Tag: aging

Looking for Mr. Ames

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Working as a police officer in the early 1970’s in upstate New York, I can recall being dispatched in the middle of the night to a remote dirt road to look for an elderly woman reported wandering aimlessly in her nightclothes.  Having been sent there previously, I knew that it would be Mrs. Ames, and that she was, once again, out searching for her husband and her son … both of whom who had passed away years before. 

Given our scant knowledge of dementia at that time, it was our understanding that Mrs. Ames was “senile.”  That being so, I did what we always did … I picked her up, took her back to her home, and sought a family member to take her into their care.

Over the many years since my paltry efforts to help a disoriented woman to safety, I have come to understand that Mrs. Ames suffered from dementia … an umbrella term encompassing a broad range of brain conditions that cause a progressive decline in a person’s ability to think and remember.  What’s more, the loss of these abilities makes it increasingly difficult for people to function or care for themselves.

Today, dementia in its many forms is far better understood and, in the law enforcement community, comprehensive training is readily available for police agencies nationwide.  The International Association of Chiefs of Police, for example, provides model policies   and training curricula to prepare officers for encounters with citizens suffering from dementia, as well as checklists to follow in mounting a search for someone who may have wandered away and gone missing.

My wife, Bonnie, and I, are fortunate to reside in a community where a number of resources are available to those suffering from dementia and to their caregivers.  Just a few of the very supportive entities upon which one can call in our area include Dementia Friendly Fort Worth (dffw.org), the James L. West Center for Dementia Care (jameslwest.org), and Musical Memory Singers (musicalmemorysingers.org).  

Given the fact that one in three seniors dies with Alzheimer’s or another form of dementia, having access to support and guidance of this nature is invaluable.

As I look back some fifty years to that rural road and my interaction with Mrs. Ames (not her real name), several thoughts come to mind.  First, I hope that I treated her with dignity and compassion as I picked her up, took her back to her home, and reached out to family to care for her.  Second, I am comforted in the knowledge that first responders, today, are far better prepared than I was, to identify and assist individuals suffering with dementia.

Finally, I have boundless gratitude for the efforts of those working to find a cure for Alzheimer’s, as well as for the many groups and volunteers who provide support and guidance to individuals struggling with that awful disease, and to their caregivers.

Gail Weatherill has been a practicing RN for more than 40 years, and is a board-certified Alzheimer’s Educator.   Her poignant words are an inspiration to anyone touched by this awful disease:

Dementia care … it’s not rocket science, it’s heart science.

The Best is Yet to Come

~ danbonbooks ~ 2 Comments

Perhaps this recently crossed threshold would seem less impactful if I simply called it by a different name,  In Spain, for example, I would be ochenta  In France, I could celebrate having become quatre-vingt,  In Italy, the magic word is ottanta.  But try as I will, there is no getting around it:

I just turned eighty years of age.

That being so, one thought immediately comes to mind … my goodness, that certainly happened fast!  Seems like only yesterday I was playing ball behind Park School in Ossining, New York, and hitch-hiking up Route 9 to Croton Point for a dip in the Hudson River.  With the passage of so many years, those sorts of memories remind me of how fortunate I am to have grown up in such a diverse, and vibrant community, and how formative that place really was.

Today, If a youngster were to ask what it was like when I was growing up, I would show him by … (1) taking away his cell phone, (2) shutting off the Internet, (3) giving him a popsicle, and (4) telling him to go play outside until the street lights came on.  This was life in my little village, as my pals and I filled our days roaming far and wide on our refurbished Schwinn bikes.  And if Mom was looking for me, there was no such thing as texting … she would holler my name from the back porch.  Special Note: if she called me by my first, middle, and last name, I knew I was in trouble!

But that was then … this is now.   So, as a card-carrying octogenarian, it is time to put aside those fond recollections and start earning my  “crusty old codger” merit badges by:

  1. Telling kids to get off my lawn
  2. Scowling at my neighbor
  3. Writing a scathing letter
  4. Disinheriting somebody
  5. Going for a long slow drive in the passing lane while keeping my turn signal on the whole time

Just kidding, of course … I know how fortunate I am to have been around this long, in relatively good health, and to be in the midst of so many people who I love dearly, and who love me in return.  I am especially grateful for my wife, Bonnie, and for her having chosen me to be her life partner almost sixty years ago (after “going steady” in high school). 

