Travel Adventure: Where Did I Park The Plane?

Coming from rural Missouri I don’t have many occasions to use public transportation. A trip to the Alzheimer’s Action Summit gave me a chance to get more than my fill of it.

It seems like things change all the time, but it's never for the better. An early morning flight used to mean you woke up early and headed for the airport. (Well, there was that one time when Jim dropped me off and the flight started boarding before he got back from parking the car.) Now, it means you need to find a place to stay the night before so you can get to the terminal on time. You have to allow extra time to be scrutinized.

I am not the least bit nervous about flying, but things can go awry in a hurry. Once you’ve done everything you can—stay the night, get up at an obscene hour, and hop in the hotel van hours ahead of time. The hotel driver makes the trip several times a day, so you just leave your timely arrival in his capable hands. The sign plainly says, “Midwest—Terminal A.” The driver whipped around the terminal. “Did I miss it?” he asked.

“I didn’t see it either,” I said. Of course, I was depending on him to see it. My friend, Cindy, and my granddaughter were in the back seat and they didn’t see it either.

We looped around the circle again. This time we stopped in front of another airline and Cindy jumped out to ask them where to find Midwest. “They moved to Terminal C yesterday, but they haven’t changed the sign.”

Our driver drove us to Terminal C and, sure enough, there they were. We checked in and paid $20 for every bag we checked. After having our belongings X-rayed, and thankfully not our bodies, we were seated in the holding area and hooked up to the Internet in no time.

Eventually, the pilot showed up. “No one told me we had changed terminals,” he said. Ooops, shouldn’t he have gotten the memo even if the passengers hadn’t? I don’t think he was too happy. Minutes before the boarding call, a flight attendant showed up.

We boarded and prepared for take-off. The pilot taxied, and taxied, and taxied. We were beginning to think he was going to drive to DC. I figured the control tower didn’t know what the heck Midwest was doing at Terminal C either. It is possible that the kid at the mike didn’t want to clear an unauthorized plane. We thought maybe the pilot went back to Terminal A to take off on familiar turf.

In the air we get the bad news that we will get only complimentary drinks—no snacks and no chocolate chip cookies before 10 a.m. I was pretty coffee logged so decided to go with juice. Tomato juice sounded good. “Do you want plain or spicy?” the flight attendant asked.

“Might as well have spicy,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll have heartburn anyway.”

“Do you want some lime in it?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

She poured a small glass and handed it to me. Wow. It was really hot, but it was tasty. And the lime was a great touch.

Later the flight attendant brought me the rest of the can. “No one else wanted any,” she said. A whole plane full of people, and I’m the only one that likes spicy tomato juice? The spicy tomato juice was Bloody Mary mix. No wonder the lime tasted so good in it.

When we got to DC, the plane looped in a big circle in one direction, reversed the circle in the other direction. Round and round we go. Who knows what was going on? Finally we landed and were on our way to the hotel.

Later in the day the big adventure was riding the subway to see the sites. With no help in sight, a gaggle of tourists tried to decipher the machines. After several false starts, we finally bought day passes and headed out.

While we waited for the first subway, a recorded voice explained that unlike elevator doors, subway doors will crush you like an aluminum can if you get caught in the door. Well, she didn’t say it in those exact words, but that’s what she meant. All I can say is the announcement put the fear of God in me. I made sure my granddaughter was between Cindy and me because I wanted to make sure that if one of us had to abandon getting on a car my granddaughter would be with one of us and not standing alone on the platform.

After a day of ankle-swelling, aching-back walking, and riding on crowded subway cars, we passed by the same set of machines. Cindy tried to cash in her ticket, but couldn’t figure it out while at the same time trying to explain to a bemused tourist how to buy a ticket. He just wasn’t getting it. I put my ticket in the machine and it said, “See a manager.” Yeah, right. I’m not so sure there is a manager, much less actually finding a human who fit that description.

“Here,” I said, handing the tourist my pass. “Take this. It’s good for the rest of the day.” I knew that with my aching feet, they couldn’t pay me to get back on that subway.

For sure, traveling is always an adventure. At least with the afternoon ride home, we don’t have to get up early and better yet, Midwest serves those delicious chocolate chip cookies. I don’t think I’ll be having any Bloody Mary mix with that. That would be taking adventure to a whole new level.

