guilt trips --- whose problem is it?

Another week gone, and I’m not sure where it went. I’ve learned a bit about computer hardware, am crossing my fingers that my laptop survives until I get back to Groveland, and am still struggling with the taking-care-of-the-caretaker conflict.

We found a note on the breakfast table this morning in my father’s shaky hand: “No breakfast for me today. I’m ILL.” He’s having another bout of constipation which he treats with generous portions of Milk of Magnesia and lots of time in bed. He doesn’t stray far from the toilet, either. Mother copes by ignoring him.

On Friday Daddy started out for a destination near the airport, on the other side of Honolulu. He got as far as Sears, at the Ala Moana Center on our side of Honolulu. Yes, he was driving his UNSAFE car, just as he told his doctor he would if the car were in the garage and he wanted to go somewhere. This time, he apparently got onto a hill and the car would not stop. It scared him enough that he turned around and came home, announcing that he didn’t think he would try that again. Further, the corner gas station has installed a new credit card system at their gas pumps, and he cannot figure out how to work them! No one is going to help him learn. This should just reinforce his need to give up driving.

Mother is having some health bouts of her own. She gets a sharp, stabbing pain in one hear – the one with the hearing aid. An ear doctor, whom she doesn’t like, told her it was a jaw problem – TMJ, or a glitch in the connection between the jaw and the skull. She says it doesn’t make sense that a jaw problem should cause this kind of pain in her ear. I believe this is the third time this had happened since I have been here. On Friday her arthritis got the better of her, and she was having enough difficulty walking that she accepted my offer to prepare dinner. Has anybody had any experience with stabbing ear pain or TMJ issues?

I have to keep reminding myself of the mantra, “Assign the problem where it belongs. If it is not your problem, let it go.” Definition of your problem? One where you have control over the outcome. If you can’t change the outcome, it’s NOT YOUR PROBLEM. I can’t change my parents’ relationship. I can’t change whether or not my father will drive – he will drive without license plates, safety sticker, or drivers’ license unless HE decides to quit. I cannot make my mother more communicative. So I cannot feel guilty about leaving. I just have to take care of myself for right now. And keep reminding myself, “Not your problem.” Taking care of my house IS my problem!

Look for the positives. Give thanks. Keep praying!

Too Long ... and not long enough

I have been telling myself for several days, "It is time to post again!" but grab the computer and get distracted. This week's distraction was the birthday. After years of hints, this was the one that finally says "You are REALLY a senior citizen."

We -- my parents, brother and sister-in-law -- enjoyed a lovely dinner at the Reef Hotel smack on Waikiki Beach. I sat next to the outside "wall". This is one of those low walls that in another setting might mark a walkway. This one has a track in it, so they can close off the dining room to keep out intruders or bad weather. Most of the time it's like being on my covered deck in Groveland. If I had dropped something over the wall, it would have landed in the sand of Waikiki beach about 4' below. My view was of Diamond Head. From across the table, Meda looked out towards the harbor and the setting sun. Too bad the sky was too cloudy for one of those remarkable sunsets.

Last year the quote of the day was, "Happy birthday. Your car needs $1700 in repairs." This year the tune was only slightly more modest, but no less disconcerting. It came from the Groveland Community Services District. "Happy Birthday. Your house used 33,000 gallons of water last month." At least they called to share this bit of good news. Then Leda from the front desk added, "But the meter was not spinning when they read it, so it is not a continuous flow like a pipe break. Let us check and see if the meter is working correctly. I'll call you back." That was Thursday. I'm still waiting for the call-back.

I jumped on TheBus (Honolulu's mass transit system) yesterday morning and took a ride out to the other side of the City to collect one of those Senior Benefits to which I am now entitled: a Senior Bus Pass. Google Maps calculates the distance as 9 miles door-to-door by freeway, with a travel time of 9 minutes. Note that Google Maps does not understand Honolulu traffic. First, maximum freeway speed is 50 MPH. Average speed is something less, especially during commute hours when the freeway can turn into a real mainland-style parking 6-lane parking lot. So it probably takes more like 20 minutes with light traffic and no missed turns to get there by car. By bus? Google Maps says about 70 minutes. It took us more like 90 minutes. At the Kalihi Transit Center (TheBus Headquarters) you fill out a simple form, pay your $30, have your picture taken -- and, new photo ID card in hand -- ride the bus for free for the next 12 months. Last week this pass would have cost me $440. No, probably not. I probably would have been told by everyone in the office to come back AFTER my birthday! Hawaii works like that. The average service person pays attention to the client/customer and helps them get the best possible deal.

