April 26, 2012 · 10:56 am

Dad was a vanilla kind of guy

Growing up, going to get ice cream was a popular family activity. Well, for two of us. My mom had lovely memories of making homemade ice cream on the farm with a hand churn, with fruit picked from their own fields and what a special treat it was that the whole family helped to make. Dad, on the other hand, was never a big dairy person as it tended to upset his stomach. (He was probably lactose intolerant.) Also, there was that time I beat him up when he couldn’t get me my “cormy” fix.

But Dad would try to be a good sport, and on those scorching summer days in Southern California, a cool treat was hard to resist. We went the route of convenience and often ended up getting our scoop on at the local drugstore, Thrifty. True to it’s name, the ice cream was cheap, 15 cents a scoop during most of my childhood! The store had a large ice cream counter in the front of the store, with a dozen or so colorful selections and a flavor of the month. I remember touching the cold glass display case which felt so good during those frequent summer heat waves.

Image credit: Savvy Mom by Kristin Bush. http://blogs.ocfamily.com/wine-lovers-rejoice/

Mainly, we were creatures of habit when it came to flavor selection. My mom always chose a nut variety, either butter pecan or black walnut. I was a bit more adventurous, going for the chocolate malted crunch, rocky road or bubble gum. Mom and I usually ordered two scoops.

Dad never failed to disappoint us by getting a single scoop of vanilla ice cream. As a kid, I thought that was the most boring selection on the planet. Mom and I would try to encourage him to try something different, but nope, vanilla it was every time. He was just a plain vanilla kind of guy.

(I did a Google search and discovered that Thrifty ice cream lives on! I had no idea about the history of the store. It’s fascinating to get the back story on such a happy, vivid childhood memory.)

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April 25, 2012 · 11:23 am

Missing my chance to connect with Dad through music

I was viewing this poignant photo gallery of people with Alzheimer’s around the world. I was struck by the photos of those finding joy in music, with one woman playing the xylophone even in the final days of her life. Then there was the video that I saw posted on the Hot Dogs and Marmalade blog about the magic of music.

One big regret I have about my dad’s care during the last month of his life, other than not being there in person for those final weeks was that I didn’t bring music back into his life. The palliative care doctor asked what kind of music Dad liked, which caught Mom and I by surprise a bit, as we had spent most of the time answering routine questions as the doctor filled out a long form. She asked us if he liked Irish music, as she had some CD’s at home that she could bring in and play for him. I don’t know if she ever did, because I left for home and Dad was transferred out of the hospital a few days later.

The last photograph of dad and I together, July 2011.

I’ve written many posts about how my dad loved to sing, especially the classics by Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby. There is a cassette tape recording of my dad singing to me when I was a baby, and the recording is in remarkably good shape. Before my father passed, I remembered the tape and was eager to get my hands on it. Luckily, it was in a very convenient spot, in a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet in the guest bedroom of my parent’s home. Being the modern gadget gal that I am, I no longer owned a cassette recorder so I ordered one from Amazon which could create an mp3 file on my computer.

I couldn’t wait to get home and start the process. I had to fiddle with the program a bit and only got a fuzzy but listenable file the first time around. Then Dad took another turn for the worse and I had to rush back to New Mexico and abandon the project for awhile. But I did have the first recording on my tablet and I thought about playing it for him, especially when he had the private room on the CCU floor at Presbyterian Hospital in Albuquerque. Of course, most of the time there he was sedated, but some experts believe there is some level of consciousness that remains in that state. I felt awkward playing it with so many staff members coming in and out, and of course my mom, who bless her soul, probably would have talked over the entire thing. By the time he was becoming a bit more aware, he was moved to a semi-private room where the TV was blaring.

There’s no guarantee that music would have made a difference, but it’s an opportunity forever lost. One last chance to connect, to bring back a happy memory, to maybe even make a smile appear on his haggard face. A moment that was never to be, because I was worried about things that didn’t matter.