Keeping Life in Balance

I believe life is all about balance. I don’t know how it works; I just know it does. If things are really going well, something bad will happen. If things are looking so down that the only way is up, you can bet something good will come along. I couldn’t count the times we had a bill come due, and if we didn’t have the money on hand, somewhere or somehow we would get a windfall to cover it.

One time when we were going through a really tough time, Jim cleaned out his wallet and found a $100 bill tucked away in one of those secret pockets so many wallets have. One day the phone rang and it was a woman calling from a place Jim had worked several years before. They had been trying to locate him to send a vacation check they owed him. The check came in the mail the same day we received a bill for the same amount.

In the past few weeks several things happened to remind me of balance. Thursday night I came home from work to discover a $100 check in the mail for winnings from a writing contest I had entered months ago.

Friday night, I went to a play for an evening of relaxation after a hard week at work. My friend, Cindy, and I had great seats, but I was sitting next to a woman who began to cough. She coughed and coughed. I’m thinking I really don’t want to catch something with a trip coming up soon.

When I got home from the play, I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep. I walked through the door and smelled something burning. I checked the usual suspects: my coffee pot, my curling iron, and my iron. They were all off. Following my nose I headed toward the basement to discover my heat pump was making an unusual humming sound. I checked the vents and no air seemed to be blowing out of them. I turned off the heat pump and tried to figure out what to do. The temperature was already dropping for the night. I called a friend and he said it sounded like it was my fan. He called a repair service and found out that the repair would be overtime whether the repairman came that night or waited until Saturday. The charge was estimated at $300.

The repairman, Steve, plugged my address into a GPS and only called for further directions after he was in my neighborhood. He had the heat pump up and running in no time. It was an inexpensive capacitor and not the fan so the repair came in at just a little more than $100 which pretty much equaled my windfall of a few nights before.

I hope this balance theory works for health too. My blood pressure was great, so I had high hopes that my blood work would be good news for a change too. Every year, my numbers just keep climbing. This year, they lowered the threshold on blood glucose levels, so that number was marked *HI. To top it off, I had a new one crop up. My uric acid levels were *HI also. I know enough to know that uric acid and gout go hand-in-hand.

Most, if not all, of my health problems are caused by the extra twenty pounds I’m carrying around. Aw, but for the good old days when I was merely overweight and not (according to those new lower thresholds again) obese. Another part of my life where I need to find balance is on my scales.

Just like after last year’s health fair, I am determined to lose weight and regain healthy lower numbers. Saturday at my granddaughter’s basketball game, I told my son that I was going to eat just enough to stay alive. Of course, I had just polished off a bag of Doritos because I didn’t have time to stop for lunch and the food choices were quite limited at the game.

“Apparently you need Doritos to stay alive,” he said.

“I think they have to be listed with the other staples,” I agreed.

OK, so maybe I can’t really eat just enough to stay alive and still have Doritos from time to time. I don’t believe in going to diet extremes. In the first place, dieting makes me really cranky. And after I work really, really hard to lose five pounds, I eat one normal meal and it’s baaaaack.

Experts say it’s all about balance. Eat healthy foods, exercise, and the next thing you know you look like a supermodel.

My dad struggled with weight all his life. He often said, “When you go on a diet and never eat the things you like, you may not live longer, but it sure seems like you do.”

Who wants to face life eating only food that is good for you and not food you crave and love? I don’t know about you, but it sure makes me want to eat a bag of Doritos. I would only eat a small bag though because I believe in balance. Oh, yeah, and eating only enough to stay alive.

Let the Games Begin

I don’t know how the athletes are holding up, but watching the Olympics is wearing me out. I’ve not been to bed at a decent hour all week, and the Games have interfered with my TV routine too. I watched the selection of the twenty-four finalists on American Idol and Men’s Figure Skating at the same time. I began to feel positively artsy with the cultural overload.

This has been a glorious week for us ice skating fans. The drama of quads versus triple jumps plus spirals, steps, footwork, and transitions determined the difference between gold and silver. In my opinion, Evan Lysacek deserved the gold based on his overall performance. Sure, Yevgeny Plushenko had a power-house quad, but the rest of his program was mediocre.

Throughout the Olympics, athletes come to the games looking for a chance to outshine every other person competing in the same sport. For some, it’s the performance of a lifetime. Others stumble, fall, and jump back up to finish the competition or to smile and wave at the audience to let them know they are OK. Some athletes crave victory so much they choke and perform far below their potential.

