Tag Archives: family

Memories

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The familiar route home, a path I’d traversed countless times, suddenly felt alien under the night’s dark canopy. As I navigated the shadowy road, a disorienting moment seized me—I was lost, despite knowing every curve and landmark. My speed dropped instinctively, and my eyes darted frantically across the landscape, searching for a recognizable silhouette or landmark. Seconds stretched like minutes until, mercifully, the terrain’s contours realigned in my mind, and recognition washed over me like a wave of relief. The sudden return of spatial awareness was profoundly comforting, a reminder of how our minds can momentarily disconnect from the most well-trodden paths.

As I approach my late seventies, the subtle signs of cognitive decline become increasingly apparent. Memory lapses emerge more frequently, compelling me to develop small strategies to navigate daily challenges. I find myself repeating tasks, correcting initial missteps, and occasionally experiencing moments of genuine concern. These subtle shifts can be overwhelming, transforming even simple routines into complex navigations that test my patience and resilience.

More than twenty years ago, despite having a sharp memory, I still occasionally forgot things. After breaking my ankle and relying on crutches, I quickly learned that navigating stairs was a challenging skill. Like many others who have used crutches, I initially went to great lengths to avoid stairs finding alternative routes whenever possible.

The familiar workplace demanded occasional navigation of stairs, a challenge I had grown accustomed to. On this particular day, I maneuvered through the doorway and ascended the steps with practiced precision. Reaching the center of the room, I paused, surveying my surroundings with a contemplative gaze. Supported by my crutches, I lingered in that moment of uncertainty, acutely aware that my memory had once again abandoned me, leaving me adrift in a sea of forgotten intentions.

As I glanced back at the steeps I had just ascended, a weary realization washed over me. My imminent return would inevitably resurrect the very reasons that initially compelled me to this challenging journey. The prospect of climbing these unforgiving steps twice, rather than the single arduous climb I had hoped for, loomed before me like an unavoidable burden.

As I retraced my steps, the purpose of my initial climb suddenly crystallized in my mind. Purposefully, I ascended the stairs once more, this time with clarity. After swiftly completing my intended task, I descended back to the room where I had started, mission accomplished.

That day, I proved something very important. For the remaining time I was on crutches, I never again forgot why I went from one room to another. That is to say, given the proper encouragement, a person can train their brain. I know I did. When something is important enough, one can keep from forgetting it.

Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. For some reason, I can’t remember the filter size for my furnace. Every time I go to the store and get to where the filters are, I am reminded that I don’t know the size and I never wrote it down. Now my furnace needs two filters badly, and it keeps getting colder outside.

I guess I will have to make a special trip… In the cold.

Milkshakes & Memory

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It had been ages since my wife and I indulged in a milkshake, a simple pleasure we’d long forgotten. After running an errand at the local pharmacy, we spontaneously decided to stop by McDonald’s. The moment the creamy, cold beverage touched our lips, nostalgia washed over us. The familiar, sweet taste transported us back to carefree moments of our past. My wife, savoring every last drop, continued to draw from her straw long after the liquid had disappeared, her contentment evident in her lingering smile.

During my freshman year of high school, I often relied on milkshakes as a quick meal replacement. These creamy beverages provided a satisfying blend of calories and temporary fullness, perfectly suited to my slender teenage metabolism. At a lean 130 pounds, I could indulge in multiple milkshakes without concern for immediate dietary consequences.

During my time in Da Nang, an unexpected craving haunted me: milkshakes. The mess hall had spoiled us with exceptional cuisine—diverse, well-prepared meals that defied the challenging circumstances. Yet, amid the culinary abundance, milkshakes remained conspicuously absent from the menu, leaving a sweet void in my dining experience.

During my R&R in Sydney, I embarked on a personal mission to savor a milkshake each day of my six-day stay. However, my culinary expectations quickly deflated when I discovered the local interpretation of a milkshake dramatically differed from my own. The beverages served were more foam than substance, with an airy composition that seemed to be at least 70% empty space, leaving me utterly underwhelmed and craving the rich, substantial milkshakes I knew from home.

