Monkey at the Movies: Brave

We finally went to see "Brave" the other day. In 3D no less. (As an animated feature, it's exempt from my personal ban of 3D movies.) I kinda felt like we had to be a little brave just to go to the movies last weekend, after the terrible Aurora, CO incident.

Seriously, I can't even begin to fathom the kind of evil crazy that makes a person do something so horrific. You just never know. I wasn't overly concerned about any type of copy-cat shenanigans because we were there on a Sunday morning, seeing a "family" movie, and there were only about five people in that particular theater. But the showing we attended was in the last theater at the very end of the hall in the cinema.... right next to an exit door, so the thought DID cross my mind. And the lack of folks in the audience would have made all five us easy targets should someone decide to go batshit crazy and start shooting up the joint. My heart goes out to the families and friends of the Aurora victims. I don't want to give the psychopath who did it any further mention, so I'll leave it at that.

We settled in, donned our 3D glasses, and enjoyed some previews. (The "Despicable Me" minions' rendition of "Banana" (to the tune of Barbara Ann) just fills me with lighthearted glee. Potato-na. Ha!)

Then we were treated an animated short, "La Luna". Let me tell you... this was an absolutely gorgeous and heartwarming little piece. Beautiful to look at with lovely music to match. Almost worth the price of admission on its own. It's only about 10 or 15 minutes long, but I could have watched it over and over.

The main feature, "Brave", began. Every time I see a Pixar film, I am amazed at what they're able to do with animation. It seems as though they make incredible leaps and bounds in CG technology with each release.

The storyline of the movie itself wasn't quite what I expected in some ways. But it was entertaining, and y'all know how I love to hear a Scottish lilt. Reminds me of my Grandpa. Above all though, the animation is just visually stunning. Moving objects... gowns, plants, arrows, etc.... had a very natural kinetic flow. And what Pixar can do with hair these days... if only my hairdresser could perform magic like that! Seriously though, I remember watching a clip about the challenges Pixar faced when working on "Monsters, Inc.", and how they struggled with the programming to make the CG software render realistic fur. They made groundbreaking strides in that technology back then, and it's obvious they've continued to take it even further. Flowing human locks and rippling bear fur abound in "Brave".

No need to really review the plot... it's pretty standard Disney stuff. Spunky heroine faces self-made trials and obstacles, has to struggle to put things right, everyone learns a valuable life lesson or two, and cue happy ending. The Highlands setting and accompanying fable adds an interesting twist. If nothing else, go see it just to SEE it... to look at it, if you will, and enjoy the artful animation.

Dog Days....

No... I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. Things have been a little crazy around here lately. And not a lot of fun. The most recent misadventure... our beloved dog, Hobey, was diagnosed with Cushing's disease a few weeks ago. If you're not familiar, it's basically a condition where the body produces too much cortisol. Approximately 85% of canine cases are caused by a benign pituitary tumor, and that's what Hobey has been diagnosed with: Pituitary-dependent Cushing's Syndrome.

Hobey never displayed any of the classic clinical symptoms... increased thirst, increased urination, increased appetite, etc. Our vets noticed elevated numbers in his routine bloodwork. A lot of further testing confirmed the diagnosis, though fortunately it's a borderline case and we caught it pretty early. We started treatment with Vetoryl (Trilostane) about five weeks ago.

What the Vetoryl does is inhibit the production of cortisol by the adrenal glands, to prevent the body's level from getting too high. Too much cortisol can cause all sorts of problems. The opposite of Cushing's Disease or Syndrome is Addison's Disease, where the body doesn't produce enough cortisol. Not enough cortisol can be life-threatening.

Treating Cushing's can be tricky, because if the dose of medication is too high, it can cause an Addisonian reaction. So when starting treatment for Cushing's, you have to keep a close eye on your pet and watch for symptoms that would indicate his cortisol levels are too low. You also have to get an ACTH stim test performed two weeks after beginning the meds, then 30 days after that, then 90 days after that, then every six months to monitor the cortisol levels and adjust the meds if necessary. It ain't a picnic, and it ain't cheap. Hobey's vet and medication bills have been about the same as a luxury car payment for the past few months! But he's my furry son, and I don't need a new car, so I'm thankful I'm able to provide the treatment he needs.

As I said, we started treatment a little over five weeks ago. Hobey's numbers were good at his two-week follow-up ACTH Stim test. He didn't seem to be having any side effects other than an increase in his arthritis stiffness, which we expected. Because it's a natural steroid, elevated cortisol levels can mask arthritis and other inflammatory problems. When you bring the cortisol levels back down to normal, the arthritis symptoms will become more obvious. We did see a gradual increase in Hobey's arthritis symptoms... he was slower in getting up, didn't run as fast or as long, and hesitated to jump up on the bed or in the car... but it wasn't drastic or extreme.

