Is Gray a Color?

 On a windy day, I posted a picture of the wind blowing my hair around and labeled it “A Bad Hair Day.” It wasn’t long before a comment popped up that said, “Is gray a color?”

After thinking about that comment, I came to the conclusion that gray is much more than a color. Gray is a badge of courage that honors life’s worries, sorrows, disappointments, and heartaches. Gray hair and wrinkles represent the trauma of death, loss of love, and a big loss of self. After being widowed twice, I’ve earned my gray.

When a woman wears her hair its natural color and doesn’t spend hours of her life arranging every hair in place, she is saying she is comfortable with who she is. She isn’t trying to impress anyone.

If a woman wants to dye her hair, Botox her face, have a pedi mani, or anything else to make herself more beautiful, I say, “Good for her.” Her goals and mine are not the same. She can be a sister of my heart, and I’m proud of her for taking pride in her appearance.

I can clean up once in awhile, but I’m realistic. After living seven decades, what you see is what you get. Through years of marriage, or togetherness, couples see each other at their worst and at their best.

I spent fifteen years of my life as a caregiver, and I’ll admit that I’m worn to the nubbins. Lately, I’ve been treading water, and I’m a long way from the shore. Sometimes, I think I’m going to drown, but I put on my big girl panties and keep on moving forward.

Another thing I’ve noticed about reaching a certain age is it is practically impossible to hurt my feelings. I may care about your opinion, but most likely, I don’t.

I look for moments of joy: playing my ukulele, spending time with my family who loves me warts and all. Sometimes, serendipity leads me to explore something new.

After a dental appointment, I needed to go by the bank, but traffic kept me from turning left. I decided to go with the flow and made a right hand turn so that I could turn around in the mall parking lot. Considering my attention span, I thought while I was at the mall…

Thirty minutes later, I walked out of Gene’s Boots and Hats with both items mentioned in the store’s name. A new Stetson and a pair of Ariat boots stowed in my truck, I completed the trip to the bank.

The boot purchase showcases my optimistic side. I am confident that the arthritis infusions will clear up the pain in my Achilles heels. The hat, well, I just wanted one since I’m not sure where my original Resistol hat is.

I’m also optimistic that our family band will be able to play music again. We are on a break due to health problems. With age comes wisdom, gray hair, wrinkles, and a team of specialists to keep us in pretty good shape for the shape we’re in.

Music and singing are magical when it comes to traversing the winding road of life. Whenever I pick up my ukulele, I find peace and happiness whether I’m playing for an audience or for my dog.

Life is too short and too uncertain to worry more about outward appearance than spiritual serenity. Gray is the color that provides a backdrop for the colorful rainbow of promise.

 

Copyright ©April 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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A Pot of Gold

 

My sister and I took a trip to Ireland in 2005. Going to Ireland had been on my bucket list for years, so when we saw the trip advertised, we signed up for it and put down our deposits. We bought the trip insurance because Jim was in the nursing home, and his health and wellbeing would take priority over a vacation. Our trip was scheduled for September, and sadly, Jim passed away in April.

On St. Patrick’s Day in 2014, I posted some of our photos to Facebook, and when they came up in my “memories,” I reposted them. I think the one that got the most attention was the one of me kissing the Blarney Stone.

Of course, kissing the Blarney Stone was part of my bucket list too. To be perfectly honest, I had no idea how scary that entire experience would be. After we walked along the top edge of Blarney Castle, we stood in line to kiss the stone. A man held onto each person as he dipped him or her backwards over a sheer drop to the ground. My sister, grossed out at the thought of all the other lips on the stone, “air kissed” it. Not me, if I was going to put my life in the hands of an old man that dipped people backwards all day long, I wasn’t about to miss the opportunity of a lifetime, and I kissed the stone.

 Ireland, and St. Patrick’s Day, are blessed with a lot of symbolism: Ireland’s patron saint—St. Patrick, shamrocks, mischievous leprechauns, corned beef and cabbage, Irish music, the color green, and the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. We speak of the luck of the Irish as if it is a magical beacon, although Ireland and the Irish have suffered greatly throughout the centuries.

How many of us chase rainbows (dreams) believing that if our dreams come true, we’ll find that pot of gold (wealth or happiness) at the end. What many don’t realize is that the chase is often the best part and the pot of gold can be disappointing.

Jim searched for that pot of gold by buying lottery tickets. He always wanted to win the jackpot. After he became more forgetful, I’d find tickets lying around that he’d bought, but never checked. Occasionally, we would take a stack in to have them run through a machine. Jim never got that pot of gold, but the tickets were a small price to chase his dream of instant wealth.

