“Bring the Past to the Present”—Coach Broyles

Coach Frank Broyles minces no words as he shares his mission to improve quality of life for more than five million Americans with Alzheimer’s, their caregivers, and their entire family. Coach Broyles draws on years of experience at the University of Arkansas and uses his leadership skills to rally family members to form a game plan.

“Attitude is your No. 1 asset,” the coach tells the audience at the Mid-Missouri Chapter’s Caregiver Conference. “You can’t be perfect,” the coach advises the caregivers. Rather than be unhappy about shortcomings, caregivers should learn all they can and feel good about doing their best.

The coach stresses the importance of having a game plan to provide the best care possible for your loved one. He urges caregivers to make their loved ones feel safe and loved. “It’s all about communication—be creative and compassionate.” He gave an example of creative communication. If his wife, Barbara, asked to see her mother, he would tell her, “You mother is out of town today.”

After Coach spoke, his daughter took the stage. Betsy Arnold and her family moved back in with her parents to help Coach take care of her mother who was in the middle stages at the time. Betsy’s part of the program is laced with humor, but it doesn’t keep her from giving nuts and bolts type of information. Betsy covers everything from the stages of Alzheimer’s to the stages of grief. She thinks the key to communication is to let the person with Alzheimer’s control the conversation.

Betsy suggests that making eye contact is the key to conversation. The eyes will help you determine whether your loved one is happy, sad, confused, or frightened. Betsy learned to communicate by speaking calmly and using positive language. She found her way through many crises by proclaiming, “Isn’t that great?” or “This is going to be so much fun!” When your loved one repeatedly asks the same question, the question is important, and you should answer it like you had just heard it for the first time.

When her mother asked to go home, Betsy learned to reassure her and make her feel safe. Betsy took her mother out for milkshakes as a distraction. She jokingly admitted her mother went from a size 4 to a size 12 thanks to the milkshake bribes.

The last conference speaker was Coach’s granddaughter. Molly Arnold was only twelve years old when her family moved in with her grandparents. One of the most vivid impressions she had of her family was how they turned a negative into a positive. When she and some of her cousins were sorting through some of her grandmother’s papers, she found the following quote: “Do a good deed today. If someone finds out, it doesn’t count.”

The Broyles family shares their experiences to encourage other caregivers to allow their love to guide them throughout the difficult circumstances of providing around-the-clock care. Coach Broyles said, “There is no substitute for touch.” He believes touch is vital for everyone, but especially for someone with memory loss.

Coach Broyles said that he and Barbara spent many pleasurable hours browsing through their travel scrapbooks. The photos from their vacations put a smile on Barbara’s face and made her happy. The scrapbook is an activity the entire family can enjoy. Bringing the past to the present helps you and your loved one reconnect through shared memories.

Copyright © April 2010 L. S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

Recommended reading: Coach Broyles Playbook for Alzheimer’s Caregivers.

Alzheimer's Weekly - Young Hope, Tracy's Story

I first met Tracy Mobley in Washington DC at the Alzheimer's Public Policy Forum. It didn't take long for me to discover what an amazing woman she is. Most of us would crumble if given an Alzheimer's diagnosis at 38 years old. Tracy became a spokesperson and took action to help others diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's.

Tracy wrote a book based on her journal--Young Hope: The Broken Road. Tracy has quite a sense of humor. When I asked her to submit a story for Alzheimer's Anthology of Unconditional Love, I'm not sure what I expected. I don't think I expected a story called "Thank God for Pizza Pockets and Husbands." But then, knowing Tracy, I shouldn't have been surprised.

Tracy collected blocks for a memory quilt that she pieced together honoring our loved ones with Alzheimer's. She made Jim's block herself! I was so touched by her thoughtfulness. Tracy worked diligently to set up Camp Building Bridges for children whose parents have Alzheimer's.

With all her accomplishments, Tracy is a truly humble person. If you ask her what is important to her, I'm sure she would say being a good mom to Austin, a good wife, and faithful to God.

In Tracy's Poem, "The Alzheimer's Prayer", she says:

One more thing, Dear Lord, before I forget,
if I can no longer speak
Will You let them know I love them
and though I may have changed, I am still the same me

Alzheimer's Weekly chose Tracy's film as their pick from the winners of the 2010 Neuro Film Festival. You may not have had a chance to meet Tracy, but watch James Dreyer's film for a glimpse into her life.

