Thoughts surface after episode of THE FIRST 48

A few nights ago I was watching an episode of The First 48 on A&E. For those of you unfamiliar with the show, a quick overview. The show chronicles cases from various  Homicide Divisions and each episode opens with 2 cases in 2 cities. Through the first 48 hours of a crime it follows the investigation, progress or lack of, of each case. Some scenes may be days, weeks or even months after, should information surface toward resolution and arrest of a suspect. Over the years most cases followed seem to lead to the arrest of a suspect, 'roll credits'. The last few years the standard show format has begun to periodically return to those arrests and the results of any charges. 

Of course this gives a sort of 'the end' to some cases. But as anyone who has been victimized knows, it never really ends. Particularly when the crime was a murder. Those who love the victim are themselves victims, as they exist until their deaths having hopefully come to 'terms' with everything. For many though, coming to 'terms' means fear, loss, anger, and grief. Much as those left behind due to Alzheimer's, whether due to the release of a person afflicted or the pain as their existence continues while their minds vanish, in some form we come to 'terms'. 

One of the shows detailing the suspects through trials end made me stop and think on the subject of what I have done, am doing and will do with my father's 'stuff'. I had mentioned hoarding before but that isn't really crux of this particular mind-meander. It is the usefulness and care of personal belongings, why we attach ourselves to 'things' and the value we place on them. And 'things' can run the gamut from 'junk' to 'valuable'. 

My intent has always been to humor and amuse with all my writing and I've done  much sorting and disposing before this blog began. But the process hasn't been 100% humorous. At the beginning there was a lot of unexpected waves of grief that seemed to arrive like a tsunami after an earthquake. And even today, albeit rare, I can still be unexpectedly knocked on my 'ass' simply picking up a tool or a book of my father's. Which is why the father on a THE FIRST 48 was so poignant.

He had lost his son through murder. And finally endured the trial and sentencing of the individual deemed to have committed the murder. At the end of the show he was washing and cleaning a car, speaking of his son~the car~and himself. The car was a wreck. Could it have been repaired and used again? Maybe. I tend to think with enough obstinate hard work most objects can often be made usable again. But this car? The hood was bent straight upward, obviously from impact. The steering wheel was angled toward the passenger seat, windows broken. No doubt the body damage to the entire front end was significant but unseen. The engine? Multiple issues just by looking at the hood stuck straight toward heaven. Certainly inside evidence of the murder of his son from being shot. Plus personal items left in the car.

This man was washing and polishing this heap of a vehicle where his son had ended his life. He spoke while he worked about how this was one of the last things he and his son did together. Detailing this vehicle. It seems the son had recently acquired the car and his father shared his joy by lovingly joining the son in sprucing it up. And every so often he would do just as he was now, keep the car clean and polished.

I saw struck by the depths of grief the man carried for the loss of his only son. I know he was doing this because it was one way he could still feel close and relive the joy they shared. But for myself it also gave me great pain to watch this man caring for this wreck of a car. I understood, but my wish for the man was he would be able to move beyond remembering his son by cleaning and polishing a destroyed vehicle..... a vehicle where his son was murdered.

I reflected on the last 2+ years of my journey, through all the work at this house. Many, including my mother, question why? Why do you want THAT? What are you going to do with THAT? Are you really EVER going to use THAT? Normally I smile and say I like it or want it, I'll use to to fix something, I used it yesterday. And I have used so many things to figure out and fix things.   Many are skeptical and I accept that. As time progresses I'll provide chuckles about what I've found and the big hoot HOW MANY X, Y, or Zs of an item I've discovered. And that is 'after' I've thrown many things out. 

But sometimes the questions are painful. And sometimes I just want to scream....WHOSE 'FRIGGIN' BUSINESS IS IT 'IF or WHAT' I KEEP.  Its my Mothers as she owns everything. But the home is paid for and no one yet has chosen to purchase it. What does it matter if there are 27 hammers that I've put in a box-it doesn't. Has anyone else done any work at cleaning, collecting, organizing, disposing of ANYTHING? Has anyone offered to HELP me as I mow a yard, struggle with a pool, haul furniture or fill a truck with metal which earned my mother $26? 
Does anyone care that when I find a saw, wooden handle with a red plastic embossed label with VAN HYNING on it, that I see my Dad using it as I watched? No. No one related or responsible for dealing with this task has done any work, asked if they can help or can see my memories.  Some are physically unable and I am fine with that. Some have obligations but when were present to assist, ultimately did little with the overall task. I'm eternally grateful to one who dealt with the packing of my fathers clothing, which at the time I was incapable of managing. Actually all in all I'm grateful to have been left to slog through solo, not having to hear 'why', 'you're doing it wrong', or 'lets just throw it out'.