I never had any desire to win the lottery because I figured it would just mess up my life. I was more than satisfied as long as I had enough money to pay the bills, buy groceries, and have some spending money left.

Jim and I never found gold, but our life had its share of rain and rainbows. We had hard times and good times. Although we never had monetary wealth, we were abundantly blessed with love and family. 

On St. Patrick’s Day, my hope is that you enjoy chasing your dreams, and that you find a pot of “gold” filled with health, wealth, and happiness.

Originally published 2023

Copyright © March 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Write a Note

 

Jim and his uncle used to play music together on a daily basis. One time, our four-year-old son said, “Dad would you sing that song “I’ve gotta write a note?”

Jim looked confused and said, “I don’t think I know that song.”

That didn’t make sense to Eric because he had heard his dad sing the song. He prompted, “Oh, darlin’ if I’m losing you, I’ve gotta write a note.”

Jim smiled and said, “The line is ‘Oh, darlin’ if I’m losing you, I’ve gotta right to know.”

Song lyrics are often misunderstood and before the days of Google, many of us never knew the correct lyrics. In “Bad Moon Arising” some people swore that “there’s a bad moon on the rise” was “there’s a bathroom on the right.” Does that really fit the rest of the song? Yet, I swear that the live version I had, Credence played into the misconception by plainly saying, “there’s a bathroom on the right.” Pinky swear!

Sometimes our brain interprets what we hear in a way that makes sense to us, but may not be the words spoken. When a person has dementia, tone of voice and facial expressions mean more than the words we speak. As the disease progresses, our loved one tries to interpret our actions rather than our words.

Dementia affects each person differently. The care partner will notice that not everyone sees the stark changes in their loved one that they do. I believe that for an entire year after Jim forgot his social security number, his birth date, and right from left, that some of his family thought I had the problem instead of him.

At first, Jim could carry on polite conversation and talk on the phone without giving away his confusion. He could play his guitar and sing several of his songs. As time passed by, his repertoire dwindled to a few songs. The man who had the talent to sing a song after hearing it one time, no longer existed. For about five years into dementia, Jim could still play “Buckaroo” flawlessly after a few false starts.

Jim had aphasia and he rarely spoke. He had always been a prolific reader, but once following the storyline became impossible, he stopped. He watched “To Hell and Back” so many times that we had to replace the tape—twice. Jim watched “Walker Texas Ranger” and recorded it. Well, sometimes he recorded the commercials and not the show.

When Jim was in long-term care, I worked with the aides and nurses who cared for him while I was at my day job. They knew they could call me anytime day or night. I entrusted Jim’s care to others, but I was the one who knew the nuances of his character, could interpret his body language, and his facial expressions.

As Jim’s advocate, I kept the line of communications open with his caregivers. Occasionally, I even had to write a note and pin it to his bulletin board to make sure the day shift saw it. They had a right to know how to provide person centered care.

 

Copyright © March 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Almost Snowmageddon

 

Recently, meteorologists predicted a snowstorm, and I went to the store and stocked up on milk, bread, eggs, dog food, and other emergency supplies. This week’s prediction hit while I still had most of the supplies on hand from the last snowstorm. I had to go to the Post Office, and on the way home stopped by Dollar General to pick up the bare essentials: milk and cosmic brownies.

OK, I seriously knew that I could bake blueberry muffins, but they fall short on the chocolate crave meter. I just couldn’t face a major storm event without chocolate.

Early Monday morning, I cancelled my Tuesday a.m. appointment with my rheumatologist, because I didn’t want to go dashing through foot-deep snow. “You need a four-wheel drive,” a friend told me.

“Have one in the garage,” I said. That doesn’t mean I want to slide off into a ditch going to an appointment I can reschedule. 

Monday was a holiday so I wasn’t able to do the banking that I had on my to-do list. Mentally, I red-lettered Tuesday as a snow day, and we all know that snow days are for sleeping late and being lazy. The banks will still be there Wednesday. This is becoming my theme—nap today, work tomorrow.

Tuesday, my designated snow day, I was surprised to see that the snow barely covered the ground. In fact, I could see the grass sticking up through it in the yard. Of course, the day wasn’t over yet, and I received an email notice that cars parked in the snow lanes in town would be towed. Although the routes are clearly marked, I’m sure that made some people angry.

The day was exceptionally cold, even for February in Missouri. I wore my polar expedition outfit complete with my N-Ferno balaclava. I have to be desperate to wear the balaclava since it fogs my glasses and makes my hair look like I stuck my finger in an electrical outlet.