Upon my return to the United States, two vivid memories stand out: savoring a creamy milkshake and enjoying a slice of pizza, though not in a single sitting. Curiously, the details of my actual arrival remain a blur. I can distinctly recall boarding the initial flight, spending a memorable week exploring Okinawa, and then embarking on the return journey. Yet, the specifics of landing on American soil—including the location—have completely escaped my recollection. The peculiarity of forgetting such a significant moment puzzles me, leaving me to wonder how one can simply lose track of such a pivotal experience.

So many little things I remember as if it were yesterday. My return from Vietnam is completely blurry. I sit here pondering, just how can this be?

I Thought It Was a Little Mistake

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I forgot to tell the doctor that my wife was low on two of her medications. No big deal. We went back today, and he wrote the prescriptions for them. We then headed to Walgreens. As I was entering the store, I saw a well-displayed sign: their pharmacy was closed.

There ought to be a linguistic term for this peculiar incongruity—something akin to an oxymoron, but manifested through actions rather than language. Consider the irony: a pharmacy store chain store without a pharmacy seems as absurd as a McDonald’s with no burger inventory. The dissonance is palpable, a logical disconnect between expectation and reality.

I glanced down at my watch, a sudden urgency washing over me. While numerous Walgreens dotted the local landscape, only one remained open around the clock. Given her critical medication shortage, I knew I couldn’t risk waiting. The catch? This particular pharmacy was located in Memphis—a city I habitually steered clear of—yet tonight, it seemed to be our sole lifeline.

We embarked on our journey, my apprehension stemming not just from navigating Whitehaven, the Memphis neighborhood notorious for its frequent media appearances, but also from the anticipation of a prolonged wait at the sole open pharmacy—a scenario all too familiar from past experiences.

Navigating the congested highway, I felt the weight of my earlier error intensifying with each passing moment. The surrounding vehicles seemed poised to exploit my vulnerability, their drivers laser-focused on potential opportunities to alter my trajectory. In this unforgiving urban landscape, lane discipline had become a forgotten art, with each motorist operating as if turn signals and careful observation were mere suggestions rather than essential safety protocols.

My trip to the store was uneventful, a fact for which I am grateful. The wait time passed quickly, and during our browsing, one detail stood out dramatically: the heightened security measures. Compared to my usual Walgreens, this store seemed to take precautions more seriously, with numerous items securely locked away. Despite being less than 10 miles from the store I usually visit and crossing a state line, the difference in security protocols were striking, suggesting they might experience more significant theft challenges than my familiar shopping environment.

On the positive side, the folks at the store seemed friendlier and more professional than where I usually visit. Didn’t expect that.

Each Solution Breeds New & Worse Problems

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New Mexico has implemented a groundbreaking free child care program, as reported by CBS News. During an interview, the state’s governor explained that the initiative will be fully funded through oil revenue, providing significant relief for families across the state.

Wait a minute! I thought the production and use of petroleum products were going to destroy the world. It is what the Democrats have been warning us about for decades now. It was causing decreases in temperatures and then increases in temperatures. It was supposed to flood massive amounts of land, including virtually all of Florida.

Do we really want to rely on and hence encourage the production and use of that horrible cause of climate change, oil? According to that climate expert, Al Gore, if we persist at that, danger lingers just around the bend. Well, maybe not. You see, climate change only occurs when the fuel is used by Republicans. That is the way it works, you see.

Now, back to the primary subject, daycare. First, bear in mind that there are potential problems. For instance, both my wife and I worked nights. Does this mean that they will have to provide daycare at night too? (That is, if you can comprehend the obvious conflict of daycare at night.)

The proposed regulations for day care centers aim to elevate quality standards, which will likely result in increased operational costs. While ensuring high-quality childcare is commendable, these changes may inadvertently drive up expenses. The potential surge in demand could necessitate expanded infrastructure, including more day care facilities and additional teaching staff. This scenario exemplifies the fundamental economic principle of supply and demand: as costs to parents goes away, the desire for such services naturally increases.

