There’s definitely a retirement brain mode. I used to laugh at my folks when they could only handle one thing a day like a doctors appointment or a car repair. But now I find myself in a similar boat; trying to schedule several non-routine events in one day spells epic fail. The retirement mindset is a gentle ripple compared to the tsunami of working life. How did we tackle such monumental hurdles every single day? When now a lunch date is all we can manage?

Of course there’s times when you have to juggle a few balls because things keep rolling along even if you are practically standing still. Even though my sister is totally handling my parents needs (while she holds down a very busy full time job!) there are a few things that I can help with from afar. Funny how one little thing turns into a part time job that sucks. Here’s the scenario:

My dad has been unable to enjoy reading for some time due to cataracts. He had one eye done a couple of years ago by a crochety doctor who treats patients with disdain (that nasty bedside manner filters down to his staff who are also rude and abrupt). Then comes covid and any hope of the second eye being done vanish in a puff of plandemic smoke. My dad complains (quietly but consistently) about getting dizzy because his vision is lopsided. I take him to the regular eye doctor and we inquire about options. It seems that the CCP flu only affects public hospitals and that private (fee payer) clinics are moving right along as usual. So I get a list of names and my sister follows up. Dad gets an appointment to see a doctor a few weeks later and surgery is scheduled shortly thereafter. A big difference from the 18 month wait and endless recalls with the public system that’s “free” and which my dad still has “floaters” from the first procedure. Anyway, that’s another story.

So dad gets the surgery and all systems are go. He can now read again! This new found super power means he needs reading material; a good time to get the local paper delivery again. My sister asks me to make the arrangements. No problem ; it’s the least I can do. I fire up my laptop (which has developed cobwebs) and search for Stratford Beacon Herald subscriptions on Duck Duck Go (I’ve also ditched Google along with Facebook, but that’s another story). There’s a super easy user friendly portal to “subscribe now!” I complete the online forms and submit using my Amex card to pay for 6 months. I get the email confirmation and let my folks and sister know. My “one thing if the day” was pretty simple. Mission accomplished.

After getting the newspaper for a couple of days, instead of the paper my parents get an invoice. For seniors who don’t control their money much anymore, getting a notice to pay is like a punch in the gut. On top of the invoice they also got phone calls. Another slap. They report to my sister and my sister let’s me know. What’s going on? I go back on line only to discover that the ease to sign up and pay is not mirrored if you have a problem. Now the process is tricky and complicated. I finally find a contact us mechanism and I type out my concerns. I call the number listed and leave my number. Then I wait.

I get a call from an Ottawa area code a day or two later (funny how these calls never come at your convenience but at theirs) Finally, someone to get somewhere. I explain the situation. Oh, she says, I see it here … we don’t accept Amex as a method of payment. Now my usual auto response kicks in: anger. This unsuspecting phone agent is going to get a blast. First of all, how is it remotely possible that I got an email confirmation telling me all was good (and papers started to arrive as proof) and that rather than respond via email they choose to harass by invoice and then phone? I demand that my parents be taken off the call list immediately and that my information be inserted as the billing contact. I use another credit card to pay (again) and I am assured that the matter is settled and taken care of. I spent 30 minutes on the phone to get this done; between ranting and “can I put you on a quick hold” and the automated credit card system not working …. ugh.

I report to my sister who empathizes but doesn’t have time to listen to my one thing of the day complaints. The paper should start to flow again. But it does not. I’m back to square one.

This time I check my credit card statement on line to see if the payment was processed. It was. I go through the labyrinth of contact us with no luck. I call the Ottawa area code number again. It rings. I have a person after waiting in the queue. Sorry she tells me, we don’t handle the Stratford paper distribution here, you have to call Stratford. So I do. There’s a company directory option but I don’t know who to call. The option for distribution is a robot message with no further actions possible. So I called the number most likely to answer the phone: sales. Bingo. I get a young lady on the phone who provides me with a name and number for distribution. Sorry she can’t transfer me as they are working from home. Fine. I call the new contact. Voice mail. A while later (again not at my convenience) I hear from Barb in distribution.

She can’t find our records. What’s the address again? What’s the name? Who’s name is on the account? What phone number is associated with the account? Are you sure you have a subscription? At this point I’m losing my marbles. Has retirement brain caused me to hallucinate and make the whole Ottawa call up?? Just as I’m about to explode she says: oh, here you are. They put you in as an apt number and all the others in the building are units. That’s the issue. WTF???

Great! I say. Can we fix the problem? Yes. She assures me that she will contact the carrier (she’s a new girl… just young.. but very reliable as her mother drives her everyday … Really?? I don’t care!!). Whew. Another 40 minutes but hopefully this is the cure.

