The Anniversary

It's been two years.  Someone told me early on it gets harder, not easier.  I think she was right.  Numb has worn off.  Reality is not always kind.  

The photo is not the best, but it is here, and one of only a handful of the two of us together.  This was taken in Dec 2005 while visiting Lyla Berg at the Hawaii State Capitol.  

Aloha, Ray.  You're still making a difference in my life, still influencing how I view the world and the people whose lives touch mine.   You always will.  I am so thankful for the time we shared, for the things we learned together, for the things we taught each other.  You made me a better person, more tolerant, more caring, more able to reach out.  You gave me confidence, reminded me to laugh at myself.  I love you.  

Today I am off to the Queen Emma Summer Palace in Nu'uanu to begin as a volunteer with the Daughters of Hawaii.  It's a time for beginnings as well as farewells.  

Give thanks for Ray.  Look for something special he -- or someone else close to you -- added to your life.  Don't forget to pray ....   

Automotive Mechanics

I looked at the little tag in the windshield of my mother's car the other day, the one that says when the next service is due. I had been paying lots of attention to the mileage, noting we were still several hundred miles from the "next service due at ..." number. This time I also paid attention to the recommended service date: April, 2008. Oh-oh! That meant it's been a year since the Passat had its oil changed. It's been making funny noises, too. Squeeky doors. Brake rubbing noises. Unexpected creaking in the steering. I guess I've been spoiled by years of Saturn service. I expected that when you take a car in for a safety check or routine service they would look at things like brakes and tell you if it was time to deal with them before you destroyed something significant. Nobody ever mentioned the turn signals that only work on manual ....

When the Passat went in for service this week I specifically asked the mechanic to change the windshield wiper blades, check the brakes, and estimate the repair cost of those leaking oil seals. The news was not good. $1000 in repairs to replace the leaky seals and the rear brakes. Mother almost cried when I told her.

Yesterday morning at breakfast she announced that she wanted to go "to the Ford place". She wanted to look at cars. She has always enjoyed driving Fords. Her first car, she told the salesman, was a Model T. She didn't add that it was practically new at the time. So we looked. She was enchanted with the little green 2008 Focus with its manual everything (except transmission) and its $4000 rebate. "It's a beautiful color!" she said. I could just hear Ray. "Bonnie P, you don't buy a car because of its color!"

"What do you have in used cars?" she asked. The salesman drove her around to look at a sage green 2006 Fusion, Ford's current mid-sized offering. It had lots more bells and whistles, lots more room, similar gas mileage, and would save her $2000. It was a lease return and had relatively low mileage, even for Hawaii.

"Will you take a trade-in?" They would take the Passat. "How much do I have to give you to hold the car for me?" For $100 she could take the car of her choice home today. Several hours later, and well within her original budget, we left the Ford dealership in the Fusion. It's taking time getting used to turn signals that really work, to brakes that stop without rubbing, to a trunk where things are out of sight, and to the different size and shape of this vehicle. It's not too big, about the same as the Passat, but feels like it sits higher. She is happy. I am thankful.

The new picture at the top of this page? That's Sarah's Quilt, the one I made for her to take to art school last summer. It's hanging on the railing of my deck in Groveland. There's still some basting in place, but the bright colors reminding me of Budhist dancers in Bhutan are all there. It reminds me of Sarah and her youthful outlook. Keep happy, Sarah.

Look for the positives -- even in the message that your vehicle needs $$$$$ repairs. Give thanks. Don't forget to pray.

Without a Valentine

Some days -- notably, American holidays -- are intended for pairs, partners or families. Without a partner, without close family links, it is no wonder that holidays bring on depression in lonely souls. It's easy to lock yourself up (literally or figuratively) and feel sorry for yourself.

It takes more effort to think of those holidays as times for reaching out to others, known and unknown. By reaching out, the overwhelming awareness of what you don't have -- no longer have -- perhaps never had -- is lessened by the joy in the faces and voices of those to whom you reach out. The shadows disappear for awhile in the light that fills your life, at least momentarily.

So Valentine's Day was a solitary day. My mother commented at breakfast that she used to have heart-shaped cake pans (they are now in my pantry in California), used to put heart-shaped candies on the table set with red-and-white linens. But not any more. It was not clear whether it is too much effort, or if she has lost the spirit with the loss of affection for my father.

But I made my weekly telephone call to a solitary friend in California, and heard her voice brighten. I visited my father, and saw the joy in his eyes that I -- someone he recognized as belonging -- had arrived. I talked to a cousin in Colorado, a daily event that goes a long way to keeping me sane. We help each other grope through the shadows of widowhood. I am making friends at the nursing home where my father is resident. Mr. Ally, who has the bed next to my father, spends all day in front of the elevator where his daughters have assigned him as greeter. He beams when I greet him by name. Charlotte is another long term care patient who sits most days in her wheelchair near the nursing station. She seldom speaks, only sometimes acknowledges, but when she smiles and waves it is another reward. I can make a difference.

Reach out. Look for positives. Give thanks. Pray.

Mother, May I?