Alzheimer's Weekly - Tracy's Entry

copyright (c) April 2010 L. S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com
Baby Boomer Blog: http://boomerobics.blogspot.com

The Write Way to Handle Grief

It probably wouldn’t come as a big surprise to any caregiver to learn that when the University of Indianapolis surveyed 400 Alzheimer’s caregivers, 80% identified grief as their No. 1 challenge. When your loved one has dementia, your grief is ambiguous because it doesn’t have a defined beginning. It just sneaks up on you when you think you’re doing a great job of handling everything.

Each time Jim lost a skill, I grieved. Not only did I grieve the losses, I anticipated more to come. Yet, I was determined not to become mired in a world of sadness without hope of better days ahead.

Writing helped me chip away at the seemingly insurmountable task of being a primary caregiver. My journal became my therapy as I wrote about my thoughts, fears, and frustrations. Along with the bad, I interwove moments of joy and humorous incidents.

I wrote throughout our ten-year journey including April 18, 2005, the day Jim left this world for a better land. Anyone who reads my blog on a regular basis realizes that writing helped me through the years I was a caregiver, and has turned me into a woman on a mission. I hope sharing our story will help others who travel this same journey.

Caregivers and people who blog tell their story, and while they write about the abnormal that has become their norm, they find spiritual healing in the midst of chaos. Writing is therapy for those who struggle with grief. While collecting and editing 37 true stories for Alzheimer’s Anthology of Unconditional Love, I often received notes from the authors telling me how cathartic it was to write about their experiences.

I’m a believer in the therapeutic benefits of writing and have completed a first draft of a manuscript on writing as therapy. I began blogging in 2008 and a year later published my posts in Early Onset Blog: Essays from an Online Journal, and this year released Early Onset Blog: The Friendship Connection.

Sometimes the intensity of re-living the most difficult decade of my life helped me put everything into perspective, but it also left me emotionally drained. My blog is filled with my non-fiction writing, and you may not realize I also write fiction.

Although all therapeutic writing research is based on non-fiction writing, I find fiction writing to be therapeutic too. The best thing about fiction—you can make it turn out anyway you want. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never figured out how to do that in the real world.

Now, I am working on a fiction project, an anthology—A Shaker of Margaritas: Hot Flash Mommas. This book is going to be a fun project. Submissions are open to everyone! Visit www.mozarkpress for details about the Hot Flash Mommas Fiction, Fun, and Forties Writing Contest and the anthology.

Writing may not work for everyone, but I think of it as my lifeline. When I write my problems down, or craft a story, I can almost feel the tension flowing from my fingertips onto the paper.

___________________________________

Available at www.amazon.com: Early Onset Blog: The Friendship Connection, Early Onset Blog: Essays from an Online Journal, and Alzheimer’s Anthology of Unconditional Love.
For a book review of the Early Onset Blog books: http://plantcityladyandfriends.blogspot.com/.

Copyright © April 2010 L. S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com
Baby Boomer Blog: http://boomerobics.blogspot.com

A New Day—A Fresh Start

The only good thing I can say about a long, hard winter is it makes me really appreciate spring. A spring day gives me renewed hope and vigor. I now feel capable of tackling those obstinate problems that seemed insurmountable when the wind chill was below zero.

It is refreshing to open the patio doors and have a spring breeze flush out the stale breath of winter. The sound of twittering birds and barking squirrels are infinitely more welcome than the sound of sleet against my bedroom window.

To me a spring day is like the joy of Easter after the gloom of Good Friday. It is the rebirth of my spiritual wellbeing. How could I be depressed or sad when redbuds, dogwood, and lilies provide color against a backdrop of shades of green—grass, leaves, bushes, and evergreens?

Words cannot express the glory of the sun’s golden rays. No one even complains much when driving into the blinding morning or evening sun.

I feel like a flower, turning my face toward the sun, and showing bright spring colors. I am tired of dull and drab. The winter blahs already seem like a memory, and I walk with a spring in my step.

I can even forgive spring its sorrows and the sad days of remembrance. Jim died on a warm April day five years ago. For a time, I thought that would make me dread April and the memories of that moment when dementia took Jim away. In reality, death gave him back to me. In the midst of losing Jim to dementia, I learned to accept the changes in him and to love him for the person he had become. It was too painful to remember him as he was before dementia.

After Jim died, I could embrace the memories of the man he was before the disease stole him away. In April 2005, the youthful Jim, the fun-loving man, the person who cherished me and became my best friend was reborn in my memories.

Life goes on and although my babies are grown to men, my four grandchildren bring joy into my life with the dependability of flowers breaking through the soil to brighten the days of spring.

Last weekend, my six-year-old granddaughter handed me a sheet of paper and asked me to sign up for art classes.

“I can’t sign up for art classes,” I said, “because I can’t draw.”

“Grandma Linda, you don’t have to draw, I just need you to sign up.”

