High Summer

We raised the flag on the new flagpole on Flag Day even though the cement never set properly, mostly due to the continuing rains, and the pole itself wobbles a bit in the sleeve. Also, we didn't raise the flag so much as raised the pole with the flag attached since the pole is extendable but doesn't have a lanyard and the flag snaps directly to the fixed clips. Nevertheless, it is tall, above the lowest power lines so it was a good idea to shift it back a few feet, and looks good.

Flag Day is also my brother's birthday, so we had the traditional shrimp and scallops sauteed in olive oil and garlic butter with threads of red and yellow sweet peppers served over linguine, corn on the cob and biscuits on the side and apple pie for dessert. We were halfway through the meal when my brother realized the lack of lanyard on the flag pole meant he couldn't fly the flag at half staff if necessary but the old pole had no hoist either and that was never a problem in all the previous decades. If the necessity ever arises, he can just take the flag down.

The mango harvest is slowing a bit. The squirrel and birds and insects have had more than their share and a lot of the fruits dropped too small this year but we have a dozen containers in the refrigerator half a dozen bags in the freezer and still there are another dozen on the counter waiting to be processed. And that doesn't count the ones that have been given away or made into salsa or mango bread already. I'll be making two more loaves tomorrow to give to the nurses when I go in for this month's platelet donation Thursday.

We're having to harvest the tomatoes a little before full ripeness due to the rain which is causing them to swell and burst. The peppers don't seem to have that problem.

Every week my brother cranks the air conditioning down another notch in order to sleep at night. We started the season set at 83F (28C) but now it's sometimes down to 79F (26C) which can seem downright chilly. It's the humidity that's making him uncomfortable more than the heat.

Shining Cats

Wednesday evening I was making shortcake for my brother's Thursday birthday dinner strawberry shortcake dessert. All three cats were underfoot the whole time. Catnip is not one of the ingredients but you wouldn't know it from their interest. Yesterday morning I'm shelling shrimp for one of the entrees (shrimp in a bacon/garlic/butter sauce over linguini) and not a cat in sight. No cats when the crab legs come out of the refrigerator and into the pot, either. And yet, all three of them try to stick their entire heads into my glass of iced tea.

Last week Jasmine stole a corn cob out of the garbage and gave it to the kids. What is it with cats and carbs?

Last night, in the wee hours, they were all at my bedroom door, rattling the hinges and banging on the frame, little kitten paws scrabbling and scratching, reaching under the door itself and curling upward as if frantically searching for the latch. That was the third time they've attempted to break in. I half expect to hear the cat translation of "Here's Johnny!" one of these nights as they come smashing through.

Government Efficiencies

Birthday time is also automobile registration renewal time so I went over to the tax collector's office this afternoon.

The county has separated routine tax payments from others that might require additional information/decision-making/judgment calls and so there is a typically governmental larger room with rows and rows of metal framed plastic chairs for people dealing with those issues and a small rope-lined area for "I'm just here to pay, no questions, no issues, thank you very much," folks, like me, all overseen by the number-issuing concierge.

I told the number-issuing concierge I was here to renew my vehicle's registration. He said, "That's it?" I said, "Yes," he printed out my number and told me to enter the rope line. By the time I reached the end of that (very short) path, the only person in front of me was finishing up with the cashier, who called my number. I handed her the registration notice and the cash (because Florida lets card companies tack on a service fee for using plastic) and she handed me my change and the license plate sticker.

I was in and out in under two minutes.

A few years ago, when I wanted to start an LLC back in Salt Lake City, I went on line to learn the process and required information (which was minimal). With that in hand, I went to the county offices there, paid the fees and had my business officially up and running in less than two hours.

When the government has a financial interest in getting you through the system it can be impressively efficient.

I just wish I knew how to apply that interest to running an election.

Tasks and Rewards

Yesterday was my brother's birthday. Because this is no longer the land of the free and home of the brave but the residence of those who submit to bureaucratic paranoia, we (mostly he) spent the better half of the day downloading forms, copying documents and expediting them back to Connecticut because, even though he has never been out of this country in his life (excepting one three hour lunch trip to Nogales as a preteen) and even though he has lived in this same town for going-on thirty years, and has renewed his driver's license a number of times during that period, he must now present a certified copy of his birth certificate in order to renew it this time. Between the copying costs and the postage, he's spending close to $60 (never mind the time wasted not celebrating his birthday) just to qualify for the renewal.