We are surrounded by people who think one spectacular moment is more important than a lifetime of dedication to the details. They think jumps replace steps and a moment of glory is preferable to hanging in there to get the job done. The limelight must shine on them, or they lose interest.

Last night one of the announcers talked about how some of the top skiers showed up in style with 60 pairs of skies, technical advisors, and entourages. Bryon Wilson from Butte, Montana, in contrast, found support for his quest for an Olympic medal from hometown fundraisers like bake sales. The point being that whether the journey is easy or hard, once you are on the downhill slope and picking up speed, your chances are the same.

Those of us who have spent years advocating for a cure and effective treatment for Alzheimer’s are ready to leave the practice slope and compete with the big boys. Our journey for research funding has been a hard one—more in line with bake sales than big money and entourages. Alzheimer’s isn’t a trendy disease catching the attention of media or a bevy of superstars.

We are a disease represented by family members who know the pain of losing a loved one to Alzheimer’s. Sure, we have some celebrity spokespersons, and we appreciate all they do to promote awareness and help us in the battle for funding. David Hyde Pierce is one celebrity who has made Alzheimer’s awareness a personal mission. His steadfastness is unwavering.

To find funding in a tight economy takes years of persistence, dedication, and passion. Advocates return year after year to represent the 5.3 million Americans with Alzheimer’s. Without a cure, the number of cases will triple when the baby boomers age.

One sure thing—you can’t compete if you don’t show up for the event. If you cannot attend the Action Summit in March, lend your voice through an email or phone call to your legislators.

Tell your story and ask for their support to end this disease that steals a lifetime of memories. Support the 600 Alzheimer’s advocates who will be in Washington, DC, to compete for Alzheimer’s research dollars in a down economy and against a host of financial issues.

Instead of lighting an Olympic torch, we will light hundreds of candles for the Candlelight Vigil on March 8. Our candles shine in memory of our loved ones lost to the disease and with hope for a future without Alzheimer’s. When researchers find a cure for Alzheimer’s, we will cross that finish lane with arms held high in victory.

Social Security Expedited for Younger Onset Alzheimer’s

The Social Security Administration announced this week that younger onset Alzheimer’s has been added to the list of conditions covered by its Compassionate Allowances Initiative. This is good news for families with a loved one who developed dementia prior to age sixty-five.

Those of us who have had family members with early onset dementia know how difficult and frustrating the system is to navigate. Early onset means your loved one is too young to receive regular social security or Medicare. Younger people with a disability must apply for Social Security Disability Insurance and Supplemental Security Income. Once a disability is determined, it can take years of denial and appeals before the disabled person receives benefits.

When Jim developed dementia at forty-nine, we discovered he was too young to receive many of the benefits in place to help older adults. The only financial assistance I was able to find for respite care was the Alzheimer’s Association. They had limited funds available, but even those limited funds helped. Jim was too young for respite funds through the Division of Aging.

Fortunately, I was employed and had health insurance. Because of my health insurance, we were able to get Jim the best treatment possible.

Before this latest development, the long delay for Social Security disability left many families financially destitute. Too often the person with dementia loses his job before being officially diagnosed. Job performance suffers from the earliest dementia symptoms. Loss of job could mean loss of insurance. In addition to the emotional toll, the dire financial strain associated with younger onset Alzheimer’s is overwhelming for the family.

Compassionate Allowances greatly reduces the wait time before benefits take effect. Not only will this relieve some of the financial burden of an expensive disease, it will also let people benefit from early treatment at the time when treatment is most effective.

Since 2003, advocates have shared their personal stories about the hardship caused by delays in Social Security disability benefits for their loved ones. Each year at the Alzheimer’s Association Advocacy Forum in Washington, DC, we have asked for a reduction in the wait time for Social Security benefits. Our voices were heard and the Social Security Administration hosted a public hearing in Chicago last summer to consider the validity of adding Alzheimer’s to the list of diseases to be fast-tracked for benefits.

Alzheimer’s at any age is a difficult disease for the entire family. In younger onset, children may still be in the home, and families have been forced to make difficult decisions. A child’s college fund may be used to provide medical or respite care for the parent with dementia. Some families may still have to make these tough choices, but others will find adequate financial relief from Medicare and Social Security Disability benefits.

