SEE JANE LEARN


There is hope. Hope for continuing the web log. After I groused the other evening about my inability to communicate with the outside world, Tim whose feelings were hurt by my griping, brought me to the computer room at the Manor and I learned the simplicity of continuing on. 


I'm not ready to write an entry today........but wait! I'm going to send you my entry for the next newsletter. There was talk of replacing me as co-editor and that spurred me into action.


Here is what is going in to the August newsletter. Anne Van Trigt's entry has yet to be put in (by the co-editor)

"If our lives are dominated by a search for happiness, then perhaps few activities reveal as much about the dynamics of this quest...........in all its ardour and paradoxes......than our travels. They express, however inarticulately, an understanding of what life might be about outside of the constraints of work and of the struggle for survival. Yet rarely are they considered to present philosophical problems.......dated on advice on where to travel to, but we hear little of why and how we should go, even though the art of travel seems naturally to sustain a number of questions neither so simple nor so trivial, and of what the Greek philosophers beautifully termed eudaionia,  'human flourishing.'

            from  "The Art of Travel" by Alain de Botton

When I hear the word, “August”, I think of vacations which of course is left over from my years of mothering growing chilldren.. August was the month that we locked up our bookshop and pretended to be a normal family of the 1960s when most mothers wore aprons and were readily available all day long.

Some years we ferried to Catalina Island where we langished in a rented cottage for a week; other years we could be found on a road trip........less relaxed as our three offfspring tended to squabble over which kid was privileged to sit in the middle seat.

As the years went by, Mr. Bob and I found ourselves in more exotic places but always with the necessity of getting back home to resume shopkeeping.

One of my fantasies regarding the move to Windsor, involved my stepping to the counter and telling Sandy or Sue that we were going away and would return in six months. Alas, that dream never materialized, but I have

a wealth of memories from the trips we did take;

In Germany when from our hotel, we walked through fields of grain to get to a small village, landing in their beer garden which looked for all the world like a movie set, so artistically arranged it was.

Learning about the rich, traditional music of the lower Mississippi River on an Elderhostel barge trip.

The train trip where during the night, the partition in our bedroom car vibrated open and suddenly we had not only twice the room, but an unfamiliar roommate who was not the least bit amused.

In one of the northern-most states, marveling at the wheel ruts, still visible, from the Conestoga wagons of long ago.

The early morning ascent of colorful hot air balloons during the festival in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Mr. Bob saying, upon our return from a three week motorhome trip to Maine and back again, “I’m not going anywhere with that kid until his voice changes”.( referring to Tim, the nice man who visits me several times a week). Fifteen years later our family was together on a hellish vacation in Hawaii and Mr. Bob came to me and whispered, “His voice hasn’t changed yet.”

And now, from a few of our residents:

I’ve traveled all over the world and all of the trips have been super except for the time the airline lost my luggage.

                          Jeanne Naumann

          ••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It took three attempts before I fulfilled my desire to visit Egypt. The first two times my plans were cancelled because people were shooting each other in that country.

                             Simone

            •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A vacation was about the last thing in my mind a few months ago. With great friends, food and fellowship right here at Windsor, why would a person  vacate?

One evening a deep voice on my answering machine greeted me with: “Hello, Shirley, this is Will Adams from Liberty, MO after 65 years!” Will and I had dated a bit when I was a kid in junior high. Bill, a mutual friend, was planning a 65th and final reunion of their class of 1947. Will was going and wanted me to go, too.

A month later Will and I met in the home of Bill and his wife. Will and I had both shrunk; he was down to 6’4”.

All of us at the reunion enjoyed the tasty food; then we gathered around Will at the piano. No one had the music for the school song, so we sang some patriotic numbers. After picture taking, we disbursed to our cars.

