Kerfuffle

The parenting role-reversal: Looking after Dad

The day when I have to fully take over my Dad's affairs is not here yet, but I can see it coming around the bend.

Dad has lived alone since about two years after my mother died in 1982.  About a year ago, we started to notice things.  For the first time any of us could recall, my Dad was forgetting things.  Not the "where are my damn car keys" stuff, but standing appointments, day of the week, and items from conversations just the day before.  He would at times get easily confused.  My partner Tom, a psychiatrist, said it could be adult onset dementia.  Didn't seem to be Alzheimer's.  Conversations with Dad's friends and neighbors confirmed the forgetfulness.  It seemed to have begun shortly after his best friend died unexpectedly.  Dad was very close to his pal Bob, a man 20 years younger.  When news of Bob's heart attack and death in Florida reached Dad, he was devastated.  Only months later did we begin to realize the full effect of Bob's passing.

Last fall, we began to gently suggest assisted living.  My sister Karen, who lives just a few miles from Dad, patiently nudged him to go visit some places.  "They're all full of old people!  I don't want to live with old people!"  Needless to say, it was going to be a long campaign.

We decided to break it down.  First we frequently pointed out that where he lives, Douglas, Michigan, is difficult at best in the winter.  They get a lot of lake effect snow, often measured in feet instead of inches.  That didn't used to bother Dad, but his legitimate fear of falling or skidding off the road kept him in his condo for days at a time.  Douglas being a summer resort town, many of his neighbors were gone for the winter.  He began to agree with us that another winter might not be wise.

Once he was comfortable thinking that he shouldn't live alone in the winter another year, we nudged him along to choose a place.  He didn't like our suggestions, and ultimately found a place he liked, felt he could afford, and that was still very close to my sister and his friends.  He agonized over committing, because he didn't know what he would do with all his stuff, how he would move, how much it would cost, and so on.  No matter how much assurance we'd all give that it would all be taken care of, he still worried and bitched about the whole idea of moving.  To our surprise, one day he just went to the place and put down a deposit.

And then the worrying really started.  Jesus God this man could work himself up.  I finally wrote everything out -- every detail, every plan, every date, every cost -- in a three-ring binder so he could look it up rather than call me and ask, for the umteenth time, what day the movers were coming.  As the date got closer, my brother, sister and I all spent time with him, packing things, sorting stuff out, and sneaking junk out to the trash.  The move itself was almost anticlimactic.  It went off without a hitch, and his place was all set up within hours.  Tom went as far as to replicate his old bedroom right down to where the pictures were hung in the new place.

Dad's been at the new place for a little over two weeks now.  He says he likes it.  Sort of.  They provide one meal, a dinner at noon.  His place has a full kitchen so he can fix breakfast and supper himself.  He's tried out the shuttle trips to the farmers' market and the grocery store.  He's charming the old ladies as only a gay man can.  Meanwhile, he still makes remarks about how everyone is so old, even though he's 83 and shuffles around just like his neighbors.  All in all, he knows this was the right thing to do, but he's still somewhat depressed about it.

Our next big step came last weekend.  Almost to my surprise, he let me take over his regular checking account.  He'd messed it up a few times recently, and so I got myself added to it and took it online.  It's not all that complicated, but for whatever reason he still worries about it to the point of near obsession.  For years he had the same routine.  Now there were auto-debits for his rent and insurance, and other things that required moving money around each month.  Dad's not computer literate (by his own choice), so what would take him a trip to the bank takes a minute with the laptop for me.  He agreed the plan made sense.  I expected a fight but he just gave in and handed me the checkbook.  (Well, OK, actually I had already pocketed it.  But he did give it back when I handed it to him.)  I know it had to have been hard for him.  Essentially, for the first time in maybe 65 years or so, he is no longer in control of his day to day finances.

Next up:  the car.  Yes, he is still driving.  I wish he wasn't. He knows we hope he'll stop and sell the car.  My brother offered him upper end Blue Book for it to give to my niece.  But the car represents his last claim of independence and self-sufficiency.  Granted, he may still be OK to drive.  I almost ran a red light I didn't see while driving with him Saturday.  "Red light" he said calmly but in time for me to safely stop... just like he did when he taught me to drive.  He never yelled or let loose with blood-curdling scream the way my mother did.  I digress.  But I still really worry, not only for him but for every other person on the roads of Holland, Michigan when he's out there behind the wheel.

Dad's at that point now where, I finally learned, he wants us to tell him what he should do... needs to do.  He doesn't come right out and say it, but that's what he wants.  Almost in a businesslike manner, if we make a proposal and show him why it makes sense, he'll agree.  I'm only sorry it took me as long as it did to figure that out.  Just like when I was a very young man and would seek his advice, what I really wanted was for him to tell me what to do.  Now, he's wanting that from me. 

Funny thing:  I think my brother, sister and I have actually grown closer over "What about Dad?" in the past year.  We've worked together, along with a lot of help from our spouses, to make things work out as best as possible.  I'm glad for that renewed relationship.  And I am glad I am around to look after my Dad.

