My Old/New Work Shirt

 

Although my calendar has gained in busyness, some days I know I’m never leaving the house. On those days, I like to wear something comfortable, sleeveless, with a scoop or V-neck. I cannot stand to work in a T-shirt with a high neckline and sleeves that come to my elbows.

 

I was looking through my closet this morning and selected two different T-shirts. I pulled one on and was instantly hot, although our air conditioner was set on Arctic blast. I discarded the second T-shirt for the same reason. About that time, my eyes landed on a Smithton Tigers shirt. Both of my Tiger grandkids have been out of school for several years, and I saw no reason that I’d ever be wearing that shirt to a game.

 

I grabbed the scissors and went to work. First, I cut the neckline to a larger size and then shortened the sleeves for good measure. With the snip of my scissors, I had a “new” work shirt.

 

Jim used to cut the sleeves out of perfectly good shirts. To get the shirts to fit his trim body, he needed a small shirt, but it would be uncomfortably tight around his broad shoulders. Also, I think he rather liked to show off his muscles.

 

As Jim’s dementia progressed, we had to change his apparel. Yes, I attempted to button up his 501 Levis, but that wasn’t successful. Eventually, he wore sweatpants, stretchy shorts, T-shirts, and shoes fastened with Velcro. Fashion went by the wayside, but he had a good collection of Kansas City Chiefs and NASCAR T-shirts.

 

Our choices of clothing change with age and physical circumstances. I’m all for soft, comfy clothes because of my arthritis. Sometimes the simple pressure of jeggings can increase the pain in my knees. I’d much rather wear my Halloween or Christmas leggings because they are the softest leggings I have. Some people think that every day is a holiday for retired people. Well, that’s not true at all, but judging by my clothing choices, someone might believe that to be true.

 

My shopping habits have certainly changed. Over the last year and a-half, the only article of clothing I purchased was a pair of sweatpants. I have enough clothing in my closet to clothe a small nation.

 

I tried to donate a large sack of clothing just to find out none of the thrift stores were taking donations. I came home and rather than put the bag back in the closet, I threw it in the trash. That goes against my grain, but since I had decided to donate, I either didn’t want the clothing or never wore them.

 

Now, I’m eyeing my other shirts to decide how to repurpose them. The ultimate plan was to make a quilt out of my Alzheimer’s T-shirts. I’m not sure when that will happen, if it ever does. I have discovered that a few snips of my scissors can create a comfortable shirt for work or leisure. I vote for leisure.

 

Copyright © June 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Stretching My Brain

During last week’s jam session, my brother asked me to sing and to play a song on my ukulele without looking at the music. “You’ve played this song enough times that you shouldn’t have to look at your Kindle.”

I’m sure I had that deer in the headlights look since I knew I was going to flunk this pop quiz. We have the lyrics with chord changes on our electronic devices so that we all are “on the same page” literally. I never thought to mention that when we play at the nursing homes, Jimmy always tells me to concentrate on singing and to put my ukulele aside so I’m not distracted.

 

I’m sure learning to play my songs without the “cheat” sheet would be a good way to stretch my brain. I’m beginning to think that my brain is suffering from a lack of use.

 

A few days ago, I found the applesauce in the bathroom. “Is there a reason you put the applesauce in the bathroom?” I asked my husband.

 

“I didn’t put it there,” Harold replied.

 

“I was afraid you hadn’t,” I said. “Maybe the dog did it.” Talk about clutching at straws.

 

Today, Harold was cooking hamburger and asked me to put out some pita bread to thaw and get the taco seasoning. I handed him the taco seasoning and went back to what I was doing.

 

“Did you put the pita bread out?” he asked.

 

This rang a bell with me. Oh, my. I learned not to ask Jim to do more than one thing at a time because if I asked him to do two things, he only remembered the second one.

 

It’s frustrating to forget what I went into a room to do, but fortunately, not necessarily a symptom of Alzheimer’s. Could I blame it on normal aging? 

With my arthritic knees, I’ve learned to wait a few beats before I give up on the reason behind going into another room. It is better to stop and think than to painfully, slowly retrace my steps. But, then again, it may be the “while I’m here” distraction that makes me forget the reason why I’m there in the first place.

