Goose wrote:

I hope that you are feeling better today.
I have some "nonconventional" flu remedies if needed.

 

Sorry, hit the edit button instead of the quote button.

Thanks for the thought, I appreciate it

I'm still stuffed up as all hell but I'm not dragging as much.

Did manage to get through the day on Friday but I avoided phone calls because I hate the nasal tone my voice takes when I can't breathe through my nose.

More cold medicine and lots of laying around on the schedule for today.

I too am meat loafing it this weekend.  I got two of the BOGO angus beef roasts at Giant the other day.  One, I roasted in the oven and am just picking at it--both delicious and very tender.  The other I turned into ground beef using attachment to the Kitchenaid mixer and made a meatloaf yesterday to bake sometime today.  I may have to share half with someone because it's a large meatloaf and more than I'd ever finish.  Yes, meatloaf sandwiches will be on my menu for awhile.

05/21/2016

 The mood is gloomy.

 As is the weather. Gray and gloomy. Raining, but not hard. I really don't mind days like this. Bright sunlight hurts my eyes and causes burns very quickly.

 A couple of friends are going through a very difficult time right now. They both have parents that are victims of an aging disease called Alzheimer's. This disease robs a person of their life. Not the life they're living now but the life the had lived.

 It chips away at the memories, or as one described it “fraying at the edges”.

 I can't say I know what they're going through. Every case is different because every person is different. But I can say I've felt what they are feeling. The sense of helplessness. The driving need to do something when there's nothing you can do.

 It's not something you can just put down.

 I'd been with my dad all the way through the process. In his case, he went from lucid to the end in just six weeks. During the last week, I was at the nursing home every day and most nights. Mostly, I'd just sit with him and read. I didn't want him to die alone.

 He told me a story, once when he could still speak, about how is brother was killed in World War II during the Normandy invasion. His brother died at age 81 in a nursing home in Georgia—of the same disease. My mum and pops would go every year in November to visit him. During the last five years, his brother no longer knew who they were.

 I didn't have to experience that aspect of the disease, and for that, I'm thankful. He'd had multiple strokes and his eyes would no longer track together. The left began to look cloudy, but the right...every once in a while, would lock on to mine. I could tell he was still in there.

 During those times I would just sit next to him on the bed and hold his hand. He could no longer speak but I would feel the faintest pressure on my hand. Him squeezing. Letting me know he was there. And I felt helpless.

 But I stayed with him. Right up to the very moment when his breathing stopped and he just slipped away.

 You ask yourself what you should do and there's only one answer.

 You do what you can.

 And know that you're not alone.

 Thanks for listening.

05/21/2016 addendum

 The mood is gloomy.

 Still gloomy. Not depressed or morbid, just..well...gloomy.

 I did a meatloaf today. It's a big deal. I rarely do any kind of cooking anymore that doesn't feature “n-bake” or “n-cheese” in the title. A meatloaf is not something you can just dump in a bag, rattle around for a bit, then cook.

 It just isn't done.

  I didn't have exactly what I wanted for this one but I have to admit that it turned out amazingly well. Well enough that I can dangle it like a carrot to get Nice Wendy to bring me a couple of frosty's in exchange for half. Woo hoo!

 The way I learned to do a meatloaf is by remembering how my mother did one...then fixing all of it. She was a great cook but The Tyrant liked all of his meats well-done. I mean, to the point where bullets would bounce off. That kind of well done.

 A childhood full of dry, chewy meatloaf made me an excellent cook.

 The dishwasher is on its fourth load since the last repair and its holding. Not so much as a drip. I anticipate the braided hose as the next failure. I was a mechanic for fifteen years. I know about fluid pressure. How it works. And how to work with it.

 When I made the first repair, I chose a thick, plastic hose with nylon fiber braided into it as a coupling. It's worked very well but it seems to be bulging more and more when I pressurize the line. The big issue was the ends holding and I think the reason it failed was because it was stretched out.

 I still won't leave the house, for any reason, or lie down to nap or anything while it's running. I know my own work was effective but I've been making this up as I go. Things can go wrong. And I just know that the second my attention is elsewhere, it will fail.

 This would involve pressurized hot water spraying across the kitchen. I know from experience that the entire room would be flooded in a minute or less. I'm confident, but not that confident.

 I was thinking about my dad earlier.

 Our relationship.

 I have trouble visualizing what my life would have been like if my mother had never married him. Pops was very different from The Tyrant. Screwing up didn't automatically mean weeks of bruises. Kicking us out of the house at 7am wasn't the start of every day between when school ended and when it started again.

 We weren't constantly being told what a drain we were on the household resources. We weren't called useless, simple, stupid. Being a child, I didn't understand the gravity of this at the time. Had The Tyrant lived on, I likely would have gone the way of my older brothers. Drop out of school. Get whatever job was available to someone with no education. Become addicted to drugs or alcohol like my friends did. Die at age 24 like my brother did.

 At fifteen, I knew way more about the world than pops did. Just like every teenager, I was gifted with the knowledge that most adults knew nothing about the world and should be tuned out.

 What I truly learned from him didn't become clear until it was tempered by wisdom. Reflection is a funny thing. When done correctly, I can see all of what was in its proper context. And I don't think I ever thanked him enough.

 Wisdom consists of thought coupled with context.

 Perspective.

 Understanding.

 But sometimes too far after the fact.

 Thanks for listening.

Tarnation wrote:

Wow.

Help me understand:  Were pops and The Tyrantr the same man...a Jeckyl/Hyde bipoloar, or two distinct individuals?   Irrespective, what a terrible way to go through childhood and adolescence.   

You've done very, very well in spite of such a beginning.

No, they are not the same people.

My mum married The Tyrant when I was five.  He died when I was 13.  Then mum met Jim who was the only man to ever act like a real father.

He was my dad in every way that mattered.

Last edited by Conspiracy Theory (5/22/2016 7:30 pm)