During the following 3 days, Will and I revisited the old familiar haunts. We went to the location where our old school had been and then to the new school that replaced it. During his teens Will and his brother had put out a small newspaper with articles that revealed how local children felt about current events during those World War II years. We met with the principal and the librarian of the library. Both were thrilled to receive copies of the old newspapers for their archives.

Will stopped at the house where he had lived and was invited in to meet the residents and share information about former owners. He took a picture of me in front of my childhood home. The church next door had been rebuilt and enlarged. In true Philadelphia style, one breakfast menu included scrapple.

I stopped at the Wayne Hotel where my mother had been in charge of the dining room and kitchen during the ‘40s. It had been remodeled and upgraded to a posh, upscale hotel and is now on the National Registry of Historic Buildings. The community of Wayne had been updated to include restaurants, shops and galleries.

We were up early on the fourth morning and whisked to the airport for our flight to Kansas City. Will made a great traveling companion. His height meant we were directed to a wide, open row of seats.

Will’s home, in Liberty, was built in the 1850s. He gave me a tour, offering me any of the available bedrooms. I chose a single with a pull-down queen bed on the lower level. It was a man’s house........8 TVs, 3 computers, even an elevator!

One day we saw the Truman Library and on another we visited the only museum in the world dedicated entirely to the first World War. The last museum we visited was in a 19th century ship dredged up from many feet of mud as the Missouri River changed course through the centuries.The displays were most interesting.

My somewhat whirlwind vacation, with all of its fun and memories, came to an end as I flew to Minneapolis, then Burbank and returned to the warmth of the Windsor family home.

                                         - Shirley Lawson

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

ANNE VAN TRIGT’S CONTRIBUTION

                •••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hopefully your interest in travel has been stimulated enough to dip into an interesting book on the subject. Among the titles offered by our very own Windsor library:

UNDER THE TUSCAN SUN FRANCES MAYES

BELLA TUSCANY FRANCES MAYES

NOTES FROM A SMALL ISLAND BILL BRYSON

TOUJOURS PROVENCE PETER MAYLE

EAT, PRAY & LOVE ELIZABETH GLIBERT

RIDING THE IRON ROOSTER PAUL THEROUX

PASSAGE TO ARARAT MICHAEL ARLEN

TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE AUDREY

                NIFFENEGGER

TRIVIALITIES

I've never felt at quite such a loss of what to write about. The last six months have produced stories, to be sure, but not of the sort that beg to be told. Bits will come out here and there, I suppose, as I become accustomed to blogging again. It seems to me that for the most part, I just lay abed sleeping and during my waking moments I had no inclination to think deep thoughts or to ponder weighty matters. It seems a shame to have wasted all that time. 

I never saw the famed white light, but for days on end I was very aware that it was taking some effort to stay on this side of the veil. Breathe in, breathe out,.......my mouth was so dry. Mr. Bob was too ill to visit very often, but the kids took turns sitting all night by my bedside, while the other tended Mr. Bob. Chris' blog piece entitled 5:55 A.M. is such a treasure. If you missed it, please go back a few entries. If you read it, it wouldn't hurt to visit it again. It's short, it's heartfelt and sums up our experience as well as anything and Susan's entries are beautifully done, too.

The lady in this photo, wearing dark glasses, was brought  to the room across the hall last night, fresh from the hospital. She's a bright lady, retired from a career with Channel 7. Independent is her middle name; she's experiencing what is known as post polio syndrome and didn't much like it when she had to move from Independent Living to Assisted Living, mostly because it meant retraining nurses to her way of coping within her living quarters. She is completely blind, but had organized her space brilliantly.

As one goes down the hall where my room is located, it's lined with residents. Susan refers to them as "hall people" and prefers that I not be parked in that position. Some have dozed off. I saw a man yesterday with his electric razor pressed to his chin in one spot. He was enjoying a nap. I try to greet each person by name and with a smile as I go past. Most of them respond. A few don't. I was struck the other day by how in old age some of us have bodies that are twisted and not at all what they used to be.....in my case, the right knee cap faces the left leg.