Then late last week, we noticed he was suddenly struggling a lot more to get up from lying down. He also seemed to tire out much more quickly than usual. He didn't run to his friend's mom (a.k.a. the cookie lady) when he saw her in the park like he's always done. And he was really slow walking back home from the park that morning. We thought maybe he was just having an off day. That night after work, we noticed a spot on the rug by the back door where he had apparently thrown up. And Mr. RM told me he had to help him up when he got from work that day.

We decided that if he still seemed off the next day, I'd call the vet. I was concerned that he might be heading toward that dreaded life-threatening Addisonian reaction... weakness, lethargy and vomiting are some of the symptoms. The next day, he was still struggling to stand up without help. He was okay once he got his legs under him, but he had a hard time getting there, and he still seemed to be walking much slower and tiring easily. So I skipped his meds that morning, called the vet and left a message with one of the techs about what was going on. I had to go to work before the vet called back... I'm in the process of hiring a new "minion" (that story may be another post), and had someone scheduled for a 10:00 interview. When the vet's office called later that morning, they said to bring him in so the doc could check him out.

When I got back home to get Hobey, he was still lying in the hall where he'd been when I left earlier, and he hadn't eaten the treat I left for him. I called to him, and he tried to get up. He couldn't even get his front legs under him, let alone his poor arthritic back legs. He just slipped around on the wood floor, almost flopping like a fish. I can't begin to tell you how badly that absolutely crushed me. It's horrible to see your four-legged son struggling like that. I went to him and helped him up, and even with me supporting him he struggled to get his feet solidly under him. I half carried him to the rug, and he was finally able to stand up. We went outside, and he was wobbly, but getting steadier. Mr. RM met me at the house and we loaded Hobey into his car to ride to the vet's office.

Dr. H checked his electrolytes... the meds can knock those out of balance too, which can cause problems. They all came back okay. He felt his legs and hips... legs seemed fine, but said Hobey's hips were "cracking" under just the pressure from his thumbs. He said we should increase his Carprofen (like doggy ibuprofen) from one pill every other day to one and a half pills every day... one in the morning and a half one at night. He also said to suspend his Cushing's meds and go ahead and do his 30-day ACTH stim test the next day, a week earlier than scheduled, to see where his cortisol levels were. Like us, he was also concerned that Hobey could be becoming Addisonian.

We got the test results back today. Thankfully, his levels were within normal range. They should be between 1.5 - 9, and he was at a 3. Now, that's a bit low for my complete comfort... I'd be more at ease if they were around a 5, but Dr. H said he was pleased and as relieved as I was. He said to restart the Cushing's meds (the Vetoryl) at the same dose, but to go ahead and do another ACTH stim test in 4-6 weeks to make sure things are still okay.

In the meantime, we're to continue the increased dose of Carprofen for two weeks, and hopefully that will get Hobey's mobility back to what it was. If it doesn't, we'll be looking into other options. Our vet recently began offering stem stell therapy for joint problems, and we were eager to sign up before Hobey's Cushing's diagnosis. Now we're not sure he's a good candidate. It might be okay, but my fear is that because the Cushing's is caused by a tumor, the stem cell treatment could possibly cause the tumor to grow and begin causing other problems. They won't perform stem cell therapy on dogs with active cancer for that reason, but there's not a lot of info on how it might affect pituitary-dependent Cushing's dogs. Dr. H agrees that we should hold off on that in favor of caution. So if the Carprofen doesn't do the trick for Hobey's arthritis, we'll probably try injections of hyaluronic acid, steroids, or Adequan.

So far, we've seen improvement in Hobey's mobility with the increased Carprofen. He's moving around a lot easier the past few days. Still slow, and still seems to tire quickly, but he's able to stand up on his own, even from lying down on the wood floors. We try to get him to lie down on the rugs or on the carpet in the bedrooms, but he LIKES lying on the wood floors... they're cooler I guess.

I also built some doggy stairs for him this weekend, to help him get up and down on the bed, and in and out of the car. I found several instructions for building styrofoam pet steps on tha interwebz, and I'll share how I built Hobey's here.

I got one 8'x4'x2" styrofoam insulation panel from Home Depot, and I cut it into four 2'x32" panels and four 2'x16" panels. 

Then I stacked the four 2'x32" panels, and glued them together with Liquid Nails to form the base step, and then did the same with the 2'x16" panels to form the top step.

Once the two step pieces were done, I attached the top step piece to the base step piece with the Liquid Nails, like so. I tried to smooth out the sides a bit, but because it was making a bit of mess, I opted to leave them a little rough. It doesn't look perfect, but the rough sides don't affect the function anyway. I didn't have time to be a perfectionist about it. 

After letting the completed structure set for while, I covered the steps with outdoor carpet, again adhering it with Liquid Nails. I weighed the carpet down with some heavy stuff just to help ensure it would lie flat while the glue set.

