On This Date

 

After I was completing my two-year degree at State Fair Community College, the job placement office sent me to an interview at Full Cry Magazine. I worked in subscriptions at Full Cry until the owners sold the company and the office moved to Boody, Illinois.

Toward the end of 1980, I was in the job market so I registered with the SFCC employment office. In the meantime, I was spreading my resume like confetti to any place that would take it. I tried to leave a resume at the electric cooperative because I had a premonition many years before that I would work there someday. They weren’t taking resumes and hadn’t hired any new employees in the past seven years.

About a week later, I received a letter from the college asking me if I would be interested in working on a computer at a company that would train. Although my computer skills were non-existent, I always liked to learn new things. That afternoon I interviewed at the same electric cooperative that wouldn’t take my resume. Ed Walters told me later that as soon as I left, he turned to Harold Ream and said, “She’s the one.”

On December 4, 1980, the trajectory of my life changed. I began my career at CMEC and our family had the kind of stability that we had never had. From day one, I loved the challenge of the job. As I took on new roles and learned new skills, I was never once bored in the 33 years I worked at the Cooperative.

Jim and I began to take vacations in Colorado, and we fell in love with Rocky Mountain National Park. We camped, relaxed, and enjoyed the clear mountain air. After Jim started having cognitive issues, we still enjoyed the mountains, but stayed in a hotel or cabin. We still enjoyed animal watching, visiting our favorite places, and going on short hikes.

Throughout the ten years that Jim gradually became worse, the Cooperative allowed me the flexibility I needed to arrange in-home care for him. It was a time of uncertainty as family members had to fill in the gaps with the professional caregivers I hired. Before long, I was running on caffeine and fumes. I was working as much as I could, using vacation, my day off to make sure Jim was safe. Everyone was understanding when I had to grab my purse and head for home when Jim wandered off and wouldn’t get into the car with anyone else.

The second hardest decision I ever made was to place Jim in a nursing home. The hardest was when he was kicked out of the first home, and I had to find a new one for him. For five years, our family and I checked in on him almost daily to make sure he ate and was clean and dry  When Jim passed away, I felt like a part of me died too. We had been married 35 years.

I lived alone in the house that Jim and I built for fourteen years. Then, in 2014, I married Harold and moved into his house. Yes, we all called it Harold’s house for a long time. I found out being a farmer’s wife had its challenges. One of the first projects we completed was preparing metal rails for a farm fence. We lugged those all over the shop as we sanded, primed, and painted them. He dragged me into other projects until one day when he had me lifting heavy landscaping bricks into the bucket of his tractor, I said I’d rather drive the tractor than lift the buckets. Anyway, Harold was used to teaching me new skills and I drove the tractor while he did the heavy lifting.

During our marriage, I learned to rely on Harold, and after his health declined, he learned to rely on me. Toward the end of his life, he made it plain to the doctors that we didn’t make major decisions without talking it over. When Harold passed away, I discovered that being widowed the second time was more traumatic than the first time.  It may be because I’m older, or it may be that until the end, I hoped that he would get to come home.

As hard as it is at times, life goes on. Harold taught me as much as he could and with the written procedures, I can do most of the work that needs to be done. He at least gave me a list of who to call when something goes wrong. And, boy, have I needed that list.

Tomorrow night is the Cooperative’s employee appreciation dinner. The first time Jim, the kids, and I went was in 1980 a few days after I had taken the job at the Cooperative. I only knew the first names of the office employees. Harold and I went to the dinners until he had too much trouble walking. Many of the current employees and retirees we worked with were at the dinner.

This year, I’ll see old friends and meet new ones, but I know I’ll be missing the ones that won’t be there.  

 

Copyright © December by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Counting Blessings

 I am blessed. I am not bragging; I am grateful for the blessings in my life.

I was driving to town today listening to my sixties channel on the radio and realized that looking from the inside out, the sun shone as brightly as it ever did. Suddenly, I realized that for the first time in years, my body was free of aches and pains. What a blessing to feel normal.

As usual, when I take Cedar Drive, I drove into the cemetery on the loop that takes me past Harold’s resting place. As I looked at the inscription, I thought about how blessed I am to have loved him and known his love. The last five years of his life was filled with medical issues, and we faced that trying time together. I thought of the late night calls this time last year when he reached out to me because he knew that if he needed me, I’d be there for him.

Harold taught me confidence and technical skills. Although I sometimes thought something was beyond my abilities, he had infinite patience to teach me. During our marriage, he taught me more about personal finance and investments than I had ever known. He instilled in me a love of the land and the importance of crop management. Harold also respected my independence and supported me in all my various interests. On a personal level, trusted me completely.

For all his toughness, Harold had a sentimental and soft side that I think he only showed to his mother, and later to me. I have a huge box of Hallmark cards that he gave to me to put into words the feelings in his heart. I was blessed to have Harold in my life.

My thoughts often turn to Jim and the financially hard years when we lived on love. I suppose that a betting person might have thought we wouldn’t make it, but who cares what the odds are when life is the way it should be. We learned to live within our means and found that the luxuries we sacrificed weren’t even missed. To this day, I have no desire for overpriced items, and am content with what I have.

From Jim, I learned generosity. We never had much, but Jim was always willing to share with someone who had less. I always wanted to save for a rainy day, but Jim cared more for the people without an umbrella. We enjoyed rides though the country, visiting family, jam sessions, and an occasional treat to the movies or eating out where we could get five tacos for a dollar. When life became more settled, we camped in Colorado where we animal watched, ate ice cream in Estes Park, and window shopped for Pueblo pottery and storytellers.

