2 Days to go

I looked at an old bill from my father's health insurance company
It itemized all the separate things (equipment... medication... etc) which were needed
for a early summer hospital stay.
I got lost among all the confusing words and medi-lingo
but then my eye saw this:

room - $87,000

and some people in my country don't want health care reform
they say if we pay doctors less
they will leave the US
and our health care system will deteriorate

well I think
pay the doctors the same
and lets pay the rooms less
how about that for reform

(by the way. The insurance company pays most of that so don't think my parents had to pay THAT much money. But there is something a little sick about it. Like when, during the Reagen era the Pentagon was paying $5000 for one hammer)

My Dad was good tonight... happy.. he even sang a little.
Virginia actual grabbed my chair and
strained herself
to try and drag the chair (and me) toward her
She started to cry when the chair moved slightly and got caught on the table.
(she said nothing about cocks tonight but she did say that i was very nice.
I called the transportation service to take my dad home (we think it wouldn't be easy to get him in and out of our car) and I fell in love with the phone operator.
I have signed up for an internet college English course... it costs $550 a credit (better than a hospital bed but I think that Health care is not the only thing that needs reforming in my country).

I can choose from these classes... what do you think? Help me choose:

English Literature to 1800
African American literature
American Autobiography
Literary Genres across cultures

Am I a writer?

Every time, lately
when I sit to write
and sort of exhale with a heaviness in my chest
which only half disappears
or chameleonizes itself
on my breath
(I just had a thought... the breath that leaves your body... does it ever truly leave you... or could you follow it like a trail... all the oxygen nitrogen and whatever else lives in the stuff that enters your lungs traces of prints... follow that stuff back to yesterday... last week... to the beginning... find yourself there... watch yourself take your first breath... see the air... like a chain of silver paperclips... all the air you've breathed)
any way
lately when I try to write these blogs
I feel like I've nothing to say
or I feel like what I want to say can't be said...
and then I read this passage
in Virginia Woolf's
Orlando:

-- He was describing, as all young poets are forever describing, nature, and in order to match the shade of green precisely he looked (and here he showed more audacity than most) at the thing itself, which happened to be a laurel bush growing beneath the window. After that, of course, he could write no more. Green in nature is one thing, green in literature another. Nature and letters seem to have a natural antipathy; bring then together and they tear each other to pieces. The shade of green Orlando now saw spoilt his rhyme and split his metre.--

I worry that I have fallen into a thing
a suffocating thing
in 5 days my father will be in this house
my mother still drives me crazy
I feel very lonely
not lost exactly
but locked up

I feel maybe... as if I am not worthy? not
I have creativity
but I don't think I have skill
I am metal
but haven't been formed into a knife
I have fast legs
but I don't know where I am running

3 conversations? and an escape

Dad has a roommate named Mr. Robbins
He's new at the facility.
Whenever I visit, Mr. Robbins calmly sits up in his chair stares at the television and says absolutely nothing.
Another patient you may remember, Virginia petter...
here's a quick story
to give you a little background on her nickname.
Whenever she catches my eye (which is as often as possible) her eyes light up.
She seems to be... and is... a very pleasant person.
Hair always perfectly set
warm smile
She moves around great
looks about 65

so... she see me
and her eyes light up...
She walks over and has...
what is to her a conversation
and to me
only a smiling and shaking of the head and maybe a few MmmnHmms and Uh-huhs and of courses
which is maybe my mistake
because then she gets physical
and I mean... almost like...
Did you ever see Ghostbusters?
There is a scene with Sigourney Weaver as the gatekeeper or whatever?
well almost like that but the 70 year old version.
Her hand falls upon my arm
"Oooh" she says and "that's nice"
I make a sort of gargly noise like "umph"
'You like that?"
She asks...
ummm
Tonight she even said
"You are COCKy"
and I swear there was emphasis on the capital section of the word.
I haven't felt so nervous since my first performance in a play in 2nd grade.
My role was Peter rabbit's brother.
I had to walk up to a microphone (What do little kids know about voice control?)
look up at the ceiling as if it were the sky and say
"It sounds like thunder."
all while wearing a pair of rabbit ears made from white construction paper and a tail made of several cotton balls glued together.
During rehearsal I often uttered the wrong line, saying
"It sounds like lightening"
enraging my teacher who would then pull on my right ear (the real one and not the rabbit one) and lead me
in this way
back to the classroom
while all the other kids
laughed
so believe me... opening night
I was nervous.
What should a 42 year old gay man do
when a 70 something year old female alzheimer patient
comes onto him?