I'll have to remember that feeling the next time he calls me to ask why the hell I have his checkbook.  Which will probably be in a few days if not tomorrow.

Get your fancy schmancy overpriced helicopter off my lawn!

Someone needs to tell Senator McCain -- again --that the campaign's over and he lost.

The grumpy old Senator took President Obama to task for the over-the-top expense of a fleet of new Marine One helicopters.  Those would be the helicopters ordered up by the fiscally responsible Bush-Cheney administration.

From HuffPo...

At the closing session of the president's fiscal responsibility summit on Monday, high-ranking members of Congress were asked to put on their reportorial hats, quizzing Barack Obama on various aspects of his economic priorities.

Perhaps the sharpest exchange of the bunch came at the beginning, when John McCain, after receiving a few plaudits from the president, asked Obama about defense procurements and, more specifically, the expensive fleet of presidential helicopters that were ordered during the Bush years but will be assigned during the current presidency.

It wasn't quite at the level of an election year debate. But McCain managed to not only put the president on the spot, but shine a spotlight on one of his pet issues. "Your helicopter is now going to cost as much as Air Force One," McCain told Obama. "I don't think that there's anymore graphic demonstration of how good ideas have cost taxpayers enormous amount of money."  (full transcript and video, if you must, here)

I remember when I used to think John McCain was a pretty good guy.  Now I think he's a bitter old man trying to save a reputation that he pretty much trashed last year.  Good luck with that, Arizona.

An idea I had that would greatly improve air traveling public's in-flight experience, but also reinforces that it's a good thing I am not a parent

Commercial air travel is a complex human experience.  It can be exciting, stressful, tedious, aggravating or enjoyable.  Sometimes one trip can hit all of those traits and more. 

In my experience, bad travel experiences are best divide into those that can't be helped, and those that could have been mediated with better policy, practice or common sense.  Weather delays fall into the first category. If the airport is snowed in, it is hard to blame anyone.  But so many bad flight experiences are preventable.  Better or more realistic scheduling, for example, can lessen chronic delays.  A more strict adherence to policy can prevent that chaos that occurs in the aisle during boarding when selfish jerks and hapless nincompoops bring on board ridiculously over-sized luggage and odd items and then have nowhere to put them.  This is usually determined after they boarded late and managed to slam into several people while trying to get their steamer trunk in a bin best suited for a gym bag.

For me, however, nothing is more annoying than the presence of screaming babies, toddlers and brats.  Yes, I know; just saying this makes me an asshole.  But, sorry, that's the way I feel.  To be sure, kids should be able to travel.  But do they have to travel on the same plane as me?  Honestly, I would rather have an hour delay each way that have someone's little darling sit behind me kicking my seat all the way to Florida. 

In all fairness, yes, my parents took us on trips when we were little kids.  But back then people treated flying and their fellow passengers with a lot more respect.  We had to wear our Sunday best, and we didn't dare make a scene.  My mother perfected the "if looks could kill" stare.  These days, tracksuited passengers let little ones blare loud games, run up and down the aisles, and generally annoy curmudgeons like me.

This is why I hope airlines and the FAA will endorse my new idea:  Baby-Stow™ comfort bed overhead bins for small children:

Think of it:  you board, deposit your kids in a specially equipped bin where there are safely, securely and comfortably enclosed in a space pumped full of hyper-oxygenated air (for restful light-headedness).  Parents can select music or videos to keep the kids occupied, and the bins are soundproofed for the benefit of the adult passengers.  Why, it can even be educational!  You could play language and dialect media so the little tykes can be better versed in the local language and/or vernacular.  (They won't have to ask things like "what are grits?", "what's cervesa mean?" or "am I a señior or señiorita?")  At the end of the flight, both parent and child arrive refreshed, and the other passengers are not harboring homicidal thoughts, at least toward the parents.

Yeah, yeah, I know.  This is probably cruel, not to mention illegal, unsafe and totally just plain wrong.  But how different is it from when my aunt used to give my cousins codeine cough syrup when they used to fly.  That worked like a charm and was, ostensibly, doctor-approved.

OK.  Maybe this needs more thought.

[h/t to Jorie and Jack for the photo]

Of college libraries, cell phones, and feeling both old and young at the same time

Not that I didn't know this already, but I am fucking old.  All I need to do to be reminded of this is go to the UW Whitewater library on any given day.  There are constant reminders, all of them walking around, hunched over computers, and generally flaunting their youngness.  At times I actually have to actively concentrate on not overtly acting old.

Earlier today I was sitting at a table, trying to read a rather dry journal article that we would be discussing in class later in the evening.  A girl (I use that word rather than "woman" since at 49 I could easily be her father) answers her cell phone.  That happens a lot, but usually people make an effort to quickly end the call. Not this time.  She proceeded to go on and on, reading passages of a paper she was writing to the person on the phone.  I had to fight the urge to go tell her to shut up, all the while realizing that only a cranky old person would be bothered by this.  Looking around, no one else seemed to even take notice.  Of course, they all had headphones on... including the blabbermouth on the phone.  (That might explain why she was talking so loud.)  Whatever happened to the thing about being quiet in a library?

