Big Brother

We are literally just a few weeks away from the birth of Super Cop's and Mrs. Scrubs' new baby.  Woopee!  I love having babies in the family that I don't have to raise.  We did some maternity pictures Saturday, and what I love most is how delightfully happy and unaware Special Delivery is of his impending sibling-hood.   He knows something's coming.  He's just not big enough to fully understand it.  But because we all seem excited about it, he's rolling with it, too.  Too cute.

I'm Sassy and I Know It

Life around here has been pretty good lately. My foot has been healing nicely, and I've walked all week without my orthopedic shoe. I'm down to just some discomfort and moving at a normal pace. You just have to ignore that slight hitch in my gait. And I'm wearing very flat shoes. Not that I wore tall ones before, but my foot seems to be more stable throughout the day if I just keep it very flat. As in very little arch support. The ER doctor thought I tore a ligament, but Dr. Hula thinks she just pulled it because it has healed very fast, and the pain tapered off early in the process. I may even try (gasp) a little running this weekend. I have to get my fanny in gear. I agreed to be a part of a relay team for the Iron Mom half marathon in early May. Go moms! Forgive me, I'm on a bit of a pro woman rant these days. I have to quit reading so much political news. This war on women by certain politicians around the country has me ALL fired up, and I'm really becoming most annoying to certain members of my household. Along with some of my dancing habits. Somebody tell me. Why is my 19-year old offspring so troubled by me singing "I'm Sexy and I Know It" while dancing like a naked M&M? I don't get it. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.


Anyhoo. Each of the Hula-gen's is in a fairly smooth pattern of work, household chores and taking care of Papa T. Teen Angel also has school, which is boring her silly this semester because it's all gen ed classes in which she has little interest. Like economics and math. Sorry baby, you get that from me. My freshman economics class made me want to poke out my eyes with dull pencils. I made an A, but it really had more to do with the notes I charmed from a boyfriend who had that same class a few months before me. It certainly wasn't because I read my econ book with rapt interest. My rapt interest was saved for the boyfriend. Given the way that relationship ended, I should have probably just read the book.

Teen Angel's jobs soak up most of her extra time, which leaves little room for the opposite sex, and that makes her dad most happy, as he's still living under the delusion she will willingly refrain from dating until age 23 and that no male over the age of fourteen is looking at her chest. I've tried to explain to him that young girls ALWAYS find room for the opposite sex, but he likes living in the Land of Make Believe, so I've given up on that conversation.

She is putting all of her restaurant tip money in our Mason jar of Europe savings, and that's starting to add up, so we've started reading about Italy and begun the time consuming process of figuring out an itinerary and the logistics and costs involved. By "we" I mean I've started the logistics, and she's picking the things she wants to do. And I'm not namin' any names, but somebody around here needs to be winnin' the lottery if we're going to see all she wants to see. And yes, I spent $2 on Mega Millions tickets for tonight's drawing because $2 will NOT get you a gondola ride in Venice.

All of the money I make on photography gigs this year is going into that Mason jar, so I've been booking shoots for the summer months. I have three weddings and several family shoots planned. I'm trying to keep a schedule that's profitable but not overwhelming. The weddings are a lot of work, but I really do enjoy being a part of that kind of celebration. I think it's pretty cool when someone lets me witness that time in their life so intimately, even if I'm exhausted at the end of the day. I met with one of the couples the other night to finalize arrangements, and they were so cute. It reminds of the days when Hubby and I first fell in love, and we were so wide eyed and idealistic about marriage. Hee, hee.

The extra early spring season we're having means Hubby has started his yard work a little earlier than usual. Which suits his compulsive mowing habit just fine. He and the next door neighbor have this unspoken competition about who mows first each work and who puts the straightest lines in the grass. It's Mr. McD-1, Hubby-0 as my husband has already torn up one mower and one tiller. The man has three mowers, a passel of weed eaters and all kinds of general motorized yard tools. They are all fairly new. The man does not have junk. And while most people use one mower for several years, give it a little maintenance and manage to have no problems, my husband tears up lawn implements on a regular basis. I'm not even kidding about that. I'm sure the lawn mower mechanic at the local hardware store took his family to Gulf Shores last year on the money he made off of our mower issues. Hubby cranked up a mower Monday, traveled a short ways across the yard, and the blade fell off. The tiller quit on him yesterday when he tried to till up the garden spot. He claims it's just bad luck, but since most people don't have that much bad luck I'm going with "he just tears s**t up". And the fact that it's already begun is a sure sign spring is in the air. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle!

Do What I Say

I saw some friends of mine the other day at a family outing. They were doing a scavenger hunt and their daughter, the oldest of their three children, was leading the way. She's in first grade and was directing everyone where to go and telling them what to do. Her younger brothers were not exactly cooperative, but she was undaunted. Her mom seemed compelled to explain, somewhat apologetically, for her behavior.


"Oh, I get it, really I do," I said. "As the big sister of two younger brothers, I completely see her point of view." And I'm sure at least Handy Man would back me up on that.

Fortunately, for him, those loud curtains distract your eyes from those clothes I had him dressed up in. Somewhat.

These Are The Days

Daddy lost a sister this week. As I'm typing this, he and mama, along with several other relatives are riding in a rented van toward Moline, Illinois where they will lay to rest my aunt Ruth. Yes, we are again saying goodbye to a loved one on that side of the family, just a few months after burying two uncles. I know it's that season of life when age is catching up with daddy's generation, but the reality of that is very troubling to me. I just hate losing all those folks who colored my childhood with their presence and influence. More and more their presence is my life is more memory than contact.


Daddy's almost the baby of the family, and not until recently did I begin to realize that means that as long as his health is good, he will likely witness the deaths of most of his siblings. I can't imagine how difficult that will be, especially since he and his brothers and sisters are so close. Growing up poor on a farm in southern Illinois, they relied on each other for everything. They scratched out a living and made their own entertainment. Together. They shared clothes, shoes and toys, and the older kids helped the younger ones. There were chores and hard times but lots of laughter, and when you listen to them tell stories about their childhood, it doesn't take long to figure out that they were richer than many others who had more money.

