Naptime

 

My Bedroom at nap time (the wall next to my bed)

Finally! The heat and humidity is gone.

I actually this Saturday morning is the beginning of fall weather. My favorite time of year. 

Yesterday I had something strange happened. I laid down for my usual afternoon nap at around 2:30 PM. I usually wake up about 5 PM and prepare Bill's dinner of pureed oatmeal and banana and lots of sugar. However, yesterday he was banging on my bedroom door at about 7:20 PM, wondering when I was going to get up. 

WHAT? It took me about a minute to orient myself. I was in such a deep sleep I didn't know if it was day or night. When I take my daily nap I do close my wooden blind and pull the curtains. It was just beginning to get dark outside when I woke up.

I don't know why I slept so late. I wasn't up late the previous night. But I was totally out of it. A deep, deep sleep.

I've been taking naps for over thirty years now. A habit I probably picked up from my Mother. 

The first time I took an afternoon nap was way back in 1980 when I had that Spruce Street fourth floor apartment in center city Philadelphia. I had rented that apartment because we had already sold our townhouse which was located a few blocks away, and our house in the country wasn't finished yet. Bill had already retired and stayed at our unfinished house while I continue to work at my job at the bank by City Hall. This particular day that I took the nap was a day I took off from work because I had a God awful cold. I was just exhausted. I laid down for a nap in that sun drenched back room that I used as a bedroom in that apartment. I didn't wake up until it was dark, about eight o'clock that night. That nap did wonders for me. Ever since then I've been addicted to afternoon naps whenever I can get them. Those naps refresh and recharge my batteries. 

Lately though my naps seem to be getting longer and longer. I do have sleep apnea which I refuse to get headgear for, which my cardiologist suggested that I get so I "don't die in your sleep." I remember my immediate response to him "But that is my preferred way to go, die peacefully in my sleep."

I've had two first cousins die unexpectedly in their sleep. Randy R., my Mother's older sister son, died unexpectedly in his sleep a few years ago.  He was tall and thin like me so it wasn't like a fat man lying on his back dying in his sleep from sleep apnea. 

Cousin Randy (far left in blue, his mother and me - 2005 at the facility where she lived the last seven years of her life, in the dementia unit. She confused me with her son, calling me "Randy" during my visit to her that day. I will always remember with fondness one summer I spent living with her family when I was eight years old. They lived near a bakery and the air aways smelled of fresh baked bread. She was always so kind to me. I always remember people who are kind to me. Randy wasn't born the summer I spent living with his mother and father. She just had two older children who weren't too happy I was there for the summer. I found out many years later why I spent the summer with Aunt Jeanette, my Mother had a nervous breakdown. I asked my Mother "What happened?" She said it was too much trying to raise three rambunctious boys by herself while my father was a cross country truck driver. Little did I know then. All I remember was that wonderful summer and how kind Aunt Jeanette was too me, even if her young son (George) and daughter (Elaine) weren't too thrilled I was living in their house. 

Then a few years later Hester T., one of my father's younger brother's daughter died unexpectedly in her sleep. Like Randy, she wasn't overweight either. Both were younger than me. I remember what Randy's wife said "Ron, Randy always said he wanted to die in his sleep. He didn't want to linger in a facility like his mother for years. But it's still too soon." Hester was similar. She still had a lot of living to do and then pfft! She's gone.

I'll be right up front with you folks, that is the way I hope I go. To be quite frank with you I am gettin tired of living. I only exist now to care for Bill. I don't want to die before him but he has told me if I go first he wouldn't be long behind. I worried for a while about that, the hell he would have to go through but I stopped worrying. Bill truly wouldn't last long because no one would or could take care of him like I do now. 

So here's the deal folks, if some day you should cease to see this blog updated check with Spo. My time will have come. Bear no sadness for me. I have lived a full life. I have been more fortunate than most. But life is getting more difficult now. I have trouble walking. My respiratory system is getting worse. And I suspect I have some lurking cancers waiting in the darkness ready to spring on me. 

I'm a ten year survivor from prostate cancer but my PSA is creeping up every year. My urologist tells me during my our weekly checkups "That's the cancer looking for a place to land."

