Ketchup

It's been a year since I hunkered down in the house to avoid exposure to the COVID virus.  A long year of being inside and trying not to give in to the natural depression that is part of my nature.  Y and I have come up with a routine that seems to work well for us, with me staying home and him doing all the errands that have to be done COVID or not, like grocery shopping and going to the post office to get the mail from my po box.  At this point in time, I'm not sure how much longer I can "do" COVID protocol, but it has helped that once a week my girlfriends and I meet at a local park and, maintaining appropriate social distancing, share lunch and gossip.  If it weren't for this interaction, I'd probably be a whole lot more depressed than I am!

Whoever would have thought that this would be a year's worth of worry?  When we first heard about this contagious disease, it was easy to think that it was "just in China," as if that made it all better.  It was a shock to learn that it was also in dozens of other nations across the globe, and that it was not going to go away anytime soon.  I don't think that any of us ever imagined the staggering number of deaths that would result from "the flu," and having a "counter" clicking off the deaths on the daily news is just a grim reality of the depths of this pandemic.

I was finally able to sign up for the vaccination, which is this Friday.  Seemed like every time we went on the website, the spots were all taken and so we waited for the next month to try to get on the list.  Part of the problem is, of course, the fact that everyone needs two appointments, not just one.  When I get my vaccine this Friday, they will automatically sign me up for the follow-up vaccination in 21 days, which means that all of this week's recipients will take up all the spots for 3 weeks from now.  Not a very good system, to say the least, but until we get a vaccine that is one and done, we have to deal with the reality of the scheduling system.

I'm tired of the sameness of life, the boring routine of "doing nothing" because there is nothing to do.  I'm a people person and used to interacting with others as part of my daily routine, so being in the house with Y and the two dogs just doesn't provide enough stimulation for my personality.  I was a classroom teacher for 30 years, and used to have people in the seats and interacting with them in a very positive, engaging environment.  Reading is too passive and for some reason I'm not able to do my handwork like I used to.  I just don't seem able to follow the patterns, and my eye/hand coordination has deteriorated, which makes knitting and crocheting and embroidery too challenging to do.  I have some projects waiting to be done, but they are going to have to wait a lot longer.

The good news is that I can still write!!  Maybe not be the cogent, coherent compositions of my past, but at least I can use a keyboard.  Maybe I should start writing that novel everyone thinks is a rite of passage for a former English teacher.  I don't have a story inside of me waiting to burst free, so guess that's not going to happen either.  My Mother always used to say, "This too shall pass," and it will eventually.  Years from now everyone will be sharing their COVID stories with their children and grandchildren, embellishing the details to make it seem much more meaningful than it is living through it now.  Sort of the old walking to school uphill both ways in the snow theory of storytelling that will have our grandchildren rolling their eyes.

All Lives Matter

The first month of this new lifestyle took some getting used to, but I made adjustments and did just fine.  But now, it's three months later and I'm over it, getting antsy and crabby, and ready to have this whole COVID thing go away.  We've seen the protests, the rioting, the looting and it breaks my heart to think of all the store owners who now have lost everything, who have nothing to go back to to get their lives back.  They spent  those months of just waiting, scrimping and saving and salvaging whatever they could out of the situation -- and now have lost everything that could have been a way up and out of the morass created by COVID because the looting and burning of businesses have taken that away.  There is no picking up the pieces when you were  just making ends meet.  Insurance will only cover so much of the losses -- and where are the records to show what was lost in the looting?  Well, they burned up as well.

It breaks my heart to be in this world right now, to listen to people demand "justice" when their way of getting it is to destroy what has been part of this country for centuries.  Beautiful monuments and statues have been defaced, torn down, torn apart.  Cemeteries honoring the lives of those who died for this country have been  desecrated.  Cities that have fought to improve their appearance and become the heart of a people's prosperity have been looted and then destroyed.  And hoodlums who are looting, stealing, vandalizing and destroying are shoving signs at the newscasters proclaiming that "Black lives matter."  If they truly mattered, those very people who want so much would never have destroyed what they did have to get it.

I was told, as a child and young adult, that I would get what I worked for:  no one was going to give me a free ride, so I'd better prepare myself to work hard in order to have a better life.  First step in the process was an education -- and one size fit all.  There were no special circumstances, no getting off the hook in the hard classes, no free ride.  If you wanted an education, you had to work hard for it, but there came a sense of pride when you completed the requirements and got to graduate.  Sure, only a few could graduate at the top of their class, and the rest of us just sort of fell into line behind them, but we all had to earn it whether with high grades and honors or barely squeeking by.  Some never made it, but almost everyone tried--and a lot succeeded beyond their expectations.  Some went onto college, most often not at one of the prestigious colleges, but, rather, at a community college or a nearby 4-year program they commuted to attend--and others?  Well, often they turned to the military for basic training in a skill that they could practice for an enlistment before getting out of the service and using those skills in their communities.  Some, the lucky ones who thrived in the military environment, made it a career and retired after 20 years with a nice little pension, still young enough to take on a second career and have a good life with their families and friends.