A bit of sad news. While on Hawaii in February, we visited my cousin Michael McPherson. He was looking forward to his 61st birthday later in the month, but commented that he was "prematurely makule" -- prematurely old. Yesterday emergency responders found his body after a call from a concerned friend. He apparently lay down for a nap a couple of days before -- and never woke up. Aloha, Michael. We will miss you.

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

Tunnels ... and lights

There is light at the end of the tunnel!

My father's car needed it's annual safety inspection. Yesterday he took it to the neighborhood service station, where the mechanics told him once they replace the master cylinder and the rear brakes (from the drums out and for a hefty price) they can tell him if the car can be certified safe. He said, "No thank you." and drove away.

He announced at lunch today that he was going to get a safety sticker on his car. Mother decided that was one of the funnier stories she had heard this week. Then she proceeded to tell me about the bootleg certificate he got a couple of years back. Immediately the images started racing through my head: my father in an automobile accident, maiming or killing some innocent person while driving a vehicle that we ALL know should not be on the road, followed by a lawsuit that wipes out everything they have accumulated over 94 years of living and nearly 70 years of marriage. When the Nissan pulled back into the driveway 2 hours later, all I could say was "Oh, s----."

He had gone to Midas, expecting them to make him a better deal than the neighborhood mechanic. The Midas Man showed him the worn out master brake cylinder and the completely destroyed rear brakes. He pointed out problems with the front wheels, and the transmission that is about to die. He commented on all the body rust, the doors that won't open, the exposed electrical system in the passenger area ... you get the idea. He said the car was not worth putting any money into and is certainly not safe to drive as it is. It has no resale value except as parts.

On the computer I found that Hertz in Honolulu has a front-wheel drive (not 4x) Ford Escape in their current resale inventory, printed it out and gave it to my dad with the comment that if I were going to buy something, that vehicle would be a strong candidate. He responded that he really had better start using a taxi, he really would have a problem learning to drive a new car, and that he really doesn't see well enough to be driving. This is a huge admission for someone who values his independence.

Give thanks! Keep praying ....!!

Taking Care of the Caretakers

A number of years ago I tucked a refrigerator magnet into my daughter-in-law's Christmas stocking. It said, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!" In retrospect, I don't think she understood what I was saying. I think we found one of those unexpected cultural gaps and she heard me telling her that it was her role to keep ME happy. In fact, I was trying to tell her to take care of herself in between taking care of three teens, three pre-schoolers, and a much younger husband.

My friend Jo Ann needs to find ways to take care of herself. She is the wife and sole caretaker of a spinal chord injury patient who came home this week for the first time since his accident. She needs to find a way to sleep a full seven uninterrupted hours. She needs to find things she can do at home that please her, but which can be put down whenever and picked up two hours or two weeks later without loosing her place or train of thought. She needs someone to take in a meal occasionally, someone to visit, someone to do routine stuff like put the machines (the dish washer, washing machine, vacuum cleaner) to work. She needs someone else to take care of the yard so that she can concentrate on her husband. She needs to understand that she cannot do the things her husband needs if she is exhausted and resentful of the time and energy he requires.

I am reminded that I, too, need to take care of myself when I am thrilled just by walking at a brisk pace. I am reminded when I find an able-bodied someone to share a shopping trip, a day in the library, or an afternoon at the Art Academy. I am reminded when I enjoy listening to the teen-agers on the City bus.

