While talking with a caregiver the other day, I was touched by how she lamented the loss of order in her home as she cares for her husband who has Alzheimer's. She said she hasn't seen the top of her dining room table for eons. I told her that it was okay because I hadn't seen the top of my desk forever.
She smiled. She understood the humor I tried to inject into the conversation. She appreciated the momentary diversion and knew I wasn't making fun of her housekeeping skills or making light of something that obviously concerned her.
I quickly grasped the frustration of disorder in her life, a life in which she had been able to control much of her environment, keeping people and pets in line for decades until recently.
It wasn't just clutter; it was chaos.
"That isn't me," she said with a sigh.
Alzheimer's not steals only our loved ones' memories and lives, it works tirelessly to destroy other corners of our world … our skills, our simple, yet important, accomplishments that maintain our dignity and our homes and our lives.
Think of any caregiver you know, no matter what health challenges confront their loved ones. Offer to sit with or entertain their loved one. They may appreciate that simple break to clear off the dining room table at their own pace … to sort and shred to their heart's content … to regain their little corner of order in a chaotic world.
It's a priceless and well-deserved victory.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Alzheimer's: Breaking sacred promises
Sometimes it takes a while for everything to soak in, for you to fully comprehend a world that makes no sense, a world that consumes you within the sacred walls of your own home.
When it comes to Alzheimer's, no two individuals with this damn disease are alike. No two caregivers are alike. However, they all share one trait: they're human.
Many caregivers feel enormous guilt when they physically can't keep up with the demands of 24/7 care. But there comes a moment when our very human instinct to survive kicks in, when it commands more attention than guilt, even for only an instant.
And sometimes we must break sacred promises we made to the new stranger who now lives with us, someone who has resided in our home for many years, someone who has shared our kitchen table or even our bed. We remember the day they told us, "Don't you EVER send me there," and we vowed they'd NEVER have to go to adult day care or an assisted living facility or a nursing home.
We will cry while we make that decision and all the way home after we entrust someone else to care for our loved one, whether it's for eight or 24 hours. We will cry in the middle of the night and the day, over-analyzing everything we have done or think we should have done, allowing our exhausted imaginations to come up with new avenues of guilt.
Leave those regrets behind when you make those tough decisions. You will have done the best thing for your loved one and yourself when you ask for and/or accept help. You will have given them the attention and care they need when you are too exhausted to watch their every move. You will have given them more love and focus when you see them and care for them.
You will have saved yourself and become a much better caregiver in more ways than you can calculate because you can begin to rebuild your body and your mind and your spirit.
And isn't that the person your loved one with Alzheimer's will always hold dear in a place deep within them?
When it comes to Alzheimer's, no two individuals with this damn disease are alike. No two caregivers are alike. However, they all share one trait: they're human.
Many caregivers feel enormous guilt when they physically can't keep up with the demands of 24/7 care. But there comes a moment when our very human instinct to survive kicks in, when it commands more attention than guilt, even for only an instant.
And sometimes we must break sacred promises we made to the new stranger who now lives with us, someone who has resided in our home for many years, someone who has shared our kitchen table or even our bed. We remember the day they told us, "Don't you EVER send me there," and we vowed they'd NEVER have to go to adult day care or an assisted living facility or a nursing home.
We will cry while we make that decision and all the way home after we entrust someone else to care for our loved one, whether it's for eight or 24 hours. We will cry in the middle of the night and the day, over-analyzing everything we have done or think we should have done, allowing our exhausted imaginations to come up with new avenues of guilt.
Leave those regrets behind when you make those tough decisions. You will have done the best thing for your loved one and yourself when you ask for and/or accept help. You will have given them the attention and care they need when you are too exhausted to watch their every move. You will have given them more love and focus when you see them and care for them.
You will have saved yourself and become a much better caregiver in more ways than you can calculate because you can begin to rebuild your body and your mind and your spirit.
And isn't that the person your loved one with Alzheimer's will always hold dear in a place deep within them?