“Okay, then . . . if I don’t have to draw, I’ll sign up.”

In a few minutes she handed me a marker and a sketch pad. “Draw a picture of a flower,” she said.

“Oh, I can draw a flower,” I said, and quickly drew a circle surrounded with loops, a stem, and threw in a few blades of grass at the bottom.

Ever the encourager, she said, “That’s a good picture, Grandma Linda. It looks real!”

“Smell it,” I said. “I bet it smells like a flower.”

She held the sketch pad up to her nose and took a whiff. “It smells just like paper!” she declared. Let’s face it, there is no substitute for the real thing.

No matter how dead plants and trees may look during the frigid days of winter, they flourish anew with the passage of time. A spring day is a new day, a new chapter in life, a time for a fresh start, and a resurgence of hope.

copyright (c) April 2010 L. S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com
Vist my baby boomer blog at http://boomerobics.blogspot.com

Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?

Jim liked to play the lottery, and insisted he would eventually hold the winning numbers and become a millionaire. I always said I didn’t want to win.

“That doesn’t make sense. Of course, you want to win!” he insisted.

“No, I don’t. It would just mess up my life,” I said. I had read too many stories about people who won a million dollars and used their newfound wealth to spend themselves into bankruptcy. Too many people think a jackpot is an infinite amount and when they live a multi-millionaire lifestyle, a measly million didn’t go as far as they thought it would.

Well, Jim never hit that jackpot, and I simply don’t play, so there is no danger of me becoming wealthy overnight. Still I was surprised to read a story in the paper a few days ago about someone who wasn’t thrilled by winning $1 million.

Grigory Perelman, a 43-year-old unemployed Russian man, solved a mathematical problem that seemed to be unsolvable and was awarded $1 million for his wisdom. On the surface he seems to be one smart fellow, but he hasn’t accepted his prize money, and isn’t sure he will.

Okay, I’ll be the first to admit I’m not a mathematical genius, but it seems to me that if you had the choice of (a) being unemployed with little or no income or (b) being handed $1 million, odds are you wouldn’t have to be a genius to choose (b).

The International Mathematics Congress isn’t too surprised since Mr. Perelman previously snubbed the Fields Medal, considered to be the equivalent of a Nobel Prize in Mathematics. They are willing to give him time to think about the award and are hopeful he will accept it. I think Perelman should turn the problem into an algebraic equation that plots out his life if he accepts the million versus what happens if he declines.

This story made me stop and think about my long-term attitude that I didn’t want to win the lottery. I can’t see myself turning down $1 million if someone offered it to me. I can’t help but wonder, what is Grigory thinking?

In reality, Jim was the type of person who would turn down $1 million if he thought the money would compromise his principals. When Jim was in Vietnam, he turned down a purple heart because he didn’t consider his wounds to be severe enough to warrant the medal. He received an Army Commendation medal and never told anyone. I learned about it when I saw his discharge papers years later. By then, Jim had dementia and couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell me why he received the award.

Yes, I could imagine Jim turning down $1 million, but not me—the person who didn’t want her life ruined. I’m much too practical to scoff at instant riches.

On the surface, Grigory Perelman might seem to be foolish to the nth degree, but we don’t know about his life, his expectations, his principals, or how much he wants to remain his own man, a private person.

Apparently, not everyone wants to be a millionaire. Geniuses among us realize riches aren’t measured by dollars, but you don’t have to be brilliant to figure that out.

Copyright (c) April 2010 L. S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com
http://boomerobics.bogspot.com

Deer Tales, Past and Present

Last Monday I was in Wal-Mart, and as I mulled over the reasoning behind putting no bake cheesecake in the baking aisle, my cell phone rang. It was my oldest son, Eric.

After our greetings, he asked, “Do you remember Pam, the woman you stopped to help after she hit the deer that time?”

“Sure,” I said. Several years ago, on the drive to visit Jim in the nursing home, I was following a car that was going the same speed. I thought about passing, but decided to drop behind instead. Soon, I heard a loud pop and a deer went bouncing off the hood of the other car toward the road. Another loud thud and a deer went flying toward the ditch. Shattering glass sprayed in all directions. The car pulled to the side of the road, and I parked behind.

I was worried because a retiree from the company I work for had died after a deer came through his windshield. I ran to the driver’s door and asked the lady if she was okay. She assured me she was fine, but I stayed with her while we waited for the highway patrol.

She introduced herself as Pam, and we soon discovered she worked at the same dealership as my son. Now all these years later, Eric was calling to tell me that Pam had died the night before. “Isn’t she about my age?” I asked. How sad that the only time I had ever talked with her was the night she hit the two deer.