 

After a year of inactivity, I’m still not operating at full speed. My calendar has entries for meetings, Zoom calls, and appointments. I’m using all my brain power to try to remember when and where I’m supposed to be.

 

I definitely need to stretch my brain because if I don’t use it I may lose it. Throughout the week between one jam session and another, I occasionally picked up my uke and worked on that song my brother thought I could play without looking.

 

At our jam session this week, I only missed one chord change and knew it immediately. I stopped and said, “I missed that change.”

 

“You are supposed to keep on playing and singing. Most people will never notice the mistake,” my brother said.

 

Yes, I need to keep on going. As long as I realize that I’ve made a mistake, I’ll consider that’s a good sign. I’ve been stretching my brain to try to figure out how the applesauce ended up in the bathroom. One thing I know for sure—the dog didn’t do it.

 

Copyright © June 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

 

Life on the Front Porch

Our Oregon, Idaho, Montana family visited us for the past two weeks and stayed at the house that Jim and I built. While my nieces and sister-in-law JoAnn were here from out west, my nephews arranged a memorial service for my sister-in-law Dinah who passed away on Christmas Day. After the memorial, we held a cousin’s reunion at the park with a big family gathering and tables groaning from the food. In addition, we had several impromptu reunions as various family members came to visit them at the house.

We spent a lot of time on the front porch. Part of the time was visiting, and some of the time was playing music and singing. I jammed with my brother-in-law Terry and my nephew Larry. Ginger, JoAnn, and my nieces joined in the singing. It was a laid-back country style way to spend our evenings. Gathering on the front porch was like stepping into the past. We used to spend a lot of time outside in the evenings when the cooler evening breeze replaced the heat of the day.

 

Jim and I both came from musical families who often played on the front porch or out in the yard. The activities made it feel as if Jim were a mere blink away. It was a balm to my soul to see the house and yard filled with family. What was at one time an every weekend occurrence had been missing for the past fifteen years.

 

While we sat on the front porch, I recalled a few of the stories about Jim when dementia brought about memory failure. I talked about the day I was wrapping a baby shower gift because we were going to Eric’s house for a shower. Jim, as usual, got tired of waiting on me to come outside.

 

I walked outside, gift in hand, to realize the truck was gone, and so was Jim. Ginger was mowing grass and had moved Jim’s truck out of the way, and had left the keys in it so she park it in the normal spot. She was mowing with her back to the truck so she never saw, or heard, Jim leave.

 

Since Jim knew we were going to Eric’s, I figured that was where he was headed. Sure enough, he made the drive without incident. He apparently forgot he no longer had a driver’s license and forgot that I was going too.

 

We laughed about the time Ginger took Jim to the State Fair in his truck. She had to pause to pay for the drinks Jim snagged from the barrels of ice outside vendor booths. After the evening concert, they climbed into the truck, and Ginger couldn’t figure out how to turn on the headlights. After Jim had a good laugh at her expense, he finally reached over and turned on the lights.

 

Jim was seldom seen without his video camera perched on his shoulder, tape rolling as he videotaped special occasions and everyday life. My nieces enjoyed watching the old home videos. One of the tapes showed their entire family at Christmas time. One thing about watching old videos, you may have no recollection of the events unfolding on the screen. When you think of how many fleeting moments that make up the days, months, and years of our lives, it is no wonder that only a few of them remain in your brain vault.

 

Each night when I left the nursing home, I recorded how things were going with Jim and others that I interacted with—residents, staff, and other visitors. When I transcribed the tapes after Jim passed away, I was surprised at how little I remembered. It was almost as if it was someone else’s story.

 

When you spend time on the porch with family, you find time to share memories. Some of the memories we shared were painful, but sharing sad times lessened the burdens on our hearts. Many of the memories we shared brought laughter and joy.

 

I feel blessed to have been born into, and later married into, a large family. The heart connections traverse miles and time. We do have to remember that physical distance should never be a barrier to communication with our beloved family members. We hold dearest those times when we meet in person so that we can hug, laugh, and cry together.

 

Copyright © June 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

 

When it Rains, it Pours

 

I like rain, especially a cooling shower on a hot summer day. I don’t like downpours for days on end in springtime.