Next month, the Alzheimer’s Association will hold its Advocacy Forum. Advocates will come from throughout the United States to bring awareness of how Alzheimer’s impacts our future as a nation. It is imperative that we invest in the future of our country by finding effective treatment for Alzheimer’s and by taking care of those with the disease.

Each year new advocates attend the forum. Advocates are updated on current statistics, attend a candlelight vigil, and receive training on how to make the most of their time with their legislators. We deliver packets of information to our senators and representatives, but more important than the alarming statistics is sharing our individual stories with them.

Advocates give a face to the disease. They share how devastating the disease is on a personal level. Some advocates only participate once, but others return year after year. This will be my tenth consecutive forum.

This will be the first forum for my friend, Cindy, and my twelve-year-old granddaughter. I took my grandson when he was twelve, and now it is my granddaughter’s turn. I have two smaller grandchildren and by the time they are twelve, they will probably have to take me. I hope each of my grandchildren experiences being an Alzheimer's advocate.

Alzheimer’s Association advocates chip away at the obstacles the disease throws in life’s pathway. Alzheimer’s addition to the Compassionate Allowances Initiative is a leap in the right direction. Families dealing with early onset dementia now have one less hurtle to overcome. Alzheimer’s is a disease fraught with problems, and eliminating the long wait for Social Security Disability is a victory.

Ambassador to Ambassador

I am an Alzheimer’s Ambassador and will participate in Memory Day later this month. On this special day, hundreds of Alzheimer’s advocates converge on the state capitol to discuss Alzheimer’s impact on the state of Missouri.

Besides being an Alzheimer’s Ambassador, I am a grassroots advocate for rural electric cooperatives. Earlier this week, my coworker, Brenda, and I participated in the legislative conference and visited our legislators on behalf of Central Missouri Electric Cooperative.

After a breakfast meeting, we trekked up the hill to the capitol. We took a shortcut through the Truman Building and stopped for a cup of coffee with my brother who works there. When we moved on to the capitol, we met other advocates leaving who informed us that everyone was on the floor, so we probably wouldn’t get to see our representatives. We dropped off cards at our representative’s offices and stopped at the office of Senator Delbert Scott.

“He’s in his office but is headed to the floor,” his legislative aide said.

The senator stopped to shake hands with us. “Would you like to walk with me?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “We will do a walk and talk.”

We discussed cooperative issues while we walked down a flight of stairs. When we reached the “Admittance by Invitation Only” door, he invited us in. He pointed to a bench and told us to sit there as long as we wanted. We wrote our names on a form, and settled in to see how the senate works.

Before long a group of oriental people came through a side door. A distinguished looking gentleman sat next to me on the bench while several others stood behind us. All cameras were trained in our direction. That really made us feel special.

Brenda and I took off our coats exposing our photogenic sweaters—mine a bright blue and Brenda’s a stunning tangerine. We looked like peacocks in a room of dignified dark suits.

Senator Scott introduced Brenda and me as his special guests. We stood to be recognized. The senate president pro tem stood to introduce Zhou Wenzhong, Ambassador from China, who was visiting Missouri in regard to St. Louis becoming a trade hub.

The distinguished gentleman to my right stood and the Missouri version of paparazzi kept their cameras rolling. I wanted to shake his hand, but wasn’t sure about Chinese protocol and didn’t want to offend him.

The senate recessed to visit the Chinese Ambassador in the lounge. The ambassador stood to leave, but turned to me and extended his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he said. After our handshake, he shook hands with Brenda.

Another man in the group shook hands with us too. “I don’t know who you are,” he said, as if he should have, “but I’m sure you are honorable people to be here.”

For just a moment, I was taken aback, and felt like a star-struck gate crasher. Just by chance, Brenda and I experienced a historical moment in Missouri history.

We were on the evening news and our moment is caught on a State of Missouri archive tape. As a friend of mine said, “You’ve had one minute of fame and fourteen more to go.”

I don’t expect anything like this experience to happen again. What are the odds that another foreign ambassador would be at the Missouri State Capitol at the exact moment I am there?

It is likely that several Alzheimer’s Ambassadors will be among the hundreds of advocates visiting the state capitol on Memory Day. Some of the ambassadors are already my friends, and I will meet more at the state capitol. One thing is for sure, their participation in Memory Day is proof they are honorable people.