The paper is put at the door of each unit/apt in the building who subscribe. I’ve seen it many times when visiting. Mom just opens the door and the papers there. However I’ve also seen it in the front lobby on the coffee table; a nice pile of papers like you might find in a hotel for guests. I think nothing of it until my sister lets me know (again) that the paper was absent.

I immediately call Barb. Voicemail. While I’m waiting in the lobby of the osteopathic clinic my phone rings. It’s Barb. Very inconvenient to say the least. She now explains to me that the carrier (sweet young girl with the helicopter mom) is not allowed in the building (building rules) so she leaves the bundle with unit/apt clearly marked on the front of each in the foyer. Someone from the building (there are several possible busy bodies that could be the suspect) takes the papers and either delivers them to the front door of the unit/apt or leaves them in a pile on the lobby coffee table. Oh. Good to know.

I let my parents know. If the paper is not at your doorstep then you have to go to the lobby. My mother then confesses to taking someone’s from their door since she’s entitled. Oops. Basically, from where I am, there is no way for me to manage this except to hold my breath and ask everyday during my daily call. Of course there’s no way to confirm their answers.

All this for a mediocre flimsy newspaper. No. Scratch that. All this because my dad can read. Worth all the agony. It’s the little things.

Note: I can’t wait to get back to Stratford when the travelling incarceration debacle ends and personally visit the Beacon office (if it’s open) and declare my displeasure. Hopefully without a mask on so they can see my facial expressions. but. Alas. I think I’m hallucinating again …. thank god for cheap wine.

February is a month of love thanks to Valentines Day on the 14th. It’s nice to have a loving feeling in the midst of winter. Especially when it includes chocolate! In our family, February brings a flurry of birthdays and other notable events.

Starting on February 2 (Groundhog Day) which is Rudy’s moms birthday. She was born in Krakow Poland in 1922. That would make her 99 tomorrow. Unfortunately she passed away 6 years ago. I think she would have enjoyed being 99; she had a zest for life and loved every minute. On her birthday I would call her and ask if she’d seen her shadow (referencing the annual ritual of groundhogs). She would giggle and tell me I was a riot. More often than not she would say it was too cold to go outside. But mostly she played along and told me winter would be short. It was wishful thinking! We reminisce about her often … there are always so many reminders of her: cooking, baseball, roses, long walks … In her humble way she had such an impact on our lives.

February 8 marks a sad one year anniversary of my uncle’s passing. Heinz was 89 when he slipped quietly into the universe. My dads older and only sibling was a hardworking family man who enjoyed the outdoors and his wood working. He survived many sawing incidents before succumbing to cancer. He leaves a void that is still painful for his widow and my dad. I’m glad the legacy of the family home he built from scratch will remain in the family since my cousin bought it late last year. My uncle’s passing is also my cousin Barbs birthday; Heinz’s daughter was taken at a young age (her boys were tweens) by cancer. I’m sure they are both together keeping a watchful eye on everyone.

Following grandma’s birthday is my dad and my aunt. They share Valentine’s Day for their birthday. My dad will turn 89 and my aunt will be 70. My dad is still a young man at heart 💜 and has such a positive attitude about everything. It’s hard to believe that he’s almost 90. But I know he’s aiming for 100. Dad is the patriarch of our family and enjoys the success of his kids; he often tells me how grateful and proud he is of us. Our happiness is his biggest joy.

And immediately following is my uncle Peters birthday. He will also be turning 70. As the youngest of my moms brothers (he was born when she was 16!) he was a late addition since my grandmother was 43 and my grandfather was 53. Peter is a journalist and is the epitome of “enquiring minds”. His thirst for knowledge and information is insatiable. Now retired from his profession he keeps his pen moving by writing interesting historical pieces about Germany and his childhood home.

Valentine’s Day is also Rudy’s parents wedding anniversary. In 1942, mid WWII, they got hitched. It was a true love story that would span almost 8 decades. A year after their wedding, on February 17, 1943 they gave birth to Rudy’s oldest sister, Carole. Rudy’s parents received congratulations letters from all levels of government on their marriage milestones. It’s not many who can celebrate 70+ years of wedded bliss!

February is a short month. As I flipped the page on our calendar this morning to make note of some events we have scheduled, I realized it was barely 4 weeks in the month. Perhaps by design or intent the calendar gurus knew that a mid winter month should breeze by to make way for spring. Of course, in Florida, it’s already spring judging by the weather. Now we will also see the days getting longer as the sun moves north.

It is my hope that the world embraces the month of love as was the intent. More love is a good thing to have right now. I’m so grateful for the love in my life. Rudy, Molly, my parents, my sister and brother, good friends. Family that has left us too soon but never forgotten.

Spread the love 💕 vibes!