Perhaps one thing not thought of is the two-parent family where only one works. I’m sure that rare wife who stays home will appreciate that babysitter, though not actually needed.

It’s the way it is with those short sighted democrats. They come up with all these wonderful ideas and they don’t think them through. Then again, maybe it is as they want. One of the most important goals of the communist for government control of children to start as soon and as much as possible. We just might find something two-year-olds coming home and preaching the wonderful benefits of Marxism.

Don’t be surprised when it comes to past.

A Fulltime Job

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As I approach my late seventies, retirement has proven far more challenging than I anticipated. After leaving the workforce at 66, I had modest hopes for a peaceful chapter of life. However, those dreams were quickly overshadowed when my wife began showing early signs of dementia, transforming our golden years into an unexpected journey of caregiving and adaptation.

Life had different designs for us. Our dreams of leisurely adventures and golden-year explorations faded like distant memories. Fate, with its unpredictable brushstrokes, painted a canvas far removed from our carefully sketched plans. Isn’t that the nature of existence—a series of unexpected turns and unscripted moments?

Being a caretaker for someone with dementia transcends the traditional concept of a job, consuming every waking moment and challenging the very definition of full-time work. The phrase “full-time job” fails to capture the relentless emotional, physical, and mental demands that caregivers experience around the clock.

When a person is the sole caretaker of someone with dementia, it means twenty-five hours a day. It means sleeping with one eye open. It means no holidays, no vacations. It means no sick days. It means working through it all, regardless.

If fortunate, you might get some help. More likely, you will be flooded with advice, most of which will be useless.

Don’t count on help from family, friends, or community. Strangely, that number shrinks daily. They all have their own families and commitments. Besides, who wants to watch a loved one slowly pass away before their eyes?

Throughout history, certain ancient cultures practiced the harsh tradition of abandoning elderly members on the outskirts of their settlements, providing minimal provisions and leaving them to fend for themselves. This cruel practice reflects a stark contrast to our modern understanding of human dignity and compassionate care for the aging population. Today, we recognize the inherent value of our elders and strive to support and respect them, ensuring they are not marginalized or discarded.

And yet, here we are, just the two of us. We are living within the city limits, not two or three miles into the wilderness. We do have a roof over our heads, waiting for the Lord to take us home.

I would say everyone just leaves us, just waits, but that’s not true. It seems, as I figuratively tread water well enough to get our heads above water, the city of Horn Lake decides to toss me a boat anchor. It would seem they are not satisfied with waiting for us to pass; they seem to enjoy threatening us with jail figuratively driving us under the waves.

I must admit, the thought does intrigue me. I could do with a rest. Jail time might be a nice vacation.

But then…. Who will take care of my wife?

It Is Enough to Drive the Loony Sane

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And by the way, I am sure it will keep an army of psychologists and psychiatrist all properly confused for the next hundred years and maybe a little longer.

The thought occurred to me to carry the last post a little further; you know the one about being unique. You ask one teen why he is wearing a ring through his nose, and he will say, “Because all my friends are doing it.” It is an act of conformity, and if the parent says no, the teen will immediately go into the rant they had planned well in advance.

In the suburban landscape, a few miles beyond the familiar horizon, a teenage son returns home, his nose adorned with a gleaming ring. His parents exchange bewildered glances as he declares his desire for individuality. Ironically, the very accessory he believes sets him apart is ubiquitous among his peers, who cling to this symbol of rebellion with such fervor that they would sooner sacrifice a limb than part with their piercing.

In one case, it is pro-conformity, and in the other case, it’s the desire to be different. Oh, by the way, it’s more than jewelry. At least half the reason the Beatles were such a big success was because someone convinced the world of teens that they were the best singing group ever. And danger lurks for those non-conformists who found them to be making irritating noise to a beat.

In our youth, we were swept up in the fervent pursuit of the latest cultural trends. Every new record, fashion item, toy, and novelty seemed essential to our very existence. Remember those quirky painted rocks, crudely adorned with misaligned facial features, that somehow captured our collective imagination? The excitement of acquiring these ephemeral treasures was an integral part of our shared experience, driving us to constantly seek out the next big thing.

