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.

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. 

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.

Ah, Let's begin with the POOL!

First let's start with a bit...who am I kidding...a lot of background on this topic. The pool was built around 1968. In May of 2009 I was faced with this pool and how my father had done things for over 20 years, alone. The filter-same one as in 1968. Through the years the parts support disappeared, OBVIOUSLY. So my Dad's creative brain had found ways to make, alter or fix everything associated with this pool. He wouldn't have a contractor come out to help him fix it. Because he just knew when they saw the age and how long it had been off the market~they would have spent all the time trying to sell him a new system.

The summer after my Dad passed and I began to 'attempt' the pool issue I had to argue with a local pool company. They informed me this pool wasn't cement and MUST have a vinyl line. Fortunately I whipped out my camera and showed the clerk the pool. "I've never seen one like that....I can't help you". {Hm, not as dumb as he looked!}

Over the last 2+ years I've done battle with everything from friends who thought they would 'help' me, no pressure so vacuuming and maintenance impossible, chemical battles to keep it as it should be, pumps which smoked and sparked just as I was ready to run the filter. Sometimes I think I'm an ongoing Alien Experiment and they must be ROFLTAO watching, as I deal with this pool.

So now I'm in my 3rd summer of pool wars and each year I know what to face and have managed quite nicely. But the filter.....still the one from 1968. And this year the leaks in PVC which my father patched, repaired and replaced over the years, are back with a vengeance. Plus my usual 'entertain the Aliens' with everything from removing the pool cover to pulling the frogs, mice and voles out of the water. Oh yea, the background. Might as well start at the top with the entire property....here goes~~

When my parents bought this house in 1986 it looked somewhat like this~All together now, OOOO!---Ahhh!. An arial tour? Certainly! And perhaps what I've been talking about and WILL be talking about will make more sense. On left, at the 0900 position traveling in a clockwise direction. Tiny little pine hedges which now are too high for me to cut them with a ladder but that doesn't stop me for firing up the chain saw. Pool with gravel area, which now is the home of the 4000+ bricks I've written about. {Badminton net in yard}. At 1100 a row of bushes and what strongly resembles an outhouse-on its right an actual shed where lawn care equipment could be found. Still a few trees next to where the  outhouse like structure was along with the tool shed. The area where the tool shed sat was for many years a garden and for the last 2 years branches, trimmings from bushes + and where I am now doing battle with the Jr. John Deere. THE LITTLE HOUSE which I tend to refer to as the LH, still there but about 30 years of wear and tear on the roof and the little tree to the left of the french doors is gone. The 2 huge Tulip Trees  and our mailboxes. The Tulip trees are still there and every day I can be found picking up branches~large and small~from the front yard. Although still tall much less dense overall. Mailbox is still there but on a much nicer stronger wooden frame.  Down the road to where the dirt road round runs along the bottom, see those 2 trees in the front yard directly in front of the porch, their big suckers now. And those 2 bushes either side of the front walk, about the same ......but the other little bushes much much bigger. At the lower right of the wrap around porch, the Butterfly bushes  have migrated along the side porch up to where a screened in section begins and the pine tree at the corner is above 15' higher than the roof. I've attacked it with a chain saw also to clear the wires. The Main house is field stone and originally a summer house and and smoke house. Kitchen is the addition on the back. At the 0600 spot is a Quince Bush which I HATE. It has thorns which tear the heck out of me as I attempt to mow. Last year I did a Quince Bush version of the Texas Chain Saw Massacre but its still there and insists on growing. When I get my Dad's chain saw tightened up AGAIN, its going to be HISTORY.

A telephone pole with a tiny Hydrangea bush to its left, the Hydrangea is now 10 feet tall and that tree next to it is over 30 feet high. The actual land goes a bit further and then straight down to the '1100' trees.