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Some decisions are for the best with Alzheimer's
When it comes to Alzheimer's, some of the hardest decisions we must make tax our soul with a price almost too great to bear.
Sometimes those decisions are made for us when we least expect … and they're the right answer.
The physical and emotional toll of tending to the everyday needs of a loved one with Alzheimer's or any catastrophic illness or injury is costing our nation and our individual families dearly. Caregivers are exhausted and fragile because they're truly on call 24/7 …
What is she doing when I'm not watching her all the time? Is tonight the night he may decide to wander out of the house? Can I leave her alone 15 minutes while I get a shower? How can I get him to eat and drink properly? What if … what if … what if …
Many families justify with good reason their decision to keep a loved one with Alzheimer's at home, certain that the familiar surroundings are the best location for them and enable the caregiver(s) to do their job taking care of their own.
Those 24/7 days and weeks continue to multiply as time goes on. Caregivers are more prone to illness and injury, and what will a family do when that day comes, when the primary caregiver is incapacitated for a day, a week, a month or even longer?
Think about that very carefully …
More tomorrow.
Sometimes those decisions are made for us when we least expect … and they're the right answer.
The physical and emotional toll of tending to the everyday needs of a loved one with Alzheimer's or any catastrophic illness or injury is costing our nation and our individual families dearly. Caregivers are exhausted and fragile because they're truly on call 24/7 …
What is she doing when I'm not watching her all the time? Is tonight the night he may decide to wander out of the house? Can I leave her alone 15 minutes while I get a shower? How can I get him to eat and drink properly? What if … what if … what if …
Many families justify with good reason their decision to keep a loved one with Alzheimer's at home, certain that the familiar surroundings are the best location for them and enable the caregiver(s) to do their job taking care of their own.
Those 24/7 days and weeks continue to multiply as time goes on. Caregivers are more prone to illness and injury, and what will a family do when that day comes, when the primary caregiver is incapacitated for a day, a week, a month or even longer?
Think about that very carefully …
More tomorrow.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Who do we believe anymore?
Or is it supposed to be "whom"? Oh, heck, who or whom cares. It's 4 a.m. and I refuse to follow all the grammar rules at this time of the morning when I'm just now climbing into bed …
But not before I try to keep my head from shaking on the pillow to the news that gets crazier and crazier. So, it's unAmerican to speak up at these town hall meetings against the policies being forced down our throats? Well, Mr./Ms. Federal Government, people are angry, we are very angry.
We're tired of flying coach whenever you choose to ride first class on our dimes and dollars.
We're tired of hearing how nobody in the government really knows where all the billions of dollars in stimulus money went.
We're tired of raiding our couches in search of loose change while corrupt politicians and government employees rob us blind.
We're tired of trying to find a way to care for loved ones when the respite programs we so desperately need are being cut back.
We're tired of being told that government knows best when it really doesn't.
We're tired of your lack of accountability when you then hold us accountable for your costly mistakes.
We're tired of not being heard, so that's why some of us are shouting at the town hall meetings.
No, I don't condone the shouting. I do condone listening and common sense. I do advocate doing what's right and not what will get you re-elected.
Who do we believe anymore? The list gets shorter every day.
When government respects us, we may start respecting it again …
I'll sleep on that one.
But not before I try to keep my head from shaking on the pillow to the news that gets crazier and crazier. So, it's unAmerican to speak up at these town hall meetings against the policies being forced down our throats? Well, Mr./Ms. Federal Government, people are angry, we are very angry.
We're tired of flying coach whenever you choose to ride first class on our dimes and dollars.
We're tired of hearing how nobody in the government really knows where all the billions of dollars in stimulus money went.
We're tired of raiding our couches in search of loose change while corrupt politicians and government employees rob us blind.
We're tired of trying to find a way to care for loved ones when the respite programs we so desperately need are being cut back.
We're tired of being told that government knows best when it really doesn't.
We're tired of your lack of accountability when you then hold us accountable for your costly mistakes.
