Double-Wide

I’m located in a trailer in Encinitas for the next month, pretending to be a relative of a dude from Phoenix who owns but rarely uses this place. While my latest residence is located 1 block from the beach with a parking spot, it’s never going to be marketed by Airbnb as a chic retro property. I’ve broken a few things just trying to open or clean them. However, my standards are flexible. I can wiggle into the bedroom sideways as long as I limit desserts. While I don’t surf the world-famous waves nearby, there’s a wifi connection to surf the internet. I’m just happy to be here, having barely escaped a flash flood mudslide on I-5 on my drive down, which happened to be near the anniversary of the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. To reminisce, I avoided the bridge collapse by walking miles through the rubble of San Francisco. Do I miss living in California? Not really.

It is nice to be able to hang out with Dad and take him around town for meals and doctor appointments. He was recently busted at his favorite deli for stealing pickles in a giant Tupperware container, dutifully reported by my brother. Sid is now on pickle probation; however I’m enabling him with organic sauerkraut. I told his doctor, who thought it was hysterical that he was finally caught and congratulated him on his criminal tendencies. I brought Sid to the mobile home park to get his perspective on my lodging - he informed me that it’s actually a single-wide on raised concrete blocks with a “stump” addition, complete with electrical fire hazards. But such a good deal.

Snippets from my trailer trash life: I have a feline roommate, a black cat, perfect for Halloween, who runs in when I open the door. Unfortunately I tripped over the cat and snapped the hinges on my laptop. I found a guy who will fix it for free. An awesome food truck is a short stroll away, owned by Dad’s doctor’s son-in-law. My cruiser bike has damaged brakes but I mostly ride on flat streets. My teeth are still intact. Stay tuned for further developments.

Party Time!

Despite Dad saying he didn’t want to celebrate his 93rd birthday, I know better. He loves attention (it must be genetic). So I took him to his favorite deli and he devoured cheesecake. I organized a spaghetti and meatball banquet for him and 6 lady friends, which our server referred to as his harem. This was followed by a surprise Brooklyn-themed egg cream* and babka dessert gathering (if you don’t know what these delicacies are, you are probably not Jewish.) Kudos to Leigh for sending Fox’s U-Bet chocolate syrup. It was quite the event. Some of the ladies got stuck in the car due to my insistence that they use seat belts. I tried to help Shirley up a curb and she informed me that she still does triathlons, thank you very much. When Sid fell asleep after the singing I made everyone go home. That night his friend Harry fell out of bed and broke his leg. Such is the yin and yang of life in the retirement village.

If you haven’t seen the pictures on Facebook, I’m attaching a few here. How will we top this next year? It’s hard to predict. However if I can’t get a job in my chosen field, I’m going to be a party planner.

* http://www.ibloomberg.net/comfort-me-with-egg-creams-off-duty/

Year 2 Milestone

When my mother died two years ago, I made a commitment to do everything possible to keep my father safe and healthy. We just hit the 2-year mark, and I'm so proud of Sid for making the best of things. We will celebrate his 93rd birthday next week with a giant platter of spaghetti and meatballs for his friends.

I've been busy networking, training and learning about patient advocacy. I became semi-employed (thank you Suzanne for the tip) as an on-call advocate for a local retirement community. I assist residents with medical appointments and ER visits when family members are not located nearby - the situation I faced for years; however this kind of help wasn't available. I have 4 months left of school; I'm enjoying it and submit homework from all over the world. I'm creating a website for kazadvocate.com (Kaz is my Aussie nickname, thank you Meg).

This past week I went through 14 hours of training on dementia, delirium and depression - which turned out to be more enjoyable than you might imagine. I got lost trying to find the meeting room, which I considered my pre-test. Some fun facts:

• People with dementia often can't recognize the color white, it appears as vacant space. Therefore health workers wearing white uniforms appear to have floating heads. White toilets look missing, there’s nowhere to pee. No wonder they're agitated.
• When you ask someone what they had for breakfast, the depressed person will say “I don’t remember.” When you ask people with dementia, they may say “I never had breakfast” to compensate.
• Ghosts are common in facilities. Staff will see the deceased late at night sitting in their favorite chairs in the dining hall. Residents see prior occupants in the mirrors of their rooms.

I donated blood this morning to honor Mom's birthday, now my annual tradition. It's usually no big deal, but today I had a bad reaction. I sensed her hovering nearby; she still wants to be part of the action. Despite the discomfort, I liked having her take care of me.

An Earful

I’m in San Diego for a whirlwind of doctor appointments for Dad, and we’ve have had some strange moments. I arrived to find his hearing aid wailing in high pitch, then attempted to fix it. Cleaning, replacing the tubing, chatting with customer support and learning how to program the various modes made no difference. I asked him how long this noise had been going on, he had no idea but he did mention he was losing friends. Although it drove me nuts, we went on with our errands and binge meals, even had time to hang out at the beach to watch the bikini-clad girls play volleyball. We saw the retina specialist, the dentist, the primary care doctor. Sid is recovering nicely from his fall and is trying to gain back enough balance to use his cane instead of a walker. After trying to navigate the local pub at happy hour, he realized that wasn’t such a hot idea. All through these adventures the screeching continued; I was getting used to it.

I did ask a nurse today to clean his ears, since he tends to pile up wax and I thought maybe it would help. She stopped the procedure mid-stream, called in the geriatrician, who peered into his ear canal and said “hey we’re sending you to an Ear Nose and Throat guy.” Then he had me use the magnifying glass, which was flattering but I had no idea what to look for – maybe pickle remnants? We managed to get an appointment right away – the same day! – and sure enough, lodged inside Dad’s ear canal was an old plastic plug that had separated from his hearing aid, complete with an inch of waxy crud. All I could think about was that movie where the insects crawl into people’s ears and eat their brains. His device didn’t work correctly because with a new plug it was unable to make contact past a barrier of debris. The ENT doc referred to it as the “yuck factor” in his field and said it wasn’t uncommon. Apparently he’s extracted all sorts of things from ear canals, including grasshoppers.