Next time perhaps I'll share some of my hallucinations with you.

SANS PHOTOS


I told you I'd forgotten how to blog. With a lot of trial and error I've managed to scratch out a few sentences in the last two entries. However, downloading photos is really beyond me. If memory serves me, and so often these days it doesn't, I need a different cable to plug into the camera and I don't think it's in my possession in the Skilled Nursing room. Heaven only knows where it is.....my life is in such a jumble right now. 


I've not been especially good about documenting my experience the past few months, so some stories will need your imagination in place of photographs..


After Mr. Bob departed and I realized I'd need to downsize tremendously I told the kids to give away EVERYTHING. The Manor had a sale coming up and most of our belongings could be donated to that cause.
I stressed that the whole lot could be given away, saving a few clothes for my back.


Some time later I was having my hair shampooed in the beauty salon and the hairdresser asked if I had been to the recent Manor sale. I had been bedridden at the time, so my answer was negative. She proceeded to describe the red sweater she'd bought and the more she talked the wider my eyes opened as I recognized it as a recently purchased, favorite sweater of mine. I said nothing at the time, but two weeks later when I returned for beautification, I told her the story which I considered mildly amusing and she insisted on giving the sweater back to me and wouldn't hear of me purchasing it. Now if only I could regain the red pants that somehow have gotten lost in the laundry which is collected each evening, and usually returned the following morning. I should be watching the residents with an eye for the red pants and while I'm at it, a brown pair, too. Meanwhile I'm giving thanks for the return of the red sweater.

QUARANTINED

THE PLAN has been for me to move to what is known as "Assisted Living" when my 100 Medicare days are used up in the Skilled Nursing area. It's an itty-bitty room, presumably all that's needed in one's latter years. True enough, I suppose, but 'twill be a challenge to change my collecting ways. I'm trying to remember how I longed for a gypsy wagon. This could be an answer to that prayer, lacking the wheels.

The day after my Medicare help expired for this particular illness, I went to a dermatologist who diagnosed my itchy rash as a case of the scabies. Thus the quarantine. No more tootling around the Manor halls, calling in at the library or the tea room. It's a form of being grounded or put into what my mother used to refer to as "the scold chair".

Anyone who steps into the room must first don a silly looking yellow gown and pull on gloves. It doesn't much make people want to visit.

Another week must pass before I find out if I can move forward.

Meanwhile, Tim has been helping get Room 30 in order. There are still pictures to be hung. Unless I get rid of some, they will go from floor to ceiling, too much of a muchness. The shop letters have been installed on what I think might be called a soffit, the borrowed hospital bed has been replaced with a Tempur-pedic twin bed and I'm just itching to get in there. 

Literally.

LET'S SHOP!

IF YOU PLAN CAREFULLY, you don't have to leave the Manor to go shopping. The Manor store is open 2 mornings a week, Tuesdays and Saturdays from 9:30 until 11. The stock is interesting and understandably geared to the geriatric set. I'm much more drawn to the snacks in the lower right than in the assortment of incontinence products at the upper left. I've taken advantage of the instant coffee and peanut butter and am a big consumer of Kleenex products. 

 Martha and Irene were volunteering the day we used our camera. 35 years ago we met Martha on a European cruise arranged by our church, so she's known Tim from the time he was 14 and now enjoys seeing him when he visits at age 49.

They have an efficient system, whereby one writes up the purchases and the other takes the money and bags the items. 

 The selection of cards is good and amazingly reasonable in price. When I started my retail career, greeting cards averaged 25¢ and 35¢ in price and nowadays $2.99 isn't shocking to most folks. The Manor's cards are mostly $1 which makes it affordable to slip one under the door when a resident has a birthday, which is the custom here. Come to think of it, that's a good form of exercise, bending and retrieving on one day of the year.