We're tired of not being heard, so that's why some of us are shouting at the town hall meetings.
No, I don't condone the shouting. I do condone listening and common sense. I do advocate doing what's right and not what will get you re-elected.
Who do we believe anymore? The list gets shorter every day.
When government respects us, we may start respecting it again …
I'll sleep on that one.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
If I knew then what I know now about brain injuries
Thanks to my mom, I have this wonderful collection of letters I sent home during my three years of college. (I was an overachiever and crammed four years into three so that my sweetie and I could get married.) She gave me this packet last year and thought I would enjoy revisiting that period of my life.
I've learned much about myself. First, I thank God my parents had health insurance to cover me four hours away from home. I made several trips to the hospital ER in Evansville, Indiana, and that doesn't count all the accidents I had on campus that didn't require serious medical attention. Second, I thank God I lived on the same floor as a bunch of nursing students. I probably gave them a lot of practical practice.
A letter from January 1977 caught my attention. Walking back to the dorm, I slipped on ice, slide across the ice and hit my head on a glass and metal door. Unfortunately my hood flipped back and removed some cushion.
And that's why I say, if I knew then what I know now about brain injuries …
All the girls have been so sweet to me, even though I've tried to do stuff myself. They'll come up and ask, "Do you remember …" referring to things that had happened Sunday, and I don't recall half of it. I don't remember very clearly being carried out to the car by half a dozen people to go to the hospital. It was a Hughes Hall project. You would have had to see it to believe it.
My sense of balance has been off. I would tend to sway to one side and the person I was talking to would set me straight again. I nearly fell off one gal's bed when I drifted too far right before I realized what I was doing. It's one of the strangest things I've ever experienced. Everyone loved to hear me talk Sunday and Monday because they could barely understand me, and I sounded like a true drunk. But I'm on my way to recovery …
While working on a book about coping with brain injuries, I've learned that we've all got to take better care of our brains. Many people have been incapacitated for a long time or permanently, and even killed by blows to the head that seemed harmless or even funny to witness. I compared myself to a "true drunk."
Kids and adults bop each other on the head for fun or bang their heads against each other or something harder for sport. But the brain can only take so much bouncing around. Some skulls are literally thicker than others. Maybe mine is one of them … in more ways than one.
Think of actress Natasha Richardson earlier this year and her unexpected and tragic death from a bump on the head on the ski slopes. We can't make light of events like these.
Wear a helmet while on your bikes or motorcycles or skating or in unsteady activities like snow skiing. People who don't, they say it's their life, their choice.
Well, it's not just YOUR life. Picking you up off the pavement is not easy for the public servants who have to clean up the scene of the accident. Or if you survive and have permanent serious brain damage, what will happen to you? Or if you survive and look "just fine," the hidden damage may forever alter your personality and what makes you a special person to someone or many.
Yep, your choice.
And if I knew then what I know now about brain injuries, I would have been been a lot more careful with my one and only noggin and gotten myself a fashionable purple and white helmet to match my college colors.
What color is yours?
I've learned much about myself. First, I thank God my parents had health insurance to cover me four hours away from home. I made several trips to the hospital ER in Evansville, Indiana, and that doesn't count all the accidents I had on campus that didn't require serious medical attention. Second, I thank God I lived on the same floor as a bunch of nursing students. I probably gave them a lot of practical practice.
A letter from January 1977 caught my attention. Walking back to the dorm, I slipped on ice, slide across the ice and hit my head on a glass and metal door. Unfortunately my hood flipped back and removed some cushion.
And that's why I say, if I knew then what I know now about brain injuries …
All the girls have been so sweet to me, even though I've tried to do stuff myself. They'll come up and ask, "Do you remember …" referring to things that had happened Sunday, and I don't recall half of it. I don't remember very clearly being carried out to the car by half a dozen people to go to the hospital. It was a Hughes Hall project. You would have had to see it to believe it.