No one gave it to another.  It was there for the taking, but it was all on the one who wanted what life had to offer.  Hard work never hurt anyone, but sloughing off, giving up?  that hurts everyone.  If any lives matter, they all matter regardless of the size, the shape, or the color--but no one owes anyone else anything when it comes to making it through life.  We all have to make our own way, and some do better than others and some do worse, but most of us?  We find a place for ourselves and make it the best it can be.  If we want more, we try to earn more, often by going back for some additional schooling and/or training.  Sometimes, we have to change jobs because we cannot be as successful in a job as we thought we could when we chose it.  Sometimes, we have to take what we can get and be glad we got it because others tried and failed, but we made it.   Barely, but we made it and had a sense of accomplishment that gave us pride in who we are and what we can do.

I'm sick about where we are today, what we have become, who we think we are, and how far we have sunk from the ideals that were the basic precepts of life when I was "coming up," as they say.  Everything I was taught to believe has been tossed into the ruins of a looted building to burn and destroy what this nation stands for.  No one owes you anything; if you want it, go out and learn and then earn.  Work your ass off and do the best possible job of which you are capable, and earn the fruits of your labor.  You won't always get rich from paychecks, but you'll have your self-worth, your self-esteem, your pride in yourself for a job well-done personally and professionally.

Stop proclaiming that you are owed something because ... fill in the blanks.  No one owes anyone anything, but we all have the right to earn what we want or need to make our lives matter.  If you want your life to matter, make it matter first to yourself, and then to others.  Stop burning and looting and destroying and start by rebuilding your own life into the life you need it to be.  Focus on improving yourself and stop pitying yourself for what you don't have, but want.  If you truly want it, if you need it, then go out and work for it.  You'll be proud of yourself and your accomplishments and be well-respected by your fellow citizens.  All lives matter, regardless of color or creed.

Life in the Time of COVID-19

Here it is, April 22, 2020. Earth Day.  I have been in self-isolation since March 16 and I'm ready to climb the walls.  I've piddled around and done a little of this and a little of that, but mostly, I have done nothing much at all.  I've watched TV, but that becomes repetitious all too quickly; I've read some books, but I usually fall asleep; and I've taken to having a daily nap with the dogs snuggled up close.  I also have developed the habit of watching CNN and being amazed at the politics of this COVID-19 event.

One of my favorite commentators is Chris Cuomo, who was diagnosed with the virus and lived it out on TV.  He spoke about the constant fever, the extreme constriction in his chest, and his fervent prayers to get through the viral attack.  He did prevail, and he's now fine, but still has some nagging little hangers-on from the experience.  His wife did test positive, but after 14 days of quarantine, she was tested as negative.  So far, no sign of the virus in the children. And he has interesting talking topics and guests on his show, so I watch him every day and see what's going on.

Meanwhile, on the home front, Y quit his job because the employer wanted everyone at work without masks and no social distancing.  He didn't feel safe in that environment, so asked to work at home 3/4-time, going into LA once a week for a check-in.  The management would not agree to that, so Y resigned.  He did apply for, and was approved for, unemployment.  He stays with me, but did pay a month's rent on his LA apartment, giving him some time to decide what he's going to do.  He has been in contact with some potential new employers and has applied for a master's degree program in LA.  Other than that, he cooks--and he's a good cook--but he's messy as all get out!!  He doesn't have the "finish" aspect of cooking down yet, the cleaning up of the mess he makes doing the food prep and distribution.  Often I volunteer to do the dishes so I know they all get done with hot water and dish soap, and are scrubbed clean in the process.  I also clean the stove and the countertops, which Y often overlooks.  We've had some wonderful meals and I really appreciate Y's cooking, so cleaning up the kitchen afterward is a small price to pay for not having to come up with plan and the ingredients to prepare meals.

The dogs love having us both in the house, and we've upped the walk to two a day, which is met with great glee.  It's funny how the dogs have internal clocks and know what time it is during the day.  They come get me when it's time for the walk, or time for our nap, or time for our snack or a meal. The little kids are home next door, so both Sparkle and Cinnamon have to go out and supervise when the kids are in the yard playing, and often that involves barking, which is annoying.  All in all, life is good for the dogs in the neighborhood.

So, life goes on with or without me.  I'm terrified of going outside and being around people, especially those without masks, as I'm 75 years old and have asthma.  If I get the virus, it could be fatal, and I don't want to get the virus.  I have been wearing a mask to walk the dogs even though we seldom see anyone else out when we're out, so probably don't have to wear it. Y goes with us for the walks, which is really nice.  We know all the yards and dogs around our block, and feel quite comfortable in our own little corner of the world.

But believe me, I'm ready to resume some semblance of normalcy.  I want to jump in the car and go down to the post office, the drugstore, the gas station, the grocery store.  I want to feel free to meet my 2 girlfriends for our weekly lunch and a movie.  I just want to feel normal again and not have to worry about the what if's.  As my mother always used to say, this too shall pass, and it will.  We'll always remember the time of the COVID pandemic and where we were and with whom, and how it affected our lives, but we will move on from this to new adventures and events.  Stay safe and stay strong, and this too shall pass.

Dementia

So, let’s talk about dementia.  I was diagnosed coming up on a year ago based on some cognitive testing my doctor did.  He said, “Let’s be proactive” and put me on Aricept, which is commonly prescribed for dementia patients.  For the first 6 weeks, I didn’t notice any difference, but slowly I began to settle into a routine, a calm routine that sees me staying more at home than out and about.  I worry about little things, like losing myself when I’m driving (I haven’t made any errors yet), so it’s easier to stay home than it is to go somewhere.  I have places that I go regularly, which makes it easier to feel confident about getting where I need to be when I need to be there.