We made up for it with a birthday dinner of broiled lobster in drawn butter, shrimp and scallops sauteed with sweet red peppers in a bacon/garlic butter sauce over pasta and corn on the cob accompanied by a very fruity, spicy Gewurztraminer and chocolate cake for dessert. You can erase an awful lot of frustration with a meal like that.

Miscellanea, (Mostly Meteorlogical)

Looks like Rainy Season is finally officially here. Haven't seen the sun since before the transit of Venus which we didn't see either. It rains at least once every day now, sometimes in the morning sometimes in the evening. At least I'm remembering to close up my car. . .and the birdbath is staying full.

Of course, now that it's raining, the grass is greening up and growing fast and the lawn mower is busted again. From the symptoms, I'm thinking the drive belt has irretrievably stretched out of shape.

You know it's humid when the weather report lists the current temperature as 87F "but feels like 100F." For the record, yes, it does.

The most active burrowing owl habitat around this season is on my way to the library. An adult is always perched on one of the little cruciform burrow-marking stakes and usually one or more of the family is on the ground nearby. I went by once and there were four of them on the ground surrounding the one on the perch. There are a number of open lots nearby so this place may have some really easy hunting.

I just heard "Car Talk" will be coming to an end this fall after 25 years. Almost everything I know automotively (which admittedly is not much) I learned from those guys.

Yesterday would've been Mom's 92nd birthday. My brother bought four pints of Ben & Jerry's, two for him and two for me. They were on sale. Happy Birthday! (I'm going to make mine last at least a month.)

Mom, A Life: Part Nine

Mom, A Life: Part Eight

The Final Years

Dad was in a serious car accident just as they were building the new house. That, and the fact their contractor absconded with several thousand dollars necessary for the finishing work, meant the move was delayed, drawn-out and a little traumatic. They stayed with first one son and then the other (both of whom were living in town at the time) and eventually the place was completed.

In late 1997 Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer and underwent cryogenic surgery. During follow-up another tumor was discovered and he began chemotherapy. As Mom described it from the x-rays, "It looked like a loaf of French bread wrapped around the back of his stomach." At first he responded well and they could see the tumor shrinking almost daily but suddenly something the doctors called a "wildfire" took over. In less than a month, on March 22, 1998, Dad died.

Mom continued to teach ceramics at the Senior Center and occasionally took on jobs either when she wanted extra money or just because she was bored. (She did a short stint as a dispatcher for a rental car company out at the airport one time.) She gave up driving and my brother, who had sold his house and moved in after his girlfriend died, chauffeured her around. In 2000, my brother managed to pull off a surprise 80th birthday party at the country club that included her children, grandchildren, most of her nephews and nieces, surviving sister and brother-in-law and a host of friends.

The remaining dozen years passed quietly. Mom's back had been giving her problems for decades. What with slipped and disintegrating discs and severe scoliosis she became hunched over at the waist and barely four feet tall. (She was 5' 6" most of her adult life.) As her mobility decreased she stopped going anywhere except ceramics class and doctors' appointments. We had always planned for Mom to live to at least 100, both because she thought that was a nice round number and also in hope she'd passed on longevity genes to the rest of us, but in 2008 I received a letter from her hinting at imminent problems. I moved in with Mom and my brother to help him look after her. The letter turned out to be a touch melodramatic.

Mom talked about moving to an assisted living facility but, although we got brochures and made some visits, her heart wasn't really in it and she stayed home. Her mobility became worse and she was plagued by occasional incontinence and so stopped going to ceramics out of what might best be called anticipatory embarrassment. She most definitely did not want her friends to see her deteriorating.

Mom was diagnosed with moderate Alzheimer's in 2010. She never discussed the diagnosis and I often wondered if one of the effects of the disease was that the implications never really sank in with her. She was put on a drug that noticeably slowed its progress, and for the six months immediately after the diagnosis she showed real improvement both physically and mentally. We even made one last visit to the ceramics class at the Senior Center.

Eventually, though she spent her days mostly on the couch reading and watching TV, although she no longer enjoyed watching sports as she found she didn't understand the rules or the point of the games any more and had no patience for anything lasting longer than a half hour or so. She read continuously, both magazines and large print books from the library.