I got to thinking about this, after I relocated to a relatively quietly, more remote part of the library.  My god, I am turning into an old guy.  I'm getting all kinds of pissed of, albeit quietly, over a cell phone conversation.  Welcome to the 21st century.  People think nothing -- nothing -- of taking calls where ever and when ever they feel like doing so.  Most people, OK some people, make an attempt to respect others in close proximity, but for the most part cell phone yammering is just a part of life.

After class, I went back to the library.  Just as I had settled down and unpacked my stuff to study, my phone rang.  I was not going to take the call, of course, but I thought I'd look to see who it was.  Oh, shit; it's my dad.  My 82-year-old dad, and he is calling past 10pm his time.  I have to answer, if only to tell him I can't talk.  I hit the answer button and utter a barely-audible "hi."  David?  "I'm in the library, Dad; I can't talk now.  What?  David?  Now a little louder, and drawing a few looks, "Dad, I am in the school library.  I can't use my phone right now."  I can't hear you.  What?  (sigh) "Dad, is something wrong?  I'm going to have to call you back."  When? I have a dilemma.  "Nothing's wrong then?"  I thought you said you can't talk.  "I can't."  Well call me back in a few minutes.

So I pack up my shit and head for the exit.  As it turns out, the dilemma is that he is supposed to fly to North Carolina in the morning, but over in southwest Michigan they are getting a foot of lake effect snow.  His ride to the airport is stuck in Chicago, and no neighbor in his little retirement village is going to drive him to Grand Rapids to catch his flight.  Why the hell is he calling me... in Wisconsin... when my brother and sister both live within a half hour of him?  Fact is, he was calling because he didn't know what to do.  He said he wasn't sure he wanted to make this trip anyway, and has been thinking that for a week.  It's a trip he has made for the past ten years, flying to Raleigh and then driving down with old friends to spend Thanksgiving in Florida.  He just doesn't feel like going, and he's all worked up over it.  I talk him through his options, and he says he'd rather just stay home.  By the end of the 15 minutes on the phone, that's what he decides to do.

Having this conversation with my dad reminds me that while I may feel kind of old, he really is old.  He gets a little confused and forgetful, and he needs to call one of us, usually me, to help get things figured out.

So I turned out being one of those people who answered a call on my cell phone in the library.  Oddly, it made me feel kind of young.

Joe the Plumber and John McCain debate; McCain loses

Gotta love the McCain campaign's vetting capabilities...

If this is how they run a campaign, imaging what they'd do to the government (that hasn't already been done by Bush).

Joe the unlicensed, tax-delinquent plumber: yet another f***up by the McCain campaign

This s laughable.  From Bloomberg via the Houston Chronicle...

"Joe the Plumber," the Toledo, Ohio, man whose complaints about Barack Obama's tax plan were featured in the final presidential debate, owes the state of Ohio almost $1,200 in back income taxes.
According to records on file with the Lucas County Court of Common Pleas, the state filed a tax lien against Samuel J. Wurzelbacher for $1,182.98 on Jan. 26, 2007, that is still active.
...
Today, at a rally in Downingtown, Pa., McCain said that "the real winner last night was 'Joe the Plumber.'"
...
Wurzelbacher said he works for a small plumbing company that does residential work. Because he works for someone else, he doesn't need a license, he said.
But the county Wurzelbacher and his employer live in, Lucas County, requires plumbers to have licenses. Neither Wurzelbacher nor his employer are licensed there, said Cheryl Schimming of Lucas County Building Regulations, which handles plumber licenses in parts of the county outside Toledo.

Joe, a registered Rupublican and McCain supporter, probably would have been better off without the publicity.  And even he agrees that debating the issues would have been better than McCain's panderiffic use of him...

Wurzelbacher, who voted in the Republican primary and indicated he backed McCain,  said he was surprised that his name was mentioned so many other times.
"That bothered me. I wished that they had talked more about issues that are important to Americans," he told reporters gathered outside his home.

And there are people who wonder why this campaign is so far behind in the polls. 

Yes, John, you aren't President Bush. But even you should be able to understand how easy it is to mistake you for him

Indeed, you did have the best line of last night's debate.So maybe that made having to eat those words a bit more palatable.

Vote for "That One"

Making ends meet is a relative concept

Funny.



And true.

Hello, central casting? Get me a stereotypical geezer in a blue blazer!

I laugh every time I see and hear this clip.  It says so much in the metaphorical sense.  Plus, I think Senator McCain could play the Penguin in an upcoming Batman movie. 



I so love the YouTubes.

John McCain: Disrespectful cranky old bastard

What a tool.

And how about this for showing zero class? Stiffs Obama on a handshake in front of all those cameras.  What an ass.  He can barely contain his contempt, his disdain, for a fellow US senator. 

As the snap polls all pretty much demonstrate, when you spend all your time and effort going negative, people tend not to like you.  And when you act like a jerk, they like you even less.