My sense of balance has been off. I would tend to sway to one side and the person I was talking to would set me straight again. I nearly fell off one gal's bed when I drifted too far right before I realized what I was doing. It's one of the strangest things I've ever experienced. Everyone loved to hear me talk Sunday and Monday because they could barely understand me, and I sounded like a true drunk. But I'm on my way to recovery …
While working on a book about coping with brain injuries, I've learned that we've all got to take better care of our brains. Many people have been incapacitated for a long time or permanently, and even killed by blows to the head that seemed harmless or even funny to witness. I compared myself to a "true drunk."
Kids and adults bop each other on the head for fun or bang their heads against each other or something harder for sport. But the brain can only take so much bouncing around. Some skulls are literally thicker than others. Maybe mine is one of them … in more ways than one.
Think of actress Natasha Richardson earlier this year and her unexpected and tragic death from a bump on the head on the ski slopes. We can't make light of events like these.
Wear a helmet while on your bikes or motorcycles or skating or in unsteady activities like snow skiing. People who don't, they say it's their life, their choice.
Well, it's not just YOUR life. Picking you up off the pavement is not easy for the public servants who have to clean up the scene of the accident. Or if you survive and have permanent serious brain damage, what will happen to you? Or if you survive and look "just fine," the hidden damage may forever alter your personality and what makes you a special person to someone or many.
Yep, your choice.
And if I knew then what I know now about brain injuries, I would have been been a lot more careful with my one and only noggin and gotten myself a fashionable purple and white helmet to match my college colors.
What color is yours?
Sunday, July 26, 2009
The games people need to play
I'm so fortunate to receive another wonderful Alzheimer's story. However, the person who had this experience is the one truly blessed as she described the peculiar behavior of her husband who has Alzheimer's …
While he was shaving today he was looking at me with a stare that I knew something was going to be said. Out came the following - "What do you think this is? Do you think it is a game, young lady? That is it, you think it is a game and it isn't a game at all!" His words surprised me and I answered with, "Oh no this isn't a game! If it were a game it would be Gin Rummy or maybe even TAG (I moved close to him and tagged him)! As I was running away from his chair I was saying: "TAG, YOU ARE IT!"
I am smiling as I am typing to you. My little joke is only mine as he doesn't get it! HA! Such a waste of humor!
No, it's not a waste of humor! It saved your day and may have given you enough adrenaline to get through several days.
Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror after you've had a good laugh? My cheeks always feel smoother after a laugh attack. It's probably because those muscles got an incredible workout.
And he knew shaving wasn't a game.
And he said something that made sense … to a certain degree.
And he called you "young lady"! What a compliment when you don't feel so young inside or out.
And you transformed yourself back to the glorious silliness of childhood! Tag and gin rummy! And you made him "it!"
Who cares if he got "it"! You did and that's all that matters. It's YOUR moment to remember.
While he was shaving today he was looking at me with a stare that I knew something was going to be said. Out came the following - "What do you think this is? Do you think it is a game, young lady? That is it, you think it is a game and it isn't a game at all!" His words surprised me and I answered with, "Oh no this isn't a game! If it were a game it would be Gin Rummy or maybe even TAG (I moved close to him and tagged him)! As I was running away from his chair I was saying: "TAG, YOU ARE IT!"
I am smiling as I am typing to you. My little joke is only mine as he doesn't get it! HA! Such a waste of humor!
No, it's not a waste of humor! It saved your day and may have given you enough adrenaline to get through several days.
Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror after you've had a good laugh? My cheeks always feel smoother after a laugh attack. It's probably because those muscles got an incredible workout.
And he knew shaving wasn't a game.
And he said something that made sense … to a certain degree.
And he called you "young lady"! What a compliment when you don't feel so young inside or out.
And you transformed yourself back to the glorious silliness of childhood! Tag and gin rummy! And you made him "it!"
Who cares if he got "it"! You did and that's all that matters. It's YOUR moment to remember.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
When your loved one fires you
Imagine if your loved one "fired" you as their caregiver. That can be devastating or it can be humorous, depending on the circumstances. For an Alzheimer's caregiver, it could be just another day or something memorable.