And I am reminded when it takes several days to get beyond my father's criticism that I spend too much time on the telephone. Excuse me? What does he expect me to do with my life? You don't make a lot of new friends taking your parents to the doctor. Or to the grocery store. Most of my friends are somewhere else. They -- YOU -- are an essential part of my support system. I need to visit with you periodically. Besides, it's MY telephone, not theirs. I use it when there is nothing else planned, in the empty hour of time here or there, and especially on weekends. I don't use it in the living room while he is there. I shut the door to my bedroom when I am talking inside. I try to do a lot of my conversing outside so I won't be intruding on his space -- or my mother's space. I've even gone to the mall to make telephone calls. I've learned to multi-task -- do routine household chores like setting the table, filling the washing machine or emptying waste baskets one-handed so they get done despite my being on the telephone. (The NEXT phone, due in June, will be Blue-Tooth ready!) But my calls last more than the alloted 1 minute, and therefore are offensive to him.

Then there's the issue of recycling. My father won't. Won't compost. Won't consider a less polluting vehicle. Won't hold garden waste until green garbage day. Won't plan ahead to cluster his tasks. Won't consider public transportation. Won't conserve water. Won't recycle plastic. Won't use energy-efficient CF lighting. But today is Turn Out the Lights night in support of the fight against global warming, and he was offended that Mother -- who is extraordinarily proactive in issues of environmental protection-- wouldn't turn out the lights.

A wise and experienced lady told me this morning, "Honey, that's all senile behavior. Don't let it get the better of you."

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

Easter

Easter. Bunnies. Eggs. Spring. Daffodils. Gold-white-orange-yellow. Wildflowers, carpets of blue or white or yellow on green.
Easter. Risen Christ. Faith. Love. Endurance. Perseverance. Trust. Example.
Easter. Joy. Promise. Forward movement.

And so we have come full circle. I couldn't face an Easter service this year. Last Easter's music brought too many tears. I keep the little tag from inside the plastic egg from Mountain Lutheran Church in Groveland tucked in the corner of a framed photo of Ray: He is Risen Indeed! Now Mr. Purrkins' ashes are there on the shelf with Ray's picture. And a 4" pot of miniature daffodils.

I am thinking more and more about being back in Groveland. I long for the QUIET. The "to-do" list is growing, both for en route and once I get there. I might feel different about going back if I had my own space in Hawaii that wasn't governed by my parents' schedules and preferences. Right now that's not possible, and defeats the purpose of my being here at all. On the other hand, I have been able to do lots of evaluating and know myself better than I have in a long time. This is a very good thing.

Halleluia! HE is risen indeed!
Look for that silver lining.... give thanks .... keep praying ........!

Stretching the Brain

The other evening mother and I went to the Neighborhood Forum conducted by the State Representative for the district. She happens to be a personal friend, and the legislator for whom my brother works. Yes, Ray and I met Lyla through his art, not through Hawaii connections. It's a long story, but one that affirms the "there are no coincidences" view.

Anyway ... I was expecting to hear Lyla speak. Instead, the speaker was Dr. Axel Timmermann from the International Pacific Research Council at the University of Hawaii. The IPRC is a part of the Oceanography Dept. at the University with a goal of understanding both the causes and the effects of climate change in the Pacific region. Although I am sure that he toned his talk down from a presentation to a group of academicans, it was still a challenge to follow his message. The Message is the same one that Al Gore gives in "An Inconvenient Truth". CO2 levels are dramatically rising, and have been since about 1950. As CO2 levels rise, so do temperatures in the ocean and air. Polar ice caps and glaciers are melting. Sea levels worldwide are predicted to rise an average of 3' by 2100. Life forms -- most publicized are corals and polar bears -- are in trouble. The last time there was a comparable rise in CO2 was 55 million years ago. Then we had major volcanic activity in the North Atlantic to blame. This time we can only blame ourselves.

What are the impacts? A 3' rise in sea levels puts several popular neighborhoods on Oahu under water. What would Hawaiian beaches be like without their protective coral reefs? What happens in other coastal areas -- western North and South America, the Gulf Coast and the entire Mississippi Delta come immediately to mind. What happens to our ability to grow food crops as air temperatures rise? What happens to the food chain as life forms at its very bottom (those things that feed the critters that feed us) disapper? It's something to think about.