Then, it was just a matter of teaching Hobey how to go up and down the steps. He's familiar with steps and generally doesn't have a problem with them, but we don't have any in our house, so he wasn't quite sure what to make of these. We got him to climb up the steps onto the bed with a little coaxing and a couple of chicken chips, but he had trouble coming back down. He didn't want to do it, and it took quite a bit of bribery with more chicken chips to get him down. He preferred to do sort of a slide maneuver, and finally ended up coming down a bit cockeyed, but not a bad first effort. The fairly strong adhesive fumes may have had something to do with it! We'll keep working with him to get him used to going up and down the steps. The great thing about them is that they're lightweight, so they're easy to move about. This will be a big help with getting him in and out of my RAV4! I can carry the steps out to the car, load Hobes into the back seat, then stow the stairs in the cargo space until we get to our destination. Assuming, of course, that we can get him to be comfortable actually using them!

If you'd like to make some pet steps, Google "build pet steps" or "homemade pet steps" or something similar... there are lots of helpful instructions out there, and you can find something that will work well for your situation. Here's a tip... styrofoam can be really messy to cut! It looked like it snowed in July on my patio after cutting the panels! And if I make another set, I think I'll spend the extra money on the Liquid Nails that's specifically for foam. I got the regular project kind, and it worked okay, but it did "melt" into the styrofoam a little bit. Our house is also still very fragrant from the adhesive fumes. Our Florida summer thundershowers have prevented me from leaving them outside to air out.

And so, armed with doggy anti-inflammatories, extra floor coverings and portable steps, we're ready to combat Hobey's arthritis issues and help him get back to his old self... or at least as close as a nearly-12-year-old dog can get to his old self. And we'll be keeping a close eye on his Cushing's. He's truly the greatest dog in the world, and we'd like to keep him healthy, happy and comfortable for another few years. Even if it seems like he's trying to put his mama in the poor house. Totally worth it. Totally!

I Had A Dad - Addendum

So..... Father's Day. This was always a somewhat awkward day for me. I was only ten or eleven when my parents separated, so the stuff expressed in most Father's Day cards was foreign to me. Growing up, I never got my allowance from my dad. I never borrowed his car. I never asked him for dating advice, never cried on his shoulder when my heart got broken, never went to a father-daughter dinner or dance... you know, all that typical cheesy schmaltzy crap that is the earmark of Hallmark. Most cards reflect a close father-child relationship, and given the space between us, those types of greetings didn't really seem appropriate. And yet we DID have a friendly and familial relationship during most of my adulthood. There wasn't much of a selection of cards that seemed to fit our unique relationship, so choosing the right Father's Day card to send my dad was always something of a challenge.

I wasn't faced with that challenge this year, and I felt that void acutely. I knew that Father's Day this year would be a little difficult, but I didn't expect it to hit me as hard as it has. Despite the geographic and emotional miles that had been between us, I am missing my dad today.

Maybe it's the finality of it settling in... that he's really gone now, not just far away. Maybe I'm feeling all the evaporated hopes of finally visiting him and having him show me the Hawaii that he knew and loved. Maybe I'm feeling all the lost opportunities we may have had to eventually build a closer relationship. I know I'm missing the back-and-forth e-mail banter we enjoyed. And I think I'm especially sad that there's one less person in the world that I knew I could count on to root for me, to be proud of me, to help celebrate my accomplishments and encourage me when I failed. Our relationship had its scars, but I still had a father who loved me, and called me his "Dotter". I'm feeling the loss of his presence in my life.

Mr. Remarkable Monkey went up to his folks' today to celebrate Father's Day with his dad. I like my in-laws well enough and my father-in-law is a gem, but I just didn't feel up to spending Father's Day with someone else's dad this year.

Dad c.2000

Instead, I chose to stay home and honor my dad's memory in a way that I think would make him happy. And so I'm sitting on the patio, writing. My dad was something of a writer... he was even published a time or two. And I'm sipping a glass of Glenfiddich, his favorite Scotch. I don't know if he took it neat, or with water or on the rocks... I may never know now. I opted for neat. And while I'm not a fan of whiskey, I gotta say... the Glenfiddich is not too bad. I guess Dad is still teaching me things after all.

Cheers, Dad.
I miss you.

Life Rolls On...

Thanks for all the kind comments, both public and private, on my recent family losses. It really means a lot. I'm bouncing back, and life keeps rolling along. And I guess that's as it should be... to every season, blah blah blah. And right now, it's the season to reap the bounty of my haphazard gardening efforts. So far, not too bad this year.

Ouiser Boudreaux from
Steel Magnolias

Waaaay back in early March, I dug the garden plot and planted the usual: some tomatoes, eggplant, and peppers. As I've said before, I think there's a law somewhere that mandates southern women to grow at least a couple tomato plants every year.