 I think I cornered the market on one of their selections recently. The front showed a drawing of a cowboy holding a gun and the words "ANOTHER YEAR" and on the inside were the words, "SHOT TO HELL". It struck my funny bone and was good for men to boot.


"We know we're getting old when the only thing we want for our birthday is not to be reminded of it."  ~Author Unknown

THE FEAST

NEARLY EVERY MONTH a champagne brunch is offered at the Manor. Guests are invited.....people who might someday consider moving into this facility. I'm sure a lot of people come just to take advantage of one of the finest spreads in town with no intention whatsoever of becoming a resident in the future. We, ourselves, attended many times, ahead of making the move, but we knew this would be our future home. Nevertheless, I'm a little embarrassed now to think of how often we took advantage of it.

This is the only picture we took yesterday of it, but the presentation of the shrimp was impressive. The frozen marble slab is put on ice thus keeping the shrimp cold and fresh. Did you ever hear that when we buy shrimp we shouldn't even stop to talk to a neighbor on the way home to get the shellfish into an ice box?

I wish I could begin to list all the items on the menu, but I'll forget at least half of them. Bagels and lox, salads, fresh fruit platters (no tired fruit, ever, at the Manor) a waffle and omelet station, bacon, sausage, vegetables, potato pancakes with sour cream and applesauce, chicken marsala, lamb chops, a carving station for prime rib, the works! Champagne, Mimosas, sparkling cider, plus a groaning dessert table full of pastries.

What I love about it here, is that food is brought out in small batches and replenished often, thus providing utter freshness rather than the usual buffet fare which wilts as time goes on.

We eat too much and then wonder of wonders, report back in 4 hours for supper. It's a good life!

"Oh, my dear, it's a buffet. I have chicken a la king. I have cold turkey. I have hot rolls. I have cold ham. I have a big watermelon, all filled with fresh fruit.”

Perle Mesta

WINE AND CHEESE

IT'S BECOME A TRADITION since we moved in 3 years ago, but we weren't the initiators, I promise. On Friday afternoons from 3:30 until 4:15, the Tea Room is cleared of coffee, tea, ice water, juice, pastries and fruit. It becomes a wine bar where Tamara utilizes her skill as a waitress, remembering each resident's preference ahead of their being seated. She's remarkable.

So is Jack Frost, our resident President who brings his several 
harmonicas. No memory problems there as he pulls song after song from his memory bank, filling the air with music.

"D", seen in the background, is the first to admit that her recent memory plays tricks on her, but when music plays, it moves D's soul and she either breaks into dance or song and it's a moving thing to see or hear. She was an elementary school teacher and rightly felt that music was all-important for her students.

Yesterday, nachos appeared in place of cubes of cheese. Much as I like tradition, a variation once in a while is a welcome thing.

It's tricky to write about the Manor, for sometimes management peeks in and I'd be mortified if I were ever to be taken to task for my comments. I'm going to be brave and share with you that a couple of times at our monthly dinners, as the champagne was being poured, I've caught sight of the words "Alcohol removed". Other times, not. It's interesting to contemplate. 



I have my own good gauge for alcohol content. In my latter years, my cheeks have begun to flush after even half a glass of wine. No doubt about it......last night's libations were the real thing.

“Wine is constant proof that God loves us and loves to see us happy.”

Benjamin Franklin

PAYDAY

I KNOW I'VE MENTIONED BEFORE that the staff at the Manor are not allowed to accept tips. If, God forbid, a resident should insist on tipping a helper, I'm sure the person who lives here would be sharply reprimanded, but the employee would be fired on the spot. Or so I've been told and I don't plan to test it. The urge to tip is hard to resist when the services rendered are often way beyond the call of duty.


I think that's what attracted us about this place in the beginning..... it was obvious that staff members were sincere in their willingness to help and help they do......amazingly.............dropping whatever they're doing to assist a resident who they see carrying a package or juggling keys to unlock a gate or door. 