Another bizarre story involves my mother
asking my Dad
how he was
he told her
"Great! Today I danced"
"who did you dance with?" asked my mother.
"All my girlfriends"
This made my mother extremely angry and jealous...
The fact that my father can't even WALK never crossed her suspicious mind

and the last conversation I heard this evening
was between Tony Flirt and Estra bigrims

(tony reaches out his hand and pokes Esra)
Esra: You get your hand off of me!
Tony: What's wrong?
Esra: Keep your hands to yourself.
Tony: I can't touch you?
Esra: What?
Tony: I can't touch you?
Esra: No you can't.
Tony: But you're pretty.
Esra: I have been around a lot longer than you have and I've heard it all. Your lines don't work on me. What time is it? Has the bus arrived?

Esra is something like 85?
and Tony is probably in his 70's
Can an 85 year old actually tell a 70 year old that she's been around longer than he... I mean it's true... technically
but I think if you both have a pretty good memory
of Truman in the whitehouse....

After these amusing but bizarre experiences
I walked out into the small courtyard abutting the Alzheimer wing of the building.
And there
quiet
somber
reactionless
Mr. Robbins
Is climbing up and over the wall.
He's standing on the back of a lawn chair
his arms and one leg draped over the wall
He was escaping!
I called a nurse
and when she told him to come down
he said
"If I come down Ill fall. Just let me get to the top. Then I can turn around and come down the right way."

September 23 2010

Not such a good day today.
I am back in the US after my short trip to The Czech Republic...
I woke up with a sort of fear.
It is 7 days before my father returns home.
I do not feel so ready.
Can I really do this?
What happens if it is all too much for me?

I visited Dad and he was in his
Please just kill me
modes

I also gasped at the realization
of how much work Ill have to do
If I am serious about getting
a masters degree to teach English

Today is not a good day

Does the sand that formed the castle remember the hands that molded it?

Yesterday
I met many friends at my favorite restaurant in Hradec
Its called Cook and Look
CnL when you text it.

I have many friends here. All types of people.
Most of them... I don't want to say that it is easy
but...
there are varying degrees of goodbyes
Colleagues you've shared work with
Students you've taught
friends...

and the friends have categories as well...

There is a certain group of friends... a few of them... who I feel a very special mix of
paternallovecompanionhopefulsupportprotectunderstandjoypridenurturefaithletthembewhattheyarehelpthembewhattheycanlearnfromthemaswellasteachthemandseethemfromherewhentheyaretherewhereiusedtobe... ing... ness....

its complicated... feelings

I think of my nieces and I on the beach.
We struggled for about an hour...
with the sand.
We combined forces
dug deep motes
erected high walls of protection
dual walls
built look out towers
prayed

but the water came
no matter our careful planning
our last minute quick thinking
our slyness
our solutions

the water came
and the waves crashed into our creation
the sand melting away like snow in a microwave
our motes becoming shallow lakes
our high walls
rounded burial like mounds
our towers fell

after the waves
what remained... unrecognizable

and the waves returned
we fought
but in the end
the sand we tried to form into something
was lost within the sand we hadn't touched

but was the sand which had stood for a short time
molded by our hands
was that sand changed?
Did it remember our fingers, palms, arms (and feet!)
desperately attempting to defend it
Will the sand remember us?

a thought encountered in Rome

I realized it may be a long time before I am able to return to Europe.
I went to expedia.com and found a cheap last minute flight to Rome.

A long time ago when I left my job
packed one small bag
and flew to Italy
it was really because of the influence of one girl.

but the story goes back further than that.
My mother's parents were Italians born in a village high up in the Apennines of Umbria. A place called Norcia. My grandfather had several brothers and sisters. Most of them left their old lives behind them and, with almost nothing in their pockets, came to face the big unknown in America... (I just realized that in a way... our stories are similar. I did the same thing but in reverse!)

Not all of the family immigrated to America.

This is how my mother now has a few cousins who are Italian.
One such cousin (I will call him cousin V) had 7 children (also considered cousins in an Italian family such as ours)
The eldest of cousin V's children is cousin E.
And cousin E is the catalyst which began the change in focus my life would take.

Cousin E is an amazing young person. She is focused and driven. She often knows what she wants and works toward getting it.
She taught me to listen to the little voice in my head
understand it better
and follow what it says...

she is one of the key reasons why I quit my job
left my family
and started my adventure
the adventure which first led me to Rome
and then to the rest of my life
and THAT is why I ha to return to my favorite city (it is changing fast there... losing its connection to me)

The way the cars sound on the street
the ice cream
the food
the wine (the cheaper the better!)
and the people ... people like my cousins.

Not 2 hours pass within the home of my cousin
before something new... exciting... magical... passionate... sweet... life changing
happens

2 parents 7 kids lots of helpers and friends visiting all the time
is a recipe for
a beautiful thing
I feel blessed to be there within it... this breathing vast entity
bodies and minds and pets... all together under that roof
I can understand how a person such as cousin E
could have risen out of it
just a few months there years ago
changed my life forever

During my 4 day stay cousin E had an interview and was called the very next day
and offered the position
in a few weeks she will fly to Malawi
She will be working with young people (I think) in 2 refugee camps.
One in Malawi and the other outside Nairobi
I get the impression that its a pretty big step for her
something along the lines of getting a role in a Broadway play.

