God Bless Us, Every One

Getting back to the basics this season and it felt great. Warm relaxing Christmas day that went low key on gaudy gifts and long on leisure, panatone French toast, peach belinnis and good coffee during the unwrapping. Three generations had a good visit with Granddad who was in excellent form. He knew who he was; he knew who we were, and knew exactly what was going on. Then there was the tenderloin and scallops dinner later. Christmas with only good surprises. We'll take it!

Be Careful What You Wish For

See, we all go around dreaming of a white Christmas and -- WHUMP! We get one. With a few tons more white stuff to spare.

Ah well. It's a bear to shovel, but it sure looks pretty.

Progress vs. Lunacy

Well, the good news is, the pater's sundowning has improved with a change in meds. So he is not hurting people any more (nor they him), he's sleeping at more normal hours and during the day he's much easier to converse with.

The bad news is he thinks I'm the cleaning lady and that his granddaughter is about to become his new daughter-in-law by marrying his son (her uncle!). Eww. Strangely, he actually knows that can't be right and says so and yet he feels sure that it's true. One explanation: last weekend we had the largest full moon of the year -- Who knows?

What a strange landscape the mind becomes when neural pathways break down.

Sundowner

I learned a new term last week. Sundowner. This is a very meaningful term in the nursing home world. It refers to residents suffering with dementia or psychosis who are pleasant people during daylight hours, but as soon as the sun sets, they ramp up and freak out.

Sadly, my father is a textbook sundowner. He’s happy to spend his day chatting with people about flying, travel or what have you. But when the sun goes down, he sees riots in his room, tries to break them up and is appalled when staff members try to restrain him. He has pinched people, elbowed them in the ribs, twisted arms and generally tried to fight them off.

Dad tells me about how they are out to get him. And he demands that they “go back where they came from!!” Racist remarks he has curtailed for decades bubble up with embarrassing regularity.

My abiding impression from the last 10 days is that the people who work in hospitals and nursing homes are extraordinary and extraordinarily underappreciated. They take both verbal and physical abuse from such patients with amazing dignity, empathy and good grace.

My heart and gratitude go out to these hard-working, caring and dedicated people. We’d be lost without them.

Making a Difference

If a young person were to suddenly relocate to a new city, one of the first things she might want to do after unpacking is figure out how to make new friends.

A tried-and-true way to do that is to join organizations and volunteer to help worthy causes.

This method offers the twofer of not only meeting like-minded, caring people, but also actually making a contribution to something that matters.

So how, one might ask, does one find said worthy organizations? A great resource is Volunteer Match. It's a super website that sorts by interests and location. And it's full of great success stories. Worth a looksee.

Yee-HAH!

So is it weird that I'm so totally happy that my daughter landed a great first job ("with a little help from her friend"), that almost I feel like it happened to me?

No matter. This is great news after a long tough week and I'm very proud of her. She deserves this super new start!

Mia cara, di congratulazioni!

What's With All The Beeping?!

OK, at first I thought it was just me. But now I’m quite sure that the mavens of Madison Ave. have a new arrow in their arsenal of attention grabbing –- le beep.

They are peppering any and all commercials and TV shows with beeps, bops and bings in order to jerk our attention back to them and their sales pitches. The sounds are buried in the music or tucked into actors’ cell phones, instant messages, dashboards and so on. People may not be overtly aware it's happening, but our dog sure is and he tipped me off.

Like a canary in a coal mine, Duncan is the measure of just how much beeping is going on. Because he was well trained to his invisible fence, he pays immediate attention to the sound of a beep. To him it means “Warning, warning! Danger, Run away!!” So he does.

But now he can barely stay in the same room with us when the TV is on. During the shows, equipment and music are beeping. During the commercials even more beeping. The poor guy is a nervous wreck!

Can we be the only people having trouble with this? I’m picturing dogs across America having nervous breakdowns not knowing where to go to flee the warnings. Perhaps it’s yet another reason to turn off the damn TV and go do something constructive.

Charity Done Smart

This is the time of year when people choose to share their blessings. That said, this economy has left dollars in short supply, so when I do give, I want to get the biggest bang for the buck that I can.

I found a website that can help. Charity Navigator gives great summaries of thousands of popular charities as to dollars collected, percent spent on administrative and fund raising costs, even the salaries of the CEOs. And they have a star rating system. Four stars is tops!

What I learned there has changed my mind about some organizations I've supported and reinforced some of my other choices.

Get Ready to Ride the Rocket

All right -- I know the economy is in the dumps. I know unemployment is high and job prospects are slim, but if you're young, you're facing the chance of a lifetime. Pay attention. You won’t want to miss it.

It all comes down to this: the markets are all on sale!

I happen to know that Gen Ys, and Millennials love to shop, and really love big bargains on great stuff. Well I got news for you – there is no greater stuff out there than all the companies who make the stuff you love. And those companies are pretty much ALL on sale. I'm talking bargain basement prices. And you Ys and Millennials have the time ahead of you that it will take to really reap the rewards.

