30 November 2013: Saturday ... Wayne Gilmour's 23rd birthday ... Lindsay's breakfast at Mary's Kountry Kitchen ... washin' egg off Honda ... usin' Dutch Oven to bathe dad ...

I believe this was when Lindsay first arrived Friday evening and not on Saturday. It looks like early evening and dad was up when I got back from the airport with her. She arrived about 6:30 on her flight on U.S. Airways from Nashville (I waited, for the first time, in the cell phone waiting area with its lit-up board detailing flight arrivals. Hers was on-time. She texted me and then called me asking me where I was. I though she was still on the plane but she'd was getting off when she texted and headed straight to the exit door and sidewalk outside the U.S. Airway terminal.)


I had brought treats, one for mom and one for Lindsay, to give to Dancer and deflect her focus on mom's lunch plate of grilled ham/cheese, an overwhelming smell of delicacy for my pet's sensitive olfactory system.

Dancer gets a treat from Grandma Bowwow.


Just another look of delight on Dancer's face as she is petted by Lindsay.

 Things Thankful/Unhappy about Today: 

• The worker at the car wash taking extra time to clean the egg off the window of the Honda.
• Lindsay being here for an abbreviate though wonderful weekend.
• Wayne Gilmour's 23rd birthday and that of his father, 60th, yesterday, and the continued recovery of Jan from cancer treatment which is still ongoing. 
• Lindsay having breakfast with me at Mary's Kountry Kitchen.
• The high school girls who bonded at MKK, one wearing a Conrad HS Cross Country jacket (she was in good shape), the other, unsmiling, poured us coffee, started to smile once her friend arrived. She looked better with a smile rather than a frown. 
• Our server, a man, doing double duty, with a full arm tattoo, I gave $20.00 to for the bill and told him to keep the change (which I should have taken some because I didn't have singles to give a tip to the car wash attendants who dried the Honda ... had to buy an interior deodorant and get change via debit ... speaking of which, Lindsay pressed the right button at the News & Tobacco store and didn't have to sign her receipt as I did. Got a smile out of the attendant, an attractive in a hard way cashier, who gave me a nice smile at my comment. 
• The chance to care for my parents, daily, and to receive an inordinate amount of thanks from them. 
• But I am also chastened by my feelings of animosity at certain actions of my parents like my father coming down the stairs and getting the mail and then going through his routine of opening it and my mother asking for more anti-anxiety meds or pain meds. I lose patience and it shows in my voice and they are so vulnerable and so needy that I just need to put a lid on it, like Gail Emerson says she did with her mother and I guess her siblings. 
• I also feel an animus toward Susan and her silence and her terse, short e-mails and inability to reach out and provide any sort of support for me other than the basics, the utter minimal amount of effort. It's probably in my head but I feel that I can do without it and can move forward. 
• I am thankful for Delaware Hospice who answer the phone and call right back and ask whether I need the Xanax tonight or can wait till Monday. They are there for you. 
• I am also disturbed by the silence treatment from so-called friends like Bob Hayman, who, I know are busy, but can't find the time to even call. Of course, I haven't sent an e-mail or made a call, either, but it is still such an isolating experience this thing called care provider (of course, I haven't phoned Elaine in over a month or Allison ... it just falls off the radar screen, so, I can't judge lest I be judged for my inactions ... I am guilty of the same thing).
• I am thankful that we got birthday cards from the News & Tobacco Store for Bob and Wayne Gilmour birthdays. Mom signed and wrote, haltingly, on her card and dad signed it. 
• At this typing and soon-to-be closure, 7:41 p.m., Lindsay has not returned from the Gilmours birthday festivities and should I be worried. I am not but think I will text her when I shut down the computer in a few minutes. 
• Salamet malem ... bonne nuit ... shalom ... peace be with you ... may it be so. 
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29 November 2013: Friday ... put away the iPhone, I want some alone time with dad to say goodbye ... tears flowed but they're OK Doug, he laughed, too ... life is balance