Springtime downpours create an entire set of troubles. When rain is combined with a driving wind it leads to double-trouble. The saturated ground caused a leak in the basement that has to be corrected through moving dirt and creating additional slope. We have a contract for the work, but we need nine consecutive dry days. That hasn’t happened for the past two months.

 

Then there’s the grass. The ground has been too soggy to mow and the rain brings about super-growth. When the ground dried out, Harold’s diesel mower quit. It’s been in the shop for several weeks. My mower won’t mow tall grass, but I managed to etch  out an area in front of the house.  When I decided to mow again, my mower died each  time I engaged the deck. Well, that’s not helpful for mowing.

 

The gloomy weather is disheartening. It makes me understand why people with dementia “sundown.” Sundowning usually happens in the evening, but with the grey skies and darkness during the day, I would imagine the behaviors are multiplied. Sundowning causes mood swings, anxiety, sadness, restlessness, panic, increased confusion, and other problems. As all caregivers are aware, each person with Alzheimer’s disease is different. Worse yet, each day is different.

 

The weather makes me moody and depressed. My arthritis acts up during rainy weather. My aching body makes me cranky. I’m not physically able to finish all the work required to maintain a big house and huge yard, especially when things go wrong.

 

I’ve turned into a handy-woman at times. I fixed my mower, stopped the leak from the heat pump (ok, so I cleaned and changed the filter), stopped the running toilet, and built a dam of old towels to contain the water coming into our basement to contain the mess.

 

Now, if the rain will stop long enough we can get our dirt work done. Hopefully, it can dry out enough to get the crops in the field.

 

On the bright side, I haven’t had to water my flower garden for a month. We finally got 90% of the lawn mowed. It isn’t pretty since the grass grew to epic heights. If we get the mower back from the shop, we can make it look better until we can mow it on a regular basis during the drought that’s bound to hit this summer.

 

In the meantime, we have company coming from Oregon, so the next two weeks will be a different kind of busy. Maybe we can order up some sunshine and an occasional gentle rain shower.

 

Copyright © May 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Alzheimer’s Impact Movement (AIM) Advocacy Forum 2021

 

The AIM Forum started on a Monday morning with a Zoom meeting with Congresswoman Hartzler’s office. I don’t know why, but it made me nervous to know I would be leading the first meeting that morning, on Zoom, no less.

 

When we go to Capitol Hill for the AIM Advocacy Forum, I usually get to ease into the meeting with the Congresswoman. First, we have training and role-playing. When we go to the Hill we usually meet with the senators first and their ambassador leads the meeting.

 

The night before the meeting, I reviewed our federal priorities:

1. Comprehensive Care for Alzheimer’s Act (CCAA) | H.R.2517 • S.1125
2. Equity in Neuroscience and Alzheimer’s Clinical Trials (ENACT) Act | H.R.3085 • S.1548
3. Appropriations - $289 million increase for Alzheimer’s research at NIH, and $20 million to fund BOLD.
4. Alzheimer’s Caregiver Support Act (ACSA) | H.R.1474 • S.56

I read through the fact sheets and thought about which of my experiences could relate to the different pieces of legislations. When we are in DC, AIM emphasizes the most important aspects of being an Alzheimer’s advocate: (1) Tell your story, (2) Remember to make the ask, and (3) wear comfortable shoes.

 

Along with the participation of other advocates, the meeting with the legislative aide for Congresswoman Hartzler went smoothly.

 

The remainder of the Forum included Zoom calls with both of our senators, a Webinar, and a Congressional Hearing on Alzheimer’s.

 

The week passed by quickly, but I had to be on alert so that I wouldn’t miss anything. For some reason all my invites were an hour early, which I guess is certainly better than being an hour late. I accidentally dropped in on another meeting before I realized the time was incorrect on my invites.

 

Zoom meetings are good and bad. I didn’t have to spend days trying to decide what to pack. I didn’t have the hassle of planes, taxis, hotels, and transportation to and from the airport. On the down side, I really missed hanging out with my friends, especially Sarah, Kathy, and Jane.  