Life took quite a turn for us when Jim slipped into the world of dementia. I missed his sense of humor, storytelling, and the quiet moments of sitting by a campfire with a cup of coffee and our conversations about life, faith, and love. Jim changed in many ways, and I loved him through each step. I knew the Jim that dwelled inside his heart and mine. I count Jim as one of my greatest blessings.

Of course, we all know that children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, brothers, sisters, parents, and extended family are our lifelong blessings. From birth to old age, when we have family and friends, we are rich beyond all earthly treasures.

We are blessed. 

Copyright © November by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

A Week of Chaos

A week of mishaps, equipment failures, and my pets misbehavior had me thinking about Calamity Jane. Many stories abound as to how the frontierswoman, storyteller, and sharp shooter gained her nickname. Did she earn the nickname when she saved a wounded army captain from a Native American uprising? Or was it because she led a difficult and chaotic life? My favorite theory is that she warned men that if they offended her, they would “court calamity.”

The first event of the week was when my trusty, outdated PC died of old age. OK, I’ve known for quite some time that I needed to update my equipment, but my Scarlett O’Hara attitude that “Tomorrow is another day” met a calamitous, abrupt end. On a day when I needed it most, my PC opted out. Both of my grandkids attempted to get the PC to start, but even their expertise didn’t work.

So, I ordered a new PC and while I waited for it to come in, I used Harold’s PC. Since most of our data is on the Synology, I was able to complete several tasks. Each day, I realized that a variety of programs and files were stored on my old PC and life would be more difficult without them.

When my new PC arrived at my door step, I called Murlin Computers to see what could be done. Of course, Jacob was able to get the info off my old PC and set up the new one for me. It helps to know “people” who can help in an electronic crisis.

Feeling all good about everything, I decided to take my mom and aunt to the “boat” (aka/the casino.) As I bee-bopped out of my mom’s house, I face planted on the sidewalk. My sister-in-law Kathy immediately came to see how injured I was. I looked at her and asked, “Did I knock my teeth out?” One of my front teeth was caved inward, my lip was swollen, and I was bleeding from my mouth. Kathy gave me a wet washcloth and called my dentist. After a quick trip to my dentist, she patiently waited for the hours it took to put the tooth back in socket and make an impression for a retainer. So far so good, hopefully the tooth is in to stay, and another catastrophe is averted.

What week would be complete without my dog and kitten having a chase. The kitten is new, and the dog doesn’t want to share yard space with it. So, I took the dog outside and here came the kitten to taunt the dog, of course. The dog started frantically trying to catch the kitten, and the kitten slipped into the tangle of overgrown foliage next to the back door, slipped under the outside heat pump unit, and disappeared somewhere near the retaining wall. The dog was frantically tracking the kitten she couldn’t see, slipped her leash and totally ignored my shrieks to “come back” as I chased her wearing flip flops. I caught up with her as she put her front feet on the retaining wall, hesitating as she apparently thought about jumping the twelve foot drop off on the other side.

My heart was pounding and I was shaking by the time I got the dog back into the house. She knew she was in trouble so she hid under the bed. The kitten finally showed up on the porch looking totally unperturbed by the chase. All animals were fine, me, not so much.

For a chaotic week, nothing reached the level of calamity. So, I guess, Calamity Jane had much greater hurdles to overcome that I did. Maybe the thing Jane and I have in common is sharpshooting. At least that’s what I told Jim when I was doped up during labor.  “Did you know that I used to be a sharp shooter in the circus?” I asked.

Although I later denied that I had ever been a sharp shooter in a circus, Jim said they had given me sodium pentothal so it must have been the truth.

 Well, after all, we all have our secrets.

 

Copyright © November by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ 

Cowboy Logic

 

I heard Michael Martin Murphey’s song “Cowboy Logic” on Facebook, and the same day saw a quote from the booklet Live and Learn and Pass It On that expressed the same idea. The smart place to ride in a truck is in the middle: you don’t have to drive and you don’t have to open the gate.

One of the things I loved about Jim was his sense of logic. We had our share of monetary problems when we were first married. One time when I was stressed over a mistake I had made with a payment, Jim put his arms around me and said, “Honey, anything you can fix by throwing money at it, isn’t a real problem.” That changed my entire way of thinking.

He was right. The real problems of life can’t be fixed with money.

On one of our trips to Colorado, Jim played a steady stream of Michael Martin Murphey tapes, including “Cowboy Logic.” Mom and I decided that we never wanted to hear Michael Martin Murphey sing again. Time heals all wounds, and when I posted “Cowboy Logic” on Facebook, we both listened to the song and expressed our nostalgia for the Colorado trips.

On that trip to Estes Park, Jim was experiencing more symptoms from his dementia. Mom and my nephew Jason were with us. I think they were worried that I couldn’t manage Jim alone. An excerpt from Indelible:

Jim insisted on eating cottage cheese and pineapple with every meal, including breakfast. We fixed most meals in the cabin, so he could have the food he wanted.

The cabin was a new environment, and Jim couldn’t figure out how to work the water in the shower, so I helped him. Then, I helped him dress. One morning while I took a shower, Jim walked out the door and down the road.

“Jim’s gone out the door,” Mom told me.

I shut off the water, “See if Jason can catch him.”

By the time I got out of the shower and dressed, Jason and Jim came through the door.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I told him you needed to talk to him,” Jason said. “When I told him that, he turned around and came back.”