That Eternal Day - Cantus 

Serendipity, a divine presence, a coincidence, who knows,
but this morning, before I got up at 5 a.m., Performance
Today featured a performance by Cantus and their rendition
of Gravedigger by Dave Matthews, a story about death but
more about the effect their lives had on the lives that continue. "Don't
bury me too deep, so I can hear the rain hit the earth," or a similar
lyric moves throughout the song. I am still here in spirit, do not
forget me. I included the experience in a note that I wrote and
left for my **BROTHER** which he read and I think was moved
by. Later, when he asked for time alone with dad, I could hear the
tears -- that's tough for Doug, he doesn't show emotion, he's pretty
good at covering it up -- and they were good. Our father shall not
be forgotten, at least by his two sons. 

Left early evening after mom had been fed and dad taken care of ... I gave him the cell phone to call if necessary and then left to pick up Lindsay at the airport, U.S. Airways flight from Charlotte due to land at 6:19 p.m. I arrived with time to spare at the "Cell Phone" waiting area with its displays of the arriving flights and whether they'd landed. Here flight was on time, she texted me and then called me telling me she was ready at the U. S. Airways sign. Saw her right away and got her in at which time she noticed the egging that the Honda had received and I knew nothing about, all on the passenger side of the car. How long it'd been there, I do not know. (It's been addressed and cleaned with a car wash this Saturday morning after a trip to Mary's Kountry Kitchen for breakfast, a stop for birthday cards at Books & Tobacco and then to the car wash establishment, where it's not cheap but they do a good, attentive job for $14.95 plus tip ... I gave $3 today).

Well, I got this nice pic of Lindsay kissing mom as she arrived in her bedroom.
 

14 October 2013: Monday, Columbus Day ... more YouTube videos, hot chocolate w/whipped cream, Delcastle walk, Mom & Dad relaxin' on bed ...

Mom and Dad relaxin' and chillin' on the bed as the watch some silent movies, one being The Scarlet Letter with Lillian Gish on TCM. (need to figure out how to rotate this photo -- Goose figured it out earlier).

28 November 2013: A Final Thanksgiving Day ... truly a time to give thanks, gratitude for a life well lived and to move forward ...

   
Dad shaved this morning with the Norelco (did an admirable job) and then
bathed himself with washcloth and water drawn from the tub by Doug and
placed in the Dutch oven, circa 1958.

The movie, The Secret Garden, is playing right now on Turner Classic Movies on this Thanksgiving Day at 11:07 a.m. It is a wonderful, B/W, rendition of the children's classic.

Frances Eliza Hodgson Burnett (24 November 1849 – 29 October 1924)

Dad is now watching, after enjoying a partial Roast Beef sandwich put together by his son, Doug, after getting the cold cut this early afternoon at an open Acme. He asked me to finish his lunch but I could not. The ham and potatoes are warming in the oven and the asparagus and the cauliflower are prepped for the microwave. An eating time of approximately 2 p.m. is in order. 

In the meantime, dad is watching the movie, Lassie Comes Home (1943), with the actor Edmund Gwenn, who would have been 76 in that film and who played the inimitable Santa Claus in The Miracle on 34th Street. He's marvelous and so gregarious in his roles, such a gem of a human being. 

Edmund Gwenn (1877-1959)

How could I not -- it's lethargy and fear and just plain laziness -- describe our Thanksgiving repast. Thanks to Doug, who placed the ham (which I had enclosed in aluminum foil, not unlike but to a far lesser extent than Norma Clara's large turkey tent creations of past Thanksgivings in their home) in the oven, along with the potatoes; and the cauliflower (which I had placed in the microwave bowl that I bought from Pathmark weeks ago and which I sheered the attachments from the bottom of the vegetable and cutup and then distributed on the ivy, sure to take a long time to compost in the chill winter air) into the microwave, along with asparagus (which I had bought the day earlier at Pathmark after picking up mom's Vicodin prescription); so, all totaled, we had ham, asparagus, cauliflower, mashed potatoes, and bread for this special, final Thanksgiving as an intact family. We shared, for a few minutes at least, our meal in mom's bedroom with dad not eating (he'd had some roast beef and had had some milk, earlier, but was not hungry ... later he enjoyed some vanilla ice cream and a few cafe noire cookies). It was the typical, short, holiday dining experience at the Nyhoffs. Doug was off to take care of the leftovers. I came later to do the dishes. Combined, it was a sterling effort and an A+ in holiday experiences over the 50 plus years we have been a family. It is coming to a close now and this was a good time. So, wonderful, as I listed my THANKS for today, to be together. 