A Mechanical Groundhog? The Shadow Knows

I saw a news article that PETA wants to replace Punxsutawney Phil with a mechanical groundhog. Call me a traditionalist, but I can’t picture a mechanical groundhog heralding the onset of spring.

With Groundhog Day coming up soon, my thoughts have turned to shadows. Shadows are personal, individual and attached to us for life. A shadow is mysterious and much more than a patch of shade. Sometimes a shadow seems to have a life of its own.

I conducted my own un-scientific experiment when I was a child. I really thought if I moved fast enough, my shadow might not make the same motion.

It does no good to run from your shadow. It’s always right behind you, touching you, taunting you.

We can cast a shadow or have a shadow cast over us. The biggest shadow in my life was when Jim developed dementia. Sometimes I felt like burrowing into a hole and hiding from the shadow.

Just like the groundhog, we have to face our real and metaphorical shadows. When I was younger, I was always confused about how the whole shadow thing worked on Groundhog Day. Doesn’t it seem more logical that if the sun shines it is an indication of better weather? That’s not how it works though. If the groundhog doesn’t see his shadow, spring is right around the corner.

I’ll have to admit that I disagree with PETA on a lot of issues, but this one is just over the top. Let’s face it—the job market is limited for groundhogs, and Punxsutawney Phil has the best one of all. If I were Phil, I’d be mad as blazes that PETA wanted to ruin the cushiest gig known to groundhogs worldwide.

Life might be tough for a lot of groundhogs, but Phil is an exception. He lives in a heated burrow and only has to show up for work one day a year. Almost makes you wish you were a groundhog, doesn’t it?

All the regular groundhog’s hearts must be filled with envy for Phil’s so-called unethical treatment. Maybe PETA should ask the official representative of the Groundhog Club to interview a few of the lowly groundhogs. Since the groundhog guy understands “groundhogese” he might be able to convey their true opinion of Phil’s unethical treatment.

Groundhog Day is steeped in tradition and folklore, and Phil is the groundhog on the most watched list. Come on, PETA, don’t you know the whole country is on edge waiting for Phil’s prediction?

Did you know that 90% of the time, the groundhog sees his shadow? I sure hope Phil doesn’t see his shadow this year. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if ice storms, blizzards, and frozen water pipes are shoved forward to next winter.

There are a few things you don’t do in life. At the top of the list is “Don’t mess with groundhogs”. OK, so maybe it isn’t at the top of the list, but on February 2, it should be.

Jim used to give a crazy laugh and in a deep voice proclaim: “The Shadow Knows!” One day when I asked him what the heck that was supposed to mean, he explained that “The Shadow Knows” was a radio show he listened to when he was a kid. Well, just like the old radio program, the shadow knows what the weather will be. The imposter’s shadow would not be the same as Phil’s, and Mother Nature would not be amused.


Groundhog Clipart: Copyrighted by Bobbie Peachey http://webclipart.about.com

Pants on the Ground

I missed the original American Idol show where General Larry Platt performed his show-stopping “Pants on the Ground.” Our pastor played the video at the beginning of his message the following Sunday and ended with a stirring rendition of his version—“Made from the Ground.”

After a few Google searches, it became obvious to me that the General had become an overnight global sensation. What was Larry Platt doing the other 62 years of his life? He isn’t called General because he was in the military—he was a general in the war against injustice. He was a civil rights activist who was beaten on the Bloody Monday March. He was recognized September 4, 2001, for his heroic efforts during the civil rights movement. In other words, he was an unsung hero for the things he believed in his heart to be important.

We all know these unsung heroes. They are the people who not only support the cause they believe in, they throw heart and soul in the effort. They brush obstacles aside with super-human strength.

I have been fortunate to know many of the unsung heroes in the battle against Alzheimer’s. I’ve know people with the disease who looked beyond their own tragedy and found a mission. Tracy Mobley, diagnosed at 38, worked tirelessly on Camp Building Bridges for children whose parents have Alzheimer’s or a related dementia. Tracy pieced together a Memory Quilt in honor of people with the disease. She’s an advocate and volunteer for the Alzheimer’s Association.