But, there’s a mental void, a blank spot—especially when I try to recall things that have happened or remember appointments that I’ve made.  I have two appointments that are routine for me, and those I’m doing fairly well at navigating.  One is to my therapist, with whom I feel safe and don’t often stumble mentally; the other is my regular Tuesday lunch-and-a-movie with my two girlfriends.  I know most of the restaurants we frequent, as well as the three theaters we attend for our movies, so I don’t have any driving issues with this weekly treat.  When I’m off on my own, however, I worry about losing track of where I am and where I need to be, which adds tension to my driving.  So far, I’m doing really well and I pay special attention to what is going on around me.


Recalling things is trickier.  Yucheng will remind me of something we said/did the weekend before and I have no recollection of it.  We have our routines, which is very comfortable for me, but if we change it up, I can’t remember where we went/what we did. I know the names of people I’ve always known, but if someone introduces themselves, I can’t remember what their name is even if I repeat it a dozen times. And, I found out the hard way, I don’t remember what I did yesterday, so I may redo it today.  I went to the ATM to draw out some first-of-the-month cash, went about my business, then drove back to the ATM to get out my first-of-the-month cash, not remembering that I had already done that.  It was okay because it wasn’t a lot of money, but I was completed dumbfounded when I went to put the second batch of cash into my wallet and found money already there.


One huge problem I’m having is shopping online.  Everything looks so good and I want to get it for so-and-so, so I order it.  And then I go to another site and do the same thing again.  And I go to another site and do it a third time.  Before I know it, I’ve ordered several hundred dollars’ worth of stuff I really shouldn’t have bought—even if it was something to send to my kids.  The garage is full of empty boxes, which should have been my first clue that things were out of hand, but I didn’t connect the empty boxes to empty wallet!!  I’ve been talking with my therapist and she’s holding me accountable every two weeks when I see her, which is helping.  I have a sign on the computer, right in front of my face, that reminds me:  NO ONLINE BUYING!


What I am totally thankful for is that I can still write.  I’ve always been a writer, a reader, a talker, so it’s nice to continue to be able to do these things.  However, when I read, I forget what I read the page before the one I’m now reading, and unless I take notes to keep track of what I’m reading, I can finish a book and have no idea how it started or what happened.  Sometimes I can hold content for a few days, but within a week, it’s gone. When I’m talking, I do the “drop” in the middle of what I started to say and it’s just gone—poof!  No idea what I was saying, so I just stop talking.  But with writing, I can put down what I’m thinking as I’m thinking it, and then go back sentence by sentence if I need to do so to pick up the thread of what I am writing.  The words come to me without having to think about them, and I type fast enough to be able to keep up with my thoughts as they occur.


Part of what I’m experiencing is merely a factor of my age: I’ll be 75 on June 1, so there is going to be some loss of mental acuity.  I do word games, and play a game on the computer that is called Pyramid, which requires me to match playing card numbers and erase the pyramid.  I have to work in 13s, and you have no idea how long it took me to figure out which combos of cards add up to 13!  Of course, I’ve never been a numbers person, so it’s to be expected that area of my brain needs more nurturing than my writing or reading part.  I also have joined FaceBook and really enjoy “conversing” with people on that platform.  I always try to find a powerful, positive thought to leave on others’ pages, something that will “up” their day—and mine as well.  I don’t really know most of the people, but there are quite a few former students in contact with me via FB, and that has been fun.


All in all, I’m doing fine.  I feel good and alert most of the time, but also find myself becoming stressed out in new situations or around new people.  If I know I have to remember, it seems to block my ability to recall information and/or names.  I feel that my minimal memory issues are fairly typical for my age, so I’m not overly concerned yet with the aspects of dementia that may be coming down the road.  I am healthy and I take care of myself, which is important to me on a daily basis.  I walk the dogs, run errands, go out with friends and Yucheng, and generally am feeling good.  I still have a positive attitude about this whole new phase of my life and will continue to keep on keeping on as long as I am able to do so. After that?  Well, I’ll just have to build a bridge and see where that leads me.

Powerful Words

When I started using Facebook, I pledged to myself that I would write meaningful, positive, and powerful comments or say nothing at all after I was introduced to the "crap" comments that a lot of users leave.  And the profanity.  And the grossness of the postings. If I don't have something powerful and positive to say, I say nothing. Sometimes I like a posting without adding comments, and other times I just scroll on by, wondering to myself why people put the things on a public forum that they put.

Today, I am reading a book, The Librarian of Auschwitz, written by Antonio Iturbe and translated by Lilit Zekulin Thwaites.  It is based on the true story of Dita Kraus, an Auschwitz prisoner during World War II.  I'm totally engaged in Dita's saga, but it is one of those ponderous stories that has to be read, then put down for thoughtful reflection before continuing with the next chapter.  At the end of Chapter 21, I found a profound bit of writing that really struck me:  "She asks herself, Can you really choose, or do the blows dealt to you by fate change you no matter what, in the same way that the blow of an ax converts a living tree into firewood?"