We spent our evenings on the river walk drinking large cups of flavored coffee from MacGregor Bookstore. Jim’s favorite entertainment in Estes Park was the Lazy-B Ranch Boys’ dinner show. Jim was enthusiastic and happy.

In his hesitant speech he talked to one of the performers before the show. The man invited Jim to come behind the counter and play his guitar. Jim eagerly picked up the guitar and played a few cowboy songs. Jim sang the song I’m Tellin’ You Friend, I Ain’t Had a Good Day.

I believe that this world could use “Cowboy” or any kind of logic now. Maybe then, we wouldn’t have so many bad days.

 Copyright © October 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

History

I recently found a 100-year-old American History book that once belonged to Madie Ream, Home Room 109. This book contains an emphasis on political and constitutional issues and is written in a readable narrative format.

I’ll admit that either I’ve forgotten a lot of the history I studied in school, or our books glossed over much of it. I do not remember ever reading that during George Washington’s second term, he was compared to Nero, called a “tyrant,” “dictator” and “despot.” The most shocking to me was that some referred to him as the “step-father” of our country.

This reminds me of when my oldest son was a teen-ager and not prone to answering questions. He would say, “If you’re writing a book, just leave that chapter out.” It really makes perfect sense in today’s world.

Each of us has a history and sometimes we leave out chapters if we are recounting past events. In my defense, I seem to have forgotten big chunks of my personal history. I hear other people tell stories “that seem like yesterday” and in my opinion, it’s more like another lifetime, or actually about someone else.

But then, I can re-read my past blog posts and not recall writing some of them. When I read “Indelible” (which was transcribed from my recordings in real time), sometimes I can’t retrieve the actual memory. I also left some chapters out because they were too painful to tell, reflected badly on another person, or too private to share with others.

We all have good chapters and bad chapters, joyful chapters and sad chapters, but most of all, we have the forgotten chapters: the days that hummed along, uneventful, and so boring that they didn’t earn a spot in our short-term or long-term memory.

When tragedy hits, stress and heartache are present for a huge chunk of our lives. When we awaken for a new day—the first thought is a surge of grief. When we lie down to sleep—the last thought is the heartache of loss.

With time, grief becomes manageable and entire days go by without tears, but not without thoughts and memories. Sometimes waves of sorrow wash over us with the force of a tsunami from the epicenter of pain.

Given enough healing and fortitude, the sun will shine again and warm our souls. Life marches on with a blur of days, events, obligations, and celebrations. Some people live with chaos, and have to etch out moments of inner peace. Some of us live a life that has little drama and limited stress.

When my life is over, I hope people will remember the good I’ve done and forget the chapters when I fell short of the mark. I’m only human and I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I’ve learned more from mistakes that I have from getting it right the first time.

Someday, each of us will be history. Some of us will be like Madie, who wrote two poems and an observation in the front of her history book. Like me, when she found something that caught her attention, she wrote it down to remember it later.

A person who never knew her (me) smiled when I read, “Life is one darn thing after another; love is two things after each other.” Versions of this quote have been attributed to various people, and Madie found it somewhere.

I’m sure I would have liked Madie, and I tell her that when I visit her grave.

 

Copyright © October 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Happy Fall, Y’All

 Now that we’re a week into autumn, I’m beginning to get the seasonal spirit. Today I saw the grain truck go into the cornfield across the road. It brings back memories of my “ride-along” with Ivan several years ago in our cornfield.

My soybeans have taken on a golden hue. Early mornings on the farm offer a preview of autumn although mid-day seems more like the sweaty time of summer.

This has been a year of learning for Farmer Grandma. Thank goodness for Harold’s cousins and their years of experience and expertise. They plant the crops and harvest them. My job is to buy the seed and fertilizer and sell the grain. Simple? Oh, yeah, there’s also crop insurance, filling out forms for FSA, setting up the farm account, monitoring grain prices, praying for rain (but not flooding in the bottomland), and updating Quickbooks. For the past ten years, Harold has prepared me for the day when it would be my job to manage the farm. His confidence in me bolstered my confidence in myself. 

I once knew a guy who often said, “You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.” The same goes for girls. When you are raised country, living in town may not set well with your soul. At least that’s been my story.

When Jim first traveled the long and winding road to my house, he said, “You live so far back in the sticks that they need to pipe in sunshine.”

Unlike Jim, I grew up in one home. His family traveled across country on a spur of the moment whim. He lived in several homes in multiple states throughout his youth.

After Jim and I married, we lived in four different towns. We lived in Manhattan, Kansas while he was stationed at Fort Riley. We moved to Redmond, Oregon, because Jim was homesick for Oregon until he became more homesick for Missouri. I was not happy in Sedalia for reasons too numerous to mention. The last town we lived in was Versailles, Missouri, where at that time, grocery stores closed so early that by the time I needed something, I was out of luck.

These towns weren’t big, but they all had other people living within spitting distance. To Jim’s credit, he didn’t like town life anymore than I did. Once we moved to the country, we both agreed that we were never moving to town again. Rural life is for me and here I’ll stay, unless someday I’m hauled kicking and screaming to a nursing home.

I’m looking forward to the days of autumn when the weather has that slight chill that makes a flannel shirt feel just right. I want to sit on my wrought iron chair, drink a cup of hot coffee, and watch the Ream brothers harvest my soybeans.

I want to enjoy the wildflowers that pop up in the road ditches, and along the edges of the yard. I want to watch the trees turn to vibrant colors of orange, golden yellow, red, or copper. Some years are more spectacular that others, but the colors of autumn are nature’s last hurrah.