Caregivers are heroes too. Karen Henley’s life is focused around caring for her husband, Mike. She doesn’t seek recognition for her labor of love. Caring for a loved one with Alzheimer’s is one of the most challenging jobs a person can undertake. Caregivers know the meaning of unconditional love.

Alzheimer’s staff and volunteers are the rank and file soldiers. Alzheimer’s staff shares their expertise with the volunteers to increase the size of the army.

Penny Braun began her work with the Alzheimer’s Association as a volunteer. She went on to become the first executive director of the Mid-Missouri Chapter. She turned a one-person office into a fully staffed dynamic entity serving 29 Missouri counties. Penny is a hero in the war against Alzheimer’s.

Volunteers make up the largest force in any organization. When it comes to Alzheimer’s volunteers, I think of Ted Distler’s smiling face. For many years, Ted has motivated, prodded, and led hundreds of people into being involved in Memory Walk. Ted works tirelessly to support other caregivers and to share his experiences and knowledge with his community.

If good works ever went viral like the catchy tune and words of “Pants on the Ground” these special people and millions of other motivated volunteers would become household names.

The General himself said that he hoped “Pants on the Ground” didn’t overshadow his civil rights work. That makes the General a pretty smart man as far as I’m concerned. Instant fame didn’t make him forget that life isn’t just one shining moment, it involves years of plugging away at the causes you believe in.

I hope General Larry Platt’s inspiration to the world isn’t just the tune, but the man singing it. Otherwise, the pants on the ground merely drag out our tracks and erase the footprints of our legacy.

Where is the Sun on This Foggy Day?

For the past three days fog has thrown a gloomy blanket over my world. I can’t see the sun, but, by golly, I know it’s there.

The haze is depressing and has awakened a philosophical streak in me. It reminds me of the fog that cast a net over us when Jim was diagnosed with “an Alzheimer’s type of dementia.”

During that dark time, determination and faith became the saving grace that kept the fog at bay. The knowledge that no one had defeated Alzheimer’s left us crushed beneath the miasma that took our breath away.

Fog makes me uncomfortable, and I feel threatened when driving with limited visibility. The only way to see the road is to dim the lights and cast them downward. If you leave the lights on bright, swirling grey clouds make you dizzy and you can’t see a safe distance ahead.

I’ve battled with fog a few times, and one night I thought the fog was going to win. I left the nursing home after spending time with Jim, headed for my son’s house. I took a shortcut to the highway on a narrow blacktop road and hit a spot where dense fog obstructed my view. When I could no longer see the pavement, I stopped and hoped I wasn’t parked in the middle of the highway.

I called Eric and told him I wasn’t sure where I was and couldn’t see anything. “I’m afraid a car will come along and hit me,” I said. I was beyond worried—I was scared and headed toward panic.

“Just stay put for a while and it will lift,” he said. “If the fog is so thick you can’t see anything, no one else will be moving either.”

Unfortunately, I never had much confidence in every driver having common sense. Time seemed to stand still while I waited for the fog to lift. I looked at a solid wall of grey, my stomach tied in knots.

Eventually, the fog cleared, and I resumed the journey to my son’s house. After my visit, I was apprehensive about driving home. Eric got in his truck and led the way. Following his taillights was reassuring, and the fog didn’t seem to be so scary.

Life can leave us feeling like we are all alone and lost in a fog. Alzheimer’s can seem like a solid wall blocking our path.

When circumstances bring us to a complete halt, we need to pause, take a few deep breaths to stave off the panic attack, and have faith the fog will lift. The darkness will end and the sun will burn through the haze.

Fog’s life is limited, but the sun always shines. Fog may obscure the reassuring sunlight, but at the perfect moment golden rays will burst forth in all its glory.

Inconvenient Winter Wonderland

Old Man Winter has hit with a vengeance and sub-zero temperatures make life hazardous for all of us. Our entire country has been hit with record-breaking lows.

Caregivers must be vigilant to keep their loved ones with Alzheimer’s safe. My heart goes out to the caregiver in Nashville who put her 81-year-old husband to bed Sunday night and woke up to discover he had wandered outside. His frozen body was found in his own yard the next morning.

Here in the Midwest, our Christmas snow is still on the ground and added to on a regular basis. This winter wonderland is starting to inconvenience me. Our roads were graded to a thin layer of ice, and I drove the scenic, long route to work each morning to avoid the hill to west of my house.