For the past year you may have regretted taking a few simple things for granted: hugs, smiling faces, hustle and bustle, and a good old fashioned date. Life in Florida resembles a more normal life, but face masks still hide the smiles we crave. However, date night is possible! So off we went… it was exciting to plan and fun to execute, too.

We spend our winters (this is our third) in central Florida. It’s an area dotted with fresh water lakes (Chain of Lakes) and lots of green spaces. While we are about 40 min to Orlando, the closest (and by far our regular go to) is Lakeland. It’s about 100k in population and, as the name would imply, has tons of lakes. They embrace the lakes and have created interesting vignettes around them such as walking paths, bird sanctuary, art installations and historical tours. Frank Lloyd Wright is a very prominent figure in the landscape and enthusiasts can enjoy his works throughout. Detroit Tigers play their spring ball in Lakeland; the stadium is ideal. The more we do there the more we find to do. So date night featured Lakeland.

Timing is a major consideration for us. Lakeland is about a 30 min drive (we can take a few minutes longer if we choose the back road instead of the Hwy). The timing revolves around Molly. She walks twice a day (for a poop … she won’t go in the yard) and her schedule is fairly rigid: when she gets up in the morning and again at around 4 pm). You can practically set your watch by her routines. The other consideration is our own bedtime; we are not late nighters anymore with the odd exception (guests or special occasion). So our target zone for events is limited. Date night would be 5 pm to 11 pm fitting our parameters.

We started with dinner. Reservations at 5:45 pm at the https://mojobbq.com/locations/mojo-federal/ Mojo Federal Swine and Spirits. As I mentioned, downtown Lakeland is historic and the resto was in a repurposed building featuring exposed bricks and open ceilings. As soon as you walked in there was a tantalizing aroma of smoke. The place was lively and busy with tables and a huge bar ( where we both agreed we would return to again … we like sitting at the bar and absorb the vibe). We’ve been getting used to eating our main meal midday so we don’t like to pig out at supper time, but watching the plates of food roll out it was tempting to go hog wild. (My pig puns are intended)

We started with a beer and fried dill pickle chips. They were served with a tangy dip that was yummy! For our mains I ordered the Mojo pulled pork salad and Rudy had the shrimp. Most entrees come with side dishes and Rudy chose coleslaw and beans. When a nearby table got their onion rings I was envious …. huge thick rings battered and piled high on the plate. My mouth is watering as I type. The pork on my salad was perfect; just the right amount of fat and smoke. I enjoyed every bite.

After dinner we walked over to the https://www.polktheatre.org/ Polk Theatre. We’ve been here before. It’s a historic theatre built almost 100 years ago. There’s mezzanine and balcony seating. They screen classic old movies and have themes each month. This months theme was under the sea. Our feature film was “Dead Calm” with Nicole Kidman and Sam Neal. We hadn’t seen it in years; it’s a nail biter. The theatre seats several hundred; there were 7 tickets sold for our show. It was like a private screening! The theatre is manned by volunteers; there’s a box office at the front, a live organist who entertains you pre-show and a concession stand. Tickets were $5 each.

At the end of the show we walked back over to Tennessee Ave for a nightcap at http://lakelandloft.com/ Lakeland Loft. This is a second floor space decked out with chandeliers and tin ceilings and ornate furniture. Like you’ve gone back in time to a wealthy southern establishment with stuffy red leather chairs and private rooms with Juliette balconies. A huge marble bar is the central feature aside from the walk-in cigar humidor and glass enclosed wine room. This is where smoking inside while sipping a libation and listening to live jazz (weekends) is the norm. We love it here!

We take our seats at the bar and order (Campari soda for me and scotch for Rudy). Then Rudy heads over to the humidor where he chooses a stogie. The attendant cuts and lights it for him. each place at the bar has a giant crystal ashtray. As we drink, smoke and enjoy the music it occurs to me that we could not be doing this anywhere else. And I’m suddenly grateful for the opportunity knowing that we can’t take it for granted.

Date night ends as we drive home under a full moon. Molly greets us at the door with a concerned bark: where the heck have you been?? I take her out for a bedtime pee and marvel at the clear warm night and celestial showcase.

As we drift off to sleep we are thankful for simple pleasures.

Birthdays are weird. It’s a milestone every year you only pass once in a lifetime. I suppose everyone has their own take on how to mark the day. Some even (mostly Leos) mark the whole month. Each to his own.

In reflection, a January birthday has been challenging over the years. As a kid, weather was prohibitive from time to time; you couldn’t play all the regular party games since you were confined indoors. And a bit later, like highschool, it’s exam time and you get lost in the cramming frenzy. Then birthdays seem to lose their luster for a few years as your career and life get too hectic right after Christmas break. And every year it falls right around the time they declare the “saddest day of the year”. Yikes!