Like the man, I treasure what keeps me close to my Dad. I believe most of what I have kept is serving a purpose and is needed. And even those things others question.... I know why I keep them and much has even been disposed of since someone first ask the question. There is a time=disposal factor. What I could not touch or consider putting in a trash can 2 years ago......I now can and each time I've gone through items more and more go into the trash. That is the process of grieving and there isn't one hard and fast rule as to how each takes that journey. The only hope is that we continue to keep moving.....at the end of the episode of THE FIRST 48 I found myself wishing for that father.....he could soon stop cleaning and polishing that car.

Replacing the Pool Filter Motor

At the close of the last post regarding year 2 of Pool Wars I was standing looking at a dead motor. And I had ordered and received the $300 replacement. Now my Dad was an electrician in the Navy so over the years he did any work associated with electrical  issues. But I knew that over the last few years there were wiring issues in the house that needed repair or replacement. Plus periodically, when flipping the switch behind the filter, it wouldn't engage. My guess was a loose wire causing a short. But this wasn't a lamp or a fuse, this pump motor was hard wired. And with the house heading toward FOR SALE, I just didn't want to take a chance. My brother had given me a quick verbal rundown on 'how to' and it seemed something I could accomplish, but my concern was should anything fail causing an electrical fire it was important that a licensed electrician had done the work. Plus the outlet by the pool wasn't working and one by one several outlets in both the house and Little House ceased to work. So I called an electrician.

This is one of those moments, of many, when my Mother weighed in. I went home, explained the status and informed her a electrician would come the next day to do it all. She looked up and said "Your father always did that sort of work." Now it wasn't said like a question, just a flat statement. I just stood there, even looking around and at myself...maybe my Dad had materialized or I'd morphed into my Dad....until I finally said, "Ah, I'm not Dad and I think a licensed electrician is needed". Still looking at me in what I've learned years ago as the 'you aren't correctly interrupting what I'm saying', I waited. Finally she gave up and concurred.

The next day I arrived at the house and began to realize that the electrician would wire the pump but I really should have the pump ready for that to happen. For 2 hours--I struggled with the filter/pump motor area. At this point the 42 year old filter has essentially been held together with epoxy, so a simple pipe wrench, screwdriver and muscle may not detach the filter/pump motor. All those tools I'd organized for over a year gave me the hardware I needed. I used several pipe wrenches and 2 screwdrivers but often simply turning the PCV wasn't possible--EPOXY. Plus I didn't want to break any old repaired areas in removing the unit. Finally aided by a vast array of 'sailor speak' I had detached 1. and 2. with no damage. (see photo)  But detaching the actual  filter/pump motor from the aged round unit holding the sand? And no matter what I did, the fitting where it would logically be removed, wouldn't budge from the unit side. But the threaded portion attached to the filter/pump motor-that would move. (above the right corner of the photo)

 My only option at this point was to unscrew the filter/pump motor from the main filter, and I mean by rotating the entire filter/pump motor. So, for the next 40 minutes I turned it bit by bit, until it detached. I was able to lift it off and set in its place the replacement and just as the electrician pulled into the driveway. He quickly hard wired it back together and it worked. He found that a fuse in the Little House was all that was needed to fix half the outlets. Like endless times since my Dad passed, I walked to the cellar and pulled out a tiny drawer in the metal box and pulled out exactly what was needed, a 20 amp fuse. The other half of the outlets.....Duh Moment, the outlet box on the cement patio on the back of the house? Fixed by pushing the reset switch.

After the electrician departed and only a $75 invoice, which I thought was good value for the money, I fired up the pump and began getting the pool fit for swimming. After that, pool wise, it was a fairly good summer. No one but me swimming in the pool which makes it difficult to keep algae at bay but I enjoyed the pool between lawn mowing, sorting possessions, trimming hedges and dealing with the 'caretaker'.

In My Effort to Get HELP Regarding Jr. JD

Blog Owner Disclaimer::: Yes I know I bounce around and yes I know I swear I'll post the 'next chapter' in Jr. JD, Pool Filter, my never ending stupidity in my attempts to 'fix or maintain'. But I've come to a hitch in my Jr JD. And as I haven't really STARTED that ordeal as in posting about it.......never the less......

On step 2 of my 'fixing the Jr JD-changing the oil-I managed to find-I think, well I hope-the little piece I turn to drain the oil out. And I did, I drained the oil out. And let me state for the record----as a smaller female with smaller hands it was possible to get my hand to the little piece. It was ALMOST impossible to manuever my digits once there. I tried my hand in numerous positions, I tried several different tools in numerous positions throughout this skit. But in retrospect getting the little piece turned and draining the oil went fairly well.

Then I turned it back the way I came and poured the new clean oil in~~~~and it also drained out quite nicely. &^%$%  I spent the next 2 hours moving that little piece both ways and tried to put oil in a few more times...and it also drained out very nicely. SO

I hunted about on the internet to see if I could find a place where, being anonymous I could asking 'Idiot Question #2365'. I did and waited. The 1st poster kindly offered some advice and 'if I wanted to post a photo it might help with giving an accurate answer'. The next poster gave me a link. The 3rd poster provided lots of chuckles basically calling me a mechanical illiterate and telling me to go buy a new mower. As a polite little 'unknown' I responded to the 'feedback'. The first poster responding to the 3rd poster told me I could look at it as passing the wimp test since I still wanted to tackle the Jr JD.