The first time I had to drive on slick roads this year, snow whipped onto my windshield and the wind shaped snow into tall drifts that threatened to block the roads. I didn’t meet any cars and I figured there was a good reason they stayed home.

While I negotiated the slick roads, I thought about how competent and confident Jim was on snow and ice. When he was in the early stages of dementia, I still trusted him more than I trusted myself on the slick roads. I never had to drive on it until he could no longer drive.

My hands shook by the time I pulled into my garage, but the trip had gone without incident. Jim taught me well. I do know how to drive on bad roads. I know it is important to keep up momentum without driving too fast or too slow. It irritates me to be on a slick highway and have people whizzing around me in their pickups and SUVs going ten miles over the speed limit. They are not just flirting with disaster—they throw slush on my windshield.

Wednesday morning a winter storm warning was in effect. I packed my duffle bag with clothing and other essentials in case I couldn’t get home after work. It’s hard to know when meteorologists will get the forecast right, but it doesn’t take much snow and wind to blow giant drifts across our roads.

My mom called and asked me, “Are you snowed in?”

“Nope, I’m snowed out,” I said.

I spent two nights at Best Western. I’m not used to cleaning off my car in the mornings and misjudged just how long it takes. The inconvenience of cleaning my car was certainly much better than being stuck in a snowdrift.

When I got word that the snowplows had made it down our road, I came home last night. My brother-in-law, Terry, used the snow shovel to clear my driveway so I could get my car into the garage. Staying at the hotel was nice, but it sure feels good to be home.

Looking out my window, the pristine snowy scene is worthy of a Currier and Ives Christmas card. Instead of just enjoying it, I’m thinking of the inconvenience. Can I drive safely on the roads? Should I just relax and spend the day at home? Winter wonderland, beautiful to view, but not so great for driving.

Dick Clark and a New Decade

I hardly ever stay awake to welcome in the New Year, but I did this year. Of course, the only reason for me to watch TV until midnight is to witness the ball drop in New York City. Dick Clark, known for years as America’s oldest teenager, looked amazingly handsome, but his slow, measured speech was hard to understand.

Dick Clark’s faltering words reminded me of the changes in Jim’s speech when dementia caused him to develop aphasia. Jim’s hesitant speech was filled with repetitive phrases and eventually turned into silence. Late in the disease, it was hard to remember the days of intriguing conversations and shared jokes.

Dick Clark’s impaired speech was caused by a stroke in 2004. Eighty-year-old Clark has made an amazing recovery.

“They were debating on TV this morning about whether it is really a new decade,” my friend said.

“I’m no mathematician, but I can tell you that the decade will start next year,” I replied.

I learned the lesson of time from a Trivial Pursuit game years ago. The question: What date is the first day of the 21st century? I didn’t even need to think about it—I had always puzzled over why the years started with 19, but the show on TV was “The Twentieth Century.” I thought the trick was that the 2000s were the 21st century.

“January 1, 2000,” I said.

“Wrong,” my brother-in-law Dennis replied. “January 1, 2001.” After a lengthy discussion, we decided the card was a misprint. After all, Henry Salveter, our cooperative attorney at the time and one of the smartest men I ever knew, always said he was born the last day of the last month of the last century and his birthday was December 31, 1899.

Later that night, I lay in bed thinking about it and suddenly realized the card was correct. When time began, the first year would begin at 0 and twelve months later would be 1. In grammar school we all learned that 101-1=100. Lo, and behold, the new century would begin in 2001.

I discussed the turn of the century, before it happened, with my brother Mitchell. He mulled it over in his logical way and asked me, “When do you think the parties will be?”

During the countdown to 2010, I noticed Dick Clark missed a few numbers, repeated a few, but was back on track by the time the ball dropped and he said, “Welcome to the new decade.”

Technically, it’s not a new decade, but logically, you would not say welcome to the decade of 2011-2021, would you? It doesn’t really matter what happened between years 0-10.

If Henry Salveter knew that 1900 began a new century, and Dick Clark says that 2010 is a new decade, it’s good enough for me.

It is best if we use our hearts to define time. The decades we’ve lived through are our past and what makes us who we are. The decades in the future define who we will become. But in the grand scheme of things, it is today that is most important.

Happy New Year and have a great decade. And, hey, if 2010 doesn’t work out for you—just start your new decade next year.