When we lived in drafty houses, I spent too much of autumn dreading winter. Now, I savor the season. I guess if you compared life to the seasons, I’m in the winter of my life, but I haven’t forgotten autumn when I was younger and, most likely, more colorful.

The important thing with the seasons—just like life—is that time passes too swiftly. If we close our eyes to the beauty around us, it will be gone, and be replaced with a different scene.

Now, autumn is just beginning. We are in baby autumn, waiting for it to mature and become the pumpkin spice of a full-fledged season. I’m no longer a country “girl” but I appreciate the beauty of God’s brushstrokes with the eyes of the girl that once was.

 

Copyright © September 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Inside Out

 

First impressions matter. This is the advice we give to people who are job hunting, since a potential employer will size you up in the first seven seconds, or less, of meeting you. In addition to visual impressions, body language, and the tone of a person’s voice present a rapid subconscious evaluation of a prospective employee.

We also want to impress people that interest us romantically. Most of us are skeptical of love at first sight, but it does have a scientific basis. Along with the brain’s positive first impression, a chemical surge can cement the attraction.

The day I met Jim, was a textbook example of love at first sight, and what made it magical was the feelings were mutual. Of course, neither of us was crazy enough to admit it at that moment. Jim told me later that he was supposed to leave for Oregon the next morning, but after he met me, he cancelled the trip.

 Infatuation doesn’t always lead to enduring love. Sometimes the outside attraction doesn’t translate to inside attachment. In our case, our personalities clicked and love at first sight became a forever after.  

In life, one of the greatest mysteries is how the human body and brain gel into relationships. Romantic love may happen quickly, or it may grow from a slow realization that someone you have known for years has won a special place in your heart. No matter how it begins, love forms from the inside out.

No one has a happily ever after in real life, and love will be tested often in a long-term commitment. Finances, emotions, communication, trust, or a combination of circumstances can jeopardize the stability of a relationship.

One of the frequent issues, especially among older adults, is health. When the health of one person fails, another may be thrust into a caregiving role. Any serious health condition has a different set of problems.

When a spouse develops dementia, reciprocal love turns into unconditional love. A person with dementia may become incapable of expressing love outwardly, although they may have a strong emotional attachment inside.

It is important to express your love and show tenderness even if your loved one is nonverbal. After each visit at the nursing home, I would kiss Jim goodbye and say, “I love you.”

Jim had aphasia and rarely spoke, but one night he emphatically said, “I love you too.”

Jim spent the last five years of his life in the nursing home. When I read the Indelible manuscript, I realize those five years were an emotional rollercoaster. I went through all the stages of grief time after time, but I adjusted, and life assumed a different norm.

I think the most important lesson I learned was to make the most of each day. Even the bad days, or sad days, became precious memories. In the darkest times, I was grateful for the love of family and friends.

Philosophies of the best way to attain a fulfilling life are numerous and different for each individual human alive. While I walk this earth, I want to live life to the fullest and find inner peace to reconcile my emotions to the outward turmoil that disrupts my life from time to time.

 

Copyright © September 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

A Thousand Pieces

For no logical reason, I recently bought a thousand-piece puzzle. I’m not sure whether I was feeling optimistic, or if I was merely delusional.

I set up the card table in the sunroom with its good lighting and relaxing atmosphere. I dumped the puzzle and began to sort the edge pieces. That’s where I ran into my first obstacle. I couldn’t get the edge of the puzzle completed, and knew that if I couldn’t figure that out, I wouldn’t find the pieces to make the pretty Christmas picture.

After about a week of struggling with the “relaxing” project, I decided it needed a different surface. The card table was too soft and the pieces deceptively seemed to fit when they didn’t. As I tried to transfer the puzzle to the kitchen table, the sections that I had pieced together fell apart. Finally, I came to my senses and scooped the puzzle back into the box to give to my aunt. Although she has a knack for putting puzzles together, it seemed almost mean spirited of me.

Attempting that puzzle by myself after a twenty-five year hiatus made me think about the last thousand-piece puzzle I’d put together. Jim and I moved our drop-leaf table to the living room and dumped the puzzle onto it. I planned to work the puzzle with Jim. His dementia had gotten worse, and I thought the puzzle might help him focus.

Prior puzzles had been frustrating for me because Jim could fit pieces together with ease while I struggled. This time, we sat down to work on the puzzle, and Jim tried to force pieces together until frustrated, he stood up and wandered off.

I had forged on alone for several days when Jim walked by, picked up a puzzle piece, and walked off with it. By the time I had completed the puzzle, it was missing several pieces, evidence that Jim had picked up more than one piece.

When a person has dementia, their brain is much like a puzzle with an increasing number of missing pieces. To complete a puzzle, we have to connect all the pieces together. Our brain encodes all the pieces of information learned in our lifetime in 100 billion neurons that interconnect with (an estimated) 100 to 500 trillion synapses. In a healthy brain, these synapses communicate through a complicated process that releases neurotransmitters that allow the brain to function properly.

Alzheimer’s disease and other progressive types of dementia interrupt the synapses and result in neuron degeneration and brain cell death. The loss of neurons affects memory, learning, and reasoning. As the disease progresses, the damage spreads into other areas of the brain causing the brain to shrink.