So as soon as you can once you land that first job, open your 401(k) and max out your contribution. Buy as much of this low-ball-priced stock market as you can manage. Because when it turns around – and it will turn around – you want to have as many shares of it as you can to ride up into the high altitudes of your future. The time you have ahead of you is the very best asset you have right now. Make sure you capitalize it to the max. You may have to sacrifice a little now, but boy oh boy, will you be glad you did!

Sometimes Cool -- Ain't

It's just a fact, sometimes cool ain't.

You know the drill. You learn something, get something or something happens to you that at first seems really, really cool. But then as the dust settles you come to see that whatever it is ends up being a lot harder, messier, more time consuming or even more embarrassing than you could have imagined.

I've got one of those going on right now. I got caught up in the whole "wouldn't it be cool to be in an opera!" thing. (Operetta really, but why quibble.) It was almost like one of those 40s musicals -- Hey let's turn the barn into a theater! Yeah, we can make costumes! I have some instruments. Let's put on a show!! Apparently that only works in the movies.

My initial enthusiasm for doing Amal has been tarnished by a lack of organization, rehearsal, preparation, and, dare I admit it, talent of key personnel. Now I must address the conflict of wanting to keep my original commitment and not wanting to feel cringing embarrassment.

What to do? What to do? <sigh>

Time to press the Oops key.

Parliaments of Owls and Other Oddities

Anyone who knows me, knows I have a thing for words. A post about crows over at our friends the Story People got me wondering (again) why we refer to a group of crows as a murder.

Grammarphobia.com cites the OED for an explanation of why it's called a murder.

But when it comes to collective nouns for animals, Murders of Crows and Pods of Whales are just the beginning. How about:

• a Shrewdness of Apes


• a Piteousness of Doves


• a Fesnying of Ferrets


• an Implausibility of Gnus (Really? An implausibility? I find that implausible.)

And then there is the delightful Charm of Hummingbirds.

In fact, there are enough collective animal nouns to fill an ark! But don’t take my word for it.

...But by the strength of his character

Years ago I worked on a social studies project for a textbook publisher. It was a great opportunity because it gave me almost free rein to explore news reels from the national archive. One day I pulled the full length version of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech, delivered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in the thick of the civil rights movement in August, 1963. More than 30 years after it was given, it moved me to tears.

If you have never treated yourself to the full speech, do so. We all know the clips, but the richness of the full composition is greater than the sum of its parts.

Like millions of Americans, I was reminded yesterday of his stirring words…

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today!

…as all of America and the world witnessed the realization of that dream.

Thinking of those words and then seeing President-elect Barack Obama address the nation gave me the best kind of goose bumps. Or should I say chicken skin? That’s what they call it in Hawaii; our new president would probably appreciate the distinction.

God speed, Mr. President. We are with you.

Swedish Fish vs Sour Patch Kids

In spite of good weather, trick-or-treater turnout was light this year. The good news is we had no oversize, uncostumed grocery bag-toting moochers this year. I think about 25 kids came in all.

As usual, Duncan was a huge hit. The little ones who didn't even really talk didn't want to go on to the next house. They just wanted to pet Duncan. Suited him fine.

The big revelation came from the elders. Instead of chocolate, we gave out Sour Patch Kids and Swedish Fish. But with the low turnout, we have lots left over. Not to worry, Mrs. Elder found out she really likes Sour Patch kids. Who knew? And Mr. Elder has a strong affinity for Swedish Fish. I expect they'll divy the leftovers and have them polished off before Thanksgiving.

Creepy Crawly Meets Rickety

It will be hard to say who will be more confused this halloween, the trick or treaters (by the snappy quips issued by the grampa who talks to them at the door)

"What trick are you going to do?" "Huh? Trick?"

"Hey there tiger." "I'm not a tiger, I'm a dalmation!"

...or the grampa by the strange array of kids who will show up.

"What is he suppose to be?" "Why is the dog barking?" "Are any more kids coming tonight?"

I have one question: are we having fun yet?

Going With Amal to See the Kings

Just when you think nothing fun and interesting is going to happen, someone comes along and asks you to be in an opera. At least that's what just happened to me. A group of musicians are staging Amal and the Night Visitors at one of the small theaters at The Bushnell. The orchestra conductor, and Amal's father, asked me and my friend Beth to be the soprano section of the shepherds. Yay! We're both a couple of hams so we said sure. It will be staged the Sunday after Thanksgiving, costumes and all.

The music I'm familiar with, but memorizing lyrics? I haven't had to do that since I can't remember when. THAT will be a challenge, especially with those long lists of names "Emily, Emily, Michael Bartholemew, how are your children and how are your sheep? Dorothy, Dorothy, Matthew, Evangeline..." Then the long list of provisions: "Olives and quinces, apples and raisins, nutmeg and myrtle, medlars and chestnuts..." What the heck is a medlar anyway? Clearly some googling will be required.

n.
1. A deciduous European tree (Mespilus germanica) having white flowers and edible apple-shaped fruit.
2. The fruit of this plant, eaten fresh or made into preserves.