 

Advocates know how important it is to advocate for families affected by Alzheimer’s disease. The Alzheimer’s Impact Movement has been a game changer for how we communicate with our legislators. They give us the correct tools to make our voices heard on Capitol Hill.

 

I was pleased to do my part. I was able to tell my story. I remembered the “ask.” Throughout the virtual forum, I always wore my comfortable shoes.

 

Copyright © May 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

I’m in a Hurry and I Don’t Know Why

 

My sister-in-law Dinah used to say, “The hurriered I go, the behinder I get.” I often think of this quote. I’m always in a hurry to check off the items on my to-do list. I’m in such a hurry that (as scary as it is) the to-do list doesn’t always make it to paper.

 

My volunteer life has kicked back in full force. Unfortunately, the yard didn’t get that memo so we’ve been mowing a few days after each shower when the lawn is dry enough. At first, my mower needed a new battery, then Harold’s mower broke down.

 

After a hot, sweaty time outdoors, I went to check on my flowerbed at the front of the house. I walked around to the garage and both doors were down. I really didn’t think Harold would lock me out on purpose just to prove that I shouldn’t go outside without my cell phone as he constantly nags me to do.

 

I went around to the front door. The doorbell should get his attention, but the doorbell has been broken for quite some time. I knocked knowing that he couldn’t hear me, but the dog would. Sure enough, she got her “company coming” bark going and eventually Harold came to unlock the door. What nerve. He chewed me out for being locked out without my phone.

 

After several days of clicking items off my calendar—Thursday happened. First, a Zoom meeting with our Walk to End Alzheimer’s committee. Check. After a half-hour, I had to leave that call for a conference call with my Alzheimer’s advocacy group. During the call, I mentioned the futility of trying to contact my congresswoman for a district meeting before the Advocacy Forum. Jerry told me he had a contact and would try to set up a meeting. Check.

 

As soon as I ended that call, I drove to town for a visitation for a neighbor. Outside the funeral home several veterans solemnly held American flags. I wasn’t sure I was going to stay for the funeral until I looked at the program and saw the song choices. I knew this wasn’t going to be an ordinary funeral when I saw the songs were “House of the Rising Sun” by the Animals and “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong.

 

Gene was a Vietnam veteran with two Purple Hearts and a Bronze Star. He also enjoyed Mountain Man re-enactments and working on a forge. He was dressed in his mountain man clothes and several of his friends showed up in their outfits. A few of his friends shared amusing stories and fond memories of Gene. One recited a Native American prayer. At the end of the service, the veterans filed down the aisle and saluted. It was a touching, unique, and personal send off.

 

After the funeral, I returned home. My husband told me he couldn’t get hold of anyone at the congresswoman’s office. Foolish me, I thought he was trying to get in touch with her office for me. Instead, he was calling about another matter. While we ate a sandwich, his cell rang and I saw the number of her office. He chatted with Steve about his issue and I motion frantically for him to not hang up. Harold handed the phone to me and I told Steve who I was. “I just talked to Jerry,” he said. I proceeded to go over the Alzheimer’s Association federal priorities with him. Another task finished.

 

After walking the dog, I headed off to my businesswomen’s club meeting. On the drive home, I breathed a sigh of relief that I had made it through the hectic day.

 

After a year’s lockdown, I wanted life to return to normal, but maybe just a little more laidback. After all the funerals and memorials I’ve attended lately, it makes me realize how precious life is and how being in a hurry to get things done can interfere with life’s little pleasures.

 

My mental checklist needs one more item: relax. I need to take time to smell the flowers, pet the dog, play my uke, and visit with family. I need to slow down. Hurrying through life is way too tiresome.

 

Copyright © May 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

A Secret Chord

 

April 18 rolled around just as it did every year, and like every other year, I faced the anniversary of Jim’s death. He left this world sixteen years ago.

 

I called up my sister–in-law Ginger and asked if she wanted to go to the cemetery with me. This year I delayed my visit to the Missouri Veterans Cemetery by one day to accept a check from John Knox Village East for the Walk to End Alzheimer’s.

 

After the photo, I went by the Pigeon’s Nest Floral Shop to pick up a basket of flowers to leave in front of the columbarium. Ginger held the flowers in her lap during the short trip to the cemetery.