27 November 2013: Wednesday ... mom's nasal cannula was pulled out and she looked gaunt, complained of left ankle pain ... dad put in his nasal cannula during the night ... never heard a thing with my monitor ...

Gail dropped by on this rainy Wednesday, the day before
Thanksgiving with her peekapoo, Teddy, for a visit. She was in
north Wilmington for a job and had called earlier. 

Mom got to play a little with Teddy on her bed as Gail offered him up to her. She got the dog about 3 1/2 months ago from a shelter, who she asked to call her if a peekapoo cane and they did. He's about three
years old.



Doug has walked and fed my dog and while I slept, he prepared the dinner for mom and dad and went to Zoup and got some soups, one the Lobster bisque that dad loves. I slept, he worked, later, I did do the dishes while I ate the mushroom soup (delicious) and then his hot dogs and beans with a roll. Topped it off with mandarin oranges and Tapioca pudding.

Amazing recollections of mom today ... first, us, and our haircuts up until we were 10. We never saw a barber, she did the cutting and she tried the shears on herself and slipped and had to wear a bandanna to cover the bare spot on her back scalp. Doug said he remembered the scarf and the accident. He also said he remembered the trip over to Holland in the plane. Sure.

The other one was the movie The Anderson Tapes, with Sean Connery and Dyan Cannon. She says we saw the movie at the now gone movie theatre at Prices Corner and dad fell asleep through half of it and then, in a fit of rage, in a pouring rain, chased down a young driver who cut him off in the road. She recalls it but dad did not; however, initially, dad said he had not seen this movie but as the movie went on and the police move into the luxury apartment building being robbed, he recalled it.

He did remember playing the role of a long dead cleric, hands upraised, in a stone crypt in Scotland, a country he remembers for its paucity (pas de personnage) of people on the barren but beautiful landscape.

I have made his bed again tonight and he's taken his metoprolol (100 mg a day, 2x 50 mg tablet, once in the morning and once at night), and we've laid out his 2 Temazepam (sleep aid) and his 2 Xanax (anti-anxiety) and a 1 Vicodin (pain pill). Earlier, we watched Jeopardy, which he complained that he knew no answers to. I got to assist him with the oxygen which he has turned on and placed the nasal cannula. We take his pulse oxygen and when it finally works, it's 97 with a pulse of 110. He sits in the chair to watch Turner Classic Movies with Robert Osborne narrating. 

26 November 2013: Wednesday ... overcast and chilly day as the Nor'easter rolls in from the west, it will be a wet one today and this evening ... did walk Dancer ...

Dad got a visit from Juli, a per diem or as needed nurse with Delaware Hospice on Tuesday late morning, as she'd called about an hour before. She works two part-time, as needed nursing jobs but is the primary caregiver for her father, 88 years old, in good health. She tried dad's old sphygmomanometer but could not get the Hg to elevate properly in the column without blowing out the the arm wrap. Something wrong with the air pressure entrance. Here, she tries the old one. Did not work out. She is left handed by the way and wrote in her journal (seen on the table with pen).

Caught her looking out the living room window as she jumped up on the couch.
This was my first Dancer post of this overcast, rainy Tuesday November day.
"The rain is coming to Delaware and Dancer is spending the day indoors,
but she's always attune to sounds that alert her from outside."

A second Dancer post of the day, taken shortly

before Doug's return from Bachetti's and Zoup

with lobster bisque, which dad loved and ate

after sorting through the mail. 