During the pandemic, she and I broke the monotony of home confinement with a hobby called Geocaching.  This pastime got us out in the fresh air, while giving us the chance to visit places we might otherwise have missed.  In one case, as we walked through a small rural cemetery reading the touching words on the grave markers, we came upon a plot where a husband and wife were interred side by side.  The inscription on their tombstone included a beautiful and prescient message that, for me, captures the essence of life into my eighties and beyond:

To Be Continued

‘Yer Out’a Here!

~ danbonbooks ~ 2 Comments

Summer would not be complete without our annual trip to take in minor league baseball games.  In a tradition begun many years ago we set off, once again, to visit ballparks where we knew we could purchase seats and hot dogs for the two of us for less than it would cost to park at a major league stadium.  And, as usual, a good time was had by all.

In Oklahoma City, for example, we got a glimpse of what the future of umpiring might look like in the big leagues and, frankly, we liked it.  Major League Baseball is experimenting at the AAA level with an “automated balls and strikes” (ABS) system, which allows a batter to challenge an umpire’s strike call, and the catcher a ball.  Each team gets three challenges, but if the umpire is shown to be correct, the team loses that challenge for the rest of the game.  

Notably, each time a challenge was made in the game we attended, the video board in left center field showed the location of the pitch as determined by the electronic device and, in every case, the umpire’s call was correct.  Coupled with the “pitch clock” already in effect, this new wrinkle shows promise of making the game move even more quickly and smoothly.

While the ABS system showed us the future of officiating in baseball, the Arkansas Travelers game in Little Rock presented us with a trip down memory lane … a ballpark organ!  Listening to the beautiful strains of that instrument, I was reminded of a Florida State League game in 1985, in which the organist – Wilbur Snapp – was thrown out for playing the song “Three Blind Mice” after an umpire’s call.  

Between innings in Little Rock, I asked the organist if he knew of that event and the name of the fellow ejected.  He could not recall Snapp’s name, but he knew of the ejection … he even showed me the playlist for that evening’s game with the following warning written in large letters: DO NOT PLAY THREE BLIND MICE.

As an aside, a different ballpark organist was ejected from a game in 2012 for playing that same song, proving that George Santayana was correct in noting: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

Growing up, I played a lot of baseball and, being a catcher, I closely followed the careers of major leaguers who excelled at that position.  One player I idolized was Smoky Burgess, who played for 18 years in the majors for several different teams.  Toward the end, Burgess was used exclusively as a pinch hitter, holding several records for excellence in that role … he would wander up to the plate, stroke a base hit, and then retire to the dugout after being replaced by a pinch runner.

With Burgess as my role model, I sometimes fantasize that I can still play the game but, unfortunately, I have yet to find a team looking for a “designated senior citizen.”  Until I find one, I will continue to be uplifted by John Fogarty’s quintessential baseball anthem “Center Field,” and those inspiring lyrics:

Put me in coach … I’m ready to play!

According to Hillary

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No, not that Hillary!  

But I know what you were thinking … in the midst of a crazed election cycle, you expected another dose of political blather.  Well, not to worry for, like many, I have had it up to here with the current unceasing stream of extremist and partisan nonsense.

Instead, the Hillary referenced in the title is Sir Edmund Hillary and, more specifically, his immortal response when asked why he chose to scale Mount Everest in 1953: “Because it is there.”  For Bonnie and me, these words help explain why we decided, several years ago, to visit all the counties in the state of Texas … and there are 254 of them.  Yes, that’s right … 254 … and we did it because, well, they are there.

Since moving to Texas more than 35 years ago, we had traversed many of the state’s major highways and population areas. But with the more remote counties having eluded us, we decided to check them off … the Panhandle … the Rio Grande Valley … Deep East Texas … the Piney Woods … the Big Bend.  Our quest, no doubt, would have made Don Quixote nod with approval, but we finally pulled it off.

Along the way we met some wonderful folks, enjoyed breathtaking scenery, and partook of excellent food … the pie in Dripping Springs … the steak in Amarillo … the wine in Del Rio and St. Jo … the barbecue in Llano.  We also continued our love affair with Minor League baseball by taking in games with the El Paso Chihuahuas, the Big Bend Cowboys, the Amarillo Sod Poodles, the Midland Rockhounds, the Corpus Christi Hooks, the Frisco Roughriders and the Cleburne Railroaders.