Good Thing We Stayed Home

I don't much believe in coincidence. I sit squarely in the camp of most things happen for a reason.

Take last night for example. Two of the five of us were not home for dinner. So at 6:00 p.m. the other three of us debated whether to eat out or eat leftovers. Content with either option, we decided that leftovers were the course of least resistance. We stayed home.

Twenty minutes later – the phone rang. I picked up and heard the familiar voice of my sister-in-law, Marie. Knowing she, my brother and 2 of their kids had spent a bustling week running up and down the east coast for a conference, sight-seeing and visiting their daughter at West Point, I figured she was just checking in before heading home to Hawaii.

"Hey, how was your trip?" I asked.

"Oh it was good," she said, "until we just missed our flight out of Newburgh, NY."

Oops. Luckily, they were able to reschedule without a surcharge. Except the new flight wasn’t out of Newburgh. It was out of Hartford. At 6:30 the next morning! Genius that I am, I put 2 and 2 together.

"Great – Come on over!" So around 9:00 last night four road-weary travelers rolled in, visited for a couple hours, went to bed and then rolled out again at 5:30 a.m. I got up in the morning and they were gone. Almost as if they were never there.

But what if we’d decided to go out for dinner? We wouldn’t have seen them at all. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

It's in the Blood

I am no sports fan. I'm even kind of noted for not being interested in sports. So it's a bit of an anomaly that I care what happens to the Red Sox. I think it's an inherited condition.

My mother is no sports fan either, except when it comes to the boys from Fenway.

Late in the summer, when it becomes evident that the Sox are headed for another pennant race, Mom starts to rearrange her TV viewing to make sure she can follow the action. This year, I think she was secretly pleased that the Red Sox dropped three games behind Tampa Bay because it gave her the satisfaction of watching them roar back to tie the series.

So it was kind of sad to see her scuffle into the kitchen this morning to announce, "The Red Sox lost." But beneath her disappointment, I could see a hint of the indomitable spirit of a true Sox fan, that there is always next year.

I know how she feels. You see, I stayed up way too late too to see how our boys fared. I was sorry to see them lose, but it was a good game. And like a true fan, I believe there is always next year. I can't help it -- it's in my blood.


P.S. I shoul note that there is one other baseball enterprise Mom has a soft spot for -- the champion little league teams from Toms River, NJ. When those little guys are in the little league world series, Mom is at the top of her game.

We're Never Prepared for What We Expect

Many years ago, I was listening to James Michener's Afghanistan epic, Caravans. Yes, listening -- I'm a fierce fan of recorded books. Anyway, during one of Big Jim's countless descriptions, a phrase he used jumped out and smacked me in the head. He was describing the Hindu Kush mountains when he said, "We are never prepared for what we expect."

Holy Cow! How insightful is that? "We are never prepared for what we expect."

The phrase stayed with me and has helped me in so many situations. That includes the key new event in my family's life -- my elderly parents moving in with us in the spring of 2008.

Of course I expected them to change how we live. I expected them to have to change how they live. I expected we'd all have to make adjustments. I just wasn't prepared for what I expected.

Is it difficult? Yup -- we're talking about 4-5 adult personalities complete with individual views and opinions all trying to share close quarters, respect each others’ space and keep our sanity.

Is it stressful? See above.

Is it sometimes sad? Try watching the World War II flying Ace spend more then 10 minutes trying to walk from the family room to the bathroom. Hearing him ask "what is this?" in reference to the tossed salad on his plate or tell you there are people in the room he doesn't know when there's no one there at all. Or when his bride of 56 years needs you to replace the pump hand soap with a bar soap because she's too weak to push down the plunger on the bottle.

Is it sometimes funny? Picture said mobility-challenged ace using the treadmill when he can't even get his feet to move. (relax, he hasn't used it, but he sure wants to!) He'd look like something from a Benny Hill Sketch. Or when the Ace and Mrs. Ace get the giggles as the little bird that she is tries to pull him up out of a chair. And chatting with him is often like playing the telephone game. You say something and he hears something entirely else and responds to what he thinks he heard. Sure makes for lively conversation.

Do we wish they'd never moved in? No way. Seeing how things are now, we are grateful we were able to make it happen. The notion of their being in this kind of shape, but still 200 miles away, driving [we shudder to think], eating only what they can put in a microwave, or, in his case, wandering outside alone on a winter night looking for a hose to rinse the grape jelly off an imaginary 4-year-old son is not what any of us would want.

Happy, sad, stressful and all, having them here assures us that they are being cared for, fed and protected just as they have always done for us. It affords much peace of mind, even if we weren't prepared for what we expected.

Back in the Saddle

It's been a long time since I've blogged, but people I care about have been wading into blogging from all quarters, so I've decided to revive this site.

Originally I was blogging for grad school, but that sheepskin has been on the wall for over a year, so it's time for a new focus. What that will be remains to be seen, but since all of it will fall in my "baileywyck" it works.

Come along for the ride if you choose cuz (everybody sing!) "We're back in the saddle ag'in..."