 

I always feel a closeness to Jim when I visit the cemetery. The pond makes me think of how he loved to fish. He was happiest with a pole or a guitar in his hands.

 

The day was windy and the half-mast flags were flapping in the breeze making a lonesome sound. The wind rustled through the trees and the weeping willow swayed and wept.

 

When I shut my eyes and listened with my heart, I could hear a secret chord. It told me that although we lose souls we love, we gain others. Though we go through dark times, or minor falls, we have the promise that we will be lifted up and embrace life again.

 

I look at minor falls as the everyday setbacks. How you deal with those setbacks will foreshadow how you deal with heartbreaking tragedy. If you  have been able to set your  everyday troubles aside and press forward, you develop life skills.

 

Being a caregiver was the most difficult and stressful part of my life. Each day was different, and what worked one day wouldn’t necessarily work the next. Interspersed through the sadness were moments of joy.

 

Each of us has a secret chord. A few notes of a special song can lift us up and mentally set us down inside a memory. The memory may bring comfort, happiness, or sorrow. In time the chords that once brought tears to our eyes, may bring a reflective smile, and eventually a real smile of joy as we remember the good times.

 

In the cemetery, the secret chords of a love song that Jim sang especially for me traversed through my mind and soul. That song brought peace, joy, and thanks to my heart.

 

I am thankful that Jim taught me how to love, how to persevere, and how to turn pain into strength. He taught me how to hear the secret chord.   

 

Copyright © April 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

 

Ambiguous Grief, Ambiguous Hope

 

Alzheimer’s caregivers know ambiguous grief even if they don’t know exactly what the term means. When a loved one has dementia, we grieve for the losses the disease brings although the person is still living. Our loved one is still alive, but we mourn the person he or she was.

 

Ambiguous grief occurs when we have a loss without closure. During Covid-19, countless people worldwide lost loved ones and had no closure. Our loved ones were in nursing homes and we couldn’t visit. Family members and friends died in hospitals and we couldn’t hold a hand and provide a comforting presence.

 

I don’t know if I could have handled not getting to see Jim when he was in a nursing home. I’m so glad that I was not in that situation. I could say that I would have brought him home if at all possible. But would I have? It’s hard to judge what you would do in a situation when you didn’t have to live it. Probably the most judgmental sentence in the human language is, “Well if it happened to me, I would have …”

 

Loved ones died and services were delayed, or maybe we didn’t feel comfortable going to funerals and had to watch them online. There was plenty of ambiguous grief to go around.

 

I always thought of ambiguous grief as having no defined beginning or ending. Last March my brother-in-law Larry passed away. After his services, we mingled, but not as much as we normally would have. We were beginning to hear warnings about a pandemic. “Well, if it doesn’t happen,” I told my son, “at least this will be good practice for us.”

 

I had no clue what the next  thirteen  months would bring. Our family had loss after loss without normal closure. I made video tributes for family and friends, to find a small amount of closure for myself. I cried alone, but in some measure felt I was reaching out to others whose hearts hurt too.

 

After receiving the vaccination, my life is slowly moving toward hope. My calendar, although a fraction of pre-covid bookings, scares me. I look at it and think to myself that I’m not going to be able to do everything.

 

This hope has no defined beginning. Even after I had the immunization, I am psychologically in shutdown mode. I don’t have the enthusiasm or energy to return to all of my normal activities.

 

Ambiguous hope; cautious hope, but hope just the same. I’ll take it.  

 

Copyright © April 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

Defining Moments

 

I read a book one time where the author said she knew her mother had Alzheimer’s the day she killed the cats. Sometimes, it takes that bizarre moment before we admit that our loved one is more than a little forgetful, or has become eccentric.

The younger the person with dementia, the harder it is to get a diagnosis. After that defining moment, the people closest to them will notice a bevy of behavior and reasoning changes.

 

Jim’s defining moment was the day he forgot his social security number, which was in itself alarming. He was in the service when the Army switched from serial numbers to social security numbers. I knew his social security number, so the day he forgot, I supplied it. The next question was “what is your birth date.” After a pause, Jim’s reply was, “I guess I can’t remember that either.” Ding, ding, ding—alarm bells rang inside my head and in my heart. I knew something had gone wrong in Jim’s brain.