As we rambled about the Lone Star State, we came to appreciate the  genesis of the old saying: “The sun has riz, the sun has set, and here we is in Texas yet.”  Throughout our journey, though, we remained inspired by Willie Nelson’s well-known song “On The Road Again” and, in particular, the way he describes his affection for travel: “… goin’ places that I’ve never been,” and “ … seein’ things that I may never see again.”

Willie’s joy in travel (and ours) is captured, perfectly, in the next stanza of that iconic work:

And I can’t wait to get on the road again

Special Connections

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Growing up in New York State, I have fond memories of my grandfather who, after much prodding, would talk about his service in the US Army.  I especially enjoyed hearing him tell of his part in the Pancho Villa Punitive Expedition along the Texas-Mexico border in 1916 and 1917, followed by his tour in France at the end of World War I.  My grandfather served under the command of General “Black Jack” Pershing (and a Lieutenant by the name of George Patton), and I have always been moved by the handwritten note on his discharge papers: “Service Honest and True.”

When speaking of his time along the border, my grandfather would tell of places with mysterious-sounding names like Lajitas, Terlingua, Presidio and Marfa … places which, as a youngster, lived only in my imagination.  But since moving to Texas more than 35 years ago, I have made a number of trips to the Big Bend region and have come to know these places well.  And as others familiar with those parts might agree, a visit there exposes one to a special kind of desolate beauty, and a landscape that has changed very little since my grandfather served there more than a century ago.

Over the years, I have had the good fortune to be able to take my grandsons to the Big Bend, and to show them where my grandfather … their great-great-grandfather … had served.  There is something almost magical in being able to stand on the grounds of the long-ago cavalry fort in Lajitas, while looking across the Rio Grande River (a mere stone’s throw away) at the same mountains and desert over which  Pershing’s troops pursued Pancho Villa in the interest of protecting the United States border.

One grandson who visited the Big Bend with me as a young boy is, himself, now a Sergeant in the US Army.  And, in a circumstance that can only be described as perfect symmetry, he and his unit are currently assigned to assist with security along the Texas-Mexico border.  And though the precise nature of my grandfather’s assignment and that of my grandson may differ, there is an undeniable kinship in their efforts … separated by more than 100 years … to safeguard the United States and to protect US citizens.

Though we were looking forward to seeing our grandson over the upcoming holidays those plans will, obviously, have to be put in abeyance.  But as we lament the fact that he won’t be home with his family this year, we take enormous pride in him and the work he and his colleagues do every day to keep us safe and secure. 

It is our fervent wish that all the men and women serving in the US military be safe this holiday season and, as the saying goes: “Thank you for your service.”

Cache Us If You Can

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By early 2021, we had reached the breaking point.  The seemingly endless pandemic-induced lockdown had long since lost its survivalist charm.  We had assembled (and reassembled) a plethora of jigsaw puzzles, fallen asleep while trying to find something new on Netflix, and engaged in the occasional squabble about what day of the week it was.

Clearly, we needed a breather and, since people were starting to venture out in public, we decided to “mask up” and take some cautious steps off the front porch as well.  We didn’t want to dive into the deep end right away, of course, so we looked around for something that would get us out of the house, involve some physical activity, and keep us away from crowded places.

For us, the solution was a simple one … we decided to join the multitude of others playing what amounts to the adult version of hide and seek.  Known as Geocaching, this rendition of that venerable childhood game is equal parts treasure hunt, problem solving, and outdoor exercise, and it has become our “go to” weekend pursuit.

Geocaching, as an outdoor activity, took shape in May, 2000, when  24 previously secure global positioning satellites were made available for civilian use.  With that change, folks could locate items anywhere in the world based solely on their GPS coordinates and, without a doubt, they have done so … there are now more than 3 million active geocaches hidden in 191 countries on all seven continents (even Antarctica)!

The “caches” we search for are generally small capsules or containers holding a piece of paper that, when signed, will register your find.  And though there are varying degrees of search difficulty one can select, we lean toward those that are relatively easy to locate without a great deal of extraordinary effort.  But be warned … people who hide these things can be very clever … we have found caches among the branches of trees, under rocks, and hanging from fence posts.  That, of course, is part of what makes this such an enjoyable activity.  