The call about aunt Ruth came early yesterday morning, although I actually saw a family post about it on FaceBook before mama had a chance to get hold of me. Since then, I've spent a lot of time thinking about the deaths in my family in the past few years and the stage of life I'm at right now. Time is flying. Way too fast. Loved ones are slipping away, and my hair is grayer than it used to be. God bless Miss Clairol. Life is moving so fast I sometimes feel as if I might just fly off the face of the earth if it doesn't stop spinning so hard. I feel the soldiers of time crawling over my back and running me down. There's so much to do. So much to experience. And there are people who won't be there to experience it with me. My emotions have been all over the place in the past 36 hours as I process this.

Driving down the road this afternoon, I was caught by surprise by a single tear that slid down my cheek unexpectedly. A single tear for the ones lost, the weariness I'm feeling from taking care of Papa T. and the things I would do differently if given the opportunity. Opportunities not taken. Words I can never take back. And yet there are smiles, too. Smiles for the dares and challenges accepted, for the people who enrich my life and the memories they've given me. If I close my eyes, I can recall warm summer nights in grandma's yard, sprinkled with the laughter of my cousins as we played hide and seek and the light of captured fireflies flashing in a fruit jar. I hear the voices of aunts and uncles solving the world's troubles and cranking out homemade ice cream. I see and hear it all and smile. Time is moving quickly folks. These are the days we must savor. We must hold them in our heart.

What it is, Man

Just when I thought time couldn’t move any faster, it picks up pace. Time is moving at warp speed for the Hula-gen’s right now. It’s not really because of extracurricular stuff. It really has more to do with fitting in the day to day stuff while managing Mama J.’s and Papa T.’s care. Out of respect for their privacy, I will forgo most of the details, but I will say that we have entered into a higher level of care giving that at times is almost overwhelming. I could blog for hours on that situation, and it would be very therapeutic to do so, but I won’t. I just accept that this is life, real life. It is hard and exhausting, but we take each day as it comes and recognize that making decisions about their future care is a process that unfolds at a pace dictated by the ups and downs of their health. That sounds quite PollyAnna-ish and makes it appear as if things are just hunky dang dory, so let me assure you there are plenty of days when I want to pull my hair out strand by strand or stand on the roof of the house and scream until I have no voice. Popeye always said, “I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam.” Well, it is what it is and that’s all that it is, but most of the time we’re okay with that.

The last few weeks rushed by us, and this week will be no different. It’s a little unusual in that I had a large event at work yesterday I had to plan and execute, I am shooting more of Teen Angel’s senior pictures (at the bakery) this week and shooting pictures at a wedding this weekend. I’m also shooting someone else’s senior pictures next week. Those are all things I truly enjoy doing, so it will be very fulfilling. That’s something I can really use right now to keep me sane inside the insanity. On top of that, the Hula-gen’s are in the process of making some big decisions regarding our future.

We are an inch away from deciding whether or not to build a detached garage that would include Hubby’s coveted Man Cave. (Are we remodeling gluttons or what?) We are also gathering estimates on a pool and will either pull the trigger on that or put it to rest in the next week. I am pondering making an investment in some photography equipment that would allow me to do some wedding and senior picture shoots throughout the year. I’m still working on my skilz, but I think I’m at the point where I can do enough of those shoots successfully each year to make enough travel money to keep us in vacations. There are many places Hubby and I would like to go, and we’re not getting any younger. We want to get on the road before the arthritis renders us unable to ride horses in the Grand Canyon. I truly love photography, even though I’m still pretty new at it, and I think doing some paying gigs would fund my equipment needs for the fun stuff and help us see the world a little sooner. In the midst of all of that, we are trying to narrow Teen Angel’s college search and get her prepared for all of the applications and scholarship searches that are imminent.

It’s just a lot to do right now. It’s all important, and it all requires a great deal of thought. For about a week now, my head has been about to explode by the time I go to bed, and thoughts roll around in my noggin until I fall into an exhausted slumber. It makes me think of that scene near the end of the movie Parenthood where Steve Martin imagines himself on a roller coaster and fights the urge to throw up. Our lives are a bit of a roller coaster right now, but it is what it is and that’s all that it is. And we’re okay with that.

Drip, Drip, Drip

Into each life a little rain must fall. What a crazy week! It’s been a zoo around here. We had practically no weekend as we were nonstop busy with commitments from Friday afternoon until Sunday evening. Actually, Hula had nonstop commitments because she can’t say no. The rest of the family was just plain busy. Monday brought the unexpected hospitalization of Mama J. Nothing too serious. Teen Angel took her to a doctor’s appointment with plans to go shoe shopping afterward, but the doctor found an irregular heartbeat and stuck her in the hospital in order to safely treat the problem that sent her to the doctor in the first place. I don’t know who was more unhappy, Mama J. or Teen Angel. They both love shoe shopping.

The hospitalization business sent us all into a tizzy as Hubby was a sweaty mess in the midst of must do chores when Teen Angel called with the news, and I was trying to cook for eight ladies expected at our house that evening for dinner and games. After much scrambling and ball juggling, which may or may not have included a few anxiety laced profanities, we got through the day without injury. In the days since then the three of us have been bouncing between work, the hospital and Papa T.. Now that we’ve settled into somewhat of a routine, Mama J. will likely get to come home tomorrow. Whoops, everybody shuffle!

Teen Angel’s friend and coworker was in a very serious car wreck Monday afternoon, too. Her pelvis was broken in five places and she had to be airlifted to an Evansville, Indiana hospital. She gave us quite a scare, but we got word that the nurses had her up on her feet today, and she will make a full recovery. She should get to come home in a few days. I’m sure she’ll have weeks of healing, and she likely won’t be helping Teen Angel run the hot dog cart downtown this summer, but at least she’s going to be okay. About the time I get relaxed about Teen Angel driving, a friend of hers has a wreck, and I get all antsy again. I’m finally catching on to the fact that you never stop worrying about your kids, no matter how old they get. Rats, mama was right about that one, too.