I always felt fortunate that I had never hit a deer considering how plentiful they are in Missouri. One morning a few weeks ago, I stopped while seven deer crossed the road in front of me.
Just recently, my boss hit a deer in the company car and a few days after it was repaired, he hit another with his farm truck. I see deer all the time, but I’ve always managed to slow down and we’ve all gone safely on our way.

Later Monday night on the way home I was thinking about how old my car is getting and decided I needed to buy a new vehicle. This thought had no more crossed my mind when a deer jumped into the road, bounced off the pavement, and made a flying leap into my lane. I hit my brakes, but knew the deer and I were on a collision course. My car thudded into the deer and he careened across my hood. I had a close up view of the deer’s belly and expected him to come crashing through my windshield. Instead, he skidded across the hood and off the other side.

I pulled over to stop on a side road and immediately began to hyperventilate. With trembling fingers, I dialed a number on speed dial and told my friend what had happened. I got out of the car to survey the damage, and thankfully, a young man who lived in a house nearby came out with a flashlight to check on me.

After the highway patrol accident report, I drove my car home. It was missing a headlight and had a banged up hood. I wasn’t hurt, and although I can’t imagine he made it far, the deer had picked himself up and gone back into the field—makes me feel like I fought the deer and the deer won.

The adjuster at Farm Bureau Insurance helped me find a rental car and get my car into the collision center. So now I’m tooling around in a luxury car, and expecting a deer to jump into the road at any time. Logically, I have to consider that until this week, I had driven for more than thirty years without hitting a deer, but now I’m a little paranoid that deer are lurking alongside the road waiting for me to drive by. The deer won’t recognize the rental car will they? How long will it take if I buy a new car before they know it is me driving it?

I guess my out-of-control thoughts are caused by my overactive writer’s imagination, or from watching too many episodes of Twilight Zone when I was a kid. That has to be all it is. Who ever heard of the “Revenge of Bambi”?

copyright (c) March 2010 L. S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com/

The Best Days of Our Lives

As we wade through the quagmire of life, nostalgia can slam into us with the force of a tidal wave. During the hardest times, it is easy to suffer a case of the used to be’s or might have been’s.

Unlike physical life, your emotional well-being benefits more from the occasional tidal wave than the predictability of the tide. Occasional teary eyes about losses can be a healthy release, but constant sadness wears you down and takes a toll on your health as grief robs you of any good days.

Dementia can be a sad and lonely disease. During the ten years of Jim’s dementia, I lived only in the present. I learned to accept him as he was at that moment without comparing him to the man he had been, or worrying about the changes ahead. I didn’t want to become emotionally entangled in reminiscences of better times. While I was a caregiver, any other time, even rough ones, might seem like the best days of my life.

Now, nearly five years after Jim’s death, I don’t dread memories as much. They still sneak up on me and catch me off guard. Yesterday, I opened my patio door to let some fresh spring air into my home, and lit a candle to add a subtle berry scent. Lighting the candle made me pause as a rush of memories washed over me.

A few minutes later, I was putting away the nametag from the Alzheimer’s Action Summit and a basket with Jim’s driver’s license and old eyeglasses caught my attention. I picked up the license and looked at his picture, saw his vital statistics, and noted with sadness that the license expired in 1998. When the picture was taken we didn’t know Jim would develop dementia. Jim is gaunt in the photo, and I remember how concerned we were for him at the time. Inexplicably, he had gone through a period of weight loss, and my heart ached when I held him in my arms and could feel his ribs.

It is strange how some of the smallest routine moments can catapult us into another day or time of our lives. In retrospect, your recollections may be dominated with only good, or entirely bad, memories rather than embracing life’s balance. If you remember only the bad, you let past failures or traumas ruin your present. If you remember only the good, you lose the value of lessons learned and will repeat the same mistakes. Memories, like life, need balance.

Looking back at your life is like looking at a picture of a scenic landscape. A gnarled, barren tree may make the picture more appealing than perfection. You don’t feel sorry for the tree—you just see it as a natural development of time and weather.

We all develop our own version of gnarled trees. It may be the result of hard economic times, poor health, addiction, broken relationships, death, or a myriad of calamities.

Sometimes an entire forest is decimated by a wildfire, and we see only smoldering remains of a previously lush, living landscape. The circle of life embraces us and gives us comfort even when we seem to be surrounded by charred ruins. After the healing power of time, shoots push through the soil, and fast growing trees and shrubs cover the blackened earth.