In Italy ... on this journey
once again I reevaluated my life
many people asked me about my decision to return home and help my father.
When I came to Rome... that first time
there was this freedom in the air... possibility everywhere
and now there is
almost the same

I know it may sound crazy
but I think
by returning to the US
and caring for my Dad
It actually increases the possibilities
opens up the next chapter of my life

I know that my days with my Dad will be difficult
that each day will be routine
that sometimes he will allow me to help him
sometimes I will have to fight
but my life is my own
what I am doing with it is my own decision
and when I look beyond my time with my father
to the future
i see a world almost as exciting as
the one I saw when I first arrived in Italy.
Anything can happen... really... already IS happening
and all because I have made this decision.

My thoughts on returning to the Czech republic

Dad will return home on October 1st.
Advances on the house race along.
My sister is painting my parent's bedroom.
The plumber is coming soon...
and a ramp will be built in two weeks.

In this slight interim before my life really changes... again
I returned to the Czech republic... where I am now
to finalize some things... get my stuff... and say goodbye to several dear friends

On the train from Prague to Hradec Kralove (the small city where I have lived for the past 4 years)
I looked around me and got a little shock.
I am always surprised at the huge differences between The C.R. and the U.S.A.
It reminds me, has always reminded me,
of childhood in the 1970's
and there on the train
I tried to figure out why...
this is what I wrote:

Liek the 70's the Czech Republic bulges with old and dusty.
Discolored metal rusty trains
old wooden stations sagging beside
single swinging signs with town names in faded lettering.
Grass grows through the cracks beneath the tracks
when you get off it meets your feet as well as
the dry smoky powdery soil supporting it's roots

There is no cement and recemented walkways flat as countertops
sparkling and white
nor sun stopping pavilions to pleasantly walk underneath. No glossy clean windows on the train.
No seats made for kings traveling in $100 jeans or high-end business suits.

I look through the dirty window
at the buildings
the leftovers of communism
everything is grey
the buildings, the sky..
Like a place lost in a cloudy day.
feels like night's approaching
even at 12 noon on a summer day




Then as I sit here and read what I've written
type it into the blog
It makes it sound so dark
no barren
it's not.... it's just not new... like the 70s...
every"thing" is old... but who cares about it
I'd rather have the grass
the old signs
I think people are happier here

I will miss you Czech Repulic
I love you

What's Worse

I really wish I could get this blog out to more people
It's not that I have delusions of fame
although I do dream that someday I'll write something... anything
and publish it
I just think that what is happening to me
must be happening to others
and that maybe I and my family could benefit
by input from other people in our situation
and that maybe they could benefit from our experience as well...
But how do I find other people... on the internet... who are in a similar situation/
You would think things like that would be easy
but I find the internet to be so damned... difficult
every thing is for a price
or marketing
where did the "real" internet go?
Are there still chat rooms and stuff?

Tonight I helped my father go to the toilet.
It was a big job...
took three of us.
I am a bit concerned about how we will manage it
when it is just me and my Mom
and our tiny bathroom.
I thought that it would be the most difficult thing for me to deal with
I mean... seeing your own father's bowel movement... wiping him afterward... putting on his new diaper (Mom calls them "shorts". She denies that they are anything else. They are not shorts... shorts are something you can wear on the subway... you can go to work in some places wearing shorts... shorts are fashionable and come in different hues. These are not shorts. They are diapers.)
It isn't so terrible though. I find it's actually easy to slip into professional mode during those moments. Here's the job... thi is what you have to do. 1, 2, 3 it's done.

What is most difficult to me is... looking into his eyes and seeing confusion... disorientation... fear. He can look at you when he is at the bottom... look right into you and shake his head a little as the wrinkles on his forehead increase and deepen... and whisper (as if it is only to you alone) "I want to die"

What reply?
What comes after that.
It isn't 1, 2, 3

Math is meaningless in this moment. I just put my hand on his... try to bravely face him with a... determined half smile... I say

"No you don't"

and I know how much it doesn't help
I know it's not right to say
not wrong either
but not right
because there is no reply

John Henry Sailor Part II

Tonight my father returned for while.
he talked a lot and made sense about 30 percent of the time (usually its 5%)
he listened and seemed to answer questions accurately
he also made jokes... sort of

each evening a woman from the kitchen staff enters the Alzheimer wing with a tray full of snacks.
Tonight when she entered... my dad yelled out

"Hey! Who are you?! What do you have there?"

"Snacks"

"Yeah? well Im going to call the police!"

and then he started laughing... we laughed too... I mean the joke made no sense but the delivery was perfection.