I have a day off tomorrow, so hopefully I can catch up on some things that have fallen by the wayside in the last few days. And somewhere in the next few days I hope to take a nap. A long glorious nap. Hahahahahah. The odds of that happening are slim, but a girl can dream. I also hope to stop by the opening of this town’s annual photo contest selections. I submitted some entries but didn’t get picked. I felt much better about it when I found out 1140 other people didn’t get chosen either. It should be a great show.

I finally remembered to buy some toilet paper. Yesterday. A full three days after we ran out. Let’s not discuss how many times I passed the grocery store or Walgreen’s before I remembered to stop and get some. Thank goodness for Mama J.’s stash of paper supplies. She buys large quantities of canned goods and paper products and always has a large supply of every household product imaginable. I think it’s a habit she developed years ago when Papa T. got paid once a month. There are many days in years past when we would have been cleaning our backsides with Brawny and Kleenex if not for Mama J.’s stash of toilet paper. Years from now when she’s gone to her great reward we’re going to laugh and say, “Remember when we used to steal your mama’s TP?”

A little rain fell on the Hula-gen’s this week, but we managed to keep from getting too wet. We can see the light at the end of the tunnel anyway. Hubby installed a new hammock in the backyard last Saturday, and I’ve been eyeballin’ it since then. I haven’t had a spare minute for hammock time, but I hope to change that by Saturday evening. I’m thinking a good book, a cold beverage and some tropical music would add to the experience. In the meantime, there are old folks to feed, groceries to buy and laundry to wash, but thankfully, the umbrella is working.

I Miss My Grandma

Even though she's been gone for more than twenty years, every now and then I have a day when I really miss her. Today is one of those days.

Make Mine A Vanilla Shake

Next to eating at Cracker Barrel after church on Sundays, Mama and Daddy’s favorite social activity is visiting the funeral home. My, how they love a good visitation followed by a stop at Dairy Queen. I’m not sure what it is about going to the funeral home and viewing a body that makes them crave a Dilly Bar, but apparently, something stirs their appetite for dairy while they’re at a wake.

They’re at the funeral home several times a month. They go to the funeral home the way some folks go to the Piggly Wiggly. It’s like a reunion of family and friends when they show up, and they sit and visit until the cows come home. I guess some of that comes with age or maybe it comes from living far out in the country where you have only one neighbor, but Mama and Daddy take their visitation duties seriously. If someone they know or the loved one of a friend or family member passes, you can count on them to show up at the funeral parlor at the appropriate time. And don’t be surprised if they bring food. That’s what we do in the south during any sort of tragedy you know, we send food. Nothing soothes grief like fried chicken, baked ham or a green bean casserole, and every church below the Mason-Dixon Line has a Feed the Bereaved committee. Yes, Mama and Daddy are serious about funeral home duty, and it was obvious last night they are ready for me and my brothers to do the same. I’m not quite ready to admit that I’m old enough for that, though. In fact, I try to avoid the funeral home whenever possible.

I was in my old hometown last night for the visitation of a family member’s relative by marriage. It’s kind of sad, but a funeral or wedding is often the only time I make it to my old hometown. It’s a small town, so if you don’t know which funeral home to go to, you just show up at the first one and if nobody’s there, you drive across town to the other one. In fact, it’s such a small town, you could probably stop at the bank on the way into town and ask any clerk where the visitation for so and so is, and she could tell you off the top of her head or ask the teller next to her and get the right answer. I love that about home.

My plan was to visit with the family for a little while and scoot home to get things ready for a new work week. I arrived shortly at the start of visitation and sure enough, Mama and Daddy were already there, had spoken to the family and were starting to make their rounds of talking to other visitors. (Mama had dropped off the spiral ham earlier in the day.) Mama latched onto me, made sure I signed the visitor’s book, took the appropriate card and led me around to introduce me to folks. She was on a mission to make sure I did all the right things and understood the process, and frankly, acted as if I’d never been to the funeral home. About thirty minutes into it, it hit me that she was grooming me for future funeral home duties. Grooming me for her position. The position she expects me to take when she’s gone. As if I don’t already have enough dairy in my life.

We made the rounds, and much to my surprise, I ended up staying longer than I expected. I saw my old Sunday school teacher, an old grade school classmate and the parents of three people I went to school with as a kid. Before I could help myself, I was kicked back on a sofa in the front parlor, yakking it up with folks I hadn’t seen in a long time, and talking a blue streak. SuperCop came in, and I stayed a little longer to see him. (And guess which favorite nephew climbed up on the kitchen table yesterday and flung a pepper shaker through the air? Yee haw, somebody’s walkin’ now!) Anyhow, I stayed longer than I ever expected and shall I say it? I enjoyed seeing some friends, cousins and an aunt and two uncles I haven’t seen in a while and left feeling satisfied with the dose of “home” I got while I was there. Is this what Mama and Daddy get out of those visits? Does this account for why they go so often and stay so long? Am I getting old? Is that why for the first time in my life, I didn’t mind going to the funeral home? AM I getting old? Are Mama’s instincts right in that it’s time for me to start getting used to that kind of thing? I don’t know, but I can tell you, I had to fight like heck, the urge to pull into the DQ drive-thru for a vanilla milk shake on the way home.

Attitude Adjustment

We got these Attitude of Gratitude bracelets at church Sunday. We're supposed to wear them as a reminder to keep a gracious and grateful attitude at all times during the next twenty-one days. If we lapse and say, snarl at the driver who cut us off in traffic this morning (I mean you, Miss Buick) or use a snotty tone with our spouse because he keeps putting the toothpaste in the wrong drawer, then we have to put the bracelet on the other arm and start the 21 day period all over again. Supposedly, it takes twenty-one days to develop a habit. That's why twenty-one days is our goal, or as I like to call it, The Three Week Noose Around My Neck.

