sleeping on the job, because there was nothing that drew my attentions toward my dad until his deed was fully accomplished. When I finally turned in his direction, I observed the LAST bite of his 1/4 pound candy bar being popped into his mouth! During the dessert portion of our meal he had consumed all 4.5 ounces in one sitting!
My husband and I, along with our guests quietly chuckled aloud at the scene being played out before us. My dad, off in his own world was not aware that he had once again stirred the warmth of laughter in us and our guests. But he had. Knowing him as I do, I believe he was probably thanking his lucky stars, or his guardian angel for his wonderfully, chocolaty evening. He was content and full!
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Gruene, Texas
Gruene, Texas is a slice right out of the state's past. A little community within the city limits of New Braufels, it boasts of the oldest dance hall in the state that is still in operation, Gruene Hall. If you entered Gruene from Hwy 306 and drove straight ahead on one of the two main drags in this little enclave, you'd run right onto her plank porch. She is definitely the hub of Gruene.
Part of her many claims to fame are the numerous celebrities who have graced her stages and floors including the dance hall scene from the movie "Michale" staring John Travolta. The original old flooring springs with each step creating the sense that it could give way at any moment. The rest of the community consists of restaurants, an old general store, a huge antique mall, and a myriad of houses converted into eclectic shops selling everything from Texas wine, to clothing. We love Gruene.
This past week end, with Pop in tow, we took our friends, who are visiting from Tennessee to this delightful community for a step back in time, to a quieter more simple, Texas, kind of life.
The Penny:
First stop, Gruene Hall, of course. This being a Saturday in May, a beautiful Saturday after a refreshing rain storm that had cleaned and cooled the air, it seemed that everyone in Texas was visiting this tiny little nitch. A stop light is desperately needed at its one main intersection but technology like that would only dampen the old-time-feel. So traffic is directed by a policeman who moves the vehicles and bodies like herds of cattle. When the officer blew his whistle and motioned for our crowd to cross, Pop came moseying along at his normal snails pace about 10 steps behind the 5 of us. He is always the last one causing me to regularly crane my neck making sure he is following, hasn't lost sight of us, or tripped.
As I have mentioned before, Pop is a frugal man; frugal to the core. On this occasion, as we crossed the street heading for our destination, I heard a woman's voice above the crowd, "He stopped to pick up a penny. Isn't that cute!"
In order to appreciate fully what was taking place here, let me try to paint a word picture. As the policeman blew his whistle, the mass of bodies began to quickly move from one curb to the next. Like a scene out of a Norman Rockwell painting, there in the middle of this fairly busy intersection, with a large white SUV breathing down his neck, my dad was bent over retrieving a penny off of the warm asphalt. Oblivious to those that he was holding up, to the dangers of the setting and to the attention that he drew to himself, he picked up the copper coin. As if his conscience would not permit him to keep what wasn't his, he offered it to the closest member of our group. Wasn't it Benjamin Franklin who said that a penny saved, is a penny earned?
The Dance Hall:
Making it safely to the other side, we were drawn into Gruene Hall by the lilting sounds of the country music which poured from the huge screened, open, air windows. Weaving our way through the crown, we stopped to exclaim over the black and white photos adorning the walls. Autographed pictures of Willy Nelson, John Travolta, Jerry Lee Lewis, among the many others, were enjoyable to us but meaningless to Pop.
Inside the dance hall the humid air was heavy with the warmth of the afternoon and the 100 plus bodies that sat at large, old picnic tables drinking beer and swaying to the tunes. On the dance floor were a very few brave souls two stepping to the delightful music and entertaining those not courageous enough to venture out and give it a whirl. Soon we heard a female voice singing a slow dance melody that my husband even felt we could tackle. Drawing me out onto the floor my husband took me into his arms for a cheek to cheek twirl. As we skimmed across the noticeably uneven floor, I sensed someone at my elbow. Looking over my shoulder there was Pop standing in the middle of the dance floor a foot or so away in the middle of the couples striving to stay as close to us as possible without causing a collision. Tapping his toe he stood out conspicuously among the dancers acting a bit like a fish out of water. Chuckling, we cut our dance a little short, and the five of us hustled Pop off the dance floor and out onto the warm streets of Gruene.