Meanwhile, the House of Bishops of the Episcopal Church in the US met this week in Texas. There has been lots of turmoil in recent years in the Episcopal Church, much of it from the Diocese of San Joaquin -- which includes Tuolumne Co., California. San Joaquin has had the reputation of being among the most conservative areas in the nation. Twenty years or so ago we elected David Scofield as Bishop. He soon became John David Scofield. Ray and I were voting delegates to that convention. We were among those who did NOT vote for Scofield, and among the few who afterward refused to sign the "loyalty oath" saying we would support him as bishop. The Episcopal Church has always been an inclusive church, making a place for everyone. Over time, Ray and I began to feel that we were not welcomed in our own denomination -- or at least in our home diocese. The red-white-and-blue shield of the Episcopalians began to disappear from local churches, replaced by Anglican symbols. In December, at Diocesan Convention, a majority of the delegates voted to remove themselves from the authority of the Episcopal Church in the US and affiliate with an Anglican group based in South America, the Southern Cone. This is like a US state saying that it doesn't like the policies of the Federal Government so it will leave the US and become part of -- let's say, Australia. This week the other US Bishops took away Scofield's rights and privileges as a priest and bishop in the Episcopal Church -- as in taking away ones rights as a citizen in your country of birth when you are naturalized in another country. So the Diocese of San Joaquin is beginning the healing process and reforming itself as a place where all are welcome. I think this is a political process Ray would have enjoyed being a part of.

Give thanks! Keep praying ....!

It's Really Mother's Yard

You have to love 94-year-old women who still tend their own gardens. We're not talking a few pots and 6'x6' of grass here. We're talking close to 10,000 square feet of yard that includes two mango trees (both over 60 years old), a lemon tree, a guava tree, the newly planted guapple that is supposed to be a cross between a guava and an apple, several banana trees (you can't kill these guys ...), a Surinam Cherry (aka Princess Eugenia cherry) bush, and one more papaya tree --- all of which bear fruit that gets eaten for breakfast, made into something edible, given away to whomever will take it, or sliced/diced/pureed/juiced and popped into the freezer. Then there's the look-at stuff: the Bird of Paradise, the 3 dozen or so orchid plants, the Royal Ilima bushes that Daddy hates and periodically cuts down, the Ixoria with its wonderful hemispheres of brilliant flowers that seem to bloom forever but are terribly susceptible to powdery mildew, the brilliantly multicolored crotons and the Lantana, several varieties of ti leaves, ferns and ornamental grasses -- and the lawn. This is green garbage week, which means the City will haul away for free all garden waste -- with certain limitations. No can or bag can weigh more than 50 lbs. You can't put in sharp things that could poke out eyes. If it's not bagged or in a can, it must be bundled. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of green garbage week are always garden days. If I can't find Mother in the kitchen or at her typewriter, I only need look in the bushes that ring the yard. She'll be in between or behind something that's two or three times her size, perched on a one-step rubbermaid stool and armed with a large butcher knife, a pruning saw, and a hefty pair of pruning shears. I've learned that if she cuts and throws, I can follow around with a garbage can or -- when I can get away with it, bags -- and bag or bundle, then move everything out to the top of the driveway for pickup. Bags, you see, are only used once and cost $$$. Which, I remind you, they have enough of.
Have I made a difference? Although no one would be caught saying Yes!, I was instructed to call a classifed ad in to the evening newspaper today -- the one that gets run free for 7 days. Yard helper wanted, 3-4 hours once or twice monthly. Easy. $10/hr. Kahala. (with telephone number). She recognizes she can't do it all herself. Daddy wouldn't even if he could. He figures if the lawn is mowed, the garden work is done. But life is easier with two working, and green garbage is only picked up twice a month. Oh yes. HE hired the yard man. HE will direct the yard man. SHE may not. The yard man will ONLY do lawns. So this second yard helper is a small act of defiance.
As for the bundling -- that's all done with rags. My mother grew up in the country, was in high school and college during the Great Depression. Nothing goes to waste in this house. Every garment -- including underwear -- gets stripped into more-or-less 1" strips and used to tie things up. If it's too small to make useful strips, it gets cut into larger pieces to use for cleaning rags. If a garment still has some life, it gets washed, ironed and sent to Goodwill. Maybe I will suggest she cut strips for rag rugs which I can make next winter!

I give thanks that my mom is still able, at nearly 94, to do this much for herself. I look forward -- because looking back does me no good. I keep praying, and hope you will, too.