Now, the Hula-gen's are prime candidates for this experiment because it is easy for us to lose our grateful attitude. REALLY easy. And in our case our attitude bone is connected to our mouth filter so when that bone breaks, so does the filter. And crap comes tumbling out of our mouths like an avalanche. It's a horrible disease, and we really need to mend it, so I was eager to do this experiment. Only, I didn't realize how hard it really would be. It's a lot like that time I gave up cake for Lent and was ready to gnaw my knuckles off by the tenth day.

Within an hour of coming home from church Sunday, I was in danger of having to move my bracelet to the right wrist, and so was Hubby. You see, we tried hanging pictures together, including a 100 pound mirror. As we measured for the nth time, he mentioned through gritted teeth that he hoped I had gotten it right this time. I paused, took a deep breath and said, "Bracelet!" He smiled and said, "Thank you." Bracelet crisis averted. For the time being anyway.

We've had several ups and downs this week, but I am proud to say I have managed to keep my bracelet on the left wrist for six days, even after helping to put up that gigantic Christmas tree at church this morning that had a tangle of cords called Thine Name is Evil.

The real test is yet to come. Tonight, we have a holiday dinner with Hubby's dysfunctional family. I won't run the risk of ticking them all off at once by spilling family disputes here, so I will just say there are a couple of folks in attendance who will likely make me want to smack them up the side of the head with my two-inch tall pork chop. It will be a real test to see if I can keep my attitude in check and my mouth shut. I should probably take a Band-Aid for the sore I'm gonna get from biting my tongue. Yes indeed, this bracelet comes at a good time. Pray for me brothers and sisters. Pray that I keep my bracelet on my left wrist and don't snap someone in the back of the head with it. I love the restaurant we're going to tonight, and I would miss their coconut cake if I got barred from there for life.

If Heaven Had A Window

November 9, 2009

I slide into the driver’s seat and crank the ignition, leaving right on time for a change. I don’t want to be late today. It’s the day we will lay to rest a cousin who died too soon and without his freedom. Freedom lost several years ago to the lure of drug money. I’m not looking forward to another funeral on the heels of Sissy’s death. The memories of that loss still burning so hotly into my heart and the sympathy I feel for my aunt and uncle’s new burden of loss puts me in a funky mood. Funky and sentimental, but surprisingly, not terribly sad. I take a deep breath and start the task that looms ahead.

The drive gives me the rare opportunity to travel about forty five minutes through the countryside where I grew up. My path takes me through my hometown and into the back roads of southern Illinois. The roads of my youth. The roads that meander through farms and woods, past small communities that have more dogs than people. Towns whose names spring from the bible. Where the only travelers are the folks who live there. This is the land that sired my parents and grandparents. It is the land that sustains me and from which I draw my strength.

I don’t get in a hurry. A funeral day from work is a little like a snow day. It’s a legitimate reason for a break in the normal routine, a free pass for pushing deadlines aside. There is no need to rush, and it’s an opportunity to savor the season which is unusually warm and still dotted with the shades of brilliant autumn. Within fifteen minutes of leaving work, I am on a two lane highway headed north, with the window rolled down and the smell of leaves tickling my nose. It is a pretty day, a fitting day to bury someone who loved the outdoors. I drive with the comfort of knowing that despite all of the craziness in this world, not much changes around home. In fact, any changes that do occur happen so slowly you are taken by surprise when you finally realize something is different.

In my hometown of 7,500 people, the sign in front of the auto parts place notes the recent loss of the owner. The tavern at the edge of town bears the same name it has for years, and a police car cruises the main drag looking for an occasional speeder. The two lane pulls me into the countryside where the hum under my wheels seems as familiar as the houses along the road. My mind clicks off the houses where my school bus used to stop twice a day and spots the place where my childhood friend once fell from a horse. The songs on my iPod seem hand picked for the trip, even though it is randomly shuffling along, and when it shuffles into Neil Young’s Beautiful Bluebird, I can’t help but smile because it seems so fitting for the moment.

Two verses later, I pass the old feed store where daddy spent many an hour swapping lies and cards. It used to come alive at lunchtime with farmers savoring ring bologna sandwiches and sweaty cold Coca-colas, but today it sits empty, finally closed for good. A spray painted sign on the porch advertises an upcoming indoor yard sale, and I am offended by its intrusion on a sacred memory. I keep driving, looking for familiar landmarks. I am now deep into the country.

My entrance into the tiny town that hosts my large family today makes me smile at its familiarity. White clapboard houses that have looked the same since I was a child line the main drag, interrupted only by a diner, the Methodist church and the barber shop where my brother got his first haircut. I still remember watching snips of his hair fall into the floor under the watchful eye of a man who had long lost count of the young victms of his overzealous shears. Next door, I look for the doors that once housed the pool hall where daddy got an education in everything grandma didn’t want him to know, and I am pleased that the screen doors are still there, even if they are hanging on by a thread.

I am almost to the funeral home, but I’m not ready for the drive to end, and the clock tells me time is on my side, so I make a right turn onto a road I’ve never traveled. It takes me past an old box factory that stands shakily on its foundation, covered in vines and unrecognizable growth. The old railroad depot is just across the street. The windows are broken, and the roof is falling in. It hasn’t been used in years, and I know it will remain untouched until it’s gone, because like the farm store, some things around here are just sacred and are allowed to disappear on their own schedule out of respect for the role they once held in this community. I make a note to take a picture of it on my way back. I’m in wetlands territory now, where the ducks and geese will stop on their way south, where standing water sometimes creeps over the road, and rushing water sometimes takes you by surprise. I stop in the middle of the road to savor the old railroad bridge and yield to the urge to preserve the moment.

As I stand under the canopy of trees in the middle of the road, there is no traffic to worry about, only the sounds of water and birds. My head is a kaleidoscope of childhood memories, some of which include the family that is gathered in the funeral home a couple of miles away. I let the memories wash over me until I feel clean. Renewed and ready to move on. I climb in the car and head toward the funeral home, softly singing a chorus.