The house is over a hundred years old and when the guy put the pool in 68', {I am thinking its the story I heard} he also winterized the inside. Which meant a stairway, landing, stairway to the second floor to a loft area with a walkway all around, 3 bedrooms and a bath upstairs. Downstairs a great room with beautiful stone hearth/fireplace. But it has pine paneling throughout and deep set windows so just doesn't let in much light which can really wear during the winter. Utility room passing from the great room off which is the downstairs bathroom and then into the kitchen.

Why, you ask do I tell you all this? Because in 86' when my parents purchased it, my Dad was 58 years old and my Mom 57. He had already bought the old farm in Maine and 'fixed' up that house. And he insisted on doing it again. He was inventive, determined, talented, a hard worker and just didn't listen to reason. Through the years the plans he kept making grew, many were accomplished. But he also commenced substitute teaching for 21 years. And as he aged with normal health issues it was a full time job with substituting and doing the pool, yard, garden and all the normal tasks of maintaining cars and homes. But he just wouldn't lower his goals.

I would say that is a good thing for any of us to do, have goals....its what keeps us alive. But, here we go again.....Alzheimer's. The houses and his projects had always been a source of contention between my parents and all in all when younger, my support was on his side. But as he aged and his brain began to be attacked, plus just plain nearing 80, my support logically drifted to my Mother's side of the debate. He couldn't physically do all he wanted. He wouldn't admit it to himself let alone others. And eventually could not understand or even accept his limitations. But give up.....GET A GRIP!

I always have said about my Dad .....THE QUALITIES WHICH MADE HIM SO SUCCESSFUL WHEN YOUNG WERE THE QUALITIES WHICH PREVENTED HIM FROM DEALING WITH HIS ALZHEIMER'S. I'm certain the same could be said of all who suffer with the disease.

So here I am, my third summer.....POOL WARS

Long Stressful Week

Where to start? Last post I was gearing up to tackle the Junior John Deere and......summer. So over the weekend I called the gentlemen who assisted with the first load of metal. He volunteered to take items to the dump/landfill and would 'get' the Senior John Deere for metal. He stopped by Monday, we set up a time of 0900 Wednesday morning.

All points covered and plans rolling? The story of my life is 'if you think you have everything covered, OBVIOUSLY you have overlooked something'. Ya see, 2 weeks prior when he took the first load he mentioned his 'girlfriend' was looking for a rental as her lease expired 1 June. At that point the evening of the first metal day, our doorbell rang. Gentleman and girlfriend. Asked to look at the property, I handed over a key, they came back later, she handed me back the key, "it is a beautiful place", and left. No problem, guess renting issue was closed.

Now on Monday, after appointment for Wednesday is set, while I'm up 'working' at the house, my Mom calls. Says the gentleman and girlfriend stopped by and 'she' wishes to speak about renting. I come home, they come by, we talk.

Ya know, I have been stressed and alone the last 2+ years with everything from lawn/landscape, pool-an unending source of humor for OTHERS as I'm still at the bottom point of the learning curve {adventures will follow}, clearing, sorting, cleaning, organizing.......bet you get the BIG PICTURE. This summer I was just this side of anxiety attacks over how I would do all the lawn care and daily maintenance of the pool with no potential buyer in sight. THINKING, the rental would assist with those 2 specific tasks as well as people occupying therefore maintaining house the rental seemed the solution. She wanted short term, we offered excellent monthly terms. But although I didn't have a specific reason for the feeling, renting to her didn't seem to be alleviating my stress. Too many 'tells' during our conversation, in which the gentleman seemed to be signing up for all the work while she seemed to want the house completely empty of all our property. Out, not set aside, worked around or even gradually removed.

Well, between Monday at 1600 and Thursday at 1400 she demanded and fussed her way from--yes, I can rent you to NO, you won't be renting. I really must thank them both as my gut told me at the git go something wasn't according to Hoyle. And I would really enjoy thanking them both for Self Destructing in under 3 days. And the Senior John Deere is gone. And despite the gentleman being 3 hours late for the Wednesday appointment, arriving with 'she' and not announcing their arrival and steamrolling the 'dump' evolution on Wednesday that stuff is gone.