The process for tracking down a cache is simple: (1) check the geocaching.com web site for caches hidden in a particular area, (2) select the one you would like to look for and, (3) follow the directions on your phone or GPS device.  This will bring you very close to your goal and, usually, it is then only a very short walk (and search) before locating the cache.

In addition to the obvious benefits of being outdoors engaging in physical activity, geocaching has taken us to beautiful and unusual locations we had not previously visited, and immersed us in the fascinating history of the areas we have explored.  In short, we are smitten.

And if you are looking for us next weekend, you know where we will be.

Spam … Wonderful Spam!

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Growing up, Spam was a regular part of our family cuisine.  Spam sandwiches … spam and eggs … and on special occasions, my mother would dress up a chunk of Spam with some cloves and slice of pineapple before tossing it in the oven.  When that delicacy showed up on the dinner table it was, for me, the culinary equivalent of a hickory-smoked spiral-sliced ham with all the trimmings.

Today, though, the word “Spam” has become shorthand for, among other things, the relentless barrage of unsolicited emails stretching the capacity of my inbox while offering everything from financial advice to Russian brides.  On the other hand, a recent proposal from a Nigerian prince looks promising … he promises to make me wealthy if I will just help him transfer a large sum of money out of his country.  I will let you know how that turns out.

Spam phone calls are, of course, a major problem as well but, for us, the remedy was simple … we cancelled our land-line phone.  Not only did that decision save us some money, we are also spared the deluge of political campaign calls that crop up every election cycle.  We now rely upon our cell phone caller ID which allows us to answer when we recognize a name or number, while ignoring those without an identifier.  That way, if someone wants to talk to us they leave a message and we call them back.

There is, by the way, an interesting back story about how annoying calls and emails came to be named after the famous canned meat product.  In a 1970 sketch from the Monty Python comedy series, a waitress reads aloud a menu in which every item but one includes Spam, while a chorus of patrons drown out all conversation by repeating “Spam, Spam, Spam … Lovely Spam!  Wonderful Spam!”  Thereafter, the term was adopted to describe abusive users in early chat-rooms who would flood the screen with the word “Spam” or other annoying text to drive away newcomers or prevent rival groups from chatting.  

Some clever “home remedies” for dealing with Spam calls have evolved, including one senior citizen with a talent for making his voice sound like Donald Duck.  The YouTube video of him using that famous cartoon character’s voice to talk with a Spam caller is hilarious, especially when it results in the telemarketer, in frustration, finally hanging up on him!

That priceless bit of video shows that we can have a bit of fun while deflecting nuisance callers.  To that end, I am perfecting my imitation of Woody Woodpecker in anticipation of the next person who interrupts my dinner to talk about my car’s extended warranty.

Shaking the Family Tree

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If you are like us, navigating this past year has required imagination.  We have assembled a lot of jigsaw puzzles, watched hours of Netflix, caught up on our reading, and enjoyed day trips to lovely and interesting areas around North Texas.

One activity that has really captivated us, though, has been the exploration of our family trees.  An ancestry.com account has proven to be a worthwhile investment, for it has allowed us to unearth old and obscure pieces of family history, and bring renewed focus to many vaguely remembered people and events.

Fortunately, we possess a number of family genealogical documents, written records and even an oral recording of my beloved grandmother relating stories that would otherwise be unknown.   When we were able to add the trove of information from ancestry.com … photos … immigration records … grave registries … the results were fascinating.

As strong supporters of our military, we are pleased to report that men – and women – in our family have served honorably in every conflict since the Revolutionary War; sadly, some were lost in battle.  And sprinkled, liberally, among our forebears are postmasters, judges, educators, clergy and politicians.

I would like to be able to report that our ancestors descended directly and unblemished from royalty, but, unfortunately, such is not the case.  Like many families, there are a few individuals whose names, understandably, do not come up at family reunions.  And for those rascals who thought their misdeeds would remain forever hidden, well, ancestry.com and the Internet have lifted the veil. 

For as someone once said: Every family tree produces some lemons, some nuts and a few bad apples.

Settled In … and Loving It!

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Reading through the morning newspaper, a headline in the real estate section caught my eye: Homebuilder Woos Apartment Tenants with 12-Month Rent Rebate Offer Toward a House.  The article went on to explain that a developer who builds both individual houses and multi-family complexes, has developed this innovative scheme in hopes of luring families away from apartments toward home ownership.  