So since I'm uncertain as to how and if I can post photos into the forum itself, I've provided a link on my post and hopefully the 1st poster will take the time to click on my link and view the 'area'. And if he does, HEY I'LL BE POSTING ABOUT IT.

{Fred: "Heard that before"~~Alice:"Anybody want to bet?"}

From the top looking down 

1. The knob I turned to drain and turned multiple times in attempt to close

2. The exit point of the oil.

From the right side tire looking in.



Then Yesterday After 24 Hours...

Grass is growing despite the fact, 'it' must know I have lawn mower issues, so up to the house to do my job, House Serf in Charge of Everything. I check the pool, needs work. I unlock the back door and inspect the house, opening doors and rigging my computer and other toys-for mental and physical health breaks. I go out and check my epoxy. It held. Seems the epoxy was keeping it nominally attached but stretched when pulling on the handle, no doubt normal use would separate the two pieces. Probably wouldn't have to be as careful but as the grass wasn't ready to be cut, I slathered on another big layer of epoxy. 

Today would the B&S be ready to mow? Well, it did still stretch after the second layer but it also seemed a bit stronger. In an unexpected and seldom experienced flash of insight, AH HA! Having collected into a bucket in the initial clean~up of the Little House, just 1 of many collections into buckets/boxes/piles- were bungee cords!!!

Why not? Was I going to become a social outcast should a professional lawn mower/welder come along and see the blue bungee cord as I was whipping around the yard mowing? An even better question would be DID I GIVE A CRAP? Nope~Never~Not in a Million Years. But the most important question? BETWEEN THE EPOXY AND BUNGEE CORD WOULD I BE ABLE TO MOW WITHOUT CONSTANTLY PUTTING THE HANDLE END BACK INTO THE BRACKET???? No time like the present for to see. I pulled the cord.

 4 hours later, with a freshly coiffed lawn, a clean pool and some tools soaking in a vinegar bath--4 feet of water in the basement, filling up everything underwater including ammo boxes full of TOOLS creates RUST, I packed up to go home. Hopped into Dad's car, which I've been driving since he left us, stuck the key in and turned it~~ THE BATTERY WAS DEAD. Excuse me~I suspect several hours of SAILOR SPEAK is about to occur.............. 

And Now a Brief Message from our...

OK, just joking. Sort of. My Jr. John Deere has been elevated to 'no longer can do that tomorrow' status. And since I haven't updated or frankly even BEGUN that absorbing tale, I'll just explain why the alteration in status.

While the step by step toward repair of the Jr John Deere is progressing- it went on life support last October-I have been mowing the lawn with a Briggs & Stratton. Which no doubt has also not been serviced in the last 5 years. My Father was diligent about such things but the last few years it obviously was not done. I've been using the B&S and for the 3rd summer its hanging in there. Well, OK, its running. Fine...

It cuts the grass.....

 

Two of the covers on the engine have dropped off, I STILL HAVE THEM.

And that nifty little safety guard over where the grass blows out, its with the other 2 covers resting nicely in the Little House. Yea yea yea, covers are there for a reason, like maybe safety? But honestly the grass blows out much nicer without that little raise-able piece and I no longer have to take care driving around things. Somehow I was always getting stuck and having to pull it back, no doubt its why it fell off. Now I can make nice close runs right next to everything from trees to wheelbarrows.

Anyway, last week when I mowed the grass and went to refill the gas tank, as I turned the corner to the Little House where the gas can was, it seemed to be a bit difficult to steer. So when I released the bar and it stopped I inspected to see if anything was strange. Any guesses? Took me a moment also. The Briggs & Stratton is a sleek, classy, all black, mean machine, so had to look closely. Ahhhhh.....

My eagle eye detected the problem, METAL STRESS. The left side of the U shaped steering mechanism, otherwise known as the HANDLE broke. Now if I were able to weld and IF I hadn't already bartered away the welder in exchange for moving heavy items and a week keeping my dog-I could weld it. Moving past the obviously impossible, I reviewed my options. Jr John Deere-yea yea should have put more work on that already. Duct Tape? Used the last of it on the 1968 Pool Filter {upcoming post}. Then I landed on the answer. EPOXY. I still had some left from the above mentioned filter so I would epoxy it together. But that took 24 hours to cure and I was half way through the lawn. So, in my best 'if car won't go into reverse always park the car so you can pull forward' method.....I wrestled it back into the bracket and went on mowing. Initially I had to hold the lever down while I 1-armed it back in place a half dozen times. But then I realized it was popping out when I pulled it backwards. Piece of cake, I won't pull it backwards That worked pretty well but sharp turns and at times careful backing still would make it flip out of the bracket. But I got the yard finished. And without once yelling at the mower or threatening it with the sledgehammer. Cool. Before I left that night I epoxied it right good! Next time?