We have different styles, my mother and I. The biggest differences I recognize as coming from Ray. Surprisingly to me, they often involve tolerance for and respecting the needs of others. Ray said we are afraid of the things we don't know. Getting to know someone very different from yourself breaks down barriers and fear. Some differences have to do with country living. I love it. She lived in the country as a child and hates it. I like quite outside, but the sound of a human voice inside -- radio, TV, something to counter the solitariness of living alone. She doesn't hear the outside noise. Deafness brings its own isolation.

Ray said that when you have disposable income, it's OK to pamper yourself occasionally. Mother says, "Don't buy it unless you absolutely need it. When you do buy it, get the lowest price available." That's why we have 11 lbs of margerine in the freezer -- it was on sale, 5# for $5. Consider that "It's Not Butter" is selling here for just under $3/lb and butter is $4.50 - $7/lb. That's also why she loves thrift shops and garage sales. It's a left-over from Depression Era economics, followed closely by WWII in Hawaii when not much was available.

Mother is just 3 months short of her 95th birthday. She moves remarkably well for a 95-year-old, but her pace is slowing and her endurance level is getting lower. Bringing a loaf of bread from the car to the house after a trip to the market is an effort. There are things she would like to do, but doesn't because they take too much effort. Traveling, for example. Anything that requires stairs. Walking up or down a slope, even 15' of sloped driveway or parking lot. Crossing the street is a long walk. Will she do some of those special things in a wheelchair? Not on your life! She doesn't say it, but I'm sure she is thinking it makes her look old.

Mother wants to be in control. It's not "I'm going to ..., would you care for....?" It's "Here's what I'm doing (or having), and here's what you will do." I am, after all, still her daughter. Apparently daughters are not adults. My daughters, biological and hanai, are adults. Even the teen-age granddaughters have likes, dislikes and interests that are unique and important. Sometimes there are things they can learn from me. At least as often, there are things I can learn from them.

Mother doesn't want to spend time with my dad -- her husband. To say that he has treated her badly for most of the 70 years they have been together is an understatement. Emotionally and verbally abusive is probably a better description. She is resentful of the time I spend at the care facility and meeting some of his physical needs. Like doing his laundry. Or taking care of the boat. Or packing up his possessions. "Why should we bother to store those?" she asks. "We should dispose of them." Some of those things she wants to dispose of are things that Ian and/or I find interesting.

So the dance goes on, balancing her needs, both physical and emotional, with his -- and with my own. Mother, may I go out dancing? The answer depends on the mood.

Look for positives. Give thanks. Keep praying.

On Crime and Punishment

My brother's home was burglarized while they were at work on Monday. Jewelry, cameras and a computer taken. Oh yes, and the TV. You can read about it in his words at his blog: ilind.net

One of the things "taken" was a photograph of one of the thieves, courtesy of the little video cam used to monitor the cats when Ian and Meda are away. It was almost as if the thief was mocking the camera. Although he had one hand across his face, Ian and Meda recognized the culprit. When the photo was posted on two of Ian's blogs, several other people recognized him, too. So did his mother.

Short version: The police picked the kid up either last evening or this morning, he reportedly confessed, supposedly blamed his friend, and his mother is working on getting back as much of the property as she can. This all happened as a community effort -- people talking, people observing, people taking responsibility. People besides Ian and Meda. It's a good example of a benefit of living in a small community where everyone knows everyone. Or knows someone who knows everyone. Where the rest of the community really cares about what happens to you.

The young man in this story clearly had not read the Ray Stevens Rules of Life. Rule #1 probably did not occurred to him until last night. If you can't do the time, don't do the crime. Ray used that almost as a mantra. He told our own kids. He told our foster kids. He told me. He told anyone he felt needed a reminder. Sometimes he'd grin. More often he was deadly serious. If you cannot accept the consequences of your action, don't do it. It's about the same as the Front Page Rule. If you don't want to see it printed on the front page of the local newspaper, don't do it! Then there's Christianity's version: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Rule #2 got missed, too. Don't burn your friends. Or in the case of the more youthful generations, or your parents' friends. Ian and Meda are not close friends of the kid's family, but they are friends. And they are neighbors. Bad decision on the kid's part.

Perhaps some good can come out of this. Perhaps the young man will begin to understand that there are logical consequences that go along with all behavior. "Good" behavior, behavior that is acceptable to the community, has positive consequences. "Bad" behavior usually has negative consequences. Given enough positive consequences (although I don't see many positive consequences coming from this particular action), perhaps he can focus on good behavior rather than bad.

If you can't do the time, don't do the crime.

Look for the good. Give thanks. Keep praying ...

Memory Lost and Found

My dad has no short term memory. On Monday afternoon he could not remember whether he had gotten his hair cut that morning (he had). He remembered signing up (they don’t) and everyone clamoring impatiently for attention (they do), so he gave up his place for someone who wanted their hair cut worse than he did. Hmmmm.

Clearly his boat does not fall into short term memory. From my perspective, he hasn’t had it all that long. After all, he didn’t start boating until after I left home, and this was not his first boat. But he bought this boat 40 years ago, in 1969. It was a day or two ago, wasn’t it?