We care partners have a difficult time accepting that we will become a bystander as our loved one progresses from memory glitches to the unlearning of dementia. As the greedy jaws of dementia swallow up pieces of memory and skills, we cling to the ones that remain. Without all the pieces, a beautiful picture and an amazing mind, fall apart in slow motion.

All I had to offer was love and the best care available. In Jim’s journey, the time came when I realized he needed more care than I could give him at home. When Jim went to live in his new home, our family never wavered in providing loving care for him.

 I may give up on a thousand-piece puzzle, but I have never given up on someone I love. Although the final picture didn’t turn out as I hoped or imagined that it would, I feel blessed to have known and loved a man named Jim.  

alz.org/sedaliawalk

Copyright ©August 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Sundowning: Dusk to Dawn

 

When the sun goes down, one out of five persons with dementia will experience dramatic changes in behavior. Agitation increases, and they become irritable and anxious. This change can last for a short time or it may continue from dusk to dawn. As the caregiver’s energy wanes, the person with dementia has an energy surge that can last all night long.

I noticed a change in Jim’s nighttime behavior about four years into dementia. He had become restless and wandered during the day. We all became vigilant—even the neighbors—and worked toward keeping him safe.

If Jim wandered off when his mom was watching him, she would follow him with her car. For some reason, he would not get in the car with her, so she would call me on her car phone to tell me where he was walking. I’d leave work and pick him up. After he was safely at home, I would go back to work and hope that once was enough for that day.

It was also about that time that Jim began to roam at night. I would wake up and find him roaming around the house and cajole him into coming back to bed for a few more hours. Then, he would sleep during the day, and be wide awake when I wanted to go to bed.

Our family physician prescribed a sleep aid to help Jim rest more at night. After a short time, I realized he slept peacefully for four hours. Then, he was up and roaming. One night, I realized he wasn’t in the house so I jumped into my car and found him a few miles down the road. Jim was fully dressed, wearing sunglasses, and walking slowly with a cane.

I stopped the car and walked until I caught up with him. I latched onto the crook of his arm and  steered him to the car, turned around, and took him home. After that, I found an alarm for the door so that he couldn’t leave without me knowing.

Recently, I was reading an interesting article about the Hebrew Home of Riverdale, NY, that saw a need for night-care as well as daycare for persons with dementia. The official name of the  “Dusk to Dawn” program is ElderServe at Night.

The long-term care community provides transportation to and from the facility so that participants might channel their energy surge to a night of activities. The program caters to individual interests with everything from dancing to massage and relaxing music.

I had never heard of a nighttime program, but I finally found one facility locally that offered adult daycare. After about a week, Jim wandered away from the facility and they would not let him return. I can’t blame them for not wanting to be responsible for a man who headed out onto the highway carrying his guitar. At least, he was going in the direction of home.

Later when Jim went into long-term care, he wandered the halls at night with only fitful sleep. At first, he never slept in his bed but in the middle of the night, he would take short naps on the couch by the nurse’s station. Jim’s norm was to pace almost non-stop. He would take short breaks to eat, shower, and occasionally nap in his recliner during the day.

Later in the disease, Jim’s problems with balance caused him to fall often. With medication, he slept more at night and body alarms helped staff know when he was trying to get out of bed or out of his chair.

The one thing that bothered me most about the special care unit was how Jim lost his freedom. There’s a sense of injustice when someone who risked his life to defend his country’s freedom  lost his personal independence.

I often broke him out of the facility to take him on drives, walks in the park, and to drop by Dairy Queen for a milkshake. In the last months of his life, it became too difficult to load him in the van, so I brought him his favorite foods and wheeled him around the parking lot.

After Jim passed away, one evening I drove through Dairy Queen and ordered a milkshake. The kid at the window said, “Didn’t you used to bring your husband by for a milkshake?”

  “Yes, I did,” I said. I drove to the park, sat on a bench until dusk. My milkshake was long gone, along with the illusion that Jim was beside me. When I headed home, I knew dawn was a full night’s sleep away. The only thing to disturb my sleep would be broken dreams and sweet memories.

 

alz.org/sedaliawalk

Copyright © August 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Helping Others Helps Yourself

 

My dad used to say that when you were in the army, you should never volunteer for anything. I believe that makes a lot of sense when you are in a warzone. I remember Jim sending letters home from Vietnam and telling me that his buddy, Webb, volunteered them to make trips to a place he called “Duc Duc.” I got the distinct impression that traveling to this place was more dangerous than staying in Long Bihn.

Although volunteering for a dangerous mission might not be good for your health, volunteering for a charitable organization has several health benefits. Helping others helps both mental and physical health.

I’ve been a volunteer for the Alzheimer’s Association since 1998. As with most volunteers, I pitched in to help an organization that helped me. I was in contact with my local chapter from the time that Jim first developed symptoms. Over the years, I served on the Board of Directors, as a state and national advocate, support group facilitator, speaker, and chaired the local Walk.

When I read about the proven benefits of being a volunteer, I agree wholeheartedly. I often felt like I benefited more from being a volunteer than the Alzheimer’s Association benefited from me being a volunteer. 

Mental Benefits:

·       Reduces Stress, Anxiety, and Depression

·       Gives a Sense of Purpose

·       Increases Happiness

·       Encourages Social Interaction and Forges New Friendships

·       Promotes Emotional Healing

Mentally, volunteering became my lifeline in a sea of uncertainty. As I threw myself into the varied activities, I met other people who understood the life-shattering differences perpetrated by dementia. I connected with sisters of the heart who became life-long friends.