POOL WARS~YEAR 2-OPENING THE POOL

The pool company closed the pool at the end of year 1 as a cover was needed due to my destroying the patched tarp. And they installed the cover, cover which had made the 'crop circle/square' and which I managed to roll, move and lift onto sawhorses this summer. Well, lift perhaps isn't exactly the best description of how I got the cover on top of the saw horses. What actually occurred was numerous attempts to lift it, all of which resulted in the toppling of one or both of the sawhorses, failure. My attempt to put it on a board and tilting the board on an angled sawhorse which I then valiantly attempted to sit upright also failed. Finally despite all defeats, with the end of the cover propped on the edge of one sawhorse I inched the cover up on one sawhorse and then aided by my vast reservoir of 'sailor speak' I slowly crawled it to a position across the 2 sawhorses. Hm, Bet I Can Figure THIS Out. TAKE THAT~~COVER AND SAWHORSES!

When the pool company closed the pool I did note they seemed to drop the water level much lower than my Dad ever had done. But they were the 'pool guys' and did fancy things, like celebrate the closing event with gushers of water blasting up from the skimmer, which they informed were 'blowing the lines'. And instead of the cinder blocks, railroad posts and field stones they filled these 15 bags with water. Well the 15 bags had two compartments with plugs....rather like those rafts we had a kids. You know the ones that normally didn't last til the next year? Assuring me they would anchor the cover, which extended several yards on all sides beyond the pool-think maybe they sold me one a bit too large....ME TOO! I could envision my pool cover transformed into a hot air balloon which, one day when I arrived at the house, I would observe it living nicely atop a stand of trees. It all survived the winter nicely and in place.

The second year I had them open the pool. Hindsight is the one that is 100%, right? I tried to clean most of the leaves off the cover and had pumped some of the standing water but as I'd never hired a company to open the pool I really didn't understand what 'prepare' meant to the 'pool guys'. After 1 'pool guy' pumped a bit of water off the top and removed a large portion of the leaves and the other 'pool guy' had reassembled the pump they pulled a corner of the cover off to look at the water. At which point seeing how low the water in the pool was, the 'pool guy' looked at me and said "Did you order a water truck?" {15 years ago that bill was $600-think NOT 'pool guy'}. "NO, no water truck." Silence.

'Pool Guys' next question was "You don't have a well do you?" Hearing my therapist's voice in my head saying "congratulations on using your impulse control Susan," as severe impulsivity is key in my ADHD-I decided not to look around at the fields, streams, trees and farm buildings in mock horror and yell OH MY GOD, WE HAVE A WELL....NOT CITY WATER!! Instead I calmly stated "yes". To which he then informed me that they could open the pool but wouldn't run the filter as the water needed to be above the skimmer unit. Fortunately for him he didn't add, "because you only have 12" of water in your pool. I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE ASKED WHY THEY PUMPED IT SO LOW WHEN THEY CLOSED IT IN THE FALL.

I should note that the entire time they pumped the water off the cover, oh! during which they left for an hour and a half because it was taking so long, 'pool guy' kept hinting we must have a hole in the cover. Impulse control still working I didn't finally implode after the 'hole' theory was presented for the 10th time with, YOU MEAN THE TOO BIG POOL COVER I BOUGHT FROM YOUR COMPANY JUST LAST YEAR!!!

Also, another incident involved the 15 2~compartment bags. As they emptied the water to roll and stack them, for use in the fall, I noticed a few of them being placed in a separate pile. Asking why?, 'pool guy' said that one side on each in that pile had holes and hadn't survived the winter so he would dispose of them for me...????? At $15 a bag Xs 4 bags=$60 I stated that as one side still functioned why would I throw them away? 4 bags Xs 1 side leaking= 2 bags. I'm speculating that much like mechanics at a car dealership, I'd interferred with his commission for 'work outside of original issue'. Looking unhappy 'pool guy' grumbled "well if you want to keep them" as I walked away. Small victory but I cling to any victory no matter how minute.

When the cover was removed, cleaned rolled and put on top of the sawhorses, by 2 'pool guys' with numerous grunts, they left. Assuring me that 'when' the water was at the required level I could run the filter. Meanwhile though, since water level wasn't going to happen overnight, in 3 days or a week.....I could operate the filter on recirculate mode which would at least keep the water moving and some chemicals would keep things in check until then. They left.

The entire time 'pool guys' closed the pool and now opened the pool I could hear my Dad grousing. These were evolutions he completed, virtually solo, for over 21 years and now I have 'pool guys'-2 OF THEM-doing it. {Don't worry Dad the pool will be up and running soon, I promise}.