Beautiful bluebird

See how she flies

Looks like she's always goin' home

If heaven had a window

Where the sun came shinin' through

Like a beautiful bluebird

I'd come flyin' back to you

Parking in the grassy lot a few minutes later, I see many cousins, aunts and uncles who have traveled these same roads. I reach for the door handle but pause to think about what the people gathered there mean to me. What this area means to me. I say a quick prayer of thanks for my sturdy roots.

It is the land of my youth. It sustains me and gives me strength, and for that, I am grateful.

Pedaling as Fast as we Can

Some of you have asked about Papa T., and I appreciate your concern. He is doing much better. He had a terrible time Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. All of the stomach distress and the medical tests, some of which involved fasting, left him weak as a kitten. He didn't even feel strong enough to give the nurses and doctors any trouble. After scoping him from end to end, they finally determined that he has diverticulitis, which makes sense given that he had eaten lettuce, berries AND cashews right before this attack. (My, he's going to miss his cashews.) They've been pumping him full of fluids, but he's still kind of weak. This morning, the doctor suggested they keep him at the hospital for another week for some rehabilitation because of the weakness. An exhausted Mama J. thought that was a grand idea. Papa T. disagreed. As I am typing this they are battling that one out at the hospital, and Hubby is on the sidelines refereeing. I think Papa T. is going to win this one, and I suspect he will be home later today.

He tends to improve remarkably once he's on home territory, so I'm not sure it's a bad thing for him to skip the rehab. One thing's for sure, he's going to have to change his eating habits. The nuts and seeds and evening junk food snacks are going to have to go, and we're happy about that. We've been trying to get him to give up the nightly Cheetos and Pop-Tart binges for a while to no success. But when someone's pushing eighty and wants strawberry frosted Pop-Tarts, who are we to demand he can't have them. Just because someone grows older doesn't mean he automatically surrenders his free will. This way, he's willing to eat better to avoid the gastrointestinal nightmare that put him in the hospital, and it was his choice, so to speak.

It's been a looong week for the Hula-gen's. Hubby, Teen Angel and Mama J. have all spent most of their time at the hospital, helping with Papa T.. In between spurts of rain and Papa T.'s medical tests, Hubby has been running home to mow and do errands. I've raced from busy days at work to the hospital in the evenings and then errands and home. My work day yesterday put me in the sun for about twelve hours. Summer finally arrived here, so it's currently 612 degrees in the shade and humid. I was whipped last night, and so were the rest of my peeps. We slept like hibernating bears last. In fact, Teen Angel is still sleeping. I am off of work today, and I'm glad. It will give me a little time to slow down a teeny tiny bit and do some paperwork and phone calls regarding Sissy's finances and accounts. I'm starting to get responses from all of the letters and death certificates I had to send out to various banks, insurance companies and offices. Egad, that's a long, drawn out process. We are pedaling along, we seem to be over the hump on this latest medical issue with my in-laws and we have an invitation to a ParrotHead party tomorrow afternoon, so things are looking up. I hope to be back to reading your blogs and commenting more in a day or two, but for now, it's still one bump at a time, and I truly appreciate your concern.

Something in the Air

The winds are out of the north today, a colder version of yesterday's breezes. The winds they are a changin', and so are things around here. I'm not sure how, but I think 2009 will bring some changes for the Hula-gen's.

Since 1993 we have lived next door to my in-laws, sharing, caring, sparring and generally watching out for each other. Hubby and I have often talked about how we might buy a newer home or a place with some land "one day", knowing that "one day" meant when we were done taking care of his parents. That time always seemed way off in the future, probably because we didn't want to think about the reality of being done with their care. They will be gone eventually, and that's not something we look forward to although we would like a house with more room to entertain, more closet space and as I often tell Hubby, some bathrooms big enough to turn around in without banging my *#@ on a doorknob. For years we've picked up the monthly real estate magazine and perused it like the J.C. Penney's Wish Book, pondering the pros and cons of different neighborhoods and styles of homes. We've never investigated a particular home, though. What's the point, we thought. However, today I will call about a house that's for sale, and we might even look at it. That's because we know our time next door to Mama J. and Papa T. is growing to a close. We know because Papa's T.'s dementia is getting worse.

It has accelerated somewhat in the last few months, and Friday, he kept asking Mama J. to read the newspaper to him, forgetting that she already had. He also woke up in the middle of the night and wanted something to eat, not realizing what time it was. While he has many moments of clarity, he spends much more time being confused now than he used to, and sometimes he just doesn't know what's going on. He enjoys his books on tape, but he retreats to those headphones to escape any pressures he can't handle. As I pondered this Saturday, I realized that his safety may soon become an issue. If he gets turned around in a dark house at night and tries to get into the van backwards when he takes a car ride, what's to prevent him from going outside and getting lost in the neighborhood? He is sometimes home alone when Mama J. goes to the beauty shop or an appointment. So far, he's been okay, but I think we're nearing the time when he shouldn't be left alone. Hubby thinks I'm worrying about it a little too much. But not much. He knows we've entered a new stage, a stage that's going to bring some hard decisions in the near future. Mama J. knows it, too. She knows she can't keep up with Papa T.'s daily needs anymore. It's wearing her out, even with Hubby's help. Her mobility isn't so hot either. We just don't know how much longer they can live in that house. And when they have to go, they probably won't be going to the same place. Papa T. is going to need much different care than Mama J.. Like I said, some tough decisions are ahead.

I'm not sure how soon we'll have to face them, but I really think it will be in the coming months. And as difficult as that's going to be, we may have to take the lead because none of us really wants to deal with this. We may have to initiate the move by planning our next home. That's why I will call the phone number on the For Sale sign that I jotted down this weekend. We may look at that house. We may not. At least that will get us to talking about it because it's time to take some steps in that direction. I think Mama J. realizes that. She even asked me last night if I had called about the house yet. She tried to sound upbeat about it. She feels the change in the air, too. I suspect that north wind chills her to the bones.

New Business, Old Business

I made the statement Sunday that I was sad vacation was over but would be glad to get back to our regular schedule. I got my wish...and then some. We’re back to normal alright.