A woman I've met through my experience writing about Alzheimer's sent me this wonderful interaction …
As I was getting him showered early this morning, he told me, "You sure don't know what you're doing, do you?" I told him, "Perhaps I could find someone to come to the house and bathe you?" His answer was, "Great! Get them over right away because you're horrible!!" I looked at this as a conversation, and the thought carried through three sentences - Yeah!
Yeah … it's the first REAL conversation he's had with her in a couple of months, though he had forgotten it as soon as the words sputtered from his lips. It does not take much to make a caregiver smile, even being told she's a lousy cleaner-upper.
Being fired is the nicest thing that's happened to this caregiver in a very long time. But she'll stick around because he's hired her again without an interview and will likely fire her many more times …
And what an amazing resumé she'll have.
A woman I've met through my experience writing about Alzheimer's sent me this wonderful interaction …
As I was getting him showered early this morning, he told me, "You sure don't know what you're doing, do you?" I told him, "Perhaps I could find someone to come to the house and bathe you?" His answer was, "Great! Get them over right away because you're horrible!!" I looked at this as a conversation, and the thought carried through three sentences - Yeah!
Yeah … it's the first REAL conversation he's had with her in a couple of months, though he had forgotten it as soon as the words sputtered from his lips. It does not take much to make a caregiver smile, even being told she's a lousy cleaner-upper.
Being fired is the nicest thing that's happened to this caregiver in a very long time. But she'll stick around because he's hired her again without an interview and will likely fire her many more times …
And what an amazing resumé she'll have.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Walter Cronkite: A far greater man we've lost
It's too bad that so many Americans and reporters exhausted themselves during the recent Michael Jackson media "orgy." They're probably too tired to report on and read or care about the passing of a far greater man who influenced the lives of everyday Americans in so many ways.
Or perhaps they just don't get "it," what we've lost in THIS man, a real person worthy of our attention at his passing … to look at ourselves in the mirror.
Walter Cronkite was the symbol of the evening TV news of yesterday, a figure we trusted to tell us the truth. The truth, even if it wasn't pretty. The truth, even if wasn't glamorous. The truth, what we needed to make informed decisions about our destiny as individuals and as a nation. The truth … lacking more and more in the entertainment news many Americans consume as the extent of "news" they need to be informed citizens.
Walter Cronkite was the journalist I wanted to be, not Woodward and Bernstein for their Watergate reporting. He was synonymous with truth, integrity, accuracy, fairness, professionalism.
He was real. He was a man who exhibited character traits we should encourage our children, our young people to study and commit to heart … not song lyrics or dance steps.
We are probably not shocked by Walter Cronkite's passing as he was in his 90s and lived a long and amazing life. However, we should mourn that there will never be a father-figure like him again that encourages and impresses upon us the need to pay attention to the REAL news of our communities and our world, and to assume the responsibility to think for ourselves.
Yes, we've lost a far, far greater man … at the time our world needs so many more like him.
Or perhaps they just don't get "it," what we've lost in THIS man, a real person worthy of our attention at his passing … to look at ourselves in the mirror.
Walter Cronkite was the symbol of the evening TV news of yesterday, a figure we trusted to tell us the truth. The truth, even if it wasn't pretty. The truth, even if wasn't glamorous. The truth, what we needed to make informed decisions about our destiny as individuals and as a nation. The truth … lacking more and more in the entertainment news many Americans consume as the extent of "news" they need to be informed citizens.
Walter Cronkite was the journalist I wanted to be, not Woodward and Bernstein for their Watergate reporting. He was synonymous with truth, integrity, accuracy, fairness, professionalism.
He was real. He was a man who exhibited character traits we should encourage our children, our young people to study and commit to heart … not song lyrics or dance steps.
We are probably not shocked by Walter Cronkite's passing as he was in his 90s and lived a long and amazing life. However, we should mourn that there will never be a father-figure like him again that encourages and impresses upon us the need to pay attention to the REAL news of our communities and our world, and to assume the responsibility to think for ourselves.