Thinking about this unusual offer, my immediate reaction was … why would anyone do such a thing?  What would make someone leave an apartment to buy a house?

Just kidding, of course, for home ownership has, historically, been a major part of the “American Dream” with young families, in particular, seeking their own plot of land upon which to raise a family.  But, that said, my wife, Bonnie, and I are in a very different place when it comes to our choice of domicile and lifestyle; just over two years ago, we sold our home and moved into a superb 55+ Active Adult apartment community … and we love it.

Recently, while sorting through some old financial records, I came across a list of the recurring bills we paid when we owned our last house.  Frankly, I had forgotten how many there were and, when compared to those we now pay in our apartment, the remarkable difference is just one reminder of why we celebrate our decision to live where we do: 

What We Paid in Our House                           What We Pay in Our Apartment

Mortgage                                                                 Rent

TV/Internet/Phone                                               TV/Internet

Real Estate Taxes

City Services (water,sewer,trash)

Heat/AC Service Contract

Alarm System

Yard Maintenance

HOA Fees

Pest Control

In the midst of writing this blog post, the doorbell rang.  Stepping away from my desk, I went to the door where I found our maintenance man stopping by for routine BookCoverPreview.doreplacement of the air filter in the heating and AC unit in our apartment.  This was perfect timing, for it reminded me of one more very important reason why apartment living is exactly right at this stage of our lives … on the few occasions when we have had to submit a maintenance request, the work has been done quickly, professionally and at no cost to us.  And here’s the best part … it is always done by someone else!

It will be interesting to learn whether the new “Rent Rebate” idea works out for this builder, and we certainly wish him well.  And though I am sure we are outside the “target demographic” for this offer, we would not consider anyway … even for a moment … buying a house.  We owned homes for more than fifty years and, without question, doing so enabled us to raise our children in comfortable surroundings and good communities.  But now that it is just the two of us … well, this is our “me time,” and we are really making the most of it!

We just passed the two-year mark in our apartment home, which likely qualifies Bonnie and me as “settled in.”  Even so, barely a day goes by without one of us turning to the other and asking: “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

Woodstock Plans Up in “Smoke”

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As the countdown continues toward the 50th Anniversary of Woodstock later this year, I am reminded of an old joke that still elicits chuckles and knowing smiles:

Q:  Why has it taken so long to legalize marijuana?

A:  The hippies kept forgetting where they left the petitions!

The point, of course, is that one well known side effect of marijuana use is forgetfulness … at least that is what they say.  If this is true, then impaired memory may be one of the reasons why the planning process for this shindig has been so disjointed … perhaps the organizers simply forgot.  After all, with only fifty years to pull the arrangements together, it is easy to lose track of time.

This is not to suggest that those putting together this gala are dabbling in weed, Mallomars and cheap wine, but this is starting to look a lot like the way plans were made for the original event in 1969 … and we all remember how that turned out!  With the recent departure of a major event organizer, the folks at Bethel Woods are now advertising a “scaled down” gathering which is probably just as well; few of the original bands are performing any more and, those that are, don’t seem up to taking part.  Roger Daltrey of The Who, for instance, let it be known that he won’t be performing in August because, well, it is just too darned hot.

So what are we veterans of “Woodstock Nation” to do?  Should we gather up our tie-dyed outfits and huarache sandals, fill our backpacks with yogurt and granola and head toward Bethel in our VW minibuses?  Or should we just stay home and listen to some classic 78s on the Victrola while sipping Boone’s Farm at room temperature?  Talk about a tough choice!

Speaking just for us, we will be making the long trek back to Yasgur’s Farm in August and, much like wildebeest migrating across the Serengeti, we are not exactly sure why.  Along the way we expect to see other Bethel-bound vehicles with “Woodstock or Bust” signs in the rear window, as we all harbor hopes that an anniversary event will actually await us when we get there.

As plans for our journey come together, I am reminded of the movie “Vacation,” and the way the Griswold family’s torturous cross country trip to Wally World ended.  Having finally made it to their destination, the Griswold’s excitement was short-lived when they found that the place was closed for renovations … and things deteriorated quickly from that point.

Candidly, the “Wally World” scenario is the one I fear most … tired from our long drive … our car dusty from the road … laden with hippie paraphernalia … we make the right turn from Route 17B onto Hurd Road … and pulling up to the gate we see ………..

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