New business-Hubby got hit by a car Sunday. Fortunately, he wasn’t seriously hurt. We were walking across the church parking lot, and he was about six steps in front of me and Teen Angel when an elderly fellow plowed right into Hubby’s side. The driver got him in the leg and hit him hard enough to force him onto the windshield. Hubby rolled off without hitting the ground, but had he been about a foot and a half farther, the car would have hit him dead on, and I hate to think what would have happened because this guy never slowed down and never stopped. Apparently, he never saw Hubby, and THAT is scary. I saw it happen and almost died on the spot. His life flashed before my eyes and it scared the bejeesus out of me. I can count on two fingers the number of times in my life I’ve screamed hysterically. That was one of the two times. Hubby has been pretty sore but okay.

Mama J. is in the hospital. She had some chest pains Monday but wouldn’t go to the doctor. She fell Monday evening and I took her to the ER since Hubby was about an hour away from home. Her heart seems to be okay, but she has a lot of leg pain, and they can’t figure out why. I hope they figure out something soon because someone is getting C-R-A-N-K-Y.

One day a few years ago while I was delirious I told Teen Angel that if she would quit having birthday parties and make good grades and be really good we’d give her a sweet 16 birthday dance with a deejay. Well, it’s time to make good on that promise, so this Friday night Hubby, me and several friends will be chaperoning a party with numerous teenagers. Yes, I have lost my mind, and you should put us on your prayer lists. I told Teen Angel that if anyone gets out of line, her dad and I are doing the Electric Slide and the Cha-cha. Don’t make me put on my dancin’ shoes.

Old business-that bad smell in the house went away for a while but recently came back. It’s not nearly as strong, and it doesn’t linger all of the time, but it just won’t go away. We’ve checked everything. The only thing we know to try is to get the plumber out to change the toilet seals. We’ll call the plumber as soon as we get done paying for this party. Aye yi yi.

Papa T.’s dementia has gotten worse lately. He gets confused a lot now, and he doesn’t really handle basic math or counting money very well. Fortunately, a strawberry Pop-Tart and books on tape sooth him right down.

Is this really only the 7th day of the new year? Can I get a motion to move to St. Lucia until spring? A second? All those in favor? All opposed. Great. Motion passes by a unanimous vote.

One More Because You Asked For It

This is Frank Barone.....and this is Papa T.

It should be noted that they both like a good meal, a big chocolate cake and stretchy pants.

Now, Hubby doesn't look anything like Ray Barone, probably because Hubby's not Italian. Although, they are both prone to distinctive expressions.

HOWEVER, you know how they say people and their pets start to look alike after awhile?

I'm just sayin'.

We Are The Barones

Is it just me or is this a little eerie?

Debra/ Me

Marie/ Mama J.

A Little Help For My Friends

I know three families, including ours that had an elderly relative fall and make a trip to the hospital last week. Fortunately, none of those folks was seriously hurt. Mama J. ended up bruised in several spots and has a lingering case of Neosporin hair because she needed three stitches to the back of the head. And won’t we ALL be glad when she gets back to the beauty shop for a wash and set so she’ll quit worrying about her hair and nails thank you Jesus. She was in and out of the ER that morning in a record two hours, so that little spill didn’t seem nearly as bad as some others. We’ve actually had three ER visits in our immediate family in the last month. It’s just something that happens when folks get old. Janjanmom’s step dad fell the same day as Mama J., and she posted about how she thinks it’s probably a good idea to get showered and dressed early each day in order to be prepared for those potential trips to the ER. She’s right. We’ve learned over the last couple of years that the Boy Scouts had the right idea when they declared “Be Prepared” their motto. It does pay off. We’ve made all sorts of trips to the hospital in various states of undress and filth. We’ve learned to shower as soon as possible, to keep decent clothes within arms reach and to keep our underwear on because you just never know when you’re going to get a call. And while we are no experts, we’ve picked up a couple of other tips along the way that I’ll share with you here in case you are caring for a senior citizen, too.

1. The list of medications for Mama J. and Papa T. is long. So is their surgical history and they have trouble remembering all of those numbers and dates. Every so often I type up cards for each one of them that list their medications and dosages on one side and their surgical history on the other. They’re the size of a credit card, and I laminate them so they can carry them in their billfolds. In an emergency we can whip them out and hand them to a nurse without having to worry about forgetting something or screwing up the names or dosages of their medications. They’re also handy when going to a new doctor’s office that requests that information. It’s easy and accurate.

2. We keep copies of their house keys and car keys on a key rack near the back door of our house. That way we don’t have to fumble or search for their keys in an emergency. We also installed a keypad on their garage door and memorized the code.

3. Mama J. is prone to falls. Our house is next door but too far away for an intercom system. Papa T. sleeps like the dead and is almost deaf without his hearing aids. He never heard Mama J. fall or us come into the house, pick her up and load her into the van last week. He is of no help in an emergency, so Mama J. has a small cell phone that she pins to her nightgown within arms reach every night. That’s what she called us on last week and prevented her from laying in the floor for a few hours without help.

4. We keep enough gas to get to the hospital and back in the cars at all times. Who wants to stop at the Shell station on the way to the hospital with a bleeding cut or a broken bone?

5. I haven’t used this one yet but probably will in a few months as Papa T.’s dementia gets worse. I read somewhere about a lady who printed business cards that stated “My father suffers from Alzheimer’s. Please be patient with him and us.” She handed them discreetly to waiters and others when taking her father out to eat or to an appointment. She said it made a big difference in how they were treated in public, and she didn’t have to embarrass her dad by telling people out loud that he suffered from Alzheimer’s. I think this is a swell idea.

6. We keep copies of their living wills and powers of attorney papers in the glove box of our vehicles. You just never know when you’ll need them, and I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had an ER visit that occurred during regular banking hours when I could get into the safety deposit box. Our local hospitals have copies of these papers on file, too.