Yesterday, by all measurements, was a great day. It was sunny and warm. Rudy walked Molly. I lingered in bed. Then we took off for pickleball. We returned midday and enjoyed a light lunch al fresco. Followed by a relaxing stint by the pool including a nap. There’s something about the warm sun like a soothing cozy blanket that induces slumber. Aahhh. Then a few deliveries arrived.

A big basket of pamper me supplies including bubbly, chocolates, bath bombs… an ideal kit for a chronic bather! Thanks to my sister who diligently arranges family gifts on behalf of everyone. It’s her knack. It’s nice being on the receiving end. Then the florist came again. I say again because Rudy had a dozen gorgeous roses delivered a day ago. Today’s delivery was a stunning arrangement in light pink and white from my friend ShariLee. A really nice surprise!!

Then we had a zoom call with our friends in Wasaga Beach. It was nice to see happy, familiar faces. We chatted about life in Florida (everyone is always so shocked to learn there’s no bodies in the streets and life is pretty normal … darn media!) versus life in lockdown. No one is obeying all the orders and continue to have secret social gatherings of 2 or 4 people. They put groceries in their trunk in case they are pulled over?? They drive to other places to take a walk and stay on the lookout for cops who are ticketing rogues. Too bad our governing bodies didn’t invest as much time and resources into helping seniors in lockdown as they do in manning snitch lines and penalizing those trying to stay sane.

After the call we headed to a local restaurant for dinner. We don’t go out much and I was really looking forward to prime rib at Mannys. It’s a local chop house that’s always packed. They have happy hour from 4 pm to 7 pm. and an early bird menu up to 6 pm. We hit the wheelhouse. You start with 2 for 1 drinks and then they bring a huge bowl of salad to the table. It’s a real treat! By the time we leave, I can feel the manhattans doing a tango in my gut with the prime rib. We aren’t used to big meals and hard liquor! I guess I’m becoming a lightweight.

On our drive home friends called on FaceTime and we had a nice chat. Again the topic was lockdown and what you do to keep busy. It appears that walking in new trails is the top choice. Sadly they too talked about police presence and fear of reprisal. It was a short call as time was pressuring me to make my daily call to my parents.

My mom is usually in bed by 8 pm so if I don’t call in time she misses the conversation (which I’m positive she keeps track of somewhere like notches in the bedpost). My dad answers and they are both on speaker phone. It’s a challenge when they talk at the same time. Dad tells me they talked about my birth 57 years ago. I was a morning baby. The hospital called my dad at work to let him know he had a daughter; he could come after work to see, not sooner, so mom could rest. Times sure have changed. I asked mom if she was exhausted and needed the rest. No way she says; in that age you didn’t get exhausted. Mädle! I told them about my day and all the goodies and fun calls. My dad, his voice cracking, said he wished me a wonderful day and hoped I was happy. Hearing his sad voice, of course, made me want to cry. I assured them I had the best day.

There were also a ton of texts, emails and other messages (Rudy’s going to post a general thank you on Facebook since I’ve been off for almost a year) which made my day. I told my parents that so many people remembered my birthday that it was overwhelming and humbling. My uncle in Germany wrote the nicest email. My step kids both sent endearing messages. Friends far and wide chimed in. I feel special. Thank you 😊

Another year in the vault.

My mom checks the mail everyday. Sometimes she’s checks it twice or more if she’s forgotten she’s already done so. Getting mail is a big thing these days. I suppose when there isn’t any she thinks she needs to try again. Same result. Disappointment. Even when I’m there, mom will have her internal alarm clock ding at the time she needs to check the mail. She suddenly announces that it’s time and off she goes. When there’s something to bring back it’s like she’s accomplished a major feat. She’s useful and has been productive. How strange it must be to her (in her lucid mind) that her once sharp intelligence is now a faint memory and has been replaced with confusion and frustration. And collecting mail is a major accomplishment.

Rudy bought me postcards so I could mail them out regularly. Today I mailed my first one. I talk to my folks everyday except when my sister is there. Don’t want to overload the fragile sensory apple cart. So I sat at the breakfast table and thought about what to say. We catch up on the mundane every time we speak… what was had for meals is a good topic. It’s a reminder of how my moms brain is dysfunctioning (is that a word? It should be). I ask mom they had for lunch. Dad answers usually while mom is adjusting her thinking cap. When I ask if she liked it, the response can be utterly amusing.

Lately she’s been accusing dad of not shopping and therefore they aren’t eating. Dad assures me this is false but she’s so sincere I can see how professionals dealing with clients like my mom are thrown off track. My sister tells me that mom has been talking about baking cakes and making soup. These are crazy flashbacks from many years ago. It startled me to realize how long she’s been in cognitive decline and how we have adjusted and adapted. Like it’s normal. Apparently she also tried to clean the oven (even though it’s self cleaning). It seems as though her memories are firmly planted in the kitchen and around food.