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April 24, 2012 · 12:36 pm

Trips to the carnival

After spending time this weekend at a local festival and seeing all of the families enjoying the sights and sounds, it made me think about trips to the carnival when I was a kid. There was an annual carnival at the high school that took place either in the spring or fall, I can’t quite remember. But it was the old-school style of fair, with those rickety rides that required the purchase of a certain amount of what looked like raffle tickets. I didn’t like any of the more adventurous rides, and definitely nothing that would send me upside down. Nope, I was happiest on the good old merry-go-round or the bumper cars. When I was very small, my Dad would somehow get his long legs squished into one of the cars and help me “drive” around while I giggled as we bumped into other cars. I remember riding the carousel with Mom, holding on to the “reins” while waving to Dad, who stood nearby, cigarette dangling from his mouth.

The one ride we all would get on was the ferris wheel. This was my mom’s favorite ride. Dad and I were less enthused, given our fear of heights. But this was a slow and steady contraption, and we never got stuck at the top as you hear people do from time to time. We would usually ride the ferris wheel at night, when the colorful lights from all of the rides would light up the sky, making our normally sleepy suburb seem electrifying and exciting.

The games were probably more fun for me than the rides. My favorite game was probably the most simple one. I don’t remember what it was called, or if if even had a name. It was just this large space with a table in the center full of cheap dishes and glassware. If you landed your coin in a bowl/glass/plate, it was yours. It was a bit like Tiddlywinks, I guess. I won Dad many an ashtray playing that game!

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April 23, 2012 · 12:16 pm

The personal side of the Alzheimer’s awareness movement

The Alzheimer’s Association Advocacy Forum is taking place this week in Washington, D.C. For those attending and promoting Alzheimer’s awareness, a big thank you. Alzheimer’s is quickly becoming a national health crisis, and we must come together as a nation to address it.

For most of us, the battle against Alzheimer’s is very personal. For me, it’s the reason why I started The Memories Project. My dad was not a celebrity or a hometown hero. He was just an average guy.

But he was my father, and he did not deserve to suffer from Alzheimer’s. No one deserves to suffer from this terrible disease.

I can’t be in the nation’s capital to be a part of the forum, but if I had the opportunity to share a personal memory of how our family was touched by Alzheimer’s, I would share this snapshot in time, my last visit home when my father still lived there:

My dad was restless and paced the living room, while trying to get the zipper on his jacket to work. Suddenly, he turned around and looked straight at my mom, who was sitting on the couch next to me. He asked with a tone of distress, “Where’s Jane?”

My mom is Jane. My parents were married for 40 years.

My mom’s face crumpled internally, the words striking her skin as painfully as physical blows. She answered in an even tone, “I’m right here.”

There were many other painful memories that Alzheimer’s created for our family, but this one stands out starkly in my mind and makes my heart hurt. It was difficult to know who to have more sympathy for, my dad suffering from advanced memory loss or my mom forced to deal with the fact that her partner of 40 years could no longer remember who she was.

This is why I am an advocate for Alzheimer’s Awareness.

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April 22, 2012 · 11:25 am

Watching the Dodgers with Dad

Dad wasn’t a huge sports fan. In fact, I think he loved the history of some teams more than a particular sport. I’ve written before about his Notre Dame allegiance. Being from Europe, he also loved soccer and I’ve mentioned before how Dad would watch the Spanish-language station (despite only knowing a few words of Spanish) just to get his soccer fix.

And then there was baseball. Dad loved to talk about Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio, Lou Gehrig and all of the other legendary baseball players. There were plenty of baseball teams to root for in California: the Angels, the Athletics and of course, the Dodgers. It was the latter that my Dad seemed to be a fan of the most, other than the New York Yankees. (Dad overlooked the teams’ heated rivalry.) I think both of these choices were steeped in nostalgia for Dad; after all, before coming to L.A., the Dodgers were based in Brooklyn, and Dad may have seen a game or two when he was living in the Big Apple back in the 1950’s.