One time someone suggested that I give up volunteering for the Alzheimer’s Association, but I told them that although I couldn’t stop the progression of the disease, I had found a way to make a difference. I became a better caregiver when I focused on promoting awareness, seeking knowledge about dementia, and advocating for effective treatments.

Every person does not have to start at the beginning of the learning curve. Through support group, and from the professionals who worked at the Alzheimer’s Association, I learned about everything from how to avoid financial pitfalls to caregiving tips. 

Physical Benefits:

·       Increases Physical Activity

·       Lowers Blood Pressure

·       Improves Heart Health

·       Decreases Pain Level

Studies show that people who stay actively engaged in life have better physical health. I really think part of it might be that you simply have less time to feel sorry for yourself.

I attended a seminar once where the speaker talked about focus. “If you focus on red cars, you will be surprised at how many red cars you will see.” Focusing on your health means you are more cognizant of your choices.

Have you ever noticed that people who actively volunteer, usually volunteer for more than one organization? It’s because once your focus is on how to make a positive impact, you can plainly see the need.

Often the most traumatic events in our lives motivate us into action. Whether that action is participating in an event, providing financial support, or offering a helping hand—each of us can make a positive impact on our community.

 

alz.org/sedaliawalk

Copyright ©July 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

 

Liquid Love

I made it all the way through my brother’s celebration of life without crying. Sure, my eyes were a little blurry at times, but I held it together in that moment. I read two of his stories and a short piece I had written about him.

The next evening at church services, when Pastor Christopher spoke to me, the tears I’d held back the previous day fell as I told him I’d lost my brother. He said my tears were “liquid love.” Through the years of my life, I’ve shed buckets of liquid love for family members, friends, and beloved pets.

Life, for most of us, is full of gladness and sadness. Those who say they are blessed are the ones who have the most love to give and the heartache that walks hand in hand with love lost. Each of us has to balance the gain against the pain.

Once I said that my two husbands, Jim and Harold, had nothing in common. They were about as unalike as two people can be. Then, a friend pointed out to me that they both loved me so they did have something in common.

I shed liquid love over Jim’s diagnosis and his failing health. Throughout the years of his dementia, I learned that love comes in many shapes and sizes. The people who cared enough to provide support and acts of kindness showed their love in tangible ways. My family and Jim’s family were the wind beneath my wings that kept me from crashing and burning.

As all who have lost a love one knows, the quiet moments are the most unbearable. They are the times of regret and unbridled sorrow. When you don’t have to be strong for anyone else, it is easy to dwell on the future that could have been and compare it to the one that never will be. The wounds are broken open and healing is delayed.

Grief has no timeline. Although twenty years may pass, and other loves come and go, a song, a random memory, or a photo can make a person time travel through the years and a fresh round of grief.

As I’ve grow older, the scars on my heart have accumulated. I’ve been widowed twice, but I refuse to measure life with sorrow. Instead, I will measure my life with blessings. I am blessed to have my family, two extended families, a multitude of friends, and a lovable dog.

My arthritic body makes me appreciate any pain-free days. When I feel like I’ve walked through fire, I gratefully accept the offer of a pool of cold water to soothe the burn.

Liquid love doesn’t have to be tears of sorrow—it can be tears of joy. Each sunrise brings the promise of hope and a dawning of possibilities. When a day has been well spent, sunset will bring a hush of peace and calm.    

 

Copyright ©July 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

The Gift of Music

 Life can be overwhelming and grief can become all consuming. Over the past six months, I felt on the cusp of coming to grips with Harold’s death. Joy had returned to my life as the Capps Family Band had returned after our long hiatus following Jimmy’s hospitalization. We played at two nursing homes in May and three in June.

The last place we played in June was Cole Camp. As we packed up our instruments, Jimmy said he felt better that day because the room was cool. I suggested that he sing “Independence Day” in July. As we exited the building, I said I would see him at practice.

Sometimes life plays tricks on us. I never knew that my casual goodbye would be the last time I would see my brother. A week from the day the Capps Family Band played at Cole Camp, Kathy, their grandson Connor, my sister Roberta, and I were planning his funeral.

Last night, I was watching the Daniel O’Donnell show and he began to sing “You Were Always on My Mind.” I turned it off and went into a complete meltdown. A few months ago, Jimmy was in the hospital in Columbia. We were talking on the phone, and he wanted to know if I’d been working on any new songs. I named off a few of them, and he wanted me to pick up my ukulele and try that one. I started playing it and he stopped me. He suggested I try a different key. I started again and when I got to the bridge, he told me my timing was off. So he had me start over, and finally, about the fifth time through he let me finish. “You have that one,” he said.

During, our normal practice sessions Jimmy would concentrate on one song at a time. One time, he told me the song I was singing needed to be sung as if I was singing to a child. Another time, he told me I needed to put some sass into a song I was learning. Both times, he gave advice that improved the performance.

He encouraged everyone in the family band to sing. He had full confidence that with practice and the right key, anyone could sing. He was always satisfied when we did our best, even when it wasn’t perfect. The rule was that you kept on singing even when you made a mistake because often the audience wouldn’t even know you had made it.

The best part of our practice sessions was spending time with family. When I first started with the band, we were a large group. Due to health reasons and other life circumstances, most of the time the band was Jimmy, Kathy, and me. The three of us each played an instrument and took turns singing. Music was so important to Jimmy that he powered through health problems that would have had most people housebound.

Today, I ignored everything on my to-do list to practice the guitar until my fingers were sore. My fingers felt clumsy as they reached for the basic chords, and I struggled to change chords smoothly. When I started to feel discouraged, I remembered that I had the same problems when I first started playing the ukulele.