This is the year I'm scheduled for another colonoscopy. I've lost tract of how many colonoscopies I've had (I think six), but the last one I had three polyps, one was precancerous. There are three types polyps; benign, precancerous and cancerous. 

Given all these choices, I would rather take a nap and not wake up.

But you ask "What about your next trip to Palm Springs?" Folks, I would LOVE to visit Palm Springs for Modernism Week in February with Pat. In fact I would love to go anywhere with Pat but I'm afraid those days are over. This is where my journey ends folks. Not a bad way to end though.

Now it's time for lunch.

Then that nap.

"The Watcher"

After about six weeks of futile and aborted attempts at finding the next Netflix series to bury myself into, I finally found one:  "The Watcher."

Great cast, (with Naomi Watts, Mia Farrow and Jennifer Coolidge - how can you go wrong? And even the little boy isn't the usual annoying moped that Hollywood often casts in these roles).

Good script based on a true story. Well directed, and cinematography is fabulous. And best of all well acted.  

I've tried to watch other Netflix series like "Ozark" and "Virginia River", all of which got high marks from Rotten Tomatoes but I just couldn't get into those far fetched, cliche ridden, ridiculous stories with (mostly) B list actors (a few exceptions). This series actually got a lower rating on Rotten Tomatoes but I like it anyway. Just goes to show you can't always go by ratings. You have to check out the series yourself. 

I need to "bury" myself into these Netflix series to offset the daily stress of my life here at Casa Tipton-Kelly. I watch the series after Bill goes to bed. I never watch movies in the daytime, only at night in the dark. And this is the perfect series to watch.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I am.

Moment (or two) of Zen Broadkill River Sept 11, 2023

Last night, right before sunset I took Bill for his daily ride. This time down Oyster Rocks Road to the Broadkill River. 

Usually there are several vehicles parked at this dead end location of Oyster Rocks Road. Not last evening though. We had this peaceful area all to ourselves. 

I timed our visit just right because the sun was just setting on that day, which was the twenty-second anniversary of 9/11 in which so many innocent people lost their lives to religious fanatics. 

I video taped a few minutes of this serenity in memory of those lives lost. 

9/11 Memories

 

Today is the 22nd anniversary of the brutal attack on our country by religious fanatics. 

Like many of  you I will always remember where I was when I heard/saw the attack on the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City.

I was working at the Hampton Inn in Lionville, PA. It was a Monday morning and my first day on my new job as a sales associate. I was waiting for "Linda" (the sales associate) to begin training me to be her backup. 

I was seated at a desk in the back office, by the computer terminal waiting for Linda. To my left up in the corner of the back office (behind the front desk and in front of the manager's office) was a small screen TV. The same kind of TV that was in the breakfast room out in the main room on the other side of the front desk. One of the TV morning shows was on, I think "ABC This Morning."

Cathy, the breakfast hostess came to the back office and said "A plane just crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers." My first thought was "How stupid. Some hot dog crashed his small plane into the World Trade Center." 

Linda switched the channel on the back office TV to show the coverage. I remember being frustrated because now my sales associate training would be delayed while Linda and others watched the TV coverage of the crash. I looked at the coverage for a few minutes and was fascinated by the smoke coming out of the World Trade Center building. Then I went back to my computer terminal and did some practice sets on my new sales associate job until Linda could sit next to me and show me what she did in her job.

Then, in what seemed like only a few minutes later, I heard a gasp from the breakfast room and Cathy shouted "A plane just hit the other building!" I knew then that the first plane wasn't an accident. My stomach sank. 

I stopped my practice set and glued my eyes to the TV in the upper corner of the back offie. Every body was gathered around outside the manager's office watching the TV coverage now as well as the hotel guests in the breakfast room were watching the coverage in the breakfast room.

As I was watching the TV reporters giving their reports I could hear "plopping sounds" behind them. Someone asked what were those sounds. The reporter hesitated before she said "Those are people jumping from the towers and hitting the ground behind her. Some of them are hitting the canopies."

I was sickened and angry at the same time. "How could this be happening?" These people did nothing wrong that day but go to work and then they were faced with a decision to either die of smoke inhalation or burn to death of jump to their death. That some would try to save themselves by aiming for the canopies stunned me.