Courtesy of L.A. Dodgers & Major League Baseball

I learned the basics of America’s pastime by watching Dodgers games with Dad. It was the perfect kind of game for Dad; the slow pace meant he could read the newspaper and keep up with the game at the same time. Of course, one can’t think of the Dodgers without thinking of Vin Scully, the legendary announcer who has been with the team for over 60 years. A devout Catholic whose mother was Irish, Dad was a huge fan of Scully. It’s amazing to me that Scully is still working for the Dodgers after all of these years and after my Dad’s passing.

With a new baseball season underway, I couldn’t help but think about learning the game with Dad as the armchair coach. I was able to attend a few Dodgers games as part of school field trips, but I never had the chance to attend a game with Dad. I wish I had.

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April 21, 2012 · 11:45 am

Dad buys a haunted TV

I’ve written before about how Dad relied on the guys at work for car advice. He also ended up with several “great deals” on what Mom and I politely referred to as junk. Dad was a bit of a chump when someone at work was looking to sell an item and gave Dad a slick sales pitch he couldn’t refuse. This is how we ended with the “haunted” television.

Our former TV had gone on the blitz but Dad, being a cheapskate, decided to look for a deal. (And I mean that in a loving way. Clark Howard would have approved of Dad’s penny-pinching ways.) He mentioned it to the guys at work, and sure enough, someone had a “gently used” TV to sell Dad. It was working just fine, Dad was told, they only wanted to get rid of it because they were getting a new set. I don’t remember how much Dad paid for it. Not much, but a penny was more than it was worth.

I remember how proud Dad was when he lugged the big behemoth into the house. We plugged it in and everything seemed to be working fine. This was before remote controls were standard with television sets, so we turned the dial and the local channels appeared, some with more static than others. We were used to flipping around the rabbit ears like magicians to get the best image. (That’s right, we didn’t have cable, either. I never saw any cable TV channels until I was in college.)

By this point, Dad was bragging about how good of a deal it was and how we had been wrong to doubt him. We were all sitting on the couch, and all of a sudden, the television’s volume, which had been turned down to low, leaped to blaring at maximum force. I covered ears while my parents ran over to the TV. The volume knob was useless, as the TV continued to play at top volume. Finally, one of them turned the power off. Blessed silence returned to our house. My mom and I exchanged knowing glances and then waited for Dad to respond.

“It’s probably just a little glitch, it will work itself out,” Dad tried to reassure us.

But the TV, which we started referring to as “haunted,” continued to have its volume fits. It was especially a problem late at night, as I would be trying to sleep and my parents were night owls. We all probably lost a few pounds running to the TV to turn it off when it started blaring randomly. I believe it was a few months before we finally wore down Dad’s stubborn streak and convinced him to buy a new TV and kick this lemon to the curb.

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April 20, 2012 · 1:56 pm

Dad’s smoker’s cough

I’ve written plenty about Dad’s longtime smoking habit. But this morning on the subway I heard an older gentleman with a smoker’s cough that sounded so much like my dad’s. It was eerie. One might think that all smoker’s coughs are the same, but they are not. Dad’s raspy, hoarse cough was as much a part of him as his five-o’-clock shadow and his green eyes which could spark with humor or anger.

As a child, I don’t remember having an opinion on Dad’s smoking habit. It was just something he did on a regular basis and still quite common in the 1970’s. (Even my mom was known to take a puff or two on an Eve or Carlton cigarette from time to time!) As I got older, and the smoking habit fell out of public favor, I began to despise Dad’s habit as dirty and disgusting. Sometimes, hating your parents’ actions can be a good thing; I’ve never had an interest in smoking. I’m sure my lungs love me for that.