7. Develop a good relationship with your pharmacist. We do not use the big box pharmacy for our prescriptions. We use the corner drug store, and it has paid off time and time again. Like the time Papa T. got all the way to Cincinnati on a Sunday night and discovered that he had left ALL of his medicine at home. It is critical that he take some of his medications on time. Meekly, I called our pharmacist at her house. She was out but her husband called her on her cell phone. She called me back and agreed to stop by the drug store on the way home and fax his prescriptions to the closest 24 hour Walgreen’s. Within an hour and a half he had all of his medication in hand and was getting ready for bed. You just don’t get that kind of service with Wal-Mart or another big name. Also, that pharmacist has been instrumental in heading off mix-ups and complications with their medicines, except for that time they both had colonoscopies in one week and their preps got mixed up. Yee haw. That was fun. We love our pharmacist.

8. Get used to seeing them naked. The sooner you get over this hurdle the better because there are going to be times when they need help getting dressed, undressed or ready for a particular medical test. And sometimes they just like to lift their shirt or drop their pants and say, “Would you take a look at this” or “Does that look swollen to you?”

9. Finally, when headed out the door to the ER grab a piece of fruit or some snack crackers and a bottled water or soda. You never know how long you’re going to be there, and often you don’t want to leave the room in case the doctor comes in. Somebody in the group is going to have a Barney Fife sugar low before the night is over, and it’s probably going to be me, so I take snacks.

If you have any ideas you’d like to share, please do so here. I’d love to hear them. We need all the help we can get, and based on last week’s fall count, we’re not the only ones who could use the tips.

Zoo-ology

The whole Hula gang went to the zoo last weekend; me, Hubby, Teen Angel, Zeke, Baby Ruth, Super Cop and Miss Scrubs. We had a great time. I love the zoo. I do get a sharp twinge or two when I stop and ponder their lives behind bars-the animal's lives, not the Hula-gen's, but I love seeing the animals. However, as we strolled through the park I couldn't help but notice how much the animals looked like us.

This is pretty much what my legs look like in shorts.

And this is Papa T. when he gets caught with his hand in the Pop Tart box. What? Huh?This is Hubby when he gets done mowing the yard on an August day. And this is him relaxing in the pool.And of course, there's Sissy who never goes anywhere underdressed.Miss Scrubs is our little mama since she's expecting in late October. Ignore the fact that I cut her head off in this picture. Is there a PhotoShop action for correcting that kind of mess?This could be any one of us at Thanksgiving...or Easter...or Independence Day. Heck, it could be any one of us at dinner. Note the napping prairie dog. That's Zeke...AFTER dinner.This is Hubby's family in a disaster. Scratching their heads and trying to figure out what to do. They can get in a lather and spin in circles I tell ya'.

And then there's Handy Man..quietly trying to blend in the background without saying much while me and the rest of the flamingos and monkeys suck up all the attention.As we wandered around the zoo, I saw several animals that made me laugh, The snakes? Not so much, but I did get through the reptile house without peeing on myself when bumping into someone. I kept seeing animals that resembled members of the family. Well, except for the monkeys who were playing with their genitals. It made me wonder what they thought when they looked at us.

Just Like Ray

I wrote a little yesterday about our family’s similarity to the Barones on Everybody Loves Raymond, but I’m not sure you folks get just how MUCH we are like that bunch. The resemblance is uncanny…or scary…depending on your perspective. We watched that show religiously because it was if the writers spied on us and wrote about the daily happenings in our dysfunctional lives. The Hula-gens put the “fun” in “dysfunction”. We were sad when the show ended production because it was like saying goodbye to ourselves, but the Barones live on in syndication, so we still get a good chuckle at ourselves on a regular basis. And when TBS gets tired of running Ray and his gang, we have several of the seasons on DVD. If you are a regular reader here or a new reader and are trying to imagine what I and my family are like, just flip on Raymond and you’ll get a pretty good idea. Let me run down a few of the similarities for you.

Marie-My mother in law, Mama J., is just like Marie, right down to the hairdo, the long painted nails, the flower print jackets and the backhanded compliments. She has control issues and often says and does improper things…all out of intense love for her children and grandchildren. For years, she made remarks about my housekeeping and laundry skills that drove me insane. She’s pretty much over that now. She is so much like Marie that a coworker of mine accidentally asked me recently how “Marie” was doing instead of using Mama J.’s real name. Funny thing…I didn’t even catch it until later in the conversation and neither did she. Mama J. even talks like Marie. Remember the episode where they’re having the family photo taken and Mama J. isn’t getting her way so she plops her pocket book on her lap and whispers, “Go ahead without me. I’m not feeling very well?” Mama J. has actually pulled that one before…more than once.

Frank-Papa T. used to be nothing like Frank…until his dementia kicked in. Since his mind has started to slip, Papa T. focuses a LOT on his meals. He eats with gusto and relishes a good dessert and loves him some snacks. He also has a couple of pairs of stretchy pants that he likes to wear around the house after big meals. Like Frank, he tends to ignore a lot of what his wife has to say and watches a lot of TV. He is also prone to making politically incorrect remarks…again courtesy of the dementia.

Raymond-Hubby is the golden boy in his mother’s eyes. She lavishes him with attention and thinks he can do no wrong. He is often caught in the middle of the control battles his mother and I have. However, he is much better at defending me in front of his mother than Raymond is with his family…even when I’m wrong. He’s protective of his little turd and I love him for that.

Deborah-Well, first of all I’m…um…assertive...yeah, that’s it. I’m brunette, and I hate to be manipulated. Like Deborah, I will take so much, blow up and then have to backtrack because I got carried away. I put my foot in my mouth…a lot, and I often feel like I’m the ringmaster of a three ring circus…that doesn’t know it’s a circus. Remember the episode where the whole family goes to a counseling session regarding one of Ray and Deborah’s sons, and Deborah starts spilling her guts and kind of scares the counselor? I had a similar incident when Teen Angel was little. Right after my nephew died we consulted a counselor to see if we were handling his death okay. Somehow during the first session we got onto the subject of Hubby’s parents, and I couldn’t shut up. Ten years of built up stuff came spilling out, and the therapist’s eyes got very wide. When we left the building, I said, “Whew! I don’t know about you people but I feel much better.” Hubby and Teen Angel looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

Robert-As if all of the above were not enough, I have a brother who is a police officer..who recently married for the second time….and his new wife’s name is Amy. Now, Super Cop doesn’t have any sort of hang ups about his siblings (that I know of), and he has way more self confidence than Robert, but the whole cop thing just gives us one more similarity to the Barones.