Sometimes I wonder if we are exposing my dad to more then we should at this stage in his decline; to potential mishaps, to embarrassing moments, to confusing circumstances that he has no control over. But when I saw him gathering that penny off of the warm asphalt, the smile on his face as he watched his daughter and son-in-law dancing, sometimes sort of tripping across the old plank dance floor, I though to myself, "Nope. I wouldn't change a thing."
Part of her many claims to fame are the numerous celebrities who have graced her stages and floors including the dance hall scene from the movie "Michale" staring John Travolta. The original old flooring springs with each step creating the sense that it could give way at any moment. The rest of the community consists of restaurants, an old general store, a huge antique mall, and a myriad of houses converted into eclectic shops selling everything from Texas wine, to clothing. We love Gruene.
This past week end, with Pop in tow, we took our friends, who are visiting from Tennessee to this delightful community for a step back in time, to a quieter more simple, Texas, kind of life.
The Penny:
First stop, Gruene Hall, of course. This being a Saturday in May, a beautiful Saturday after a refreshing rain storm that had cleaned and cooled the air, it seemed that everyone in Texas was visiting this tiny little nitch. A stop light is desperately needed at its one main intersection but technology like that would only dampen the old-time-feel. So traffic is directed by a policeman who moves the vehicles and bodies like herds of cattle. When the officer blew his whistle and motioned for our crowd to cross, Pop came moseying along at his normal snails pace about 10 steps behind the 5 of us. He is always the last one causing me to regularly crane my neck making sure he is following, hasn't lost sight of us, or tripped.
As I have mentioned before, Pop is a frugal man; frugal to the core. On this occasion, as we crossed the street heading for our destination, I heard a woman's voice above the crowd, "He stopped to pick up a penny. Isn't that cute!"
In order to appreciate fully what was taking place here, let me try to paint a word picture. As the policeman blew his whistle, the mass of bodies began to quickly move from one curb to the next. Like a scene out of a Norman Rockwell painting, there in the middle of this fairly busy intersection, with a large white SUV breathing down his neck, my dad was bent over retrieving a penny off of the warm asphalt. Oblivious to those that he was holding up, to the dangers of the setting and to the attention that he drew to himself, he picked up the copper coin. As if his conscience would not permit him to keep what wasn't his, he offered it to the closest member of our group. Wasn't it Benjamin Franklin who said that a penny saved, is a penny earned?
The Dance Hall:
Making it safely to the other side, we were drawn into Gruene Hall by the lilting sounds of the country music which poured from the huge screened, open, air windows. Weaving our way through the crown, we stopped to exclaim over the black and white photos adorning the walls. Autographed pictures of Willy Nelson, John Travolta, Jerry Lee Lewis, among the many others, were enjoyable to us but meaningless to Pop.
Inside the dance hall the humid air was heavy with the warmth of the afternoon and the 100 plus bodies that sat at large, old picnic tables drinking beer and swaying to the tunes. On the dance floor were a very few brave souls two stepping to the delightful music and entertaining those not courageous enough to venture out and give it a whirl. Soon we heard a female voice singing a slow dance melody that my husband even felt we could tackle. Drawing me out onto the floor my husband took me into his arms for a cheek to cheek twirl. As we skimmed across the noticeably uneven floor, I sensed someone at my elbow. Looking over my shoulder there was Pop standing in the middle of the dance floor a foot or so away in the middle of the couples striving to stay as close to us as possible without causing a collision. Tapping his toe he stood out conspicuously among the dancers acting a bit like a fish out of water. Chuckling, we cut our dance a little short, and the five of us hustled Pop off the dance floor and out onto the warm streets of Gruene.
Sometimes I wonder if we are exposing my dad to more then we should at this stage in his decline; to potential mishaps, to embarrassing moments, to confusing circumstances that he has no control over. But when I saw him gathering that penny off of the warm asphalt, the smile on his face as he watched his daughter and son-in-law dancing, sometimes sort of tripping across the old plank dance floor, I though to myself, "Nope. I wouldn't change a thing."
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