So I jotted a short blurb about the weather on the postcard and popped in the mailbox. I thought to myself what her reaction will be when she collects from her box in the future. I sent her a birthday card. It was a cartoon depicting an animated kid yelling for their mom (there’s a whole inside family joke about my brother who used to yell for mom …. another time perhaps…) my dad told me he had to read it to mom several times. He said she liked it. I’m wondering if she forgot he read it to her before. Either way, it was a cute and funny card that she grasped the meaning of. A good memory.

I will send out a postcard every week or two. Rudy has me well stocked. Last week I sent flowers for their anniversary. 1959. 62 years. When the delivery came to their door they were surprised. They read the card which said “happy anniversary”. Still surprised. They had no idea it was January 7. No idea it was their anniversary. Next time I will warn them by sending a postcard.

Cherish every moment.

This time of year in Florida is not baking in the sun weather. We love it and so does Molly! Sunny skies and 65F is ideal for a little day trip. There’s so many interesting and quaint nooks around here.

Today’s adventure was in Winter Garden. It’s about a 30 minute scenic drive from our place heading north towards Orlando. We usually end up at the Crooked Can Brewery but today it was so temperate we decided to take Molly for a little walk off the main drag. Winter Gardens historical district has bricked narrow streets and trucks are not allowed but golf carts are. It’s hilarious to see people putting around in their golf carts. Today we saw a six seater and Rudy said there was one on the golf course that was enclosed and had AC?! Who knew.

We parked the car across from the big Baptist church. It’s a grand building and a lovely landmark in town. The neat shopping area on Plant Street is jammed with restaurants and cafes and tiny stores. There’s also a fire hall with antique trucks out front. The whole area is an interesting place.

But today we veered off the main area which was quite busy and crowded (because it was Sunday?). And we are not big on crowds. One lady we passed asked us if we were there to get shots for our dog? We didn’t know if she meant photos or vaccines. Another good reason to go off road. Everyone (apparently) has needle envy.

So we find ourselves walking towards Lake Apopka. Central Florida does not have a coastline on an ocean but it has a million smaller lakes and we have found very nice parks and trails on them. Today was no exception. At the end of the road we landed in a park on the lake and stopped to sit in the sun and enjoy the view.

You know you’re not in Canada when you see signs forbidding you from feeding the gators! The birds on the shoreline were plentiful. An Audubon enthusiast would have been a useful resource. However we still managed to spot about 5 or 6 species. Due to the chilly temperatures there were no gators to see let alone feed. There was a large sign detailing the lake and the features around it. Another man there told us about the sanctuary trail you can drive on around the lake. I see another trip in our future!

As we sat on the bench and enjoyed the warm sunshine on our backs we mused about how fortunate we are. Rudy’s mom used to say: if you have your health you have everything. As usual, she was right.

So 2020 wasn’t the best year. In fact it was a wipe out for many and disastrous for some. And fatal for others. We had a few great chats with friends as the clock ticked. A quick glance at the Times Square countdown on tv made us groan out loud. We were off to bed with Molly, a movie with the volume turned up high, snuggled for the last gasp of the year. Good riddance.

Midnight is way past our bedtime normally so we were pooped. Add to that a lively round of pickleball earlier in the day followed by a seniors early bird New Years lunch (3 pm) at our friends place on Lake Van. They are swing dancers (not to be confused with swingers where you chuck your car keys into the bowl to see who you go home with) and for the past 15 years have attended the big New Years dance and conference in Orlando. It was scratched for this year like many other things. They are also world travellers; they’ve been grounded since covid started. They remarked how many roadside fireworks tents they have seen pop up. Rudy and I had noticed the same. It doesn’t bode well for our freshly groomed princess Molly.

We were ready to hit the hay.

But ….

Not so fast.

The popping and cracking and banging started early with a few random blasts here and there. By the time we hit the bed the fireworks frenzy was in full swing. It was happening all around us front, back and side. Poor Molly! she was trembling and whining. Any other time I would have enjoyed watching the show! Rudy rolled over and snoozed while I tried to comfort Molly by petting her and cooing in her ear. She was wedged between us with her head tucked under my arm.

Finally at well past midnight, the noise stopped. I breathed a sigh of relief and so did Molly. It was over. 2020 was in the rear view mirror. A fitting violent and disturbing end to a turbulent year of fear and hate.

Thing is, I’m not sure it’s really over just yet. There were six of us at our seniors New Years (the other two couples are American) and when our hosts would go inside to prep (a most yummy meal …. he’s a fabulous cook AND baker!) the other couple would sneak in conversation about politics. The two couples are a perfect example of the great divide chewing up the nation. The virus, and the handling of it, is a political movement. Yikes. We are happy to be neutral as Canadians. It’s interesting and hard to observe at the same time.