Oh, and the stress I was feeling Sunday over me~myself~I handling lawn/pool again all summer-buyer? sale? Who knows!-On Thursday at 1400 when I informed the parties of 'its off!'- it felt great. Now that is stress I can live with and frankly.....although I still don't know how I will manage....compared to the stress of those 72- hours. NO COMPARISON.

So now I'll be back about the Senior John Deere, Junior John Deere, Pool Stupidity 101 and the continuing struggle of all my Dad left my Mom and therefore ME to juggle. I just know I can hear him chuckling in my ear. But I also know he is still watching and directing the show.

Right now I have to go buy a battery for the Jr. John Deere, pick up parts to repair leaks in 2 places on the 43 year old pool filter, and mow the yard. I did get the unit to work and recirculate so that was a major win yesterday.

{Yea, Yea, Dad I'M WORKING ON THINGS}

Ah, yes-the Junior John Deere

Today the rain is still dripping and so I've stayed at home and done things here. Home is simply a rented townhouse in a rental community. Over the 2 years since my Mom returned, with my Dad resting in his urn, to Pennsylvania from snowbirding in South Carolina~~the house I spoke of in the blog description, has absorbed my attention. As the time has passed I've brought items down or spoke with her regarding the ultimate destination of these possesions. At first it seemed the answer to any question I had regarding this or that was to 'get rid of it'. Cleaning out after the passing of a loved one is an emotional deluge anyway. Plus my Dad was your basic pack rat sort, as am I. For him everything had potential for "I Can Fix That" or "I Might Need That Later".

But as the parasite Alzheimer's began to attack my Dad, even before we realized the disease was taking hold, the pack rat mentality was slowly morphing into hoarding. He didn't buy things or keep things just because and there were things he did get rid of. The sort of hoarding variety it was came in 2 forms. One was the 'good deal' sort where items where purchased for future projects. But as his memory was attacked and when a project was tackled he either couldn't remember where he had put it or didn't recall having previously purchased the item. And the 'do it myself' side of him rejected offers of helping with the project or even finding materials he had put away. Or he would ask for help with a project but when the designated time arrived to assist, there were always 'THINGS I HAVE TO DO FIRST BEFORE I NEED YOUR HELP'. And those things never got done either they were OBE {Overcome By Events} or/and the ever growing just not physically able. So the pile of materials grew.

The second type of hoarding was the result of fear of sharing control. So rather than allow others to throw things out or assist to clear away the piles, his response was always to do it himself or later. More and more frequently the anger and fear he refused to acknowledge would result in huge fights over cleaning off his desk or any other areas of his.

We wanted and requested he seek medical assistance about the forgetfulness. And once we opened that door the fear and anger kidnapped more and more of my Dad's life. No matter how many times we said the purpose for seeking answers was not to control him but rather to identify IF anything was causing the problems and what could be done to deal with it, the idea was rejected. We never used the word Alzheimer's. And he was well aware of his loss of memory but his view was it wasn't due to anything wrong with his brain. He viewed our suggestion of medical advice as a challenge of his competence.

Over the last 10 years of his life there were many hospital stays for what was a never  clearly defined physical problem. Issues with his requesting what day it was a dozen times a morning wasn't due to anything within him, it was due to the stress we were placing on him. He did deal with heart disease starting at 52 but a triple by pass had basically resolved that issue. And well over decade later, the life expectancy of the bypass, he still was going strong. Eventually there were stents, clearing of carotid artery and what seemed an unending onslaught of medications added, increased, reduced or deleted.

The oft used phrase from my Navy days.....WHEN YOU'RE UP TO YOUR ASS IN ALLIGATORS ITS DIFFICULT TO REMEMBER THAT THE INITIAL OBJECTIVE IS TO DRAIN THE SWAMP. The material which was growing around the house became one of the alligators interrupting the goal of draining the swamp, dealing with Alzheimer's.