I paused as my thoughts took off on their own to several moments where fate dealt me some blows that were devastating at the time, but have become part of my life's history.  The one that came immediately to mind was my father's death when I was 17. He was such a rugged, virile man, the father of six children, all but one of whom were into their teen years, and the husband to his life's love, my mother Maria.  Mom was devastated by the loss of her beloved Forrest, and she never fully recovered. She tried to continue to live her life, but she was never the same.  My oldest brothers left home shortly after Dad's death, I went to college, which left two brothers and my only sister still at home.  One of those two brothers left within a year, and my sister and youngest brother were left at home. My mother had to go to work for the first time in her life, and she was not well prepared for the job market. Thankfully, she found a job at the Santa Barbara Public Library and had a long career there.  My youngest brother grew up never knowing his father, and it has had a profound influence on his life. And yes, the blows dealt to us by fate changed us no matter what.

All of this personal history was swirling through my head (and heart), so I decided to post the quotation that had set me to thinking and see if anyone else has had that kind of moment in their lives. My goodness, but the responses I have received are amazing. This quotation struck a cord with almost two dozen people who have shared their own "blows," and how they have influenced their lives. In deciding to write powerful and positive posts on Facebook, I opened a doorway for others to respond in kind and it really means a lot to me.

The Lilac Girls

One of my FB friends suggested I read The Lilac Girls, a novel by Martha Hall Kelly, published in 2017. The recommendation came because I had read another novel about the concentration camps during WWII.  I am not particularly drawn to stories of The Holocaust, but I have found some of the narratives compelling. This is the story of three women brought together by Ravensbruck, a notorious concentration camp for women during WWII. It is the debut novel by Kelly, but it is a well-written, powerful story based in history, a story that is so compelling for the author that she is writing a prequel to the story that takes place during WWI.

The narrative is divided into segments by character, Kasia, Herta, and Caroline, so there are individual segments about one character, and then another character, and then a third.  This technique is used throughout the novel and allows the reader to build a relationship with each of the primary characters.  The narratives begin in 1939 and end in 1959, long after World War II ends, but the story has not.  It is important to read the entire narrative to understand the full circle of the events, which continue into the United States with the character Caroline,  a wealthy patron of the arts and former actress, who establishes a relationship with one survivor of Ravensbruck concentration camp and is able to arrange circumstances to bring full closure to one aspect of the imprisonment experience.


This is a heavy book to read and it takes commitment to read from cover to cover. The story of the women called Rabbits by the Germans, is horrific and hard to experience.  There are no human rights for the women held captive, but the human spirit dominates and allows them to help one another in the worst of all possible situations.

Catch and Kill

Ronan Farrow has a famous family name, but his claim to fame is being a meticulous researcher in search of serious stories.  In this book, he reveals that he does the research, but the narrative itself is not very interesting. Reading Catch and Kill is sort of like going through someone's work folder of miscellaneous facts, people, places, and things.  Several times I was tempted to just put it down and forget it, but I was determined to see it through to the end--and it took every ounce of my determination to do that.

Yes, there's a lot of fact-checking, and double-checking, and then going back and making sure everything is correct.  He wants the reader to know that he didn't make up anything for the book to sell better, but I think it would sell better if it were half the length it ends up to be.  Endless accounts of who you met/talked to, what was said, how it was fact-checked, and where it fit into the narrative is simply tedious.  The reader needs the Cliff's Notes, not the Encyclopedia Britannica version of events.

Was Harvey Weinstein a predator? Yes. Did Matt Lauer sexually abuse women? Yes. Did other men mentioned also engage in inappropriate behavior with women? Yes. Does Ronan Farrow have the research to back up all these allegations? Yes.

End of story.

Hwy 62 Open Studio Art Tours

In the Hi-Desert area of Morongo Valley, Yucca Valley, Joshua Tree and Twentynine Palms, there is an annual Open Studio Art Tours, most often held in October.  This year’s event is huge:  over 200 presenters and about 125 stops along the way.  I have friends who are artists, so I asked one of them if she wanted to join me for this year’s tour.  It took us almost an hour to whittle down the presenters and places to stop and see, and then Patty developed our touring plan so we could go in the most direct routes to see the artists we had selected from the catalog.

What a wonderful time we had.  Seeing the art in the artist’s studios is unique; each stop along the way creates its own environment for the artwork the artist has chosen to display.  We saw many different kinds of art, including photography, painting in all media, textiles, sculptures, assemblages, crochet, metalwork, ink, ceramics – well, it was all on display.  One of my favorites were art pieces made by inserting tiny nails into the canvas to make the design and also to create light and dark shadows.  I don’t remember who the artist is, but the finished pieces are stunning.

We traveled on some true desert roads out into the middle of nowhere, the setting of which was perfect for an artist.  One residence perched on the side of a rock formation and featured a sculptor who uses huge pieces of rock media for his work.  I wondered how a crane could get down the rural mountain road to either deliver a new piece of rock or pick up a finished work of art.

I bought some little things to take with me to China, to show Y’s family what “desert” means, including some crocheted cacti and some greeting cards with original paintings on them.

One of the most interesting displays is a workshop where the woman makes all kinds art pieces from castings.  She has a statue of David, with the original mold made from the actual statue of David in Europe.  Her grandfather opened the shop and, back in the day, worked for the movie studios. When one of the movie companies wanted a statue of David,  the grandfather went to Europe and was granted permission to make the mold. Needless to say, it’s one of the prized possessions of the current artist.