I’m hopeful of a coming year that brings renewed positive outlooks. A light at the end of the tunnel. Everyone’s tunnel has been uniquely painful (even the out of touch politician who jetted off to a posh Caribbean holiday … what a douche) and I wish them well.

Seniors trapped in loveless lonely institutions; I wish them companionship and compassionate care with the dignity they deserve.

Those with sickness; I wish them expedited treatment and the ability to have an advocate by their side as they fight their enemy.

Small business and their employees; I wish them tenacity to hold on until they can thrive again and the wisdom and ingenuity to adapt until they can.

Lawmakers; I wish them the courage to act for the people who believe in them to steer the nations into calm and gentle waters. And offer hope for the American dream.

Family; I wish for continued good health and patience. I know the love has never wavered. ♥️

“Fear can hold you prisoner. Hope can set you free. “ Stephen King – Shawshank Redemption

Today we took advantage of the Florida polar vortex (temps of 13C) and went to a nearby park for a short hike with Molly. She loves this weather that makes locals put on parkas or hibernate indoors and lizards fall from the trees. We use an app called All Trails which was recommended by our hiking guru, Leo. In these modern digital times, the app lets us find a trail nearby, describes the landscape and intensity and, great for those lacking orientation skills, helps us navigate back to trails head.

The park is Shingles Creek and the trail is Steffee Homestead. A meandering walk partly dirt, partly paved and partly boardwalked through the jungle. I always channel Jurassic Park because of the huge plants and dense moss that drips from the trees. This park also includes some interesting historical sites and a watercraft launch if you dare paddle the creek. Today would have been ideal since all creatures of swampland were well hidden to keep warm.

On the drive over we FaceTimed with my sister at my folks. That’s a whole other jungle. I could sense that my mom was a bit agitated and that’s usually amplified by her dementia demons. Evil Baby, as my sister calls mom, was lashing out in her passive aggressive way. It’s a scenario that my dad is used to, but it gets on everyone else’s nerves after a day. I’m not sure how my sister tolerates for several days. Maybe that’s why they call her The Tin (wo) Man. In any event, we were the diversion. Since I was driving, Rudy was on phone duty. It is easy for everyone but me to forget that my Bluetooth is programmed to my hearing aid unless I manually turn it off. I had the gps lady chirping in my ear while trying to talk to the gang. Makes me feel like a celebrity with an earpiece listening to instructions while attempting to speak coherently. Some are better at it than others.

Once we arrived at the parking lot for the park we picked a parking spot at the end. It’s another thing we have to be mindful of with Molly as she needs a big gap between vehicles to make her leap into the backseat. She hops out and barks excitedly. I’m not sure what her reason for barking is since she had a 318 in our neighborhood before we left. Rudy’s convinced she has to go again. He was right. Within minutes of starting the trail, Molly is dropping a deuce. We call it Double Dutch; if anything her constitution is functioning at its peak!

The trail is quiet. We are the only ones weathering the freezing (ha ha) temps to be outdoors. Molly is mesmerized by the smells; she is exuberant in her fuzzy fur coat trotting along and sniffing. It’s an in and out trail which means you walk to the end and back again (versus a loop which, naturally, loops around). Back at the car Molly’s ready for a drink and Rudy pulls out her water bowl. Sniffing is hard work.

Since we are really close to historical Kissimmee we take a drive to the downtown. It’s very interesting (albeit deserted) and we make a note to come back on a hot day for a bike ride around the lake.

Two jungles ticked off the list. It’s a good day.

The year 2020 has been one for the archives. And perhaps it would be best to seal it in a vault for good. Good riddance. Stink. Stank. Stunk.

This Christmas is part of the puzzle now too. In an effort to make me forget that I’m miles apart from my family (of course not including Rudy and Molly), Rudy has been bending over backwards and sideways to divert my attention. I didn’t realize I was outwardly displaying my inner sadness at missing my sister and my folks so much. I realize that many people are in the exact same situation but not by choice. perhaps that’s what is so sad.

We’ve done all the Christmassy things and I’m trying to buff up the efforts. But they are falling a bit short of expectations and just don’t fill the void. Covid has shrouded the magic of the holiday with a dark cloud.

The usual twinkling of lights and festive mood is wearing a mask. Hugging and kissing is verboten; it’s hard to do from six feet away. Celebration (Disney’s perfect town) was a somber place with less Christmas spirit and energy. People wandered aimlessly fearful of one another. The main attraction was Molly! People even asked to take her photo! I know she’s adorable in full fuzzy splendour, but in past years the buzz in Celebration has been carriage rides and skating (on fake ice) and snow falling (foam) and carollers all in a perfect village with every inch decorated with garlands and lights … we joke that all Hallmark movies are filmed there. It’s a perfect Christmas place. Until 2020.