(Miss Ouiser would agree... "Because I'm an old Southern woman and we're supposed to wear funny looking hats and ugly clothes and grow vegetables in the dirt. Don't ask me those questions. I don't know why, I don't make the rules!" Only I'm not that old, I don't generally wear funny hats or ugly clothes, and I actually DO eat tomatoes... especially homegrown ones!)

Here's what the garden patch looked like on planting day.












And here's what the cherry tomato plant looked like about a week ago.

The thief left behind evidence.

Not too many garden pests have found us yet this year, other than a bird or a squirrel or a rat that nabbed the first big ripe tomato the night before I planned to pick it. And then it rudely left the remnants of said tomato just a couple feet from the patch, just to rub it in I guess. Dang wildlife creatures!!

The herb garden in our front planter box was looking gorgeous a couple weeks ago. We've got radishes, basil, dill, cilantro, curly parsley, flat leaf parsley and chives. Unfortunately, aphids decided to decimate our radishes. We got a few tasty ones before they died off though. (Tasty radishes, not aphids. I have no idea whether or not aphids are tasty, and currently have no plans to research that subject.)




Currently sitting on my kitchen counter is this bunch of recently picked goodies... cherry and grape tomatoes, a bigger tomato and a couple of Mexibell peppers. Those Mexibells were labeled as being slightly hotter than regular bell peppers, but let me tell you what.... they really pretty hot!! They're not quite as hot as jalapenos, but close to the neighborhood. This is the first year I've planted that variety, and I'm surprised and delighted with their heat! I'll definitely look for them again next year.

As for those tomatoes, they are destined to make an appearance in tonight's dinner. They will be transformed into a tomato & fresh basil (from the herb garden) salad, with mozzeralla pearls and a balsamic and olive oil dressing. Mmmmm!! I think there are a few eggplants ready to pick as well, so I'll probably grill those up too. I'd invite y'all over, but I haven't dusted the house this week. (I really just don't want to share this fresh bounty, but as a southern "lady", I'm too polite to tell ya that.)

If you're growing stuff yourself, I hope your garden patch is pest-free, and that you have a bumper crop of your favorite veggies!

UPDATE:
Thought y'all might want to see the transformation of the tomatoes above to the delicious 'mater/basil salad I whipped up last night. It was yummy! I made a little too much dressing, but that's okay... just need to dish it out with a slotted spoon.

If you'd like to make some yourself, all ya gotta do is cut up some cherry and/or grape tomatoes, chop or chiffonade some fresh basil, toss in some fresh mozzarella pearls or chunks if you like, and then douse it all with some kind of dressing to marinate for a little while. I made my dressing by whisking together some balsamic vinegar, olive oil, a little sugar, a little salt, a little pepper and a couple of fresh garlic cloves run through a garlic press. Pour it over the salad and chill until you're ready to eat. Yum!!

I Had a Dad...

Dad c. 1987, at the last occasion
I saw him in person.

The monkey cage hasn't been a fun place lately. Last month, it was my Grandma. Last week, my father lost his battle with lung cancer. I am deeply saddened.

If you've read last year's Father's Day post, you know that we didn't have the "typical" father/daughter relationship. My dad battled some pretty vicious demons during his early adulthood. Mix those demons with alcohol and you've got a pretty combustive combination. As a child, I was mostly afraid of him. We never knew what might set him off, and it wasn't pretty when he exploded. I was only eleven when my parents split. A few months later he left the east coast and moved to Hawaii.

So there was a lot of distance between us, both geographically and emotionally. At one point, we had pretty much disowned each other. We reconnected when I was a young adult myself. The distance between us, and some pretty thick emotional scar tissue, made it difficult for us to forge a really close relationship. I don't know if things would have been different had we been closer geographically... maybe, maybe not... there was a lot of water under the bridge. But we managed to leave the past in the past, and built something of a new relationship that allowed us to at least get to know each other, as people, a little better. And for that I'm truly thankful.

As a person, my dad was an amazing man. He was one of the most intelligent people you could ever hope to meet. As I mentioned in that Father's Day post, he had photographic memory and genius-level IQ. He was also funny, and tough, and loyal to his friends. He was a leader, and accomplished many wonderful things for his community. I think as he got older, he mellowed. Maybe because he finally got his demons under control? I'd like to think so. The warmer, softer side of him was much more apparent. Living in a beautiful tropical paradise like Hawaii may have helped too. And I really think that his wife, the sweet Miss C, was a positive and calming influence on him.

When he was diagnosed with lung cancer in October 2010, we all held our breaths. Rounds of chemo and radiation followed. He did remarkably well! (There's that Scottish stubborn tenacity!) The tumors had shrunk and appeared to be stable, and the prognosis was good. Just this past November, all the docs seemed to think treatment was successful. And then my dad started having problems, particularly losing strength in his legs. At first, he thought it was lingering effects of the chemo and radiation. Unfortunately, in March, an MRI showed a couple brain lesions. The type of lung cancer he had is apparently notorious for spreading to the brain. So just when we thought he'd beaten it and would soon be back to normal, that fucking cancer sneaked back in through another entrance. (And there's this blog's first F-bomb... cancer deserves it.)