After I finished with the guitar, I picked up my ukulele. I played some of the new songs I’ve been working on, and started through the songs on my list in our family band songbook.

Several people have asked if the Capps Family Band would continue. Jimmy was our fearless leader and the heart and soul of the band. It’s hard to imagine the band without him, but if our family can eventually get it together, it would be his legacy.

I love to play music and sing and that is totally Jimmy’s fault. I will miss him as a brother, mentor, fellow writer, and as a friend. I will miss his mischievous sense of humor. I will cherish the good times, the fun times, and the love he had for his family.

My heart aches for my mom, Kathy, his grandkids, my brothers and sisters, and his friends. My heart hurts for the people in the nursing/retirement facilities that were so happy to see Jimmy after his long hospitalization.

 Today, I pulled up some of Jimmy’s stories that I saved on my PC. It felt good to laugh at his words. I always laugh at the “Donnie and Me” video. I am thankful for the videos Jimmy made and the gift of music he left us.

Copyright ©June 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Sandwich Board Sign

 

On my birthday, I spent the day with my mom, sisters, and one of my brothers. Later in the evening, I had dinner with my son and daughter-in-law.

The waitress mentioned a missing girl in the area where Eric and his family will be vacationing. “A lot of people go missing and sometimes they are never found,” I said.

Our conversation turned to some family members who had tragic events that caused turmoil and heartbreak. We talked about good people who grew up with horrible abuse.

Sometimes we have an inkling of the demons that plague people we know, but we only see what they allow us to see. Most people hide their sorrow behind a polite smile and a “Fine” in response to a generic, “How are you?”

Some people have no empathy and think their problems are the biggest problems anyone can face. I’ve always had the assurance that no matter how bad things were in my life, someone else had bigger problems. I have complete confidence that no matter how hopeless a situation was that eventually life would be better.

At certain times in my life, I’ve felt as if I were walking through a dark tunnel that was on the verge of collapse. Then, I would hit a place where the light shone through for a short time before I was plunged back into darkness. Even during the darkest times, I had no doubt that if I knew what other people were dealing with; my problems would seem miniscule in comparison.

I heard a man say that if people walked around wearing a sandwich board that listed their problems as bullet points, we would treat others with more kindness. The pain that lies in a person’s heart and the hurt of a tormented soul are not visible to his closest friends much less strangers he passes on the streets.

No one cares to spend time with a chronic complainer, but the person who is constantly cracking jokes may be the saddest person you know. Being the life of the party is sometimes the only way he or she can feel alive.

We may know the bullet points of another’s life. We may understand that a caregiver is cranky because she hasn’t had any sleep. The man who lashes out in uncharacteristic anger is frustrated by a brain riddled with dementia. A person who suffers from depression may have lost a loved one. Our co-worker hasn’t performed to her usual standards because she is dealing with terminal cancer.

No one wears a sandwich board and only those who know a person’s situation can begin to comprehend why a person’s behavior is outside of the norm. That is, if there is a norm.

Not every problem has a solution and not every person has the capability to keep on moving through the dark times of life. Stress can light the fuse to a powder keg of self-destruction.

If I were to write a sandwich board, I really believe it would be more helpful to my state of mind to list the things that are right in my world. I have a large family that I love, I have a good dog, I have a nice home, food to eat, fresh air to breathe, and a community of friends. I have enough work to do that I don’t have time to be bored.

I have some health problems, but hey, who doesn’t? I have music, laughter, and love in my life. Who could ask for anything more?

 

Copyright ©June 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Sing for Your Best Life

The best way to keep your mind active is to learn a new skill. When your mind is actively acquiring information, your brain builds new connections between neurons. The synapses become stronger as you practice a new activity.

Several years ago, I bought a ukulele and looked up some chords on YouTube. It wasn’t long before I could strum a few tunes. I started practicing with our family band and eventually played music with them at nursing homes.

I often had to consult my chord chart when we played new songs with chords I hadn’t yet learned. Later I began to sing with the group and, at that time, our band was large enough that I only sang one or two songs a month. Now that our band is smaller, we sing five or six songs each time.

Singing is good for body and soul alike. Singing releases endorphins, which lifts your spirits, but when you have lung problems as my brother and I both do, it increases lung capacity and vocal cord health.

Learning melodies and lyrics are, you guessed it, good for your brain. When you sing, you use multiple areas of your brain and improve your memory. The expression “Sleep on it” is actually good advice. During sleep, your new skills move from your short-term memory to long-term memory. In between your snores, your brain is busy downloading data to your brain’s more durable storage.

Singing in a group increases connection with family or friends. Group activities also increase levels of a hormone, oxytocin, associated with bonding. Being socially active is a recommended way to improve cognitive health.  

When you watch shows like American Idol or the Voice the judges often mention that a contestant sings “from the heart.” Well, singing from the heart is a good description because studies show that singing has the same effect on your heart as light physical activity. The researcher thinks that singing might eventually be incorporated into cardiac rehab.

Music has brought joy into my life. I try to squeeze out time several days a week to play my ukulele. When I listen to the radio or scroll on my phone watching music videos, I often hear a song I hadn’t thought of in years. Sometimes, I download the lyrics and chords only to realize I either can’t play the tune or sing the song. I’m not discouraged because sometimes I come back to it months later and it clicks. Or, I might be able to sing it, but not play it. When that happens, I might try karaoke. Sometimes, I might be able to play it but not be able to sing it. During our practice sessions, my brother can often find the correct key for my voice.