 

Jim was forty-nine years old. Initially, the doctor thought he had a reversible condition. We had all the tests he could possibly have done and chased several different diagnoses. In time, there were other moments: he tore things apart, but couldn’t put them back together; he forgot how to read and write; he mowed the grass and never lowered the blade; he asked me to tune his guitar, then, he forgot the hundreds of songs he knew, or if he knew them, he couldn’t verbalize the words.

 

Jim became more and more silent throughout the disease. He forgot how to tell his corny jokes, his tall tales, and how to carry on a conversation. It was loss after loss.  

 

When I was a caregiver, I had choices. I could be weak, or I could be strong. I could walk away, or stay. I could be uncaring, or be kind.

 

You, too, have many choices as a caregiver. You need to choose carefully and know what feels right, or what will haunt you. You will have many defining moments.

 

Hopefully, you will make the right choices. If you do, you must remember the rule of oxygen. If you have ever flown, you are given some solid advice if the plane loses pressure and an oxygen mask falls in front of you: if the person with you needs assistance, put on your mask first and then theirs.

 

The biggest choice you have to make as a caregiver: ignore your mental and physical health, or take care of yourself. You are of no use to a loved one who desperately needs you if you deprive yourself of oxygen. So, take a deep breath and move forward one day at a time.

 

Copyright © April 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ

New Life

After a deluge of cold rain, we had a warm, sunny day. When I looked out my window, I saw the grass turning green. When I walked the dog, I heard birds chirping, geese honking, and squirrels barking. I saw irises popping out of the ground and tall grass surrounding the solar lights that line the sidewalk. Weeds and wildflowers were taking over my flowerbed. At night, I heard the occasional owl hooting, the peeping of tree frogs, a chaotic drone of various insects, and coyotes howling.

Animals that had been dormant for several months made their presence known. An adventurous blacksnake slithered across the road. After a long winter with a record-breaking cold snap, life awakened and surrounded me with its presence.

 

I, too, have been dormant for the past year. I’ve stayed at home so much that it’s an adventure to drive to town to check the mail at the post office. I have been getting several months to a gallon of gas.

 

Since Christmas, I’ve been working on getting my office back in order. I’ve pause to go through some of the old photos. I often smiled at the younger versions of “us.” Some photos brought back poignant memories that bring tears to my eyes.

 

As if my thousands of photos weren’t enough to deal with, we found two big boxes of Ream family photos. I worked for a full day just trying to bring some order to the jumble of photos. I learned quickly that an only child has about a hundred times more photos taken than when you have five brothers and two sisters.    

 

Life has begun to gradually change. My mom spent a few days with us and some of my family dropped by to visit. The next day, we had more company. As we sat around drinking coffee and telling stories about old times, it was almost as if the pandemic was just one of those long nightmares and we were slowly awakening from it.

 

Oddly, I was handling the alone time quite well until I had company twice in one week. Then, the house seemed too quiet, and I felt an empty place in the pit of my stomach.  

 

My tasks multiplied as I tried to catch up with my volunteer work. I’ve spent hours working on the SBW website and trying to complete a project for the past president that should have been finished nine months ago.

 

I’ve had two conference calls, and a Zoom meeting within the last two weeks—for three different groups. Funny how Zoom has become a part of the new normal.

 

The Zoom meeting was our first Walk to End Alzheimer’s meeting. Yeah, I’d like to meet people face-to-face, but there’s something to be said about being comfy at home and still get the business done.

 

I’m wondering how I’m going to fit my volunteer work into my schedule. I have so much to do that the hours just fly by. It seems that I have a full time job without a lunch hour, breaks, or regular working hours. It is not unusual for me to look at the clock and realize it’s nearly midnight and I haven’t done anything to relax.

 

I recently heard a speaker who said that to deal with stress, especially during the pandemic, we all need a creative outlet. No matter what time of day (or night) I have a break, I pick up my ukulele and randomly strum chords, or run through a few songs. Either way, ten minutes of singing or playing my uke will bring my stress to a manageable level.    

 

Copyright © March 2021 by L.S. Fisher

http://earlyonset.blogspot.com

#ENDALZ