Yes, we've lost a far, far greater man … at the time our world needs so many more like him.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Juggling too much
I have an appropriate confession for July 16, which is International Juggling Day: I'm juggling way too much in my life right now.
And I know I'm part of a huge majority of people nowadays.
So, that's why I haven't had time to add to my blog this week or Twitter. Time to put my ADDDDDDD+ mind into a focused orbit. And it's hard. Painfully hard. And it's annoying. Painfully annoying.
We all have levels we mark as being overwhelmed. What's demanding for one person may be a breeze for another. We're told to count our blessings when we see someone who is faced with more adverse challenges or tragedy. I try very hard to do that BUT I then feel guilty for feeling bad about anything not going perfect in my life or when my concerns seem pathetic in the scheme of the universe. It's an endless cycle …
We're also told to "snap out of it!" Didn't Cher slap Nicholas Cage in "Moonstruck" with that directive?
We all have limits but often never know until we reach them. I met an Alzheimer's caregiver whose loved one is declining rapidly. I listened to what was not said, the question that they can't bring themselves to say aloud: "Am I selfish if I'm reaching the point where I can't cope with daily care anymore?"
And this person is part of a silent majority that could be beaten down by this damn disease without support.
Yes, there is a point where charity and compassion demand too great a toll. Are we selfish when we no longer have the physical and emotional capability of daily care? Do other family members or friends or neighbors think we're lazy or unfeeling when our capacity to feel the blood flow through our veins weakens by the day from the stresses that drain us?
Let them walk in our well-worn shoes one month, one week, one day.
Whether we are devoured by caregiving duties or having extended ourselves too far because we don't know how to say no or yes, our pain is real. There are times to be persistent on our own and times to ask for help.
Don't think of it or call it a "pity party." Refer to it as a moment of reflection that is vital to our destiny, our basic survival.
Then we will more clearly see what we're really juggling.
And I know I'm part of a huge majority of people nowadays.
So, that's why I haven't had time to add to my blog this week or Twitter. Time to put my ADDDDDDD+ mind into a focused orbit. And it's hard. Painfully hard. And it's annoying. Painfully annoying.
We all have levels we mark as being overwhelmed. What's demanding for one person may be a breeze for another. We're told to count our blessings when we see someone who is faced with more adverse challenges or tragedy. I try very hard to do that BUT I then feel guilty for feeling bad about anything not going perfect in my life or when my concerns seem pathetic in the scheme of the universe. It's an endless cycle …
We're also told to "snap out of it!" Didn't Cher slap Nicholas Cage in "Moonstruck" with that directive?
We all have limits but often never know until we reach them. I met an Alzheimer's caregiver whose loved one is declining rapidly. I listened to what was not said, the question that they can't bring themselves to say aloud: "Am I selfish if I'm reaching the point where I can't cope with daily care anymore?"
And this person is part of a silent majority that could be beaten down by this damn disease without support.
Yes, there is a point where charity and compassion demand too great a toll. Are we selfish when we no longer have the physical and emotional capability of daily care? Do other family members or friends or neighbors think we're lazy or unfeeling when our capacity to feel the blood flow through our veins weakens by the day from the stresses that drain us?
Let them walk in our well-worn shoes one month, one week, one day.
Whether we are devoured by caregiving duties or having extended ourselves too far because we don't know how to say no or yes, our pain is real. There are times to be persistent on our own and times to ask for help.
Don't think of it or call it a "pity party." Refer to it as a moment of reflection that is vital to our destiny, our basic survival.
Then we will more clearly see what we're really juggling.
Monday, July 6, 2009
My 30-year-old datebook
I've been consolidating a lot of paperwork, saving some of it digitally and recycling the paper. Among my boxes of goodies are most of the desk calendars I've filled since 1979, the year I got married. The pack rat in me just can't part with them completely, so I scanned them to revisit.