Dad and Miss C on a happy day in 2003.

He had a gamma-knife procedure on March 14th. The day after, he couldn't even stand. He was admitted to an inpatient rehab facility on March 20th in the hopes that he could regain some of his strength. From what Miss C tells me, Dad got more and more discouraged, and eventually it seemed like he gave up. He was in a lot of pain and not making much progress.

He was admitted to a hospice facility on April 20th. I was able to speak with him briefly that weekend. It was the first time in quite a while that we'd talked on the phone. We had e-mailed each other several times a week for years and enjoyed a friendly rapport, but phone conversations were rare... The time difference made calls difficult, but also for me (and maybe for him as well), they just seemed a little awkward and stiff. For some reason, it seemed harder to overcome the distance between us verbally. We didn't seem to have that problem when communicating via e-mail.

During our conversation, I wondered to myself if that would be the last time I'd get to speak to him. I didn't think it would be... I thought he had at least a little more time left. I'm so thankful that I had that opportunity to talk to him one last time. It meant even more to me than I thought it would.

I asked him if there was anything I could send him to enjoy while he was there in hospice.
 He said, "Yeah, Glenfiddich."
"Are you allowed to have that there?" I asked.
"I'm the king here... I can have anything I want!" was his reply.
I laughed and told him I'd see what I could do.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Dad?" I asked.
He said, "Just make me proud."

I know he was proud of me. After we reconnected twenty-some-odd years ago, he often told me he was. And I know we loved each other in our own dysfunctional way, even if it WAS at somewhat of a distance. I'm glad he was proud of me, and I'm very proud to be his daughter.

Miss C tells me that she's thinking of having just a very small memorial service with close friends and family at the Buddhist temple her mother belonged to. She says Dad really liked that temple, and that he had come to appreciate many of the aspects of Buddhism, though not necessarily as a religion (just as I have... go figure!).  So I think he'd really like that.

Sadly, I won't be able to attend. While the geographic distance between us may have made things a little more comfortable in the past, right now I wish I was close enough to be there. When he seemed to have beaten the cancer back in November, I thought I'd try and save up and maybe plan to finally get out there in the next couple years for a visit with him, and spend a few days getting to know him a little better in person. I'm truly sorry that I won't get that opportunity. Some day, though, I'll make it out there. I'd like to finally meet Miss C in person, and see the place that Dad called home for over 30 years.

For now, I think I'll go and get myself a bottle of Glenfiddich. When his memorial service is happening in Hawaii, I'll pause whatever I'm doing here and toast his memory. I really don't like Scotch (or any whiskey for that matter), but I'll drink it anyway in honor of my dad. I have a feeling that with Scotch... just as in our relationship... once you get past the bitterness, there's a pleasant warmth to enjoy.

Mahalo, Dad.
A hui kaua.

Has It Really Been a Year?

Yesterday marked one year since I posted my first blog entry. Has it really been that long? Then again, sometimes it DOES seem like it's been a really long year. A lot has happened since last April, though not everything makes it onto these pages.

When I started this blog, I wasn't sure what I wanted it to be. It's probably obvious from the way it wanders that I STILL don't know exactly what I want it to be. If nothing else, it remains an exercise in writing for me. I read and wrote a lot as a kid, even won a prize or two for writing in elementary school. Later, like most teenagers, any writing I did was mainly limited to school assignments, and angst-ridden or anti-authority song lyrics. As an adult, aside from grocery lists or notes in greeting cards, most of my writing has been advertising copy and headlines as part of my job (I'm a graphic designer). I'm not bad at it... at my first job in advertising, my ability to turn a clever phrase even earned me the nickname "Headline Queen", which also came with the much-coveted "Elvis Salute". (Thank ya.... thank ya vurry much!) But writing the occasional ad copy probably isn't going to make me a better writer. Writing this blog at least makes me slow down, makes me stop and think more critically about things like sentence structure and word choice.

Friends who know me are probably amazed that I've written 70 blog posts in the past year without dropping a single F-bomb! While my spoken conversation is liberally peppered with profanity, I've tried to avoid it here. It's not because I want to keep this blog PG-rated, but because it's a challenge for me to abstain from them. You have no idea how difficult that's been... swearing is in my DNA. When my late Scottish grandfather was four or five years old in Edinburgh, he'd stand outside the pub and sailors would pay him a nickel to hear him swear. I understand it was a skill he'd learned from my great (or great great) grandmother. So yeah, I come by my proclivity for swearing naturally, and I appreciate the value of a well-placed profanity. I'll still try to avoid it here for the challenge of it, but don't be surprised or offended if you stumble upon the occasional curse word here now and then. After a year without them, I'm inclined to relax that self-imposed rule a bit.