It took 2 weeks to get the water level at the required level. Meanwhile a steady leak from one of the 2 pipes on the side of the filter had been epoxied to a small drip. This 'fix' was recommended by the 'pool guy' and it worked. So the day arriving when I would turn off the pump to move the handle from 'recirculate' to 'filter'-- I was ready. I turned the switch to OFF, opened the strainer and cleaned it out thoroughly, tightened the strainer cover back on and it had been running it didn't need priming. I would turn the pump on and after the water started filling and big bubbles broke the top of the water I would do my Happy Dance around the pool. See Dad, I did it, HA!.

I turned the switch to ON, the electric buzz began........along with sparks shooting out of the pump casing followed by clouds of smoke........

Quickly I turned the switch to OFF, took a deep breath and told myself it was just a fluke and when I turned it on again everything would be alright. Reaching over I turned the switch to ON, I was right....no sparks.....no smoke....no electric buzz either......DEAD SILENCE. The pump had died. No Happy Dance for Susan. I went inside, typed in 'Hayward Pool Pumps' into my computer and found the best buy with free shipping and the quickest delivery. $300 and 4 days later at my feet a new pump.

Hm, Bet I Can Install This?

OK, I WILL GET TO JR JOHN DEERE AND POOL WARS BUT FIRST.....

It has been a rather different week all in all. One of my principal motives in this blog, along with honoring the memory of my father, is to write about Alzheimer's. How it effected him, our family, people he worked with, friends and naturally, me! Hopefully in a good selfish manner.

Several situations came up over the past week, which my convoluted brain relates to my concerns regarding Alzheimer's. The first Life of Susan event was when I went to fill a gas can for the lawn mower and a bit of gas into my vehicle. I gave the clerk $I5 and proceeded outside where I put $5 into the gas can. Then when inserting the nozzle into the gas tank.......oh, that would be when I realized that the nozzle didn't fit into the hole. Due to the fact that I had punched the diesel fuel selection. So now I had $5 of diesel fuel in the gas can and had to go back in to straighten out getting the remaining $10 converted to gasoline/unleaded.  I have never done this before. It would never occur to me that I wouldn't have noticed I had punched the wrong pump button. I had no point of reference to process just why I'd done it and more importantly hadn't realized the mistake while I filling the gas can, diesel is a different in color, after all.

That would have been disturbing enough, but last Wednesday another even more unexplainable event. My health care is all under the umbrella of the Veteran's Administration-a tale left for other posts. The previous week I had my annual Mammogram, contracted out to a local health care system. Wednesday afternoon I got a phone call informing me due to a 'change from the previous year' they would need to do further scans on my left side and an ultra sound. Whatever. Due to experience, although informed by the caller that my initial appointment letter gave authorization for any additional tests, I knew better than to take a chance. So I called the Lebanon VA Hospital to inform and request a decision and official approval.

Having been in the military and with life in the US in general, reciting my SSN is as automatic as breathing. It just rattles out requiring no brain wave activity what so ever. If asked to write it down a bit of thought might be required but overcome quickly by simply reciting it out loud, as I wrote, would fix that. So when asked I babbled out XXX-XX-XXXX. The nurse replied with a "no that's not it." ????? I then said, "well wait, let me empty my mind {won't take long} and I'll provide my SSN. Same result. I was flummoxed. I began to change the order or digits in the first 3 numbers as I thought the rest was correct. Nothing. I apologized and explained I would grab something with the SSN on it. I emptied the shredding can as tons of VA stuff awaited shredding and it always has my SSN. Nothing. The beginnings of a little 'internal' panic began but making a joke, said I had to go upstairs and get one of my military files, certainly my SSN would be on ALL of those documents. The first military folder I grabbed and opened.... was  my Father's service record. Then I grabbed a file of my medical bills as surely my SSN was on some of them. Nothing. Although verbally I'm was still the master of glib on the phone, my search was becoming frantic as I grabbed another file. Relief, it was documents from my time in service and the first document was my DD214/Discharge Papers from my commissioning, discharged from Officer's Candidate School as an E-5 in order to be commissioned the next day as an Ensign. I gave her the correct SSN, we joked around, finished the call and I hung up.

It may seem odd that these two incidents brings me to thinking about Alzheimer's.
But the unique lapse of recall and inattention over the gasoline was troubling. Do the incidents mean Alzheimer's has invaded my brain, hardly. But I do

have an internal struggle dealing with all the nuances of Alzheimer's. Because the reactions to my questions has resulted in what it seems a disorganized 'front' of the REAL ANSWERS given by the Medical Profession. OK, what disorganized front? Declaimer: any of the assumptions I write of would be gratefully corrected if anyone desires to do so.