While the text appears to explore the concept of uniqueness, I’m uncertain if that aligns with the original intent. I apologize if I’ve misinterpreted the intention.

So Why Did I Settle in the Mid-South?

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Rarely do my readers contemplate this nuanced inquiry. The essence of the matter lies in the delicate interplay of timing, misguided decisions, and a subtle lack of understanding.

During my military deployment in Japan, tragedy struck when I learned of my brother’s sudden death. Typically, such news guarantees emergency leave, but I faced several unexpected challenges. A significant strike had shut down the gates at Kadena Air Force Base, creating logistical hurdles for arranging transportation. Resolute in my commitment to my family, I was adamant getting their own flight.

While the Marines covered my ticket to San Francisco, I had to pay my way from San Francisco, CA to Fort Smith. I was also responsible for all my family’s transportation costs, which significantly depleted our savings. Reflecting on the situation, remaining in Japan for the duration of my service would have been financially prudent. Completing my term there would have resulted in discharge at MCAS El Toro, near Disneyland, and presented numerous advantages. Had I followed this path, I would have saved considerable money, returned to familiar territory, been surrounded by family, and quickly secured an electronics job, leveraging my years of experience in the field.

Once in Fort Smith, I applied and received permission to get out about a month and a half early, rather than have them send me back to Japan or elsewhere. I went to Memphis, where I had been stationed for a few months of training. It wasn’t my home stomping grounds, but it was the next best thing. There, after a short time, I received my discharge.

At that time, in the mid-1970s, Memphis thrived under Republican leadership, boasting a vibrant urban landscape and a robust technological sector. Four prominent computer companies maintained substantial offices in the city, creating a dynamic professional environment. During my job search, a pivotal moment in pop culture history unfolded—the unexpected passing of Elvis Presley. I collected several newspapers documenting the momentous event, a potential treasure trove of memorabilia that, if preserved, might have yielded significant financial value today.

After joining the company, a disturbing incident occurred when someone threatened my son with a knife on the school bus. Concerned for our family’s safety, we quickly decided to purchase a home in Desoto County. However, we soon realized we should have chosen a location even further from the urban center. The neighborhood’s character seemed to be rapidly changing, mirroring the challenges of nearby Memphis. Our sense of security was further shaken when an intruder broke into our home while we were present, brandishing a .45 caliber weapon – a scenario unimaginable just decades earlier.

Relocating to the pollen capital of the United States proved to be a significant misstep, given my severe allergies. Prior to Dr. WW Taylor’s comprehensive patch test, I was unaware of the extent of my allergic reactions. During the twenty-minute examination, I rapidly failed the test, prompting the doctor to remark that he had never encountered such an extreme case of allergies in his extensive medical career. My ignorance of my own health condition led me to make this ill-advised move, which would ultimately have substantial consequences for my well-being.

Hours after the medical examination, a chilling realization struck me: had the Marine Corps known the full extent of my severe allergies, my entire life trajectory would have dramatically shifted. I would have been disqualified from service, sparing me from deployment to Vietnam. Instead, I might have remained in California, living a completely different existence. Such thoughts of alternate destinies can consume one’s mind, spinning elaborate scenarios of what might have been.

Aren’t you relieved that some mysteries remain unspoken?

It’s The Premise, Stupid

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In the political landscape of 1992, James Carville coined the memorable phrase “It’s the economy, stupid,” which became a pivotal campaign slogan. Inspired by his linguistic prowess, I aspire to craft an equally impactful statement in 2025, though the odds of achieving such widespread recognition may be slim. Nevertheless, hope springs eternal in the realm of memorable catchphrases.

Let me share an illustration I previously used, which remains relevant and insightful. While some time has passed since its initial presentation, the core message continues to resonate. Even if you’ve encountered this example before, a refresher can often reveal new perspectives or nuances that might have been overlooked.