We went to church. I’ve always wanted to attend a service with a rock band and high energy. So we found a service close to us for some holy roller inspiration. When we sat down (apart from others and with masks) the band instruments were sitting on the stage. As I had expected there is no ornate altar and fancy podium, it’s a stage like at a concert or school play. But when the program started it lacked the energy and inspiration that I envisioned. We sang carols and listened to scripture, but it wasn’t the message of hope and joy that we needed.

During the day Rudy laid out the plan for the afternoon and evening. I like a good game plan and Rudy was determined to bring some connections to our distant Christmas. So I addition to church we would have a grazing meal and call family and friends. In particular Rudy wanted to call a good friend who had moved away some years ago. We’d lost touch a bit and since I’m not on social media the connection was almost nil. Rudy insisted and persisted.

He called from his iPad using Facebook (he’s still a user) and there was no answer. I was ok with that. What would we talk about “face to face” after years? But Rudy was not dissuaded; he called her daughter. And she answered. Rudy thrusts his tablet in front of me and I say hi. She’s surprised and I explain the Christmas calling plan. Then she asks if I’ve talked to her mom? Did I know? I feel a knot starting in my gut. Then the bombshell: mom would rather tell you herself … she has cancer and had another chemo treatment today. As the words spill out, my friend is calling Rudy back. It’s a technological hurricane matching my swirling mind.

We switch devices and get my friend (and her husband) on the tablet. She’s wearing a toque. They both look tired. After a minute of “what a nice surprise “ etc. I ask about the elephant in the room. She tears up and explains that she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Because of covid her initial testing and diagnosis was delayed. But now the treatment plan is chemo, surgery, radiation. The outlook is good. But the process sucks. We move on and talk about other things. Her husband goes on and on about a range of topics and I’m grateful since I feel like I’ve been knocked out by Mohammed Ali. I’m in shock and my friend is beat up by fate. We talk for almost an hour. Promises to connect in person in better times ….

I really feel like crying or screaming. But I know that would tip the scales into a really deep dark hole. That phone call took my low Christmas spirit into a slimy ditch. And then, like a thunderbolt of awakening, I realized that the phone call was, in-fact, divine intervention. I needed perspective and I got it in spades. Christmas wasn’t about glitzy lights and bling. It was being grateful for the blessings and joy in life. Good health. Good family. Goodness all around.

My intention will be to focus on the goodness.

Merry Christmas from us to you.

Little nuggets of wisdom from my brother; he might have been three or four years old at the time. Some of his sayings are now woven tightly into the fabric of the family archives. But yesterday, during a conversation with my sister, the food theme took on another meaning. It’s the evolution of nurturing in our family.

It made me wonder if living through years of near starvation during the war made food such a focal point in their lives. Even my grandmother, when she would visit from Germany, made food her concern. I think one of the very first words in English she learned were “are you hungry”. As though fulfilling this basic need was a key to happiness. Clearly, when there’s little or no food to be had, the comfort of a full belly is a big deal.

My mom carried that tradition and mindset on, too. Over the years food was often the main event. And she strived to ensure our diets were nourishing and delicious. It was a way for her to show caring and love. I totally get it. Food is a pleasurable sensation for us. We live abundantly and enjoy the life of plenty.

I recall as a youngster how our palettes were very different from others. Just like language, food is cultural. While our friends were eating lasagne and sloppy Joe’s, we were eating rouladen and spatzle. School lunches for us were Kaiser buns laden with Black Forest ham while others munched on PB and J. I’m sure it’s a whole new scene out there now especially since peanut butter is verboten.

In grade school we used to walk home for lunch and eat our dinner at noon. Dad would also get a lunch break and come home. That in itself is almost unheard of until covid of course. We would gather around our kitchen table (which had only four chairs as my mom busied herself with serving) and await our meal. One of the best meals was minute steak. A very thin cut of beef that my mom would pan fry in butter (never margarine!) with onions. When the meat was gone mom put the empty frying pan (a big square electric thing) on the table and we took pieces of bread to sop up the bits left in the bottom.

It’s funny that my career revolved around food for the final stages. I recall one of the chef instructors answering the question “who, in your opinion, is the best chef”. His answer (oddly that most chefs in the beginning were men) was: mothers. He explained that mothers took lean budgets (mostly they didn’t work so there was only 1 family income) and limited equipment resources (tiny electric stoves) and had to feed a group three meals a day. There was no such thing as convenience foods like we know them today. If you wanted a snack it was a piece of fruit. I remember going to a friends house and having “hamburger helper” and thinking it was amazing.