I'm not at all knowledgeable about disease, treatments, diagnosis, cause or anything else regarding medical matters. But in my experience dealing with Alzheimer's I can't seem to get a definitive answer on ANYTHING. Let's start with, did my Dad have Alzheimer's. Hm. There is no definitive diagnosis for the disease of Alzheimer's, which I have frequently been told by medical personnel.  The test result report from the Neurologist, which resulted in my Father losing his license, never once used the word ALZHEIMER'S. Lots of 'decreasing cognitive ability' said numerous times and ways in the report, but the word ALZHEIMER'S? Never. The doctor would never commit to "Your Father is suffering with Alzheimer's". So every time I see or hear that X or Y died from or is with suffering from Alzheimer's I'm baffled. How do they know the person has Alzheimer's? Haven't I been repeatedly informed it can't be positively diagnosed. 

Then the matter of genetics being a factor in the disease. I'm told from Alzheimer sites and reports I've read there is no 'proven' genetic connection. Which brings me to question genetic relevance to any other disease, such as Coronary or Cancer. But, they still ask all those questions on all those forms at any medical appointment. "Has anyone in your family had----------." Is Cancer hereditary? My understanding of cancer or heart issues is they ask the question, not because we inherit the actual disease. But rather the genetics that may have caused X to have developed cancer make it more likely that X Jr. may also develop cancer. I am baffled that if that is the approach for other diseases that attack our bodies cell structures, why wouldn't that same theory apply to Alzheimer's. But, I have yet to see if 'anyone in your family has Alzheimer's' question on any of those repetitive endless medical forms.

I often dumb into or onto, as in simply found myself dialing in a radio or TV channel which is discussing Alzheimer's, and heard it said that 'if a parent has Alzheimer's {How do they know if they can't diagnosis it???} That a child has a 50/50 chance they may also develop the disease. Not being one to pass up an opportunity to score-another trait inherited from my Father-when the non diagnosis of my Father was presented to us on Dec 10, 2008 I emailed my brother. There are only 2 of so that made the 50/50 idea perfect. I told him that since our paternal Grandma seemed to suffer from dementia aka Alzheimer's and Dad was enduring a deja vu of what we saw her go through-odds were one of us would be next. And I was betting it was HIM. He didn't seem to think that was humorous but I did.

In reality though, in my pragmatic view of life---it will be me. No I'm not a pessimist. I'm a PRAGMATIST. So my approach is since a glass may have a hole in it, half full or half empty is irrelevant. Does that mean I'll die of thirst? Not at all. What it means is that if I want a drink of water from the glass I should be prepared to fix a hole should it occur. As a pragmatist it benefits me to always prepare for the worst case scenario if I am to overcome an obstacle. Alzheimer's potential for a pragmatist means if I have to deal with the disease its best to know it may visit my body. Not how to defeat this disease but rather how to prepare myself to the end that caring for myself may not be an option.

I began to look at possibilities to determine if Alzheimer's may genetically linked. That the same genetic makeup which caused my grandmother and father to develop the disease may be present in my cell structure. The results of those few inquiries has been dismal. There is a simple blood test to identify the 'factor' which may herald a higher risk of developing Alzheimer's. But when asking my Doctor at the VA about it the response wasn't regarding the possibility of having the test. The reaction was 'Why do you want to know that, What could you do about it anyway." More a assessment of my sanity than my interest in my health.

The incidents really aren't earth shattering and could easily happen to anyone. But they happened to me. Disconcerting. 

Ah yes, POOL WARS-year 1

In the 3 summers since my Dad passed my knowledge of pool systems has increased dramatically. But I am not the 'master of the fix' that he was. When they purchased the house with pool in 86', the filter was the original which put its age at 18 years. All vendors engaged in 'POOLS' told him it couldn't be fixed and needed to be replaced. Thus began the 21+ year~~Hm, Bet I Can Fix That. He wouldn't have repair people come out to the house regarding the pool because all they would do was try to sell him a new filter. In those 21 years he found parts, rigged parts, manufactured parts and FIXED parts. When he passed I was left in charge of this---

He built the stand it was on and in all probability worked on every piece, connection, and switch. It dripped a bit here and there but that first summer when I anxiously flipped on the switch on the wall, after numerous attempts to prime it, it ran. Pressure wasn't 15-18lbs but it hadn't been for a while so no big deal. Finally I hooked up the vacuum and proceeded to clean the bottom of the pool. It did seem to be removing dirt, at least the first 5 minutes. When I went around to check the pressure gauge was bobbing merrily at 2lbs. NOT GOOD.

For the next month I fought algae, fiddled with settings, called and asked questions. Finally I called the pool guys out. Although it was ancient, OH REALLY POOL GUY  I DIDN'T KNOW THAT! it was functioning. That is F-U-N-C-T-I-O-N-I-N-G. Not working well or effectively. But functioning. After an hour of work and adjustments and $128 later it was working. Pool guys last words were 'don't touch the handle to the value as the tiniest bit of movement will undo all the work. I could change the value out but IF you don't touch it it may work the entire summer.