"From the balcony, Dancer (aka, Princess) rests regally
awaiting the arrival of a relative in the living room."

Today, 26 November, 2013, in a one-room flat in Belsize Park, in London,
the pianist Alice Herz-Sommer is celebrating her hundred-and-tenth birthday. 

Doug did take out, the same place he had lunch today with Debbie Dyer (nee Cairo), Firesides, and got mom a cheeseburger and me a roast beef au jus (put the remainder in Dancer's bowl and she just lapped it up and would have eaten the bowl itself). Earlier, dad had eaten a bowl of lobster bisque with relish from Zoup, again thanks to the largesse of my brother. Dad worked through some of the mail and I had to interject, to his distress, not to throw out some new magazines like Smithsonian. It was good to have him downstairs and doing the mail like he always has.

Later, as I ate my takeout watching The NewsHour with hosts Gwen Ifill and Judy Woodruff, mom asked for her tea and I said that was Doug's responsibility. Later, I went downstairs to start the water. But the program was just amazing. A feature on a famed chef and cookbook writer, who is battling against Alzheimer's with various rich vitamin foods to counteract the disease and for the past 6 months she has held her own and there has been to progress of the disease. Here is where I have an issue with my mom, who I feel, maybe rightly, maybe wrongly, that she has given up and she doesn't see the connection of this woman's gallant battle and her own life where she is just existing and not fighting back. Maybe I'm being too hard on her but it's still the way I feel and it can't be helpful as I go to get her pills and realize that she is short of Vicodin and so I got upstairs and borrow one of dad's. Tomorrow need to get to Pathmark Pharmacy and pick up the prescription which has been ready for two days. 

But it was a wonderful broadcast and like the 110-year-old pianist, Paula Wolfert's life is so inspiring as were the words of her author husband, who was interviewed for the piece. Her final bit of conversation about fighting this disease, Alzheimer's, through research and getting the funding like cancer and HIV was truly heartfelt. Just an amazing individual, whose name, Paula Wolfert, I will pull up when the PBS NewsHour updates its web site. 

Louise Shivers' signed book. My Shining Hour -- A Novelist's Memoir of World War II, came today with a card and a good wish. 

A native of Stantonsburg in Wilson County, Louise Shivers grew up in Wilson with her nine brothers. She attended Atlantic Christian College in her hometown and Meredith College in Raleigh. She furthered her education at the University of South Carolina and at Augusta College in Augusta, Georgia, where she has served as Writer-in-Residence for more than twenty years. Shivers won the U.S.A. Today :  Best First Novel of the Year Award in 1983 for Here to Get My Baby Out of Jail ,  which was made into the movie Summer Heat. Her novel A Whistling Woman was published in 1993.  “I write out of place,” she says, “and eastern N.C. is my place.” 

22 November 2013: Friday ... the 50th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in Dallas, TX; ... Dad starts on oxygenator in early morning (later have to re-plug into socket behind bed) ... mom's closet is upset, drugs displaced

This is a day that has been coming for a long time and now it is here and fifty years after coming home from Lora Little and informing my mom of the murder of a president, dad went on oxygen in the next level of his hospice care. It occurred early in the morning and I assisted him with the nasal cannula and switched on the device, which fired right up in a quiet but affirming manner. The oxygen flowed. Dad was calmed. 

President John F. Kennedy riding in motorcade with first lady Jacqueline Kennedy 
before he was shot in Dallas, Texas on Nov. 22, 1963. 
Texas Governor John Connally is in the front seat with his wife Nelly.

This is the day, November 22nd, 2013, fifty years ago on a Friday that the world changed for the United States. THE anniversary where everyone of the post-WWII generation remembers where they were if they are, let's say, reasonably, 55 years of age. I was in 2nd grade and mom says I came home, declared to her that the president had been shot and then we told dad. She says we went upstairs to watch Walter Cronkite take off his glasses and wipe his eyes after announcing the death of the President John F. Kennedy, killed by an assassin's bullet fired by Lee Harvey Oswald in Daley Plaza, Dallas, Texas, about 1 p.m. or 2 p.m. our time, which would correlate to my being released from school about that time.