Dad’s hearing is much improved now. I’ve encouraged him to inspect his hearing aid each night to make sure it doesn’t have more or less parts than the picture on the box. We ate dinner in blissful silence.

Strange Car Karma

After driving 20 hours, I reached Seattle, briefly collapsed, did the laundry, flew back to Oakland for a memorial service, returned home and wanted to crawl under a rock. Instead I took care of my car, which needed new tires, an alignment and a headlamp bulb. $800 later, I had a perfect vehicle – for 5 minutes. Something looked odd. I realized with horror that the front end was dented, the hood didn’t close and the bumper was askew. How and where did this happen, was my state of mind so fuzzy that I hit my car on the Interstate and didn’t remember it? I narrowed it down to the most recent repair, stormed into Les Schwab Tires and tried not to appear insane.

Much to my amazement, the store had security camera footage showing my pristine car, until it went into the parking lot while I was paying my bill. And there, captured in crystal clear video, was a white pickup truck backing into my car, then taking off with a macho squeal. The managers whooped in delight. It was like a CSI scene, we should have had popcorn. The asshole who did the hit and run was busted: I had his name, license plate, and service records (no HIPAA privacy concerns in the auto repair world). He was driving a company truck, rushed in for a flat tire fix, and then ruined my day. His employer contacted me immediately, took all responsibility and is paying the $3800 bill. Yes, that’s what it costs to mess up a Subaru.

Tony’s Auto Body shop down the street is now doing “teardown,” a terrible yet descriptive term. They’re also fixing a big dent that has nothing to do with this episode - as long as the car is being ripped up, why not (I’m paying for the extra labor). I’m driving a rental SUV; Enterprise made sure my kayak and bike would fit inside. I spent yesterday and today sitting through an AARP-sponsored defensive driving course to lower my insurance premium. It was very ironic. I perked up during the part about deteriorating reflexes as we age and parking technique.

I’m going to take the SUV to a remote beach for my birthday this weekend, sleep in a tent, and enjoy my solitude.

Day of the Duck

It’s been a fun week as Julie, who I’ve known since kindergarten, came to visit me and Sid. She stayed on the certified wildlife farm, sleeping in a pink bunk bed normally used by a 9 year old girl. We had lots of sleepovers when we were that age, so it seemed perfectly natural. As soon as she arrived, we got locked out of the house and she had to crawl through the kitchen window after I used a crowbar to remove the screen. She pointed out that my mother was probably saying hello from the great beyond, messing with my keys again. I mentioned this possibility to my father - he smiled with recognition and agreed it was indeed Mom having some fun with us, just like the old days. Julie was quite helpful; we worked as a team to wrestle the stressed out duck into submission. (Chickens are stupid. I can bribe them with bagels to return to their coop. That duck is a whole other creature – way smarter than me, very humbling.)

Based on things that can’t be rationally explained, Julie suggested that we both get psychic readings at the local County Fair. I went along with the idea mostly to discount it. Ladies in flowing robes with credit card machines on their laps read the energy from our palms. Julie enjoyed her analysis. Here’s the Cliff Notes version of mine: I’m on a journey (duh, I’m always in transit – literally). Helping others is important to me (good guess). I will have 2 income streams in the future to support myself (sounds good, will one be this blog when published?) Someone hurt my heart (isn’t that why there are so many country ballads?) and a man I loved recently deserted me (true, he died). I’ve mostly recovered from bad romance, but I’m protecting myself from disappointment by avoiding dating (based on my match.com and ok cupid experiences, I should run screaming). However, in 5 years I will have a companion, not one I would have expected, and I may have to relocate to find him (now I’m getting interested, is he in Australia waiting for me?) I am on the right track to happiness; I’m by myself but not alone.

Meanwhile, the only men flirting with me are over the age of 80, that’s okay. Dad is my favorite boyfriend right now. He’s not happy that I’m leaving town after a month of spoiling him. In the last 5 weeks he’s gone through a bad fall, a hospital stay, skilled nursing, rehab, a cancer scare and an upset tummy due to eating too many pickles. He’s one resilient guy. Imagine what the psychic reader would say about his future!

The Menagerie

In my quest for affordable lodging near Dad’s retirement village, I have an arrangement with a lovely couple who run a pesticide-free farm (they also teach surfing). They went to Mexico to chase the perfect wave and I’m now on rent-free duty for 8 days, watching the house and pet-sitting the following: 7 chickens, 2 chihuahuas, 2 rabbits, 2 guinea pigs, 1 cockatiel, 1 chinchilla and a duck. Kind of like an organic Noah’s Ark. My tutorial had extensive instructions:

• Let the chickens out daily to wander the yard, eat bugs, and then corral them into their coop by sunset. If they resist, yell at them in German – “achtung!” (attention!), “runta!” (come down from the tree!) Do not disturb the mother hens who are sitting on their newborns, give them extra protein snacks. Toss all fruit and uneaten food into the coop along with organic chicken pellets.
• Guide the duck with a broom and refresh all the water he ruins when tracking in mud (very messy duck).
• Wash the dogs in the bathroom sink with Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap to kill fleas. They enjoy it.
• Make sure the boy rabbit and girl rabbit don’t mix (for obvious reasons). Give them fresh bale straw if they look bored.
• Feed grass to the guinea pigs for extra Vitamin C, and filtered water to the bird.
• I can eat and drink whatever I like, but if I leave it out on the table, it will disappear within seconds.

Taking care of my father suddenly seems really easy.