For now, I think I'll also keep the blog fairly anonymous. Although it's mostly just friends and family reading it (and damn few of those, truth be told), it's still out there in the wilderness of tha interwebz, and I'm a little paranoid about making too much personal information available to anyone with a web connection. I know, I know... It's probably a little silly, but ya just never know. I don't expect that this blog will ever have a really widespread readership, but I'd rather be overly cautious in this age of identity theft and personal fraud. That being said, most of the blogs I enjoy reading tell personal stories, so I may relate more of what goes on in this monkey cage if I think it might have some entertainment value. I think I can do that without divulging my full name and social security number. (But maybe not without profanity!)

So here's to beginning a second year in the blogosphere. I can't promise that all my posts will be interesting or entertaining, but I've enjoyed writing them so far. Not only is it a personal challenge, but it allows me to express myself about what goes on in my corner of this weird and wonderful world. There are still a lot of things out there that make me wonder if it's just me. Maybe it's you, too... after all, aren't we ALL remarkable monkeys?

I Already Miss Her.

Gma - Mother's Day 2008

My grandma died today. She was 93, and the end was a long time coming. She'd been languishing for several weeks, since a bout of aspirational pneumonia in early March. Actually, she'd been languishing for months, really. Her mind started leaving her, a little bit a time, several years ago. It wasn't Alzheimer's... just run-of-the-mill ordinary age-related dementia, eventually amplified by possible transient ischemic attacks (mini strokes). When it became apparent that she wasn't taking proper care of herself about six years ago, her kids (my mom and my two uncles) had to move her to an assisted living facility. (My grandpa had died several years earlier.) She wasn't happy about it, but eventually settled in. I think it helped that one or two of her childhood friends lived there too. (It's a very small southern town.) One of my uncles lives in the same town as well, so he was able to see her every day and make sure she was alright and getting good care. (Can't thank him enough for that!)

I live several states away so I was unable to visit, but I called fairly often when she first moved in. Whenever I called, inevitably the staff would have to go and track her down. She was almost always out on the smoking patio. After she'd been there a while, our conversations became increasingly repetitive as her mind began to fail her more and more. It was like having the same conversation six times in the span of five minutes. Sometimes, I don't think she really knew who I was. I'm pretty sure she confused me with my mom at least once.

I got to visit her there once, four or five years ago. I had flown up to see my mom, who lives in the same state as my grandma (or Gma, as we liked to call her) but five hours away from Gma's town. Mom and I made the trek up to visit her. I remember her face lit up when she saw me. She knew who I was... at least I'm pretty sure she did. We took her to visit her brother, and also the lady who had lived next door to her for years. She enjoyed it, and seemed lucid and cognizant. On the way back to the facility, we stopped at the grocery store to get some ice cream for her to keep in the fridge/freezer in her room. I remember walking through the store, and Gma reached out and took my hand, and held it as we walked. She looked at me and just smiled. She seemed really happy in that moment, and I remember wondering to myself if this would be the last time I saw her in person. Turns out it was. I'm sad that I didn't get to see her again, but I'm glad that my last personal memory of her is one in which she was happy.

I continued to call her for a while, but eventually it just became pointless, really, and painful for me. She drifted farther and farther away in her mind, and combined with reports from my mom and my uncle about her failing memory, I figured that sending a card and/or photo was a better way to go. I feel a bit guilty about that, and also about not sending a greeting more often than I did. At the same time, I doubt she really knew or cared, and she WAS often in my thoughts. It's not like I ever forgot about her, or ever stopped loving or caring about her.

After all, this was the woman who brought me home from the hospital when I was born. (My dad was in Viet Nam at the time.) When I was about 19 years old, my mom handed my Gma $7, a repayment of the army hospital fee my Gma paid when I was born, just so that Gma could no longer say, "She's mine... I paid for her!" My grandma refused to take the money, just so she could continue to lay claim on me! When my parents' marriage ended just before I started sixth grade, my brother and I lived with my Gma and Gpa for a few months while my mom relocated and settled into a new job. We were pretty close. And so it was painful to have her drift away the way she did, stolen piece by piece through the effects of age.

In May of last year, she had declined to the point that she needed more care than her current facility could provide. She had to be moved to another place, more of a nursing home. Age kept advancing, and taking more and more of her mind. Her body began to follow. She had difficulty swallowing, and would sometimes aspirate when she did. In March of this year, she suffered a bout of aspirational pneumonia. A hospice nurse was assigned. It didn't look like she would recover. In all likleihood, a lesser woman wouldn't have, but the women on my mom's side of the family are a stubborn lot! (Myself included!) She got better. Until another bout this month. Her body began to give in. Early last week, the hospice nurse said that Gma was "actively dying". There wasn't much left that could be done, and so the vigil began.