I could go on and on about what’s offered and how interesting it is to go into the working studios of all these artists, but it’s an event that is best enjoyed in person.  It’s fun to go out into the middle of nowhere and find these hidden studios nestled among all the sand and rocks.  It really gives the art character to see it in that setting, especially since so many of the artists are inspired by the nature around them.


There’s one more weekend, so if you are within driving distance, I highly recommend taking a piece of the self-guided tour.  Or, plan for next Fall.  For more information, you can go online to www.yucca-valley.org, or to www.Visit29.org to Art Cruise the 29 Palms area every 1^st Saturday.  There are many art installations and artists living in the Hi-Desert area, so feel free to explore the internet to find something that catches your eye.

Cilka

Cilka is 16 years old when she first enters Auschwitz-Birkenau Concentration Camp in 1942. Cilka’s Journey is a novel written by Heather Morris, the author of The Tattooist of Auschwitz, and it is the story of a young girl who all too soon becomes the victim of a corrupt political system that brutally incarcerated dissidents, as well as individuals whose ethnicity set them apart from the political system.

Cilka survives by doing whatever it takes to overcome her situation and circumstances. She is forced to prostitute herself in order to survive, a fact that is used against her by fellow detainees who are jealous of Cilka’s good looks and quick mind. Cilka survives, but her story could have ended much differently.

This is not an easy book to read because of the horrific experiences of the Gulags and what human beings were subjected to by the government of the USSR. According to Morris’s endnotes, “from 1929 until Stalin’s death in 1953, in excess of 18 million people passed through the Gulag system and they were from many countries, occupations, and faiths. Nobel Prize-winning author Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn was both a victim of the Gulag and a chronicler of the forced labor camps which are known as the Gulag Archipelago.” The Gulags were located in the most remote parts of the USSR and the living conditions were brutal.  Cilka survives and, surprisingly, thrives in the environment into which she has been thrust, including living in Vorkuta’s prison camps, the most brutal of all the Gulags.

Cilka’s story is hard to put down.  Her strength as an individual is amazing, and she shares that strength with other women who may not have otherwise survived their ordeal.  Cilka is a natural leader, very smart, and quite clever at turning adversity to her advantage. I recommend this book to any woman who wonders how she would survive the worst that life has to offer. We never know our strength until it is tested, and this novel is the ultimate test of not just mental fortitude, but physical ability to deal with the harshest of environments and survive.

Judy, the Movie

Rene Zellwegger is over the top in Judy, the story of the last act of Judy Garland’s life. This movie is really difficult to watch, but you can’t look away from the screen as the last couple of years of the actress’s life come to fruition. She had a difficult life, which is portrayed in flashbacks, as well as in present scenes.  Her marriages and children are included, as well as her difficulty with both substance and alcohol abuse, and the decline of her career is heartfelt.  The actress, Rene, does all the singing in the movie and she’s amazing, and particularly so in the final song of the film. I highly recommend this movie, but with the caveat that it is difficult to watch Judy Garland’s life implode.

Special Memory

I had the most wonderful walk down memory lane last evening, a journey I shared with the two Hispanic boys who live next door.  When I came home from walking the dogs, the boys were in the empty lot across the street and appeared to be looking for something.  When I said hello, I also asked them what they were up to--and the older of the two told me that they were looking for rocks.  Seems that they are studying rocks in his elementary school class, and he desperately wanted to find a rock so he, too, could share.  I asked them to wait just a minute and I'd show them something special. They sat down on the yard bench, looking dejected, and I went inside the house.

When I came back out, I had two rocks with me, both of which are special.  One is a perfectly formed heart, and it's even red rock on the top side.  I told the boys the story of finding the rock one day when the children, their father and I were out walking in the desert in Gold Park, up outside of 29 Palms.  My toe kicked into something, and when I looked down, there was the heart rock.  Of course I picked it up, marveled at the perfect heart, and put it into my pocket to bring home.  I told the two boys that my children were, at that time, about the same age as these boys now, so that means I've had the rock for about 40 years.  Of course, 40 years is about a century in a kid's mind, so they were suitably impressed with my story.

I told the boys that the heart is really special to me because it's a memory I share with my children, but I would let him take it to the show-and-tell his class is going to have.  He told me he'd like to take it and would take really good care of my heart-shaped rock.  Their mother called them inside, and I haven't talked to them since that time, so I don't know if he's going to take my heart-shaped rock to show-and-tell or not, but I kind of hope he does so the other children can see a natural heart formed in nature.  Maybe one day one of them will find a special rock and have a story to share with the neighborhood children.

A Gentle Reminder

It's just about 6 months since the doctor put me on Aricept for my early onset dementia. The first month, I didn't notice any significant difference in my functioning, so I went online and did some research into proactive steps I could take to slow down what is a progressive disease. I found one website that offered a supplement, called Youthful Brain, and after reading all the literature about it, I ordered a bottle to see what happens.

What happened is that the "fog" in my brain began to lift, although this could be coincidental with the Aricept kicking in.  I still have minor lapses in my cognitive functioning, but that is also considered as a normal part of brain deterioration that comes with advancing age.  I am pleased to see improvement as my fear at diagnosis was "worst case" scenario, especially after seeing my mother's deterioration during her final years.  I am healthy in all other respects to my body, so I feel that gives me a bit of an advantage in dealing with the dementia.