Well, it's been an equally momentous day in the "ending" portion of my father's life as I awoke early morning of this 22nd day of November, 2013, to start him on the oxygenator that was brought in two days ago by Delaware Hospice or more specifically, a sub-contractor with DH, GlobalMedical. It happened without incident to a puzzled dad who wondered why we didn't use the tanks -- he'd been trying to figure out how to get the air started on one tank when I got up to his room. I told him that we needed the oxygen to flow continuously and not have to change tanks out every 4 or so hours. He seemed to comprehend, so I plugged it into the socket behind the TV, which I was to find out was a mistake. A few hours later, the machine was off and the plug pulled, so, he had to get out of the bed and I threaded the wire under the bed and plugged the oxygenator into the wall behind the bed. The wire is now covered by the bed and protected from being tripped or pulled out. At this writing, 6:50 a.m., he is resting. I'm going to let him rest till he calls me or by 7:30, I will check on him. Today, Doug leaves for Delaware on a one-stop trip (he'll stay over in Reidsville, NC, and head to Limestone Gardens early Saturday morning and arrive in all likelihood in the early afternoon of 11/23). Coincidentally, Marissa and the Finn family, on a visit to Philly for a bridal (?) shower, plans to stop by for a bit tomorrow morning, too. Missy will text me when they are in the area.

On a problematic note, the closet where I stored mom's pills in the 7-day container, was upset and items had fallen down. Mom says it fell on its own accord. I tend to doubt it, but the pills, once found, had not been disturbed. Nothing was removed, so she may be telling the truth. I think she is, possibly, but there is still some doubt in my mind. I have decided not to bring it up. I think dad is stirring so I go to check on him. 

He was and he was seated and the oxygenator was turned off. He is weak and later I find him back in the bed after getting his medications -- omeprazole, metoprolol, vicodin, tamazepam, and alprazelam (xanax); each one pill except for the vicodin or hydrocodone (2 pills) -- and I get him more water in his teacup. Later, I get him a glass of milk and his Cream of Wheat, which he looks to weak to eat (I try to feed him and he draws back complaining of its hotness and I decide to let him feed himself, I need to check on him as I type this at 8:35 a.m.).

I just feel so damn guilty about not writing ... granted, there are distractions, the most pressing being my parents' needs ... but, it escapes so quickly, those memories, and they are important, even though I may never return to them to reread what I have written. Today was a memorable day, an historic day and I spent it rather leisurely in the morning listening to the NPR programs, in particular WBUR's OnPoint with Tom Ashbrook, which was particularly outstanding with Robert McNeil of the McNeil-Lehrer NewsHour fame, who was an NBC reporter in the presidential news coverage in Dallas that day. He had an incredible story. He is such a gifted and well spoken and such a fine intellect, but his recollections were gripping about how he heard the shots, got out of the press bus and ran to Dealey Plaza and the grass hill (knoll), hopped a fence and looked out at railroad lines that were peopleless, so he went for a phone and ran to the Texas School Book Depository and asked a young man, running from the building, if there was a phone inside. He said to check (could that have been Oswald ... probably not, it was too long after the shooting, but ...). His reports were some of the first on TV from the scene of the assassination. A few days later, on that grassy knoll, doing a story on the memorials set up for the president, he heard the sound of a bag pipe band and he broke down in tears. Like JFK, McNeil had two young children and had recently moved from England where he'd worked as a journalist. He is a native Canadian.

Later in the day, I made a trip to the Christiana Mall, which is always an adventure as the driving and roads around the mall are just a maelstrom, total disarray. Inside, Barnes & Noble is a huge and wonderful store. Found presents for Sean (a sports 2014 calendar) and Mia (The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein, an old but wonderful literary gift) and a 6-sided cube art puzzle for mom. After the bookstore, I traveled through this orgy of capitalism, so many stores, so much glitz in this mall, to Macy's (mostly fashion and jewelry and personal care products, not electric razors) and then Target, where I hit a bonanza. Found a Norelco that said it was on sale, went to the checkout lane, where the employee said she worked 8 hours but spent time out on the store aisles, which she enjoyed, her name, I think was Taylor, but she rang up a total of over $94. I balked. The price was checked and the young black manager came back to say the price was misplaced but to give me the sale price of $56 and I got a better razor for less. Does not hurt to complain about a price.