I'm beyond sad that I've lost my dear Gma. But I'm also angry about what she had to go through in the last week of her life. My grandma's advance directives dictated that she was to not be kept alive by artificial means. This included feeding tubes. Once she became mostly unresponsive, further nutrition was withheld, according to her wishes. Remember how I just said the women on my mom's side of the family are a stubborn lot? Gma was a tough old bird. The docs and staff couldn't believe she made it through the first bout of pneumonia. Now, with the second, she was hanging on. But barely. She lasted the better part of a week before giving in, her body worn out but refusing to shut down completely. The staff did what they could to ease her pain and make her comfortable, but I'm sure she was suffering. She wouldn't have wanted to live that way. And she shouldn't have had to.

Why is it that in our society, we'll readily euthanize our pets to alleviate their suffering when they're terminal, but we won't do the same for people? I can't understand how it's acceptable to allow a person to basically starve to death medically, as my Gma did, but's it's illegal to administer a nice healthy dose of morphine to end their suffering. How can we allow our pets to die with dignity and minimize their suffering, but we can't do the same for poor old Gma? It just doesn't seem right, or fair. But maybe it's just me.

I wonder what will happen to me if I get old and lose my faculties. I don't have kids of my own... If I'm ever in a similar situation as my Gma, I hope there will be someone who cares, someone who will be my advocate and make sure I'm getting good care. Time will tell, I guess.

For now, I'm just sad at the loss of my Gma. She was a pistol. I'm glad I'm at least a little like her... I think I inherited some of her sassiness and spunk. At least I hope I did. When my mom was in high school and Gma was making a prom dress for her, Mom wanted a dress with a full hoop skirt. Gma tried to talk her into a slinky one with a slit up the side. Later, when she and Gpa had moved back to that small southern town she grew up in, Gma caused a bit of a scandal when she submitted recipe for Brandy Slush to the county Homemakers Extension cookbook. It was the only recipe with alcohol submitted that year... probably EVER until then. They printed it, but there was talk. Gma didn't care! (And her brandy slush is ridiculously delicious!) Gma didn't take much crap from anyone. But she didn't have to... everyone who knew her loved her.

Here's an excerpt from an e-mail my uncle sent this afternoon:

"Mom died today, peacefully in her sleep, at 1:35 PM. One of the caregivers from the Home was holding her hand when she passed, and said she went peacefully. At her request, we will not have services. She will be cremated, and her ashes mixed with Dad’s, and scattered. There is nothing else I can say. She was loved by all who knew her and by her family, of course. I was truly impressed at the number of caregivers at the Assisted Living Home who were openly crying, and wanted to go into Mom’s room to say a personal goodbye. When they took her out, the staff lined the hall, and showed a degree of respect the funeral director said he had never seen at a Nursing Home. He was amazed to learn she had only lived there for about a year."


I think I really said goodbye to my Gma that day we went to the grocery store for ice cream. There wasn't much personal connection after that. But I'm struggling today with the thought that now she's REALLY gone. Then again, she'll never really be gone. I see some of her in my mom. And some of her in myself. She was a big part of shaping who I am, and still has an influence on who I will become. I'm glad she's no longer suffering, but I will miss her terribly.

I think I'll go fix myself a brandy slush now, and whisper a toast to her memory.
Here's to you, Gma. Say hi to Gpa for me. I love you.

What's Her Secret?

I saw Carole King on the Today Show this morning while I was getting ready for work. She was on to promote her new book, "A Natural Woman: A Memoir". While I don't really consider myself a big Carole King fan, I definitely recognize and admire her immense talent. So I paused to watch part of the segment while I was brushing my teeth.

Carole King - Photo borrowed from
somewhere on the internet

Let me tell you something: That woman looks AMAZING!! I don't know if she's had work done... my mom thinks so, but she looked pretty natural to me. (Is she REALLY a Natural Woman, for real?) At first, I was just admiring her hair. I was thinking that my hair is somewhat similar in style, though not as curly, and I sometimes debate whether or not I should color it now that there are more than a few grays in there. So seeing a much grayer (and curlier) version looking fabulous on Carole King confirmed (for now) my decision to avoid coloring it.

I didn't realize she was 70 years old until they mentioned it as I was admiring her mature-yet-cool hair. I very nearly dropped my toothbrush! That woman doesn't look a day over 55! And then I had to go back into the bathroom to finish brushing my teeth. In front of the big bathroom mirror. ***siiiiigh*** I still have more than couple dozen years before I'm Carole King's age, but this morning I looked tired, and a little old. (To be fair, I WAS tired... I haven't slept well the past few nights.)