And then today came when … I  got up and showered, dressed, and took off for my bi-weekly appointment in Palm Springs.  I stopped and bought a coffee and an order of churros to share with my therapist, and arrived right on time to the office.  I didn't think too much of it as the clock ticked its way toward my appointment time, but when my therapist didn't come get me at my scheduled time, I was … concerned. I hoped that nothing had happened in her life to keep her from the office, but decided to sit and wait until a quarter past the hour to see if she was just held up  with an emergency.

At quarter past the hour, I walked down the hallway to her office and tried the doorknob, which was locked.  I shrugged my shoulders, decided to leave her a note, and prepared to depart.  Things happen to all of us, so I wasn't particularly concerned, but hesitated when another person came down the hallway to what I assumed was his office.  I politely asked him if my therapist had let him know that she wouldn't be in today, and he looked at me a bit confused, then told me that she never comes in on Mondays.  I responded, "But today is Tuesday and I have my regularly scheduled appointment with her."

"No," he replied, "it's Monday."

You know how your brain does that "rolodex" thing when you are confused and starts whirling through the facts and information that you store within trying to make sense of what  you are hearing? That's what happened to me.  I blurted out, "Are you sure?  I'm pretty sure it's Tuesday."

And, of course, he assured me that it's Monday. I left the office after thanking him for helping me and walked to my car feeling totally bewildered.  I backed out of my parking space, put the gear into drive and started home.  Twice on the way home I made a wrong turn and was momentarily "lost."  I was able to turn myself back around and made it home with no further issues, but I'm completely bewildered by what happened.

I'm at home and feel all "here and now," so I'm pretty sure this was just one incident that may not happen again.  I think that when I got the day of the week wrong, I just internally became a bit panicked and that caused me to make the wrong turns on the way home.  I feel present and not at all confused, but I am home and that's my safe place.  I will continue with my medication and supplement, and focus better on being present in the moment.  When it's time for my next doctor appointment, I'll be sure to include this incident in the conversation if there are any further occurrences like the one today.  One event does not make a pattern, and now that I'm aware that there can be issues, I'll be more alert and double-check what I'm doing and where I'm going.

Summer of '69

Summer of ’69 is a novel written by Elin Hilderbrand. Reading the dust cover synopsis, it sounded like a nice summer read; however, actually turning the text page by page is a different experience.  The story is ponderous, the prose is redundant, and the actual plot is quite thin.  I started the novel, lost interest, read a couple of other books, and then returned. Starting over, I expected the story to be better than I remembered, but it isn’t, so I’m done reading at page 300 of the total 418.

The redundant prose is annoying:  “Pick’s eyes, she notices, are Lorraine’s eyes, the frosted blue of sea glass,” followed immediately by “He’s as brown as a berry.”  She says “That’s either wonderful or the saddest thing Kate has ever heard; she can’t decide which."

The ponderous story drags by, sentence by sentence.  “So this is Bitsy Dunscombe fueled by one too many, Kate thinks. She gets ugly—not only her language, but her face as well. Her expression contorts into a hideous mask with narrowed, accusing eyes and twisted lips. If she says anything about Tiger, Kate will slap her or throw a drink in her face. The piano player will stop right in the middle of ‘Try to Remember,’ and the revelers at table 1 will gape first and gossip later, and who could blame them?”

The actual plot is a typical coming-of-age story about a 13-year-old girl who has a crush on an older boy. She is so typical that there’s nothing unique about her, and she certainly isn’t worthy of hanging an entire novel on. So far, the most exciting thing to happen to her is she gets her period and then her first bra, and I’m ¾ of the way through the novel

I simply cannot force myself to finish reading this story at this time. It reminds me of Downton Abbey, a series I dreaded.  I watched several episodes, but never bonded with either the characters or the plot, even though I have friends who were entranced by the series and wouldn’t answer the phone for anyone when Downton Abbey was on.

I’ll pass this book on to someone who will appreciate it and pick up my next read, James Patterson’s The Inn.  I’ll let you know how that goes.

Where the Crawdads Sing

We all need a place to go, to escape the realities of our daily lives, a place that author Delia Owens calls the place “Where the Crawdads Sing,” which is the title of her best-selling novel about a young girl who is abandoned to raise herself in a swamp after her mother dies and her father walks off one day. The story of Kya is mesmerizing, told with rich detail and gritty emotion and fascinating insights into swamp life. Kya is a survivor, a person who went to school for one day, then retreated to her swamp where she feels safe and protected. She learns how to fend for herself while studying the rich plethora of animal and insect life that occupies her time during the day so she only has to cope with the isolation of the nights.


A   young man, Tate, befriends Kya and teaches her how to read and write. Once she knows those two basic skills, she begins to catalog all the insects, the swamp creatures, and the migrating birds that form her world. She collects empty shells and discarded feathers, and other memorabilia of her habitat, then she curates the story of each object/item/collectible and paints a picture to show its origin. Tate is her only friend and she cherishes his visits. She also feels drawn to Jumpin’, a black man who purchases the mussels and other seafood Kya brings him almost daily, and sells her gasoline for the engine of her small boat. Jumpin’ doesn’t need what Kya brings him to sell, but he knows that she’s alone and has to have foodstuffs in order to survive. The third important person in Kya’s life is Chase, the nearby town’s man about town, the good-looking athlete from a well-to-do family who pursues Kya in spite of her oddities.  It is only when Kya reads in a newspaper that Chase is engaged to be married that she realizes that Chase has used her. She sends him off and vows never to be involved with him again.