All of us in the office continued to watch the TV coverage for the next hour or so, trying to figure out what happened. Then we heard the news of the plane crash in Shanksville, PA and the Pentagon. 

My sales associate training was cancelled for the day and I left the hotel early. 

Every one was stunned. 

Now, twenty-two years later we know what happened. Religious extremists were responsible for the mass murders of 2,977 innocent people. 

And for what? To impose their retribution on those who don't adhere to their religious views? 

Of course today we have another mortal threat to our democracy with religious extremists. Yes, I am talking about The Enemy Within. 

Cult followers who follow a known con man who was put into power by Christian Evangelicals. 

Yes, Muslim extremists were responsible for 9/11. Now we have an even greater threat by the Republican Party and Christian Evangelicals in this country. A much greater threat than some ragged assed Muslim extremists from Saudi Arabia. 

Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Me and friends at the Purple Parrot in Rehoboth Beach, pre COVID.

"Don't Get Around Much Anymore", one of my favorite lyrics from one of my favorite songs sung by Dinah Washington. An old Fats Waller blues song. 

 This photo was taken a few years ago at the Purple Parrot in Rehoboth Beach when Randy Hiltner, a blogger friend from Nebraska visited me. 

These days yours truly doesn't do much socializing like this. In fact I don't do any socializing like this. 

Since I've been caregiving for Bill two and half years ago I'm pretty much restricted to our home here in southern coastal Delaware. And of course this summer with the Summer Tourist Hordes free of COVID restrictions, I don't even get down to Rehoboth Beach, which is only ten miles down the road (good old Route One also known as Coastal Highway - takes you right to Florida if you keep driving).

At first I felt restricted but not so much now. I've pretty much fallen to a daily routine that is actually somewhat comforting. 

Bill still needs constant care but he is not bedridden nor is he in pain. He's off home hospice care (he can go back on anytime though should he start to go downhill fast). 

Because of his eyesight (macular degeneration) he can't see to do anything like the projects he used to so love. Our big "event" of the day is the Daily Ride, usually to Food Lion, our local supermarket. 

This daily ride is getting to be more and more of a challenge because DelDot is working on the intersection of Rt. 16 and Route One, the last red light from Dover to Rehoboth Beach. For some reason I can't fathom, "they" don't want any red lights from Dover to Rehoboth Beach. A straight shot for the Summer Tourist Hordes. How we will ever get out of our development here onto Route One I don't even want to contemplate. 

I do have a back way to Food Lion in Milton but they were working on that road this morning too. One thing about Delaware as opposed to our previous home in Pennsylvania, they always seem to be "working on the roads" down here, almost always making more lanes for folks moving to Delaware the Land Of Low Taxes and Mild Climate. One thing about living here in Coastal Southern Delaware, summer home of President Biden (only four miles south of Casa Tipton-Kelly) is the area is constantly growing. In fact we're growing so fast we may even eventually have a Trader Joe's and a Wegmans! Right now we have a bunch of overprices wannabes, although Food Lion is quite reasonable. They have everything I need but I do miss the "Wegmans Experience" (as the wife of my former dentist who also moved to Delaware said). 

There was a time when I first moved down here to Delaware that I had quite a social life. Every Wednesday night was "Old Fart's Night Out" with my friends Bob M., Jim O. and Bart R.

All three of them are gone now. Then on Sundays I would meet with friends at the Purple Parrot (the location of this picture at the beginning of this post). Everyone was invited and we usually had a group of at least four friends. Sad to say many of them have since passed on and the rest faded away. And besides, I don't travel at night anymore anyway. I don't drive at night. Even with my cataract surgery I still have a hard time seeing to drive in the dark. And to think back in the 80's I used to drive from our home in Pennsylvania all the day to Bob M.'s home in nearby Georgetown IN.THE.DARK. I guess I was fearless in those days. Not so much these days I'm afraid. 

I'm a bit more fragile at this time of my life. Unsteady on my feet and my endurance level is dropping rapidly. Every night I plan to sit down and watch one of my Netflix movies but by the time 10 or 11 rolls around, I'm wiped out. 