My mother suffers terribly from motion sickness, so the boat was never a family affair. Ian doesn't fish. I don’t know that he and Meda have been aboard the NaDu-K2 except on those occasions when they were scattering ashes – first my Uncle Jimi’s, then Ray’s. I haven’t been around to do any boating. Consequently, I’ve never had to learn to operate this boat.

Today I went down to the yacht harbor, met one of my dad’s fishing buddies, and learned about starting the engines. They are a pair of BMW diesels and significantly larger than those in an automobile. Or at least the engines in the little cars that I drive! She's not a really big boat, just 28', but she's big enough to go inter-island all the way to Kona on the island of Hawaii. That's 200 miles in each direction. Daddy and his friends regularly took her to Molokai for a weekend of fishing.

All the fluids were within normal ranges – except the fuel. Oh, dear, need to find someone to drive the boat out of the harbor, over to Sand Island, fuel her, then bring her back to her slip. Even the batteries had plenty of water, although they didn’t have much charge. But there was enough to start the engines. One is running beautifully. The other is blowing oil. Now to figure out how to move the engine compartment covers around by myself. Off is not too bad. On is a different story.

Next stop: hospital. My father and I had a real conversation about the boat. I asked him about the reels. He told me there were two Shimano 14-0, three Penn 12-0 and two Penn 10-0 reels – exactly what the fishing buddies had told me. There is a pole for each reel. Lindsay had taken them home while he was working on the boat, so we have to get them from his family. Along with the keys to the boat and the key to the bicycle lock.

I started into the start-the-boat checklist, adding it to my iTouch. Check the fluids. Turn on the batteries, then the circuit breakers. Don’t turn on the Deckwash Pump unless the valve is already opened. Daddy interrupted. "Don’t open the valve. If you forget to close it, you will sink the boat. In its slip." He has.

On the bridge, find the correct key for each engine. Start engines, one at a time. Make sure all the gauges are working properly. Let the engines run 10-15 minutes. Then reverse the list.

Daddy was pleased. Pleased that someone in the family is taking care of the boat. Pleased, I think, to have a real conversation with someone where he wasn’t struggling to keep up. Pleased that his experience has value.

Meanwhile, he wants to come home. The nurses divert him several times daily, then walk him down the hall towards his room. He is happy again. He is "home".

Look for the good things. Find something, and give thanks. Don’t forget to pray ….

Stormy Weather and Holiday Weekends

It’s Friday heading into a 3-day weekend, as Monday is the federal holiday honoring Dr. Martin Luther King. State and local governments on Oahu, in cooperation with the National Weather Service, have made it a 4-day weekend for schools and government offices. Seems that there is a major storm approaching, and winds this afternoon are predicted to run to near-hurricane levels.

It was breezy but not out of the ordinary this morning when Mother and I went to the market. This afternoon when I went to the hospital it was rainy and the winds were a bit more persistent. We’re supposed to go to a political open house for Lila Berg this evening. Lila is the State Representative for whom my brother works. She is also a personal friend and a proud owner of several of Ray’s carvings purchased on the trip to Groveland “to meet the artist”. How she first saw his work is another story altogether.

My dad is less spacey today that he has been for the last day or two, but maybe it just appears that way because we did not have the opportunity for any substantive conversation. He was sleeping when I arrived with a bunch of daffodils. He woke up as I returned his refreshed vase of flowers to his bedside, but was snatched away by his CNA Soon He to get him up and ready to go to physical therapy before her 2 p.m. staff meeting. We watched a few minutes of the Sony Open together before he went off to therapy and I came home.

He did not mention the absence of Mr. Tomashima from the bed next door. The bed is empty and stripped. The bulletin board is cleared, the wheelchair is gone, and the “Family will do Laundry” sign has been removed from his cabinet. Mr. Tomashima has not been doing well. It’s possible he has been moved to a critical care facility. I suspect that Mr. Tomashima has left us altogether, but know better than to ask staff. Apparently my father is either unaware or unconcerned. Or he has forgotten.

As far as my mother is concerned, it is clear to everyone but her that she really needs to be in an assisted living setting. Perhaps she considers that since I am here she IS in an assisted living setting. She will go to any one of several banks, two markets, and the mall by herself. Any streets that involve more than two lanes of traffic moving at more than 25 MPH she avoids. She also avoid driving more than 1.5 miles in any direction. Five pounds is a very heavy load for her to carry – unless it is genealogy books! She can prune bushes in the hard using her trusty butcher knife, and can strip leaves off the branches to separate what goes in the garbage can and what goes into the compost pile, but after an hour or so she needs a long nap. Those are days when we eat out, order from Panda Express, or indulge in a frozen meal. Otherwise, she does the bulk of the cooking while I do the clean-up.
She promised Ian she would do something about assisted living early this year. It makes economic sense. The two of them can live at One Kalakaua in a nicer setting with lots more help and fewer worries than we will soon be paying for my father alone where he is now. Please, God, give her the nudge she needs to make that transition.

There are some silver linings. We have options. The parents can afford those options. That is more than many have in similar situations. So we focus on those positives, give thanks, and keep praying ...