Awe, the wonders of snow and cold weather. When I was working, I had my choice of hills. The one of the west side was steep, but I could get a good run and it by going down one bank and up the other side. That option was not ideal if the neighbor kids had been sledding down the hill. To the east was a more gradual slope, but it was hard to get any momentum to make it all the way.

When Jim was in the early stages of dementia and could still drive, sometimes I had him take me to work when the roads were snow covered, or worse—icy.

Now, that I’m retired snow doesn’t bother me. My calendar is clear for the rest of the month. As long as I have books to read and chocolate to eat, I’m in the zone. It will be a good day to play my ukulele since I want to learn a couple of new-for-me songs.

As far as I’m concerned, let it snow, but someone needs to have a serious talk with Punxsutawney Phil before next groundhog day.

 Copyright © February2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Healing after Loss

On one of my recent trips to the post office, I found a package from my friend Cindy. She had sent a copy of the book Healing after Loss, a collection of daily meditations to help a person work through grief.

On my way home, I stopped by the cemetery, opened the book, and read the first few meditations. Each one begins with an inspirational quote, provides understanding of grief, and encouragement to let healing begin. At the bottom of each page, the author has added her own words of wisdom.

Each morning while I enjoy my first cup of coffee, I open the book and read that day’s meditation. Then, I take a moment and watch my sleeping dog. When I call her, she jumps up beside me and lets me savor her warmth and devotion.

In the book, I came across the term, “hour of lead,” and wondered exactly what it meant. I’m not sure why I had never heard the phrase, or more likely, didn’t have Google to explain what it meant. Emily Dickinson painted a word picture when she spoke of the hour of lead. I may not have heard the term, but I’ve felt the emotion. This phrase from the poem “After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes” refers to the emotional numbness and paralysis after a tragic event.

Loss can bring inertia to the grieving. The body may want to move forward, but the heart and mind need ample time to cope with their brokenness. Imagine a person with leaden feet trying to run in waist-deep water while carrying the weight of grief on his or her shoulders.

Triggers for grief can assault our emotions at the most inconvenient times. At a show in Branson, I dissolved into sobs when the performers sang, “Angels among Us.” That night was the first time I’d heard the song since a dear friend’s funeral.

Jim sang and played his guitar, and several songs remind me of him, especially the songs he sang specifically for me. When I hear Elvis Presley’s “Tender Feelings” I can close my eyes and feel Jim’s presence a heartbeat away.

Another Elvis song Jim sang was “Young and Beautiful.” The song ends with the line  “…you’ll be forever young and beautiful to me.” I once asked Jim if he could imagine me with gray hair. Without hesitation, he said, “No. You would dye your hair.”

Jim died from an Alzheimer’s type of dementia at 59, so he’s the one who will be forever young to me, and he left me with beautiful memories. He always said he knew me better than I knew myself, and although I don’t dye my hair now, who knows, I may dye it someday. After all, he really did know me better than I knew myself.

One thing I’ve discovered about a healing heart is that in time, special songs that remind you of someone you lost can fill your heart with gratitude for their love. You may even smile at the happy memories and push aside the sadness. Our memories and love keep the ones we’ve lost alive.

Healing is not the same as forgetting, and the claws of grief can rake your emotions raw without warning—anytime, anywhere. Love lost for any reason leaves a scar on your soul. The scars of grief fade in time, but they are with you for life.

Copyright ©February 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Stop Time

 

In all the years I’ve lived in this house, I was under the impression that the timer on the electric range was broken. Last week, I set the clock that had been flashing for months, or maybe years. The next time I put something in the oven I set the timer. It worked just fine, but every time I shut the timer off, the dial says, “Stop Time.” Well, that made me wonder what it would be like if a person could really stop time.

I think most of us would want to stop time before a loved one was diagnosed with a devastating diagnosis. But would we stop time after it was too late?

At an Alzheimer’s Forum, we heard about a drug that was supposed to stop the progression of Alzheimer’s. My friend Ralph turned to me and said, “I wouldn’t want my wife to stay like she is now.” She was in the late stages of Alzheimer’s in a nursing home. It broke his heart to see his wife dependent upon others to provide the most basic care.

  When Jim was in the early stages of dementia, one of the physicians thought that Jim could have possibly had a stroke. Our thoughts were that if his forgetfulness was from a stroke, he might not get worse.

At that time, if I could have stopped time, I would have done it. Some of his symptoms were troublesome, but life would have been almost normal. Sure, he would have needed some additional attention, but it would have been manageable. After false hopes and wishful thinking, we realized that Jim wasn’t going to stay the same, but was gradually getting worse all the time.