Due to health issues, we hadn’t played music at the retirement homes since November of last year. When we played this month, we heard, “We missed you,” and we missed them too. The reward for our family band was the joy on the residents’ faces.

How great is it to do something I enjoy while I exercise my heart and brain? Playing the ukulele and singing lifts my spirits and chases away the blues. Some of my efforts are an epic fail, but it certainly feels good when I learn to play or sing a song well. Either way, my dog always listens attentively and never rolls her eyes when I make a mistake. 

 Copyright ©May 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ 

Chapters of Life

 When I think back on the different roles I’ve played throughout my lifetime, I realize that I’ve evolved and changed throughout the years. My life has as many chapters as a James Patterson novel. Some chapters were short and forgotten long ago, while others have woven a theme throughout my book of life.

Jim and I were so young when we married. I was 18 and he was 24. Times were different then than now. We grew up faster than the following generations. Vietnam took many who had just graduated high school, and some of my classmates were already slogging through the jungle getting shot at and becoming old before their time.

As my life evolved into being a wife and a mother-to-be, Jim went back to being a soldier. We had been married on Jim’s R&R, and his role changed to husband and father-to-be. He still had a year to serve when he returned to the world, and he went through another transition, but brought his demons with him.

Throughout the years of our married life, Jim suffered from PTSD, depression, occasional paranoia, and complete mental breakdowns. Alternately, he could be loving, creative, sensitive, and generous to a fault. The one trait that never changed was his love of, and loyalty to, family.

I became a caregiver during the final chapter of Jim’s life. Nothing is sadder or more heartbreaking than watching someone you love disappear into the clutches of dementia. We faced a new battle together as Jim’s personality, ability to communicate, and his sense of self diminished into a shadow of the person he once was. Yet, sometimes, he surprised those around him with a look in his eyes, or a slight smile as he held a secret he couldn’t share verbally, and returning a hug or a kiss.

We lost the battle to dementia twenty-five years ago, but Jim’s memory still lives, and the next chapter was learning to live alone. I had already lived five years alone while Jim was in the nursing home, but that was followed with another nine years living in the house Jim and I built.

I remarried in 2014 and Harold and I celebrated our 10^th wedding anniversary in August. As we aged, we both had our share of health issues. Harold’s health was worse than mine, and I found myself in a caregiving role without the benefit of being young. When Harold passed away, I found myself a widow for the second time.

The truth I discovered was that losing my spouse was harder this time. I suppose there is a complicated psychological reason, or reasons, for this difference in my ability to bounce back from the grief. The only thing I am sure of is that I don’t want to go through this again. I don’t think I can go through it again.

I’m adjusting to the new normal. I have begun to participate in activities I enjoy. I want to spend more time with family and friends.

I embrace my responsibilities to the land and home that are in my care. It’s true that you never know how strong you are until you have to be.

I’m working on resolving some of my own health issues, and want to make the most of the next chapter of my life. Some days everything goes smoothly, and other days, I have to place a bookmark and start fresh the next day.

 Copyright ©May 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Homecoming – April 5

 

Some days stick in our memories and when the date rolls around, we either celebrate or somberly remember the anniversary. The days are always poignant if you shared the memory with someone who is no longer with you.

Jim and I were married while he was on R&R in Hawaii where we had only a few short days together. We said our vows in the Ft. DeRussy Chapel on December 20^th and in the predawn hours of Christmas Day, Jim walked me to the gate to board a plane to take me home. After our goodbyes, he headed to his flight to return to the uncertainty of war.

  The days dragged by, and I worried that something would go wrong. Finally, April rolled around, and I breathed a little easier knowing that he would be coming home within the week.

 

From Indelible, unfinished memoir:

Jim’s parents and I arrived at the Kansas City airport hours ahead of time. It was April 5, 1970, and Jim was on his way home from Vietnam. He was supposed to come home on the fourth, but after an anxious day waiting for a call that didn’t come, his parents and I had spent a restless night worried that something had happened to him on his last day in Nam.

The next morning he called from Seattle. He explained that the airport was under attack the day before and they wouldn’t let the planes leave. “We kept saying, just go!” After eleven months of expecting to be blown to bits at any moment, he thought the odds were better to just get the hell out of there.

We stood outside waiting for the passengers to disembark. I was wearing a long psychedelic patterned polyester blouse over a short royal blue pleated skirt. The blouse covered the baby bump.

A crowd of people awaited the plane and the arrival of loved ones. From our excitement, they knew we were there to meet a returning soldier. Airport personnel let me go out in front of everyone and across the do-not-cross line. Jim stepped off the plane and pushed his way past the other passengers to grab me up in his arms. He was home at last!

He kissed me and I tasted the bitter tang of alcohol. Unlike most women who have morning sickness, I had afternoon sickness and it was about time for it to hit me. “What on earth have you been drinking?”

“Vodka,” he said sheepishly. “I thought vodka wasn’t supposed to smell.”

“Well, I can taste it,” I said. Then I kissed him again, vodka taste or not.

 

Each year as April 5 rolls around, I always think of Jim’s homecoming. This year, we celebrated a homecoming of a different kind. Our family gathered at my Mom’s house so that she could meet all three of her great-great grandchildren. We were able to get a five-generation photo.

Jim loved family get-togethers, and I know in my heart that he was there celebrating with us.  

 

Copyright ©April 2025 by L. S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

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

#ENDALZ