The point I started to speak of at the beginning? The John Deere and the house full of 'stuff'. We still have both John Deere's and I'm still going to tackle the second one. And I've gone through so much, thrown out so much, organized so much and brought home items to be used where we live. I've put things into a storage locker. My brother has taken a few items and no doubt will acquire other items from the house. But the original John Deere? It still sits on the cement slab behind the house. We know someone who has taken other metal collected during the last 2 years. He will take the John Deere. I just need to call him.

The junior John Deere~~~~HM BET I CAN FIX THAT!

Tackling the Weeds

My Dad had built a bricked patio around the in ground pool at the last house they owned, the one I mentioned on the intro. There had been stones within a cement apron which wound around the pool area. He got tired of us bringing the stones into the pool while playing. His solution, bricks. This project was CLASSIC DAD. Call in a professional? Get a friggin grip people. I CAN DO THAT!

Now I was in the Navy at that time so wasn't around for the actual 'work'. My cousin Tony had assisted. Wish now I could recall the exact amount of bricks that my Dad frequently told me had been used, but know it was well over 4,000. Before he and Tony began they posed atop the newly installed diving board.

 Now 24 years later, I sat on the back porch steps looking at the tools for tackling the weeds. Weeds which insisted on growing among the bricks. 4000 bricks x 4 sides + inner and outer edge of the cement apron=ONE HELL OF A LOT OF WEEDS. Determined buggers! This was the first summer of the year my Dad passed and in the big picture of work to be done, the weeds were not even in the top 100. So, with that in mind, I'd just spent $50 on the bottle of concentrated Round Up. There had been some in the working bottle which had gotten me maybe 25% the way around the pool. The $50 cost had been enough to make me gag but now that I'd done that, I felt committed to the project. At least I could check 'weeds in bricks' off the list, probably #4346 but HEY, CROSSED IT OFF MY LIST.

This job was just one of the hundreds of to do's my Dad and I had fenced about over the years. Removing Weeds: The first few years he tackled them with a paring knife, bucket, stool and tiny shovel, the Dad approved Method du Jour for 'weeds out from between the bricks'. When I had tried to help out, by leaning over and pulling them out, it had quickly turned into our standard..... Dad: "Let me show you how to do it". Me: " How to pull out a weed? I already know, Watch.....see." Dad: " no no no, that may tear it out without the roots. You put the knife down an inch away and moving the knife up under the weed so you can get the root." Me: "Hm, wouldn't it be easier just to reach down and yank it out. The one you just did your way left the root in anyway, Look!" Dad: heading back for the root with the knife "Then you go back and get it if it didn't come out the first time." Me: {How friggin stupid is that because...} "Hey, didn't you do all the weeds just a few weeks ago just like that? Then why are all these weeds here now. Seems to be getting the roots really isn't going to stop them, they're weeds for God's sake." Dad: "Just FORGET IT, I'll do it myself". Me: {Okey Dokey Dad-even if I did it your way I'd come out to find you 'redoing' it anyway because IT STILL WOULDN'T BE RIGHT!}

Me: "Call if you need me.....Have fun"

Now my Dad wasn't obsessive about weeds, or the lawn or loading the dishwasher. But he could be obsessive about EXACTLY HOW TO do those things. Always with a explanation of the history of weeds, lawns or dishwashers, exactly how the weeds, lawns, or dishwasher grew or operated and why based on that information it was vital to do it his way. Me: "I still don't see why its not just as good to yank them out?"

This same scenario had been played out since FOREVER. With me, my mother, my brother, his sailors when he was in the Navy, with students he subbed for at the local High School the last 20 years, his mother and siblings and the rest of the world.

But over the years as his health had declined I noticed the stool, tiny shovel, paring knife and bucket hadn't been sitting on the bricks, but the Round Up had appeared. Stored in the Little House next to the stool, tiny shovel, paring knife and bucket. {Dad: Leave them right there, I'll need them later}.

So still grieving for my Dad, as everything I did reminded me of him, I was ready with the new bottle of Round Up I'd mixed. Quick Draw McGraw Weed Warrior......I pulled the handle back, held it for a mo' and pulled the trigger...........pulled the trigger..........BUGGER! It worked fine yesterday.