Nature is the backstory, the neighborhood for the people and events of the novel. The reader can almost smell the fetid earth and hear the callings of the various birds that make the swamp home. Kya becomes a living representation of Mother Nature as she tells her story among the wildlife of the swamp. It is a fascinating story that sometimes moves slowly through the richness of the telling, and, at other times, moves quickly as Kya struggles to survive. This novel is not for everyone as it takes time and patience to read through the many events in Kya’s life, riding with her in her swamp boat as she tours her environment and catalogues it for the mere love of the recordkeeping, but it’s definitely a novel worth reading.

Once Upon a Time in ... Hollywood

If you want to see an excellent film and have any knowledge of or experience with the 1960s, Once Upon a Time in … Hollywood is the film you have been waiting to see. Quentin Tarantino is not one of my favorite directors because the language and the action of his movies are off-putting to me; however, OUTH is his best film to date.  The story is of a washed-up movie star (Leonardo di Caprio) and his stunt double (Brad Pitt) during the 1960s when some really bad movies were made. The acting back then was … stilted… predictable … mediocre, and Di Caprio and Pitt perfectly capture that aspect of the film-making business. When an actor is on the downhill swing, life loses a lot of its luster, which sometimes makes actors take roles they otherwise would refuse, including starring in a series of what were called "spaghetti westerns" back in the day. Di Caprio's acting perfectly captures the desperation of the actor trying to stay afloat in an industry that is all he has ever known, and Pitt has the role of second banana down pat, hitching his future to DiCaprio's success, which leads to his career taking a dive along with DiCaprio's character's career.

Tarantino is the master of detail, and this movie is densely detailed in the sets, in the set dressings, in the costumes, in the dialog, in the automobiles, in the status symbols of the time, and in the feeling of a decade in transition. The 1960s are known for the hippies and the VietNam War and the free love and the cigarette smoking and the see and be seen attitude about life. Tarantino captures all of it in the main story, which is total Hollywood, but he adds a twist that makes the movie totally engaging and captivating.  It's a challenge to reveal just about enough of the plot twist to get a patron to see the movie without giving it away, but suffice it to say that the character of Sharon Tate plays a huge part in the storyline. She is the quintessential 60s woman, with her go-go boots and her really short short skirts, her flowing blonde hair, and her almost naïve approach to life.

Don't back away from this film because it's a Tarantino, nor because it's about the 1960s. It's a story about life and love and longing and the challenge of growing old in a society that prefers youth. I seldom hand out As as I believe that excellence is unusual, rather than common, but I whole-heartedly give Once Upon a Time in … Hollywood an A+.

Educated, a memoir by Tara Westover

I have just finished reading a tremendous novel, Educated, A Memoir, written by Tara Westover. It is her story of her life as a child in Idaho raised in a Mormon family that was what we would call old-fashioned: living off the land, using healers rather than doctors, home-schooling, and honoring thy father and thy mother. Tara separates herself from her family through her thirst for knowledge, something else to fill her mind with thoughts and ideals and needs for something more than what her family of origin could provide. It isn't easy reading as far as the content is concerned, but it's easy to become involved in Westover's story as she tells it.

There is a sentence that jumped off the page for me and is now part of me: "We are all of us more complicated than the roles we are assigned in the stories other people tell." Westover is basically self-taught, learning through interactions with other people and her vast experience with reading, and she rose above the stories other people told about her to become the vibrant, self-confident professional woman that she is today. "Dysfunctional" is too easy a word to describe her life, and heroic is not a strong enough word to describe her victory over her past.

One snapshot from the text captures her struggle for self-identity: "But if Dad was trying to keep his children from being overly interested in school and books--from being seduced by the Illuminati, like Tyler had been--he would have done better to turn his attention to Richard (a brother). … When Dad saw me with one of those books, he'd try to get me away from them. … Perhaps he thought if he could just distract me for a few years, the danger would pass."

If I were still teaching, this is a book I would recommend for students to read so they have an idea about how precious education is for each individual. We all don't need the same education, but we all need to be educated in some form or another. I would target as my reading audience tenth or eleventh grade females who are whirling through the uncertainties of life and trying to grasp onto something meaningful and important. We all struggle in our own ways, but sometimes learning of another person's struggle can help us cope with our own.

I posted this entry on my Facebook page, but thought I'd add it to my blog as someone who needs to read this book may stumble across it surfing the 'net.

Five Brain Killers

According to Dr. Sam Walters, who specializes in the brain and aging and the effects of aging, there are five brain killers that, if we remove them from our consumption, can make a difference in such brain issues as dementia and Alzheimers.

• The first is MSG, commonly found as a seasoning in lots and lots of food products.
• Next is aspartame, which is what Equal is and other artificial sweeteners. 
• Third is Sucralose, which is what Splenda is. 
• Fourth is diacetyl, the buttery flavor in microwave and movie theatre popcorn. 
• Finally, fifth is aluminum, a natural toxin found in many food and cosmetic products.  

All five of these brain killers should be removed from our human consumption, but especially if you are an older person who is already suffering from brain deterioration or simply wanting to avoid it. In my opinion, we should remove these products from all of our diets regardless of age or physical condition.