Our chance to express monetary appreciation comes in the fall of the year. It's much like being near the end of a long cruise when it's time to tip the crew members. Someone brilliant in mathematics is in charge of figuring out how much each employee receives based on seniority from the money that accumulates in the Employees' Appreciation Fund.


Santa comes on a designated day mid-December and the staff are called on alphabetically. One year I hope they'll consider calling names by number of years of working at the Manor. I sat next to someone in the payroll department and was treated to the benefit of annotation as she whispered such words as, "She's been here 25 years".


The worker approaches, shakes hands with our president, Jack Frost and turns to Santa who hands out the envelopes along with a dollar coin for good luck. The residents and other staffers applaud and it's a feel-good event for all concerned.

Maggie has been here 20 years. She works 2 jobs and is the mother of 6 children.

Sometimes it's Jack Frost who gets a hug.
Susie from the dining room is wise. 
Jack's here all year 'round.

Other times it's Santa. Cora takes care of prescription needs and takes good care of us.

Janice is an important nurse who worked here a long time, retired, then missed us enough to return to work.

Juan is one of the skilled cooks in the kitchen and one of two Juans on the staff.

I think this is Conrad. His look-alike brother works on the nursing staff, too, and their mother before them.

Carlos is in charge of the Maintenance and Housekeeping crews.

Verjik waits tables and is always jolly.

Daffodale brought her son, Wyatt, to the festivities.

All mothers are beautiful.
Wyatt is especially fortunate in that respect.

I call this "Waiting for Santa"
Taken in December, 2010

THE CHAIR

SOMETHING NEEDED TO BE DONE. After several x-rays and range of motion tests, it was determined that my shoulders had developed tendinitis. I know what caused it and I'd rather not talk about my weight this morning, thank you very much, but rising from a sitting position was wearing out my arms. When the offspring were all here it was decided that a recliner that also unseats one, would be in order. The trade has come up with the schmancy-fancy name of Luxury-Lift chairs. 

There's a part of me that abhors our living quarters beginning to look like an infirmary and that's exactly what's happening. Prescription bottles here, blood pressure cuff there, oximeter hiding somewhere, the new forehead thermometer at the ready (Mr. Bob took his temperature the other evening. I was more alarmed than he at the reading of 94.4.

It turned out that he'd not removed the cover from the sensor plate........another typical Humphrey blunder......but worthy of dropping into a web log entry.)

The idea of adding an orthopedic chair to our living room decor didn't particularly appeal to me, but the majority won and Susan, Chris and Bob drove to a La-Z-Boy showroom. Tim was working that day, but I would have valued his opinion. From there, they sent me pictures of possibilities and I yayed or nayed them. What was delivered in a few days wasn't at all what I was anticipating and it took me some time to figure out how to work it, much to the hilarity of Owen who watched from his home up north.

Of course, with an audience, I played it for all it's worth.

 With a little practice I did learn to sit in it correctly although I'm suffering with the learning curve  of finding out what makes it go up as opposed to going down, trying to reason with I want to get UP which can be interpreted as I want the chair to go DOWN because I want to get UP. Haven't mastered it yet and I should be ashamed to admit that to you, but at this stage of life there should be no secrets, don't you agree?

I'm getting better at it and my true confession is that I'll have to admit that it's pretty darned comfortable even if it looks like "old folks at home". That's what we are, after all.

"The great secret that all old people share is that you really haven't changed in seventy or eighty years.  Your body changes, but you don't change at all.  And that, of course, causes great confusion."         ~Doris Lessing

AFTER GIVING THANKS

Unflattering, perhaps, but Tim took this panorama of us on Thanksgiving evening, passed out like stuffed dormice. I'll tell you about our actual day when I have the photos downloaded, maybe later on today.