When families enter loved ones into experimental drug programs, it is usually with the idea that it might help someone else. Jim was in a study drug program, but due to side effects, we stopped the drug. The neurologist told me that the disease was progressing, and that no matter what new drug might come available, it wasn’t going to reverse the damage to Jim’s brain.

I know in my heart that if I had ever stopped time, I would not be the person that I am today. I am who I am because of my life experiences. I’m sure I took several missteps along the pathway of life, but somehow I wound up being exactly where I am supposed to be.

My life has been particularly challenging lately, but I’m no stranger to adversity. I have faith that better times are coming. I certainly wouldn’t want to stop time before the good days begin.    

 

Copyright ©January 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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Things that Go Bump in the Night

Early morning New Year’s Day, I heard what sounded like something falling. The noise startled me, but more concerning was a sound that could only be described as a jet engine taking off. I wandered through the house trying to locate the source, and thought it might be the attic fan. I turned the switch to the “off” position and went to bed.

At two a.m., I heard the sound again. Since my arthritis had been acting up, I limped through the house, but couldn’t pinpoint the origin of the noise.

I finally took the chairlift to the basement and discovered the furnace was vibrating. I went upstairs, and turned the thermostat down and went to bed. About five, the heat kicked on and I called the afterhours number for the heating and cooling company we have always used.

My sisters, sister-in-law, and Mom were on their way to visit, and I had full confidence that the heat would be back on by the time they arrived.

The technician arrived and after he had me sign an agreement to pay holiday rate, he went to turned up the thermostat to hear the noise. The HVAC technician attempted to tighten the part that failed, but as soon as he turned the system on…same noise. The verdict was it needed parts to fix the problem and they could not be ordered until the next day, of course. He suggested I use space heaters to keep the house warm.

When they saw what a hard time I had walking, my sisters and sister-in-law went to town to buy space heaters for me. Mom and I sat in front of the baseboard heater in the sunroom and visited until they returned.

I put some extra blankets on the bed and spent a comfortable night. The next day, I found out the parts were scheduled to come in Monday. With an epic ice/snowstorm predicted for Sunday, I offered to pay the $100 to have the parts sent over night. Problem solved, right?

Wrong. The parts didn’t come in Friday, but instead were “delayed” in Ft. Worth. The parts manager called in a favor and had a substitute part brought in from Kansas City, but although it was the correct size, the fan turned in the wrong direction. Back to square one.

My thoughts were that if the part didn’t come in Friday, it would surely be here Saturday. The parts guy gave me the tracking number but when I checked the progress, the package was “delayed.”

I know how hard it is to talk to a real person at UPS, but I made a valiant attempt anyway, and after a long wait on hold, I talked to someone. I explained the situation to him—furnace out, big house, space heaters, storm coming, and single digit temps. He gave me a case number and transferred me to a supervisor.

While I was on hold for another twenty minutes “expected delivery” popped up on the screen and it said Monday. When the supervisor came on the line, she said, “Sorry for the inconvenience, but your package was put on the wrong truck. It will arrive on Monday.”

Looking at the details, I could see the package had been delayed 15 hours before it was rerouted to the airport in Illinois. “Our planes do not fly on the weekends,” she said.

“So I paid extra to have it sent overnight and because of that, it can’t possibly get here until Monday? If you can put it on a truck to Illinois why can’t you put it on a truck to Missouri?”

“So sorry for the inconvenience,” she said.

I could feel my temper rising, “It’s more than an inconvenience. There’s an epic storm coming Sunday, and they may not be able to get here to put the part in Monday. My dog and I will be trapped in a house without a furnace in freezing weather. Whose fault is it that it was put on the wrong truck? ” It was a rhetorical question because we both knew the answer.

After a moment of silence, she said, “I can’t promise, but I’ll try to get it on a truck to you by tomorrow.”

Well, there is the “I can’t promise” part, so I’m not holding my breath.

Although my situation is not good, my heart goes out to caregivers who have to worry about their loved ones. Bad situations are only worse when you are responsible for the care and comfort of another person. With ice and heavy snow in the forecast, power outages may mean I’m not the only one without heat.

On the bright side, our generator was recently tested and working well. I’ve been able to wear the heavy sweatshirts and sweaters that I had always saved for a day outdoors. I most likely will spend my weekend layered and huddled in front of a space heater.

I’ve heard several people say, “God doesn’t give you anymore than you can handle,” but I’m not sure if that’s in the Bible, or just wishful thinking.

Copyright ©January 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

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