Youthful Brain

I've spent a bit of time surfing the internet looking for articles about dementia and cognition. Pretty much they all have the same info, but I was attracted to one site that focused on "Youthful Brain," a supplement that, according to the doctor's information at the site, will help with cognition.  Of course, that supplement has to be augmented with brain training and diet as nothing by itself will make any difference in the course of the dementia.

I read all the literature that came with the site and which included an article about nutritional changes that can be made to improve the brain as an organ of the body. The article talked about super foods for the brain that can enhance the brain's function, including those things that should be avoided, which includes popcorn at the movies. I took it all in and decided to send for the supplement, Youthful Brain, under the brand name Vitality Now.  I got what's called the "Clear Mind Formula," which is supposed to work to clear out the fog associated with dementia.

The fog is what made me realize that something was wrong when I first started having brain issues. I couldn't remember the simplest of things, like my phone number or address, just absolutely blanking when asked to provide either one while doing business transactions. It was frustrating and irritating, to say the least, not to be able to recall simple, basic life information. That's when I decided it was time to see my doctor and ask him whatever could be causing my symptoms. When he ran a few cognition tests, it became clear that I was started down a path no one wants to walk.

I have been using the Clear Mind Formula, Youthful Brain, for about a month now and I can feel a difference. That fog effect seems to have lifted somewhat and I feel more clear-headed.  Now, that can be a by-product of wanting the formula to work, so it does, but if that's what it takes, so be it. I have even recalled some information appropos nothing in particular, which has been somewhat startling. Today, on the other hand, the clerk at the drugstore asked me for my phone number and I totally blanked, but after thinking about it for a minute or so, I was able to retrieve it.  In the past, what I could not recall was simply gone.

Yes, I am also taking a prescription medication, Aricept, which has shown significant results in slowing the progress of the dementia in patients who use it.  I had taken it for about a month before I added the Youthful Brain formula. Before adding the YB, I still had fog; since adding the YB, I don't have the fog.  I think the two work together well, but perhaps have different foci for their targets. I return to my doctor the end of the month and will bring him up to date on what I decided to do by adding the Youth Brain formula to my treatment plan.  I'm going to stop taking it after I've used up the product I purchased and see if there is any difference not using it versus using it. Then, based on my own empirical evidence, I will decide whether to purchase more of the Youthful Brain product.

Updating:  Just received my newsletter from AARP and found an article about brain supplements. Basically, it says there is absolutely no evidence that any of the ones they tested work, and that it's a big scam. Did reflect that they are expensive and lining someone's pockets with profit. Also, said that it could be harmful. Well, when I use up my last bottle of the supplements (at $50/bottle), I won't get any more.

Rockin' and Rollin'

This morning, the couch began to move and it took a moment before I realized we were having an earthquake.  It was fairly gentle, but persistent.  As it died down, I told the dogs that it was no big deal and then it began again, stronger and a bit longer in duration.  As it dragged on, I wondered if it was going to build in intensity but no, it stayed about the same as the first half of the shaker.

Of course, the TV commentators were on the air in lightning speed, telling us that there were two separate quakes on the same fault, up by Ridgecrest, which is about 200 miles from where I am in the SoCal desert. Both of the quakes were 6.4, which can do damage, but far enough away that all they did here was rock 'n roll.

I understand from the news that there is considerable damage in the Ridgecrest area, including (perhaps) to a hospital. I'll have to watch the evening news for details as the quake coverage was over and life had moved on.

Updating:  two days later, at about the same time, we had another quake, this one a 7.1. It felt stronger, but was the same rolling shake that we had on July 3. Lots more damage in areas that felt the quake, mostly in stores with stocked shelves that ended up in the aisle. There was damage to roads and homes with this second quake, and some fires that came from ruptured gas lines.  This second quake was felt all the way to LA, with lots of people reporting the water from their swimming pools sloshed and overflowed.

The prognosticators are saying that it's not unlikely that there will be a third quake, but I hope the statistics favor the won't happen side of the prophecy.

The Facebook Experience

Several months ago, I decided to use FB on a daily basis to help with my cognition issues.  I get to read posts, respond to those that seem to want a response, and feel connected with other people outside of my four walls.  At first, it was kinda fun, especially when I recognized names from my teaching days. I made it my mission to write positive responses where warranted, like other posts, and ignore some of the more gross posts.

Why, I wondered, do people use such foul language and write such nasty things on a public forum? The cusswords abound even where they aren't necessary. People write about intimate things that I would keep private. They throw verbal stones at anyone who doesn't agree with them, and disparage people who write honest posts about their lives and the challenges they are having just getting through the days.

I was naïve when I made the decision to participate in FB.  I actually thought it would be a positive experience, and, in many instances, it has been.  I've enjoyed hearing from former students and learning about their now lives.  I have been able to see what my family members are doing in their lives without having to write long letters back and forth. I've enjoyed seeing photos of the comings and goings of people I know, but am not friends with present day. But I've been completely turned off by the grossness of perhaps as much as one-third of the content.

Today, I'm thinking about whether I want to continue to visit Facebook or let it go.  Part of me wants to stay connected with former students and family members, but the other part of me wants to let go of the offensive nature of the Facebook experience. I'm taking today off as a think-about day and then will make my decision whether to continue to visit the site or let it go.