At home, where I'd left my phone, mom and dad were lying in her bed and she'd called me as well as Marli. Dad mentioned that he'd received a few phone calls from a clothing store, but I called our Dutch angel back and she said she was coming over with Gerrit with a noodle dish. 

25 November 2013: Monday, crisp and cold morning that dawned beautifully ... Doug made the coffee in the new Mr.Coffee ...

There I am as a toddler in a framed photo in the back and present day, 57, shaving my dad with the recently purchased Norelco electric shaver, which works surprisingly well. The trimmer even did his sideburns and the hair on the nape of his neck. All in all, a good shave that satisfied our particular father, especially about his shaving.

Today is the 2nd day that I will take up the suggestion of the guest minister today at UUSMC to write down five (5) things that I am thankful for:

1. Doug's presence here has been just great. His meals are wonderful and he calls his daughter "creechlet" (phonetic spelling). 
2. Having the opportunity to shave and trim up dad.
3. Spending the day with Dancer and feeding her egg in her food which she loves.
4. Hearing mom tell dad that she loved him.
5. Feeling the chill of the early morning air and seeing my breath.

Mom got in the bath today and did a fine job bathing. Afterward, she walked down the hallway and spoke up the steps to her husband, "I love you", and "I'm sorry I can't get up the steps". It was such a nice gesture. 

Dancer has spent a majority of the day indoors today. It started out
cold but warmed into a clear and now clouding up day. A Nor'Easter
is headed this way from the west and may threaten Thanksgiving travel
plans for many that could include my Lindsay who flies out after. 

Doug has been amazing today with his cooking and his handling of concerns with mom and dad. He cooked mom an omelette and heated up the Bachetti's meat loaf dinner for mom, and he saw to dad's needs also. In fact, as he prepared mom's meal I watched the conclusion of a disappointing James Bond film, the most recent, Skyfall. I did not complete the final 8 minutes of the film as I thought it pointless. Regardless, I listen now to the baby monitor that is linked to the receiver in dad's room and it turns on occasionally, triggered, I guess, by sounds in his room. It comes on suddenly and it is clear and loud. Should be very helpful during the evening. Today, dad told me that he'd fallen during the night and I had no idea because the monitor was turned off. It won't be from now on.

Dad did make it down to the bathroom, washed his face and then went into mom's bedroom and sat in the corner, taciturn as he has been for the past weeks, I called it a meditative mood. Doug was up and asked about beverages. I took the bait and baited him by asking for coffee, which I received, and other sweets or goodies. He left got coffee for dad and me and later brought up tea for mom. He did not bring sweets but it was very nice of him. Having a good time on a rather slow day, which dawned very cold and warmed into a beautiful day but the front is headed this way and we will be getting precipitation mid-week and there is a chance that travel over the Thanksgiving holiday will be affected by the weather. Hope it doesn't affect Lindsay's travel plans.

24 November 2013: Sunday ... getting set for UUSMC Choir get-together at Kristin Tosh-Morelli's home in Newark ... been a chilly, blustery day, walked Dancer and got pic of her at Bark Park ...

Dancer at dusk across from Bark Park in Carousel Equestrian Park on a chilly Sunday late afternoon. 

Today is the first day that I will take up the suggestion of the guest minister today at UUSMC to write down five (5) things that I am thankful for:

1. Linda Lucero's hug today.
2. Pam Allenstein's piano and drum playing and of course, Kristin's wonderful direction. 
3. The singers of the choir.
4. Kathy, my female tenor compatriot in the choir, who collected my Christmas music form me. She lit a candle for a daughter gained through marriage, Laurel, who turns 15 today and sometimes get forgotten during the Thanksgiving holiday but today they will celebrate her earth-arrival day.
5. My brother who is amazing but cannot relate to The Last Four Songs of Richard Strauss and freely admits it. (I was playing it today when he returned from Walmart with paper products, a new Mr. Coffee machine and a baby alert sound system.