TRUE CONFESSION

THERE'S SOMETHING I must tell you. I am surrounded by women, both acquaintances and longtime friends who love being independent. I admire that so much, but the truth of the matter is, now that independence is being forced upon me, I don't like it at all. Mr. Bob has always spoiled me and I've loved it and tried to show my appreciation to him. My attempts at reciprocation have not pleased him at all. He'd rather do things himself. It's taken all these years and cancer for me to realize this.


It started when it became necessary for me to become the family driver. I loved being chauffeured and Mr. Bob was always apparently happy to take me anywhere I wanted to go, even circling the block when I missed a good photo opportunity. After his accident our world became all-of-a-sudden much smaller and I could no longer take pictures out of the window as we traveled from here to there. It's been nearly two years now and my neuropathic feet still can't feel the pedals, but I'm pretty good at faking it.


Of late, he opts to stay in our apartment rather than riding along wherever we're headed. I honor that decision, but I miss his companionship tremendously. Today was a good example......it was a full day starting at 8 a.m. when I left for the hospital for pre-admittance. The woman processing me had a cold and blew her nose several times without using hand sanitizer, all the while handing me forms to sign. I didn't keep track of how many there were, but toward the end, she was licking her finger to pick up the next form and handing it to me. Not only do I not want to catch a cold this near to surgery, but we've been careful to guard Mr. Bob from exposure while he's undergoing chemotherapy. I've never thought of myself as having mysophobia, but today that was my middle name.


I thought I'd learned to be fairly straight forward in dealing with people, but I found myself unable to confront her, but my next stop was to see the admitting nurse and I was comfortable enough with him to tell all. He was astounded and promised to tell her supervisor. Next time I passed her window she wasn't there.


Next I had to go to the lab for a blood test. The lady drawing was good. I think I've told you that I've taken to asking the person at the other end of the needle if they're good at what they do, and if they brag that they are, they're usually not. Her answer when I asked was that I'd soon enough know if she was. I gave her an A+.


Then to the next room for an EKG. I made the mistake of asking the technician what she was going to be for Hallowe'en and her terse answer was that she doesn't observe Hallowe'en, so I zipped my lip.


Next was my appointment with the orthopedic surgeon who planned to talk about surgery on my knee which is becoming alarmingly knock-kneed, causing difficulty with walking. That was out of the question with what is planned for Monday morning, so it became a matter of whether to put cortisone in my shoulder or my knee. The knee won. Usually I'd have Bob's hand to hold and squeeze and I tried to keep my hand off the doctor's arm but ended up squeezing his elbow during the painful parts as he worked around the large floating bone spurs. Tears flowed, I'm ashamed to say.


All of these medical matters took quite a long time and when I got myself back to the Manor, I found it decorated for the coming day.

The costume party for residents and staff was scheduled for 2 this afternoon. Mr. Bob declined going down to fulfill his position of historian / photographer, so I filled in. Lots of creativity was evident.



Glendale has a very large Armenian population
and as a culture, are very family oriented, taking care of their own. I must say I've never been aware of a homeless Armenian, so Victor's costume was amusing and clever.

Excellent maintenance man, John

Carlos, in charge of many
departments.

Witch Hazel

One of the student interns

Ghostly nails on Jeanne, our hairdresser

Mr. Bob said he'd go for wine and cheese on the patio, but only to visit, rather than to imbibe. Once there, he drank wine, ate his share of cheese and every grape on the little bunch served to us. And then he stayed for supper, which was a good thing, even if the mixed messages mystify me.

I'm weary tonight. It was a very full day and my head aches.

Taking a bus from S.F. Chinatown
to Chinatown in Los Angeles.
And then to Glendale.

Leaving at 7 a.m. to get to
Burbank at almost 9 p.m

Susan and Chris will arrive tomorrow!

Let the laughter begin! I'm ready to be coddled and cosseted as in the days of yore. Tim's been doing a fine job and is ready for the back-up troops to arrive.



"Most of us would never consider getting our car repaired without first receiving an estimate of the charges, but this is exactly what we do when we need to go to a hospital for treatment."

Dan Lipinski