Now, here’s the best similarity of all…despite all of the whacky, dysfunctional, personality quirks that we have and all of the fussing and carrying on….we are always motivated by love. We care for each other deeply and can’t stand it if someone else picks on one of our own. We may be a three ring circus, but we’re comfortable with our circus..even if it is heavy on the clowns.

*Photo courtesy: CBS.com

Who's Got a Ticket To Ride?

Some days Papa T.'s dementia hovers over us with an unexpected intensity. Other days it's not nearly as noticeable. It's a disease that likes to tease its victims with moments of clarity and suffocate them with hours of angst. The moment you walk in the room, you can tell what kind of day..or hour...he's having. Caring for him gives our days a roller coaster kind of feel. Spending a day and a half in St. Louis having a rip roaring good time seemed to make his illness that much more noticeable when we came home. It's not been a very good weekend for Papa T.. He feels the same he has for weeks, but he has been more agitated and frustrated than usual these last two days.

Yesterday, we agreed to leave at 3pm for an early dinner because a large convention was in town, and the restaurants would be full by 5pm. Papa T. doesn't like waiting on a table or food. At 3pm we practically had to drag him out of his recliner and away from his book on tape to get him dressed. He acted like he didn't want to go. I'm not sure what happened while he was dressing, but I heard him swear several times. He always uses the same two phrases, back to back whenever he cusses. He came out of the bedroom kind of confused, and by the time we got his hair combed, put his shoes on and got him out of the door, it felt as if we'd already been gone an hour. He didn't want to use his cane when we got to Cracker Barrel and was noticeably upset when Sissy made him use it. We always get a chuckle when he orders his food because he always asks what the vegetable of the day is (lima beans) and never orders it. He gets the same thing every time: macaroni and cheese, applesauce, green beans, carrots and cornbread. Although, last night he tripped us up and ordered slaw instead of carrots. He seemed annoyed when our salads arrived, and we had something to eat but he didn't. He didn't talk much during dinner, and he seemed glad to get home. This morning in church he seemed agitated and kept asking out loud what was going on during a performance by some guest musicians who were outstanding. Despite the soul soothing music he just seemed to want the whole thing to be over so he could get back to his recliner. He used to always enjoy church and loved singing the hymns. Now it seems like an obligation to him. In fact, doing anything other than sitting in his chair and listening to books on tape seems like an intrusion. I think he's depressed. In fact, I'm sure he is. I'm just not sure what to do about it.

The man can't see and can't hear. His days are filled with solitude, despite our efforts to engage him in conversation and activities. His blindness and deafness make sure of that. He will walk around the block with Sissy, but he will sit right there in his chair and avoid the sunshine unless she forces him outside. This man who once ran an entire school district and was sharp as a tack is now without a kingdom to rule. His opinions are not sought anymore, and his self esteem is almost nonexistent. He once managed a multi-million dollar budget. Two weeks ago, he could barely scribble his name on his tax returns. He is obviously going downhill, and as I watched him eat last night I realized we were getting a glimpse of how quickly it is happening. Now, tomorrow he may bounce back into a better mood and have a great day. He may walk all the way around the neighborhood, whistle while he's listening to his book and ask for "refreshments" (Pop-Tarts or Cheetos) at 9pm. He may even tell us a story about his youth. You just never know. We still have plenty of good days with him. It's just that the bad days are more noticeable. We will ride the roller coaster which ever way it turns, but this weekend we seemed to take a little dip. Who knows what's around the next curve. Let's hope we're going up this week.

Here I Come To Save The Day

I recently stumbled on Papa T.'s secret identity. By day he poses as a mild mannered senior citizen with a fondess for books on tape and all things Hostess. But underneath the wire rimmed classes, boyish smile and flannel shirt lives the caped crusader I call....(cue super hero music)...Random Man. His mission? To save the Hula-gens from boring conversations. It's just another little part of that Dementia Lite roller coaster we're riding.

Just when we least expect it, he pipes up with a story or anecdote that has nothing to do with the current topic of conversation. Like last night when we were eating at (everyone say it on the count of 3)...Cracker Barrell. Over salads and iced tea we were chatting about old Christmas parties when out of nowhere he rattled off a long story about his elementary school algebra teacher. We all looked at each other and whispered, "Random". A few nights ago we were debating politics, which frankly, can be explosive with the liberal/ultra conservative mix in this family, when he stopped our Hillary/Obama discussion with a story about his days as a school superintendent. Random. Sometimes we don't even have to be talking and he'll whip out his cape, pull a story out of the blue and tell it. Random. It used to happen once in a while. Now it happens just about every time we're together, and we usually get a good chuckle out of it.

What isn't so funny is the erosion of those little filters that should prevent him from saying things that are rude. He was always a very diplomatic, polite man, and often he still is. But sometimes he isn't. Frequently, he says exactly what he's thinking without any regard for his surroundings or people's feelings. Like the night we were eating at.....yes, Cracker Barrell......when an old acquaintenance walked up and chatted with Papa T. and Mama J.. When the nice lady walked off, she was about an eighth of an inch out of earshot when Papa T. said loudly, "Boy, she sure has put on weight." Immediately, five of us dove under the table in search of an imaginary dropped biscuit. Not random. Not funny. Very embarrassing. What's worse is that when we call him on it, he says something like, "It's true" or "I don't care". He used to never be that way.

There are signs that these filters will continue to deteriorate and his mouth will become more of a problem. There will probably be a day when we can no longer take him out to eat for fear of offending too many people or causing him and us great humiliation. I hope that's a long way off. Otherwise, we're going to have to get a mask for Random Man, and maybe masks for the rest of us so we can hide our identity when eating at the CB. I think we'll leave the lycra tights at home, though.