Caregiving takes its toll on this eight-one year old body. Bill and I used to share the house chores but because of his condition, I take care of everything now and I mean EVERYTHING. This morning the water aerator on his bathroom faucet gave out. First thing I did was call Service Today. But this time I was trying to avoid another huge bill. Remember a few weeks ago when our garbage disposal wasn't working? I called Service Today. They came out and in less than a minute "fixed" it by pushing the reset button. The cost? $49 just to come out and a $125 "evaluation" fee. I was trying to avoid another one of these costly mistakes so when I called this morning I asked if I could join the visit with my annual plumbing service. I told him ("Jamal") my problem from my last call and I just wanted to avoid another huge payment. He told me that I could "just screw off the aerator and get another one from Home Depot or a place like that for only a few dollars." That I did and viola! I went to my local Ace Hardware (two rides for Bill today) and got a new aerator for $4.69! Good news! I even put it on myself. I'm getting to be so butch these days with my new handyman skills. Don't get worked up though, I'll never be a real handyman, cooking is my thing. I like saving money being a handyman but I don't really care for that kind of work. Not my thing man.

Bill gets so frustrated these days. In normal times, way back when, he would have fixed that faucet in no time flat. Well, I consider myself lucky that he was able to do all the handyman work around here for all the years (over fifty) that he did. But the new reality is that these days all the work is on me. That's probably why I'm exhausted at the end of the day.

Somedays when I have a particularly hard day I think back to my Mother when she was raising me and my two younger brothers all by herself. 

Me (far right with hand over eyes shielding from sun) and my two younger brothers at 120 Washington Avenue about 1947)

This was during World War II. My father was a long distance truck driver (cross country) and would be gone for weeks at a time. She was on her own with three rambunctious boy who were always hungry. Many times she didn't have enough money to feed us. We didn't starve but I remember always being hungry. I think that's where I got my candy habit when I began my paper route when I was ten years old. I spend all the money (about $5 a week) on candy and comic books. When I was old enough I started to help her by washing the dishes and cleaning our dump of an apartment which is still there by the way. I just pulled a picture of it from the Internet this morning. 

120 Washington Avenue, Downingtown, PA (we lived on the second floor front) - Now you know why I MUST have some land around me

Hasn't changed much from when we lived there from 1944 to 1953. Rent was $22.50 a month, cockroaches included. I wonder if the cockroaches are still there. It's still in the White Trash section of Downingtown though. Yeah, we were White Trash. And everyone in school knew it. I couldn't shake that identification until I left home when I joined the Army at eighteen years of age. Hillbilly dad (for real, North Carolina Pigeon Roost didn't even wear shoes until he was ten years old when his family moved him and his eight brothers to Pennsylvania to work as farm labor on an uncle's fruit and vegetable farm, two more brothers born in Pennsylvania) and a mother of Quaker descent (Quakers weren't rich but they do have manners, which my Mother taught me).

When I lived in that apartment at eight years old I had to share a bed with my sixteen year old orphaned uncle. 

1950 U S. Census

That's right both of my grandparents were dead by then and he had no place to live until he finished high school. Of course after school he joined the service (Air Force). This is what we Tiptons do, hillbilly kids who didn't have that College Path set for them by their parents. We join one of the branches of the armed forces. Both of my brothers and I joined the Army for three year stints after we got out of school. I eventually did get an Associates degree on the G. I. Bill in business management at a small college in Philadelphia. 

Notice that I'm rambling this morning folks? Well I am and I'm about to end this particular ramble. Sometimes I have to do these rambles to remind myself how lucky I am to have had the wonderful life I have had and continue to have, even if I don't get around much anymore.

Miss Ezrah And Other Memories Of A Ten Year Old

 

Me, third row in the back far right with my finger (?) in my mouth.

This morning while I perusing my Facebook page I came upon this picture of my third grade elementary school class taken in 1951.

Looking at this picture invoked such sweet and comforting memories for me. Our teacher at that time was "Miss Ezrah". And that is what we all called her. 

Miss Ezrah was much loved by everyone. I do not remember one single person who disliked Miss Ezrah, which unfortunately I cannot say for some of my other elementary school teachers (hear that Mrs. Warren)? 