Yes, 1979 seems a long time ago. My entries start shortly after I graduated from college in May and returned home to Anderson, Indiana, to work and plan and pack until Roger and I got married July 21. His future employer, Caterpillar Tractor Co., back then, now Caterpillar Inc., helped us select that date because he started work in June as soon as he graduated, and we had to fit the wedding in during the company's traditional two-week July vacation. So, Saturday, the 21st, it was.
I worked at the daily newspaper at home while Roger started work and set up housekeeping in Peoria. I was watching every penny carefully as I found my detailed spending records jotted on the calendar pages. On June 1, I had two Cokes at 30 cents each, spent 88 cents on lunch and $1.35 on dinner. I really splurged the following day with 36 cents on a slush and $7 for a full tank of gas. On the 10th, I managed to get out of the grocery store and spend only $2.40.
On June 16, I boldly penned, "5 weeks!" until the big day. And then there's the phone number for some guy named Kevin … hmm …
I worked on a variety of stories for the newspaper that month, including a series on senior citizens with topics such as a senior center, an older adult conference and a session on death and dying. Ah, but there was also a lighthearted piece on musical gourds. Bigger hmm …
I drove to Peoria for a job interview on June 27 and got to see how Roger had decorated our new home. BIGGER hmm … And suddenly it was three weeks until this two-bedroom paradise was to be my address!
On July 1, I called hotels in Indianapolis to find a place for us to honeymoon for a few days. The Marriott was $49 for the first night, $25 the second night, and it included a champagne breakfast! Wow! Fancy stuff! Book it, Danno!
My last day of work was July 12, and I was busily filling in the back of the calendar that had space for budgeting and expenses. I was trying to be a responsible, yet frugal, bride. Monthly rent $245, electricity $25, annual renter's insurance $50. Cable TV? Where's a slot for that? Hmm …
I crossed out church donations and substituted cable.
My final days as a single woman all summed up neatly in an old calendar. What a sentimental hoot.
Now, if I could just remember who Kevin was … hmm … hmm …
Yes, 1979 seems a long time ago. My entries start shortly after I graduated from college in May and returned home to Anderson, Indiana, to work and plan and pack until Roger and I got married July 21. His future employer, Caterpillar Tractor Co., back then, now Caterpillar Inc., helped us select that date because he started work in June as soon as he graduated, and we had to fit the wedding in during the company's traditional two-week July vacation. So, Saturday, the 21st, it was.
I worked at the daily newspaper at home while Roger started work and set up housekeeping in Peoria. I was watching every penny carefully as I found my detailed spending records jotted on the calendar pages. On June 1, I had two Cokes at 30 cents each, spent 88 cents on lunch and $1.35 on dinner. I really splurged the following day with 36 cents on a slush and $7 for a full tank of gas. On the 10th, I managed to get out of the grocery store and spend only $2.40.
On June 16, I boldly penned, "5 weeks!" until the big day. And then there's the phone number for some guy named Kevin … hmm …
I worked on a variety of stories for the newspaper that month, including a series on senior citizens with topics such as a senior center, an older adult conference and a session on death and dying. Ah, but there was also a lighthearted piece on musical gourds. Bigger hmm …
I drove to Peoria for a job interview on June 27 and got to see how Roger had decorated our new home. BIGGER hmm … And suddenly it was three weeks until this two-bedroom paradise was to be my address!
On July 1, I called hotels in Indianapolis to find a place for us to honeymoon for a few days. The Marriott was $49 for the first night, $25 the second night, and it included a champagne breakfast! Wow! Fancy stuff! Book it, Danno!
My last day of work was July 12, and I was busily filling in the back of the calendar that had space for budgeting and expenses. I was trying to be a responsible, yet frugal, bride. Monthly rent $245, electricity $25, annual renter's insurance $50. Cable TV? Where's a slot for that? Hmm …
I crossed out church donations and substituted cable.
My final days as a single woman all summed up neatly in an old calendar. What a sentimental hoot.
Now, if I could just remember who Kevin was … hmm … hmm …
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