Decorating for Christmas

 Getting the house gussied before the boys have to leave.  The snow is coming down in droves, and it just seems like Christmas season is upon us.  Happy Advent!

Happy Thanksgiving

 We have much to be thankful for, not the least of which is a full house of family and plenty to eat.

The day started with a Turkey Trot!  I am woefully out of shape, but Rob ran the whole way and killed it.  Nothing like burning off calories to run  a deficit before the big feast.  

2nd annual "Guess the value of Bitcoin" Aho challenge.  Fritz won this year.  Not bad for an 8 year old.  

Grandpa, regaling Eli with tales of Thanksgivings past. 

Like father like son.  

The full nest

 Any time all three offspring are under my roof is a bloggable moment anymore  The boys are home for Thanksgiving!! (I swear they did not stare at electronics the entire time. )

The Gourmet Cook

 Reagan decided to cook dinner for her family.  We had homemade Margarita pizza and a Mediterranean chickpea salad, and it was DIVINE.  The girl is a fantastic cook!  

Belated Birthday Present

 For her 16th birthday, Reagan received from her parents a "Bedjet" - a personal, in-bed heater.  This has long been the desire of her heart, as our house is old and cold, and the winters long in these parts.  It was delayed in arriving but when it DID... she was elated.  I'm guessing we won't be seeing her much after this.  She'll either be gone driving around in her new car, or holing up in her bedroom under the covers.  It was nice having a daughter while it lasted.  

It looks like a cobra ready to strike.  

Holiday Spirit in the Hanger

 The mistress is getting a facelift this winter (well, a new engine) so has moved into the shop, kicking the Jeep outside.  Rob now spends hours a day in his man cave, listening to music, enjoying a beverage or three, and spending quality time with the love of his life.  He even decorated her for Christmas, and then did a full photo shoot.  Too funny.  

The Long Goodbye

 

Mom called tonight.

"Hey!" I said.   "Did you make it home safe?"  They had been in Billings for the weekend, attending the baptism of their great grandchild Charlee.  I knew they had been on the road for hours and hours.

"Monica, can you please talk to your Dad and tell him I am not kidnapping him?"  My heart fell.  Oh no.

Dad has Parkinson's and dementia.  When I was last home in August, he had done SO WELL.  He could hold a conversation, play catch with me, recognized who I was.  But travelling is hard and disorienting to him.  Apparently, they had made it to within 45 minutes of home when Mom stopped for gas, and Dad grabbed her by the wrist and refused to let go.  Then began shouting for bystanders to call the police because he was being kidnapped.  He did not recognize mom.  He called her Darlene.  Her name is not Darlene.  And he absolutely wouldn't get into the car.

Mom asked a stranger to help her get away from Dad's grasp, as she couldn't on her own.  And then she called me, to convince Dad to get back into the car.

It breaks my heart, when Dad gets scared and agitated like this.  I've witnessed it a few times, and it's always been while he's travelling, when he's not in familiar environments.  He wakes up in a strange place (he had been sleeping in the car prior to this) and is disoriented, and his brain manufactures an emergency.  Once at a hotel he was convinced it was on fire and he had to rescue people.  Once in an airplane, he thought there was a bomb on board and they were going to crash.  Today - he was being kidnapped.  

I tried to orient him and appeal to the logical part of his brain.  "Dad, you are safe.  I can see where you are at right now because of your phone.  I will stay on the phone with you all the way home.  Look out the window.  Tell me what street you are on."  He described the street as he got back in the car.  He would not put on a seatbelt.  Forget about a seatbelt.  He was in the car, talking.  

"Look at the clock, Dad.  Tell me what time it is."  4:22 PM.  "OK.  And what exit did you just pass?"  286.  "I know where that is.  Dad, your home is exit 279.  Watch the exits."  He did.  Numbers are calming.  They are concrete.  They are rote.  They are embedded deep.  

"Tell me this, Melody." Dad said.  

"I am Monica, Dad.  The middle daughter.  The one who looks just like you." 

"OK.  Monica.  I need to know this.  How does Fran fit into this family?"

"Fran was your Dad's wife.  My grandma, your stepmother."  That seemed to satisfy him for a bit.

"And who is this driving me?"

"That is Betty.  The love of your life.  Your wife.  Do you remember when you were married?"

"I'm afraid to say I don't"

"1969, Dad.  Mom loves you very much."  

"Well, someone needs to call the police."  And then he muttered angrily and was hard to hear, and I don't know what.  So I just kept asking him to look out the window and tell me where he was.  For 45 minutes until he pulled into his own driveway.

"You see your shop, Dad?  Your house?  You made it safe.  You're home."  Thank the Good Lord.

Fifteen minutes later, I got a call.  Mom was on the line.  "Hi.  Your dad would like to say something to you."  OK.

"Monica, I just need to apologize.  I need to go to school or a psychiatrist or something.  I don't know what happens to me."  It's ok Dad.  It's not you.  It's the disease.  I know.  Mom knows.  

"I just need to know you're on my side.  Knowing that is all I need."  We are always on your side, Dad.  Always and forever.  We love you so so so so much.  

"Even if I have to be chained to this house so I don't do that again."  Travelling is hard.  It's disorienting.  We know that.  Don't apologize, Dad.  Just know how much we love you.  Don't be upset at yourself.

"I already said sorry to Mom.  And gave her a kiss.  I'm behind on my kisses.  Four days behind, actually.  I'm going to have to play catch up."   Yes you are.  

And then Mom, from somewhere near in the room, said "tell her goodbye, Jim.  Hang up the phone."  And he hesitated, and my heart broke for the umpteenth time this night.  "Good bye.  I love you."

 I never know when will be the last time he'll remember me.  When will be the last time I'm talking to HIM, where he knows I'm talking to him.  When the last real conversation will be.  The last time I'm able to say "Oh, there you are, Dad."  It makes me so so so sad.  Yet he's still there, in there.  Somewhere.  The same sweet, thoughtful, kind Dad who I've been blessed to have as a role model my whole life.  

Goodbye, Dad.  I love you, too.  

The Henry Ford

 With an entire free day in Detroit and all three of my kids with me, we had to do something memorable.  The boys had been to a concert the night before and then to a friend's house to watch the big boxing match so they were tired and slept in.  After a late breakfast, we headed to the Henry Ford Museum.  It was a bit chilly to hit Greenfield Village as well, although that is something I'd like to do with the kids now that they're old enough to appreciate it.  Regardless, the Ford Museum is enormous and well done, and in many ways better than the Smithsonian in my opinion.  Henry Ford knew that he was living in an extraordinary moment in history, with all the rapid innovations taking place, and he created this museum to capture it.  Trains, cars, agricultural equipment, airplanes, furniture.  American innovation at the turn of the last century was incredible and changed America.  What a fun day.  

Just like Grandpa's car!

The car he promises to buy me when he's rich someday.  Except in turquoise.