Ah yes, 1951 was such an innocent time. The only thing we had to worry about then was an A-bomb dropped on us, which we had drills for by diving under our wooden desks with the metal legs screwed on the wooden floor. Even then my ten year old brain surmised ("How is this desk going to protect me from an A bomb blast?" but I digress) Back then in The Fifties you did what you were told to do especially if you were a dumb ass very insecure poor kid. Hey! We were all poor, check out the pants on my classmates in the front row. But one thing I will always remember is Miss Ezrah's classes. I learned a lot when I was in her class. 

Interesting thing about this picture, which is mine by the way. I remember each and every one of my fellow classmates and their names. I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer but I do have a knack for remembering names. A useless talent for sure but all the same, something that I (sometimes) excel at. Lately I haven't been too good with names but I'm well into my eighth decade now.

I have an interesting story about Miss Ezrah. Back in 2004 I was mentioned to one of my fellow classmates who I am still friendly with and who is still alive (as I am) how much I liked Miss Ezrah. If you're curious my former fellow classmate I was talking too is pictured fourth from the left in the front row ("Billy B.")

He told me "Oh Miss Ezrah is still alive! She lives at Simpson Meadows" which is where my friend's mother also lived (that's how he knew). I told him "She must be 120 years old because she was old when she was our third grade teacher in 1951. In actuality she was only 45 years old (born in 1906). Of course to a ten year old back in The Fifties forty-five years years old was OLD. 

I asked Bill B. how was she doing? He said she was find and still even walked to do her grocery shopping. WHAT? I called Simpson Meadows and made arrangements to visit her which I did on March 2, 2004. 

Me and Miss Ezrah, my former third grade school teacher 2004 at Simpson Meadows, Downingtown

I visited her with another fellow classmate Larry M.

Me, Miss Ezrah and Larry M. at Simpson Meadows, March 2, 2004

 She remembered both of us! I tested her because I thought she was just being kind. She taught forty- one years, how could she possibly remember us? But she did! We tested her and she nailed it. Both Larry and I were, of course, very insecure goofy ten year olds. She remembered a book report I did which "my friend" Larry promptly pointed out I plagiarized from a Scrooge McDuck comic book story. Hey, I didn't even know the word "plagiarized" then let along that I "stole" the story. This even is how I met Larry and became good friends with him over the years. Larry is still alive but unable to talk now because he is in the advanced stages of ALS, which he has had for the last eight years. Larry told me that he was afraid I was going "to beat him up" at recess because he "told on me." To the contrary, when I approached him at recess I said "You have Scrooge McDuck comic books?" Sounds like me, always hustling. Turns out he had a LOT of comic books as I did and we began trading comic books from that date on. By the way, Larry is pictured in the third row in the back second from the left standing directly in front of Miss Ezrah.

At the time we visited Miss Ezrah she was ninety-eight years old. She died in 2012 at the age of one hundred and six. Talk about a life well lived. 

She never married and never learned to drive a car but she left thousands of boys and girls with wonderful memories of their elementary school days.

Moment of Zen -Goldfish Pond 8 29 2023

 With all the conflict that is going on around us today, I offer this moment of Zen. This is a short video I took a few minutes ago of my homemade fish pond with my rescue feeder goldfish. They are thriving!

Whenever, I want to get away from all the noise and confusion of the world, I walk out to my back yard at at the far end on the right is my fish pond which I stocked with feeder goldfish last year from a local pet store. At the time I purchased them they were ten cents apiece, three for twenty-five cents. Of course they were much smaller than they are now. And they're even breeding! See the smaller goldfish? They were born in this pond.

I would love to have a pet again. A cat, or a dog but at this time of my life that just isn't practical. The number one reason is that both Bill and I are prone to falling. Having a dog or cat weaving between our feet when we walk is just asking for a visit to the Emergency Room. That's why I had to so reluctantly give up "Fiona", that little calico kitten I adored six months ago. I'm hoping she has a nice home now where she can live out a long life will all the love of her new human family.

My goldfish in my backyard pond are my pets now. I even have a frog back there which I knew would happen. You build a pond, the frogs will show up! The same thing happened when I built my ponds at our home in Pennsylvania. 

So now, even if I have a medical event and end up in the hospital for a stay, the goldfish can fend for themselves. In the meantime, I visit my "pets" several times daily in my backyard. They are my "therapy."