I wanna know Carole King's secret to looking youthful. I'm sure I'll probably never find out... it's doubtful our social circles will ever intertwine. But I hope time will be as kind to me as it seems to have been to her. She just looks natural... healthy, happy, and so comfortable in her own skin. Maybe THAT's the secret. 

As for coloring away my grays? Nah... I've earned every single one of those little bitches. I'm keeping 'em. (At least for now.)

ADDENDUM: Lots of buzz in the media about celebrities and plastic surgery to remain looking youthful. First of all, how is that news? But mostly, kudos to Ashley Judd for standing up for herself and against the ridiculous criticisms of women's appearances everywhere. You go, girl!!! I think you look fabulous.

Doin' the Books... Two Reviews (sort of)

So... one of the things that's been occupying my spare time lately, thus preventing me from writing blog posts (such as they are), is reading. When I pick up a book and start reading it, it's difficult for me to do anything else until I finish the book. Almost everything else that's nonessential gets pushed aside. Case in point: I still haven't quite finished doing my taxes yet, my spring cleaning remains half done, the weeds in the yard are in desperate need of mowing, and a baby blanket I started for my nephew's new daughter before Christmas is still unfinished. (See, Mom? THAT's why I don't read more!)

Last week, I finally finished a book that I borrowed from my mom and started reading back in October when we were visiting her. Once we got home, because I was busy with holidays and work and a million other things, I didn't pick it up again until a few weeks ago. It was a book my mom really liked. "Stick with it.... it gets good after the nun dies," she said. Honestly, I thought it was good from the start. The first few chapters set up the story and introduced the characters and their histories in an interesting and intriguing way. I just didn't have time to read and really get into it until recently.

I was enjoying the story until about two-thirds or so through it. Then it started seeming like things got put on fast forward, as if the author got tired of writing, or his publisher imposed deadlines or something. It seemed like in the beginning of the book, the writing was more detailed, scenes written more in-depth. As it progressed, I felt like it got ragged, with many aspects of the continuing story quickly glossed over and barely touched on. Toward the end, the story employed some really contrived, hackneyed melodramatic plot points, relying so much on coincidence that it became completely unbelievable. And I could see the major dramatic climax coming a mile away. I won't reveal the title of book... I really don't feel qualified to openly criticize an author and call him out on his work. After all, I've never written a book myself, and this blog sure ain't gonna land me any writing awards! Suffice to say that I was extremely disappointed after such a promising beginning, and after devoting so much time to the book, but that's just my opinion. My mom loved it, although she did say she was also disappointed with the ending.

But I WILL tell you about another book that I read on Saturday. Yep... I read the whole book in one day. (It was a much easier read than the previous book.) The book is "A Dog's Purpose" by W. Bruce Cameron. It's about a dog (obviously), and the story follows that dog through four lives as he is reincarnated, learning new things in each life. It's told from the point of view of the dog, and it's absolutely delightful! Yes, there are some sad parts... the dog DOES die three times after all... but it's easier to deal with that aspect because you know he'll be coming back in a new life on the next page. Some of the dog's observations are hilarious, and if you've ever loved a dog, you'll probably think they're spot on!

I didn't intend to read the whole book in one day, but it was so thoroughly enjoyable and engaging that I couldn't put it down. Some might consider it literary fluff, but I found it completely charming. Check it out, especially if you're a dog lover.

So Much for Resolutions!

Well... it wasn't so much an official New Year's resolution as it was an unwritten goal. I had PLANNED to write at least one blog post every week. After all, the original purpose when I started this blog was for it to be something of a writing exercise. Seems like I actually posted more often BEFORE I made that New Year's... uh... goal.

Part of my lack of diligence can be blamed squarely on the insidious change to daylight saving time. It's been a rough adjustment. I'm ALMOST back in the swing of things... I can actually get up in time for my morning workout most mornings now. But I find myself worn out and ready to call it a day by 9:00 pm, which is odd when you consider that it would only be 8:00 pm if we were still on standard time. It must be due to that predawn rude awakening.

Adding to my literary lethargy may have been a bit of the lasting fuzz-brain effects of the migraine auras I had a couple weeks ago. My lack of concentration might have been exacerbated by that. It definitely makes things interesting for a few days when I get one of those auras and/or migraines.

I also had a birthday earlier this month. And it was one of those that gave me pause... but for only a brief moment. I'm not sure I could be considered a "woman of a certain age" yet, and I really don't have a problem with the age I just became. That being said, there are definitely days when I feel the years creeping on! I'm pretty sure anyone over the age of 30 or 35 can relate. Or maybe it's just me.

So we'll see if I can get back on track with at least one blog post a week. If I'm not too tired. Or have a ton of errands/chores/social obligations that take precedence. And if I can think of anything interesting to write a few paragraphs about. Or maybe something NOT so interesting. That in itself could be interesting.

And maybe not all the posts will ramble around like this one. See what I mean about lacking concentration?