But it’s funny that I could probably pick out my dad’s distinctive smoker’s cough from a crowd before I could pick out his voice. It also makes me think about the last months of his life, long after he smoked his last cigarette, when he would try to cough up the phlegm that was strangling him but he was too weak to do so. It seems like such a simple thing, coughing. Yet there was nothing we could do to help him be more comfortable. My mom kept asking the doctors if there was some type of machine that could just remove all of that junk from his mouth, throat and lungs. The doctors and nurses would just smile sadly and shake their heads.

There were no quick-and-easy fixes for my dad by that point. Just that cough that lingered, haunting him and us to his death.

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April 19, 2012 · 11:42 am

Dementia a robber

The news that coach Pat Summitt was stepping down as head coach of the Lady Volunteers was not surprising news, but it is a sobering reminder of how dementia can rob the most vital people of their precious gifts.

My dad was not a high-profile college basketball coach, but the impact of Alzheimer’s was still devastating. I can’t imagine what would have happened if Dad had still been working when his dementia symptoms started. Fortunately, he was retired. He often mused on getting a part-time job in Ruidoso, but he never did. Then it became too late.

Tennessee Lady Volunteers coach Pat Summitt. File photo.

But even for those that are retired, there are chores, those daily jobs that we execute with barely a thought. But once my dad’s dementia progressed, completing the smallest jobs, like going to the post office to mail letters, or paying for an item at a store became difficult, then impossible. It was painful to watch my dad be robbed of performing the simplest of adult tasks. He was being forced back into childhood, with no hope of growing up again.

Summitt is such a strong woman and she already is a great advocate in the fight against Alzheimer’s. Maybe when people see vibrant, ultra-successful people like Pat Summitt battle this disease, they will take notice that this is an epidemic that we must focus on as a nation and world. The disease is claiming too many minds, too many lives, both known and unknown, but all loved by someone.

Learn more about the Pat Summitt Foundation.

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April 18, 2012 · 6:33 am

Dad losing the meaning of ‘home’

One thing that my mom still talks about almost every time I have a conversation with her is that in the last year of his life, when Dad was far from home, he never asked to leave the care center or hospital he was in and return home.

It’s not uncommon for Alzheimer’s patients to forget what and where home is, and to accept, at least outwardly, their current location. There are some with Alzheimer’s that do beg and plead their families to return home, and I think this puts an even heavier burden on the family. It was almost a relief to me that Dad accepted the care center that he was in without a fight, but it also made me realize how far the disease had progressed.

Dad was a homebody. Oh, he had his “hitting the bar after work” days when I was youung, but for the most part, he worked, came home and enjoyed the comforts of domestic life. He mainly read books and newspapers, watched TV news or documentaries or could be found on our patio taking a cigarette break. Simple pleasures but he was always easy to please.

I’m much the same way. I feel like I would be devastated if I had to give up my creature comforts from home and go live with a bunch of strangers. But Alzheimer’s tricks the mind into believing you are a stranger in your own home, an imposter in your own skin.

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April 17, 2012 · 6:41 am

Dad and the ladybug umbrella

My new job is located in a ritzy office tower that offers complimentary white umbrellas to borrow when it rains. I stepped outside for a brief walk on my lunch break, not realizing it was about to rain, and everyone emerged with white umbrellas. It was an odd vision.

It made me think about Dad and his dislike of umbrellas. We had those big ugly plastic umbrellas, the kind that really cover you but take up a ton of space and make a lot of noise when you open them. They would always stick on Dad, so he’d be fiddling and cursing under his breath as he tried to operate it, getting drenched in the process. Still, he was always a gentleman, and he knew better than to let Mom get her newly-styled hair wet!

I had a ladybug umbrella, with a red and black design printed on the clear plastic. There were a few times Dad had to hold my umbrella as I was coming from school or had my hands full for another reason, and of course he looked silly, a grown man holding cartoonish ladybugs high over his head. But he managed to keep me dry and do his duty as a father.

I’ve written before about how there was a ladybug that visited me at my last job and stuck around with me for awhile. So far no ladybugs have managed to enter my new office, but I was reminded yesterday of my sweet little ladybug umbrella and my dad protecting me from the rain.

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