She still dressed herself (with an increasingly eccentric creativity), made her own bed and did her own laundry (or tried to. We took that last chore away from her after she washed some disposables and filled the dryer with cubic feet of fluff). She had a great appetite and ate everything we made for her enjoying the occasional glass of wine with dinner. Although she had more and more trouble finding the right word, she never lost verbal capability and always recognized people. Her biggest problem was insomnia which could keep her bouncing up and down all night long and exhaustedly napping all the following day.

In February 2012, I noticed a decline in Mom's cognitive abilities. Despite the doctor's warnings about the inevitability of Alzheimer's, Mom had been so stable for so long that it came as something of a shock. During an appointment in early March, her GP noted a spike in her blood pressure and asked if she had a living will and DNR order on file. He recommended we post it on the refrigerator. Mom's insomnia was worse and she was a little more agitated than usual over the following weekend and then, sometime over night or, more likely, early Monday morning, her heart just gave out.

Mom died at home, in her room, Monday March 12, 2012, fourteen years after Dad. She was three months shy of 92.


Post Script

This sketch of Mom's life turned out to be a lot longer than I'd originally planned, yet it is still far, far too short to do her any kind of justice. I haven't mentioned her sense of adventure and willingness to try anything at least once. She'd go out in the woods with us kids to explore the "cave" we found. She had us all grilling Japanese food on hibachis and eating with chopsticks back in the '60s. She taught tolerance (no excuses) and encouraged intellectual curiosity. She's why I was listening to Stravinsky and Berlioz at age eleven and owned the complete Yale edition Shakespeare at thirteen (best junior high school graduation present ever!) and why I can cook for myself well enough to entertain in several different styles. ("You're either going to get married or stay single. If single, you're not rich enough to eat out every night so you'll starve if you don't know how to cook. And if you get married I'm not going to have some other woman complain I gave her a helpless son.")

Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.

Sisters: It's Genetic, Except For the Learned Parts

We received a call from one of my cousins yesterday evening. He was letting us know that his mom, Mom's kid sister, our aunt had received the birthday card we'd sent by way of him. We sent the card to his address because his mom, despite being almost three years younger than ours, is in much worse shape mentally and physically. She lives in a residential facility on the other side of the state, is not mobile on her own, and often does not recognize familiar people.

Considering that Alzheimer's is genetic and both sisters have it our main consolation is that it seems to be very late-onset in our family. I am pleased Mom is holding up as well as she is.

As a matter of fact, the reason we remembered to send the card on time was because, when we put up the 2012 calendar in the kitchen, Mom went straight to it, flipped to February and wrote in her sister's name on the appropriate date. It's right there in legible script, in pen.

Considering how bad I've always been at remembering birthdays (with no valid excuse), I find that pretty impressive.

91

It's Mom's birthday today. She's 91 years old. Ninety-one. Doesn't look a day over 88.

We didn't get her any real presents per se. She doesn't need anything and doesn't want anything and, in fact, keeps trying to give stuff away. So, instead, we gave her cards and I made breakfast (brunch really by the time she got up and moving). Blueberry pancakes. I put a lot more blueberries in the batter than I thought I had done. The batter in the griddle rose up to envelop the berries and I could see (and smell) them cooking up, popping and spreading berry juice throughout the pancakes as they cooked. Yum.

After that my brother went out and bought a pound of fresh shrimp so this evening's birthday dinner will be shrimp fettuccine alfredo. And a cake. None of us will need to eat again until next week when we get to do it all again for his birthday.

Idees Fixe

For the last four or five days Mom has been having little repetitive OCD sessions where she'll sit for maybe a half hour or more studying a catalog she got from Vermont Country Store. She's stuck on one page, and one offering, in particular. As a result there are several pieces of paper lying around near her all bearing one or more variations of the following inscription in her crabbed chicken-scratch handwriting: "Maple Syrup $19.95 Buttermilk Pancake Mix $8.95".

My brother noticed the other day and asked her "What's all this for?"

"I want these for Bob's birthday presents," she said. (Both of their birthdays are coming up next month, a week apart.) "They're a surprise."

"I'm Bob," Bob said.

She looked at him and said, "Oh, Damn."

We're thinking of just going to the supermarket for supplies and making pancakes for breakfast on both birthdays.