Part of the secret of letting go of the past is to acknowledge you can’t go back and change what has already happened. You don’t need to long for how your life was at one time, or regret how different your life could have been if you had made better choices. You can only move forward with confidence that the best days of your life are ahead of you, and the best one of all is today.

copyright (c) March 2010 L. S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com/

My Experience, Our Voice

Once again I made my annual pilgrimage to Washington, DC, and joined other advocates to bring our message to Capitol Hill. This year my friend, Cindy, and my granddaughter went with me. We went a few days early to visit the magnificent museums and monuments scattered throughout our capitol city.

Of all the sights in DC, the Vietnam Memorial touches me the most. About twenty years ago, Jim and I went to Washington, DC, on a business trip. Jim had seen the memorial on TV, and being a Vietnam veteran, it was at the top of his “must see” list. We walked hand-in-hand past the memorial that first time, tears streaming down our faces, overwhelmed at the sight of the Wall. The simple, yet majestic, glossy, black granite wall is inscribed with 58,261 names, each representing a life lost.

For the past ten years, I’ve made the trip to Washington, DC, without Jim, but I feel his presence with me, especially when I visit the Wall. Each time I touch its surface, the tears flow for all those lives lost, and for others destroyed by Vietnam—for the wounded in spirit as well as in body.

Vietnam was a burden that rested heavy on Jim’s soul. He struggled with depression verging on despair. Still, he found solace and healing through his musical talent. The most unfortunate symptom of Jim’s dementia was when his smooth singing voice was silenced. I became an Alzheimer’s advocate and his voice by proxy.

A record number of advocates attended the Alzheimer’s Action Summit this year. An alarming number of those with the disease have younger onset. It may be that younger people are more motivated to take on the insurmountable challenges of a disease that many of them never imagined would affect them.

Each of us comes to Washington, DC, from different backgrounds with different stories, or experiences. We came with "One Voice" and a focused approach to bring Alzheimer’s out of the shadows and into the light—hopefully, the spotlight. While mortality from stroke, HIV, heart disease, prostate and breast cancer has decreased in the period of time from 2000-2006, Alzheimer’s deaths have increased by 46.1%. What is the difference? We have focused on those diseases and funded research to find effective treatments.

Alzheimer’s funding in 2009 was $469 million, plus $77 million from the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act. This is far short of the billions spent each year on other major diseases. Without the investment in research, we will never have the payout of success.

Each of us can make a difference by becoming an advocate. If you weren’t able to make it to the Summit, you can still add your voice to the more than 600 advocates who stormed Capitol Hill with the Alzheimer’s message. Pick up the phone and call, or email your legislators, to ask them to support and co-sponsor:

· The Alzheimer’s Breakthrough Act (S. 1492, H.R. 3286). Alzheimer’s research would become a priority of the National Institutes of Aging and funding established at $2 billion. It would also include a study of the unique problems facing those with younger-onset dementia.

· Alzheimer’s Detection, Diagnosis, Care, and Planning Act will help expedite diagnosis and bundle services to ensure care planning to maintain quality of life. It is estimated that currently less than half of the people with dementia have been diagnosed.

· The National Alzheimer’s Project Act (S. 3036, H.R. 4689) would create a National Alzheimer’s Disease Plan. Currently 5.3 million Americans have Alzheimer’s and without a cure as many as 16 million will have the disease by mid-century.

Alzheimer’s is an expensive disease. Medicare costs are six times higher for a person with Alzheimer’s, Medicaid is a staggering nine times higher, and private insurance costs are 26% more. The monetary cost doesn’t even come close to the emotional toll this disease takes on the entire family when a beloved relative develops dementia. Share your experiences so that our voices will be heard.

copyright (c) 2010 L. S. Fisher
http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

We Shall Overcome

Tonight at the Alzheimer’s Action Summit Candlelight Vigil more than six hundred voices sang “We Shall Overcome.” Accompanied by an acoustic guitar and with candles held high, the sheer grit and determination of the advocates makes overcoming Alzheimer’s seem more a palpable possibility that just a lofty goal.

Steve spoke of living with Alzheimer’s. How we need to use our voices to deliver a firm message that Alzheimer’s is the seventh leading cause of death. It is time to stop accepting crumbs that fall from the table. The time of polite asking has come to an end.

David Hyde Pierce motivated us to make our VOICE heard at the Capitol, the White House, and across the nation. Those of us at the Candlelight Rally were joined by more than 10,000 virtual candles.

This is the tenth time I’ve lit my candle at the vigil. Something seemed different this time. Maybe it’s something as subtle as the name change from Public Policy Forum to Action Summit. Maybe it’s because we didn’t just have a vigil, we experienced a rally. Whatever the difference, the determination and spirit of this group makes me think we really shall overcome.

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.