As would and has happened thousands of times since I lost my Dad I found myself with a dilemma. But this was the first time I was mentally confronting Dad's Way vs Mom's Way. Dad's Way=Fix it, no matter how cheap to replace rather than buy what might be needed for repair.  Mom's Way=Go buy a new...sprayer or another Round up with sprayer, call a landscape company. But I sat and starred at this cheap plastic piece of broken sh** thinking HM BET I CAN FIX THAT! And thanking 'whoever' that my Mom wasn't up at the house standing at the kitchen door saying her things to me at that moment.

So I pried the sprayer apart and looked it over. Tubes, a spring, the actual piece between the tube and the nozzle, cap and tube into the container. I took it apart watching as the spring went airborne. Fetched the spring back. I tapped the nozzle and put a piece of wire into the front in case it was clogged. I saw no blockage in the tube. So I put it back together, stood up, pulled the handle back and it wouldn't stay. CRAP.

In my head my Dad is saying, 'We can fix it'. In my imagination my Mom standing at the storm door saying 'Just go buy one'. So this time I took the sprayer off the bottle and took it into the kitchen by the sink. I took it apart again careful to capture the spring. I removed the tube from the back end of the nozzle and blew into it to see if I could dislodge anything clogging it.

Oh, I learned a very important lesson at this point. ROUND UP TASTES TERRIBLE. Just blowing on the end of the tube I could taste it for the next hour.

 I took the tube and put it under the faucet and ran water through it and heard something dislodge. Hot Damn! In my head I heard my Dad say, "that's good but check the nozzle just in case also. No need to have to pull it apart again". I ran the water over the nozzle and cleaned it up.

I put it together tapping it closed even though plastic easily would come apart with little effort. I walked the sprayer and cap back out to the porch. Put the tube from the cap into the bottle and screwed the cap on tight. I pulled the handle back, held it for a few seconds, pointed the nozzle at a weed and pulled the trigger. TAKE THAT WEED!

I felt my Dad watching. Nodding his approval. I heard "Knew you could fix it". And cried while I finished spraying the bricks.

Hm, where should I start?

Where ever I want really:):). The explanation of this journey isn't formed in cement. And I don't write out of anger, fear or frustration. That is not what this is about. Ultimately and at the center is always Alzheimer's. Only because that is where it ended for my Dad.

But my Dad was, as we all are, undefinable. My Dad was good and bad. Rigid and flexible. Happy and Sad. He was a collection of experiences, triumphs, successes, failures, humor, unfailing support for not only his family but for complete strangers. He was funny, devious, energetic, intelligent, obstinate, single minded and In Charge. He cared. He was extremely successful despite his challenges but he was insecure and easily embarrassed by praise.

 And he was Selfish. Selfish? Well, in a way that is how I can best describe him, but to understand that would mean you need to know how I define Selfish.

There are 2 types of Selfish, GOOD Selfish and BAD Selfish. Bad Selfish is the type where the ultimate goal is plainly and simply, personal gain. I help someone not because they need help but because I LOOK BETTER WHEN I HELP SOMEONE. If I didn't personally gain from the effort~I wouldn't help.

Then there is GOOD Selfish. I help because the person needs help and its the right thing to do. But I still gain personally. Because the act of helping makes ME feel good.

The word 'SELFISH' has been taught to mean bad or negative. But in reality humans are simply born with a Selfish Gene. Nature or Nurture? It is the way we are taught, examples we are shown or from our experiences which grows that Gene into Good or Bad Selfish. People who are Good Selfish still engage in Bad Selfish. And People who are Bad Selfish can still act in a Good Selfish manner. But the odds are that each type of person will most frequently act on one side or another of Selfish in a consistent way.

My Dad.......Good Selfish. He was a GOOD man who was also an aggravating man, a giving man, a loving man and a rigid man. But he acted from the good selfish, to help others. So in honor of my father this blog will be written from the Good Selfish perspective. And not necessarily from grief or anger but from hope and humor.