A while later a phone call from a friend asking to use the pool to which I said, "Sure but the Pool guy was just here and got it fixed so just swim. Nothing else". I went to an appointment, came back and walked around the corner. 'Friend' had the vacuum hose out looked over and said, I can't get it to work. Turning to the filter the valve was NOT where it was when I left. Pissed wouldn't come close to describing my reaction. For 3 days I tried to find the sweet spot the Pool guy had set it on with no success. Called them back and had the valve installed and it worked adequately the rest of the year. That year I had the Pool guys close the pool with the cover that ate Cleveland.

At this point there is patches with epoxy, lines rigged with gaskets, bit of a drip from the two pipes into the actual filter. I could never get the chlorinater {on the wall} to work and when they closed the pool I was informed they didn't even make them anymore. Next year, I'll just toss chlorine in, works for me!!!!

POOL WARS CONTINUE

Sometimes I mull over the question "Does anyone else do battle with inanimate objects, speaking to them as though they could comprehend? Do the objects react to threats, physical abuse and cower in fear? Do inanimate objects cringe and change their behaviors due to living creatures, such as ME for example, ranting, raving and threatening?" ABSOLUTELY NOT! Experience confirms those approaches are 100% ineffective. Does that stop me from employing those tactics? NO.
Susan vs Inanimate Objects.......0/infinite

It is a significant difference between my Father and myself. Now before I go further, regarding myself, it should be understood that 99.9% of the time no external evidence of these behaviors are actually observed by anyone. If witnesses could observe, 99.9% of the time the public me, it may be obvious I'm frustrated or stymied, but externally I remain calm. But 110% of the time internally~I am a raving lunatic. And every once in a while, normally when alone but alas not always, the .1% me transforms into a temper tantrum throwing 3 year old child.

I can't speak to the fact of whether my Father was fighting the same internal battles. But inside my sternum I just know there lives what I refer to as my 'PETULANT CHILD' and the child is very real to me. Keep in mind I wasn't a girly girl in dresses, unless the occasion required. But the Petulant Child is 3 years old with curly blond hair {as was mine at one time}. She is wearing a gingham dress, white ankle socks and patent leather shoes. Shoes like the ones little girls wore years ago. Church shoes with pointed toes. By the way I hated those shoes when I was young. Why? Couldn't wiggle my toes. Confused? Obviously so was my mother as she always bought the shoes, made me wear them and couldn't understand why I fidgeted and often took my shoes off in church.

Which brings me back to a major difference between my Father and I regarding the process of 'learning'. My Father was what I call a Theoretical Learner while I am strictly a Visual Learner. Endless examples of this were played out in our lives. At 16 when I asked to my Father to teach me to drive, his response was to tell me the first step is learning how a combustion engine works.......so I would understand how the car functioned and thus I would understand how to drive....?????? My approach was simpler~WHERE DO I STICK THE KEY IN? Learning to drive went rapidly downhill from there. When I bought a VCR and wanted to hook it up my Father insisted that if I understood 'how' a VCR worked it would be crystal clear what to plug into where and hooking up the VCR would go smoothly. He then proceeded to lecture me on how a signal is sent from a satellite and~~~I picked up the VCR and slammed it into the floor. {OK, not my finest moment but hey *&^$&$#}.

Of all the personality traits either through genetics or upbringing we had in common, the process of 'learning' stood out as one of the exceptions. But the process of 'doing' is something I inherited from my Father. Whenever my father would have us help him to fix something or do maintenance of some sort around the house, my brother and I knew our job was GOPHER. Go for this and go for that. And we really wanted to help and would always beg to assist but the answer was always....Wait until I do this, or after I get this part done, its too hard or when I need you I'll say so. Consequently we both quickly learned that to help Dad could easily be done sitting on our ass in front of the TV until he yelled for us. The upshot of that was there was a great deal we just didn't learn. Not that he didn't want us develop the skills. But he tended to be a do it all myself sort.

And that is one trait I do get from him, I'm happiest and calmest when I just do things myself. Despite the frustration as the Petulant Child stamps her feet with her little fists clenched yelling, NO NO NO-I WON'T I CAN'T LEAVE ME ALONE I WANT TO DO IT MYSELF.

And I have come to learn a great deal of that behavior is due to another little 'genetic' issue I inherited from my father, ADHD. Much like his refusal to admit to Alzheimer's he also dismissed the notion that he had ADHD. Keep in mine here once I grudgeingly came to terms that it was THE major factor, leading to or in tandem with others issues impacting my life...... which led to my brother's diagnosis....... and both his sons......Trend here ya think? But recognizing we inherited it genetically-and from our Father. That thought wasn't permitted for him.

Which continues to lead me once again to the subject of Alzheimer's. Don't worry-I will eventually write on the actual subject of this post, Pool Wars....after I--oh look a bird! Should go feed the birds...oh forgot to put that in the trash......guess I lput it there on the way to the trash last tim.....nice breeze  NOTE: {ADHD=Severe Distractability, Impulsivity, Hyperactivity, Hyper focus, intolerance of schedule changes without notice......} oh yea Alzheimer's. Next post, I promise, and the Pool Wars........