Rudy and I reminisce about his mom and her kitchen a lot. Now that I think about it, they had a tiny kitchen with a table and four chairs (they were also a family of 5) and even up to the end of her life, Rudy’s mom had a puny electric stove, one sink (no dishwasher) and a small fridge. Yet she produced the most delicious meals. We try to emulate her recipes frequently. It’s comfort for the soul and enriched with so many good memories.

So yesterday I was talking with my sister. She is the primary babysitter for my mom and dad while I’m away. It’s a decision that still weighs on me heavily as travel is so restricted these days; I’m hopeful that will change sooner than later. I would love to be able to make a visit back to see my folks in person. Alas, it’s a wait and see scenario. My sister is in the same geographical situation; she’s a two hour drive to my parents place. Plus my sister is still very much employed. Her position requires her to work many hours everyday and now she’s doing her work from home. Her office in New York has been shuttered since covid began and won’t reopen until at least May 2021. She’s had to create a home office and zoom in like so many others.

She tried “working from home” at my parents place. As she described it, I could see in my minds eye what the scenario looked like. Mom and dad sleep in our (me and my sisters) old bedroom set up. Two single beds made by our former neighbour, Mr Deiterding, who was a woodworker. Nice pine beds with single foam mattresses. There was also a desk and chair to match. Now it’s the master bedroom suite in their two bedroom condo. And the only place to sit and work other than the dining room table.

My sister has been visiting my parents every other week since I returned from Florida earlier this year (for a while it was weekly! as she did their shopping too). To make it feasible with a two hour drive, she and Frank will stay for a few days at a time. Therefore she has to squish work in there, too.

There she is, set up at our old desk (which was plenty big to hold a binder and pencil case but computer gadgets not so much) with her zoom meeting in full swing. In the middle of the meeting my mother enters the room and in full view of the meeting camera asks if my sister is hungry. “Can I make you a sandwich?” My sister says that some of her colleagues have kids so there’s often a blooper. They view my mom as a kid. They understand.

So in order to accommodate her life situation, my sister has rented an apartment in Stratford from January to May. Juggling and balancing all the moving parts requires ingenuity and will. Sums up my sister pretty well; she’s completely tenacious in problem solving. Don’t whine; fix it. And she’s super smart. No problem too complicated. Luckily Frank is indulgent. Our parents are the only ones he has left, too.

Mom is living a very simple life now. Her daily routine is highlighted by checking the mail. Knowing this we send her cards so there’s something to collect. In her former life she would handle the household finances and the mail was the delivery of bills. Now Frank handles all the bills on line. There’s very little mail. Yesterday she checked the mail three times hoping to find a piece to bring up for my dad to read. Nada. It’s her birthday in a few days and I don’t think my card will make it, but that won’t matter to my mom because whenever it does arrive will be the highlight of that day. Her other mission is feeding everyone. She forgets that we’ve eaten lunch (or any meal for that matter) and slips into her familiar mode of making something to eat. She no longer can cook food but she can prepare sandwiches.

I wondered why there’s often a plate of sandwiches beside my dads seat in the den. It just occurred to me as I type this, that my dad gets tired of telling my mom “no, we just ate … maybe later” and just lets her fiddle in the kitchen to make a sandwich. When I think of how robust their lives were it makes me very sad to imagine their humble, quiet routine. My mom is not able to do much with her disabilities (vision, cognitive, mobility) and my dad is her caregiver; a duty and responsibility he accepts with grace and kindness. He calls her his lamb (in German) as he brushes her hair or puts in her hearing aids. My sister has given her another handle: Evil Baby. There’s definitely a side to mom that’s not very lamb-like. When she hears Evil Baby, mom actually laughs and smiles; she likes it.

It’s hard to say where my moms brain has gone. There are some days that she’s very tuned in. My dad embraces these precious days and savours the company of his “old wife”. He has told me that he likes the conversations with the real mom. Unfortunately those times are fewer and fewer. I think mom knows it too. It must be so frustrating to feel out of control of your own abilities. Especially since she was so in charge her whole life.

I’m so grateful my sister is taking the reins. There’s a fine line for me between living the retired life while my parents are so dependent on help. Even though it’s only a few months, it weighs heavily on me that I’m shirking my responsibility. Luckily Rudy keeps me grounded. I better go now …. he might be hungry.

PS thinking about my brother, I have to chuckle at the memories of him and food. As a toddler he could never resist a puddle to drink from or a metal surface to lick in the winter. Icicles were a special treat! But the thought of him tucking into one of his favourites: cheese curds, captain crunch cereal, potato salad, ice cream pie … all brings a smile to my face. Now that he’s married to a fabulous cook, he’s all set. Love me and feed me. ♥️