He also couldn't stop talking about sheep. He asked one woman if she had any sheep 6 times. Then he began to make sheep impersonations... and continued to laugh.
It was a real pleasure to be around him this night.

John Henry Part II

One day I walked in to find John Henry on his knees in front of naked Ned.
Ned was not yet naked this evening
but John Henry was helping Ned to remove his socks.
It could have been homoerotic
if Ned had any idea there was another man removing his clothing
if it had been other clothing besides socks (some of the patients feet are not the most sexy body parts I've seen)
if John Henry weren't 90 years old
and if it didn't somehow remind me of the story from the bible...
because after John Henry removed the socks... he began to use one of them as a rag
and began to gently wipe Ned's feet... very meticulously... between each toe ... from every angle.

Isn't there that story of a prostitute who washes Jesus' feet
and he ... says something about casting stones?

I never listened in Sunday school...
anyway that was what this was like... or at least my poor memory of it. If it isn't in the bible it should be.


A week later Ned and John Henry were fighting.
Every time Ned stood
John Henry said, in angry British

"Please sit down!"

Ned would sit and wait about 3 minutes before rising again
to which John Henry would react

"Please sit down!"

This went on for about a half hour. Suddenly this is what John Henry surprisingly said,

"I don't wish you to be next to me. You promised you'd be quiet but you've been an ugly stupid old dope. Now SIT DOWN!"

John Henry was about 5'5" with big rimmed glasses... probably about 115 pounds... very frail but intelligent looking... always so kind... polite... I cracked up.

So I salute you John Henry. You were a fabulous man. And maybe it's nice... that here you are in this blog... and a whole 6 people will read about you.

Dedicated to John Henry Sailor Part I

My mother (who reads the obits every day... discovered that John Henry
a "roommate" of my father
died.

We haven't seen him around the care facility for several weeks
and I guess he must have been sick.

I would like to dedicate this blog to him
my idea is to relate all the stories
I have where he is included.


I've been wanting to speak more about the people who stay at the same facility as Dad
and now I have this opportunity


JOHN HENRY

The first time I met John Henry he sat beside my father and smiled warmly at me.
He told me this:

" I'm sorry. I was only trying to do the right thing and I have failed."
"What?" I wasn't very surprised that he was talking to me. Many of the patients talk to people they don't know.
"I am not doing very well. I often get it wrong."
He had a british accent. This surprised me. What is the story of a man with a british accent who has ended up in an Alzheimer care facility in NJ? I wanted to know.
"You've done nothing wrong." I said. He smiled. "I'm Kevin." And I offered my hand.
"John Henry" uttered so Britishly that I had visions of the Queen and Doctor Who and Merchant Ivory all at once.

He told me (in a ever increasingly larger spiral) that he had joined the British navy at the end of WWII. They were offering scholarships for a two year posting. He smiled impishly when he described how he made his decision to join the navy and not another branch of the army. Apparently it was a clever thing to do but I never understood why. After the war he obtained his degree in engineering at Nottingham university...

"Nottingham is of course the land of Robin Hood... you may have heard?"

He would then return to the beginning of his story and retell me all over again. But he did it in such a way that I didn't realize he was retelling me everything. It was the same information but described so differently it felt as if he were a new person altogether. I didn't get bored... but I was anxious... I wanted to know how he came to the USA... how he was here in this room next to my father.

"How did you get here?" I would sometimes ask him when I couldn't stand the anticipation any longer.

"Well that, "The clever smile again, "That is a story" (The emphasis on IS so so british) "At the end of the war I decided to join up...."

The story would often be interrupted. Perhaps John Henry would drop his empty plastic cup. I would reach down to retrieve it for him.
"Oh I am sorry," He'd say, "I don't mean to be such a burden."

"No... no. You are not a burden. You were telling me how you got to NJ..."

"Well.... It was toward the end of the war. Young men were going to fight... and I decided....."

I never heard more from him about his life. To this day I am not certain whether he was actually British or not. Sometimes patients with Alzheimer disease adopt a certain persona. But even that idea intrigued me.

There is more about John Henry but I think Ill leave it til tomorrow.

Just a quick note on other happenings.
I did one of the first "manly" things I've done in my life this week.
I had to put together a dog kennel for Bubble.
This was not easy. It involved digging several 30 inch holes in solid dry dirt that had formed into a sort of rockish texture. Each hole took me about 5 hours to dig. The kennel is up now and I felt that certain kind of satisfaction that comes with being the one (whether you are a man or a woman" who has to take on the role of "Dad" and get the job done.... very fulfilling.

Hurricane Earl is on it's way toward the Jersey coast. I am just waiting for the winds to arrive and blow some trees onto my newly erected dog kennel.

My favorite chef on Bravos Top Chef D.C. was eliminated this week. Her name was Tiffany.