During the Self Imploding Potential Renter Days........

As that comedy was in its first act, 'dump day', Susan vs. Pool began. During the time the guy was suppose to show at 0900 and when they appeared much later, I decided it was time to take off the pool cover and geo started. I bought this pool cover at the end of the season of the first year I was POOL SOLO. Taking the cover off in the spring was its final act of my Dad's I CAN FIX THAT mode for the cover above. One of the last times my Dad closed the pool.  That cover had been used for years. He had patched it into 'where is the cover?' mode. Although the pool isn't directly under any trees naturally we still end up with leaves on the cover. Due to the field north of the property which often yields field corn, we also get corn stalks and leaves. Branches, which I obsessively pick up in the yard daily, also find their winter vacation home on it. Now and then a squirrel, mice, voles get stuck and freeze to death. So cleaning a cover off in the spring is always fun. My Dad always anchored the cover with field stones, railroad ties, cinder blocks and bricks. HEY, WHY SHOULD I BUY ANYTHING I HAVE ALL THIS STUFF JUST LAYING AROUND.

The first year it took me 2 weeks to store the anchoring material, the same 2 weeks to capture all the goodies on top of the cover and 3 dozen or more fillings of the wet vac to remove the remaining debris. THEN....Stuff still gets in the pool despite the cover. But when I finally got the cover off after a Olympian struggle including getting in the green cold water and pushed the cover out....oh always some water which tumbles off the cover, then I faced lots of leaves in the pool. Oh yea, leaves + corn stalks + branches + creatures. Why more than normal amounts? Because the 'patches' put year after year on the pool cover-WITH DUCT TAPE- flopped around still attached but NOT over the holes any longer.

Another week of fetching all of the above out of the pool and dribbling water from the hose in, I had the water level ready to fire up the filter.
When the deaths door cover was off, between other tasks, and spread out over the yard I took my revenge. With a pair of shears I cut it up. A few pieces of usable size was the result and the rest into the trash. Why you might ask did I keep pieces of this 'dear departed cover'. My father's daughter? Hm, bet I will be able to use that! On what? No clue. When? No clue. I just knew that the moment I threw it away I WOULD NEED IT. So neatly folded I put it with the tarps. Tarps? The ones my dad used, the ones which where shredded beyond use-I can fix that-, the new tarps still in cover-because they are a good buy.

So at the end of that year I would need a pool cover. When that time came I took the measurements of the widest/longest points of the pool and ordered a cover to fit. And it arrived, the pool cover that could cover Asia. The pool cover which I could rent out for the a pavilion at the next Royal Wedding. I watched the pool guys wrestle it open, into place and anchor it down with those 2 compartment bags filled with water and laid around the pool to keep the cover secure.

Last summer pool people took it off, rolled and stored.

In the fall I got it from where I stored it, unrolled it, and put it on. And last week fully rested I suited up to deal with the pool cover.......while the Duo of Disaster began their self destruction.

Now this was one of the several days of temperatures in the 90s. And this 'pool cover that could cover Asia', heats up faster than a gas stove on high. In my head I can hear my Dad yelling...."THE LAWN hurry and get it cleaned up and moved-its going to kill the grass!" But remember the 'Duo'?. It was about this point I turned around and saw they had arrived and were in the midst loading the first dump load. So I went over-noting from the previous post they didn't seem to need me-so went back to the cover. Sprayed it down at which point they asked me a question. I went back and answered them at which point we discussed how we would handle payment for dump runs....they left. I went over and started to flip the cover, mentally covering my ears for the inevitable fit from beyond. But as I was attempting to spread the cover to the other side to rinse it and midway I picked up the edge it wasn't heat or steam that emerged, it was smoke. I then hauled ass to drag the monster to the front yard under a tree where I spread it out, out of the sun and away from potential combustion. As I walked around the LH back toward the yard there it was.

A PERFECT RECTANGLE. {Its amazing how loud a bellow from beyond can be}. I'd killed the grass. Dead.

Being my normally creative self, I thought? If someone were to ask I could say I'd come up and there it was, an Alien Crop Circle. Of course the next question would be "Then why it is a perfect rectangle." Certainly I could find some creative way to explain the uniqueness of this particular crop circle. But, I went onto my next explanation....this had been the recent site of a Royal Wedding and when they brought down the awning~THEY had left it too long and it burned the grass. THEY planned to pay me for both the rental of the tarp as well as the damage to the lawn. OK then, how about, it was a one of a kind piece of performance art on the subject of geometric shapes.

But, no one was around but me and no one lived there at this point. My Dad? He wasn't going to buy any of those stories. "Yep Dad, I killed the grass. But it will grow back, trust me." I can hear it now "FORGET IT, NEXT TIME I'LL DO IT MYSELF"
Well, back to finish uncovering the pool.