On the cusp of legal adulthood, a 21-year-old embarks on a predictable rite of passage, venturing into a local bar with curiosity and youthful naivety. Eager to explore the newfound freedom of being able to legally consume alcohol, he decides to experience the atmosphere and get drunk, just to see what it’s like.

After several Scotch and sodas, he collapses, and his friend is tasked with escorting him home. A familiar scenario for many, he awakens the next morning, suffering from a pounding headache and overwhelming nausea – the dreaded consequences of excessive drinking.

Now when I heard this story, the teller really drew it out. I’ll save you the repetition. I’ll simply say that he gets drunk again on the following two evenings. However, he decides he does not like the hangover thing. So, each time he changes what he mixes with the soda.

After three days of heavy drinking, he realized the allure of intoxication was overshadowed by the brutal aftermath. Determined to solve this dilemma, he made a decisive choice to remove the source of his morning misery. Ergo, he decided to eliminate the common element.

Initially, I found the statement amusing, but upon deeper reflection, I recognized it as a poignant critique of political dysfunction. In modern urban landscapes, citizens repeatedly cycle through elected officials, believing each new leader will miraculously resolve complex systemic challenges.

The fundamental issue lies not with individual politicians, but with the shared ideological framework that underpins their collective approach. The prevailing political narrative fails to deliver meaningful solutions, instead creating a cycle of diminishing returns and increasing societal frustration. Each successive political iteration seems to compound the ineffectiveness of its predecessors, resulting in a progressively more dysfunctional system.

As urban centers continue to decline, a pattern emerges reminiscent of an individual’s struggle with addiction: recognizing the problem only when circumstances become dire. The ongoing exodus from major metropolitan areas signals a potential watershed moment for political understanding and urban transformation, challenging the long-established trajectory of population concentration that defined the industrial era.

No Small Error

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As I watched the speech, I figured that the dems were making a mistake by sitting on their hands during Pres. Trump’s speech. As I look back over it and the national reaction, it would appear that I underestimated the damage that has resulted to their party. It would appear that they might have been better off just closing their eyes and pretend to sleep through it all.

It would seem that they have painted themselves into a corner. Perhaps the more accurate saying would be how they sat on the wrong part of the limb as they sawed it off. Regardless, the nation saw what they did and apparently they didn’t much care for it.

Of course voters do have short memories, mostly. By mid-terms, it might be all forgotten, especially if they turn the corner and start doing things right. On the other hand, they might not take this opportunity to learn their lesson, they just might make things worse for themselves. Even more, if the economy starts turning around, if we start saving expenditures by the billions, the dems might find themselves in a deep hole trying to dig their way out.

The error seems to be that before the first word of the speech, someone made a decision. The orders went out and all the dems were ordered to stay in lockstep or else. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to cheer from time to time, they were afraid to. The thing is, by giving the order, they put forward a display of not caring about a boy with cancer, 2 women raped and killed by criminals and a determination to prolong the Ukrainian meat grinder. I don’t think the public liked that. I also think, if they were released from the order, most of them would not have taken the hard line.

On the side, we now know the Democrats don’t think for themselves. They are simply robots for the leadership, whatever it is that they chose, even when it is not for the good of the country. …And many of the things they decide are not for our good, none of us.

Presenting that front to the people is likely one of the biggest errors the dems have made, ever.

Observation About the Thanksgivings Day Parade.

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I noticed that Macy’s Thanksgivings Day Parade was coming on channel 5 this morning so I decided to take a look at it. Of course it was somewhat subject to the weather, not in NY,NY but here. The weather can cause my reception of channel 5 to fade in and out.

However, from what I did receive, it appeared that I didn’t miss that much. It seemed to be about one part parade and two to three parts celebrity hosts. For sure, the camara spent more time on the hosts than the parade. The hitch is, the pictures of the hosts didn’t change all that much, while the parade was always changing.

My summation of the 10 minutes I watched, it was a very long egotistical advertisement. I am sure those that were there saw much more of the parade, even if they had to stretch necks a little to see it.

It is a shame. When I was a kid, we could actually watched the parade, though it was in B&W. Still better than watching today in color.