Had a wonderful chance to meet in a social setting last night the home of Kristin Tosh-Morelli and her partner and her son in Newark, near the Newark CC off 273, actually 500 W. Church Road at the corner of Casho Mill Road. I got this photo of Pam Allenstein leading the mostly choir in attendance singing a song of Thanksgiving:

 

23 November 2013: Saturday ... The Finns pay a visit to Limestone Gardens and Doug arrives in time to see them ... a beautiful morning exemplified by photo below ... dad saw them

Prior to the arrival of the Finns, mom put on a
little lipstick, moving her lips together and pressing
them out in her customary manner, and then added
a little makeup and then looked at her handiwork. 

Mia and Sean, but especially Mia, fell in love with Dancer in one morning. I think, it might be beyond probability, that Dancer might have felt too much attention.
So evocative, so mature, so engaging ... she missed her mother when she was a mother and got emotional
with her Great Aunt Jean on this late Saturday morning, 23 November 2013. I felt the same way as I read "The Giving Tree" to bubbly, vibrant and utterly loving Mia. We both began to shed tears. 

Just a loving family ... John Finn with his kids Mia and Sean. 

Dad and I are listening to the NPR broadcast by the late Walter Cronkite on the 40th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy which was rebroadcast yesterday, Friday, 22 November 2013, the 50th anniversary of the killing of a president.

http://www.npr.org/2013/11/22/246628793/walter-cronkite-on-the-assassination-of-john-f-kennedy

21 November 2013: Thursday ... Joe Brennan just stopped by on his walk to check in at 9:48 a.m., Lois & Ginny plan to stop by early this afternoon, ...

Dad listened to this (The Writer's Almanac for November 21, 2013) seated in the chair just prior to getting into bed where he is sleeping, soundly, at this typing -- 12:06 p.m. It may be the first time he's heard Garrison Keillor recite the program.

Such a nice moment between Dancer & Mom ... she was welcoming to my photography and to my posting onto Facebook. It worked out wonderfully ... their eyes are fixed on one another. I've had almost 30 likes so far this early Thursday evening as a fascinating documentary of Hubert Humphrey and John F. Kennedy running for the democratic candidacy for president in 1960 on Turner Classic Movies. Dad is all snuggled in the bed and I'm about to close out this post and feed a nosy Dancer who has been poking me w/her nose.

Permission Granted by David Allen Sullivan You do not have to choose the bruised peach or misshapen pepper others pass over. You don't have to bury your grandmother's keys underneath her camellia bush as the will states. You don't need to write a poem about your grandfather coughing up his lung into that plastic tube—the machine's wheezing almost masking the kvetching sisters in their Brooklyn kitchen. You can let the crows amaze your son without your translation of their cries. You can lie so long under this summer shower your imprint will be left when you rise. You can be stupid and simple as a heifer. Cook plum and apple turnovers in the nude. Revel in the flight of birds without dreaming of flight. Remember the taste of raw dough in your mouth as you edged a pie. Feel the skin on things vibrate. Attune yourself. Close your eyes. Hum. Each beat of the world's pulse demands only that you feel it. No thoughts. Just the single syllable: Yes ... See the homeless woman following the tunings of a dead composer? She closes her eyes and sways with the subways. Follow her down, inside, where the singing resides.

"Permission Granted" by David Allen Sullivan, from Strong-Armed Angels. © Hummingbird Press, 2008. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

It's the birthday of anthologist and writer Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch (books by this author), born in Cornwall in 1863. Quiller-Couch published fiction and literary criticism under the pen name "Q" and was best known at the time for his publication of the Oxford Book of English Verse (1250-1900), a book that remained the most popular anthology of its kind for nearly 70 years. But Q is remembered by writers today — or rather, not remembered — for one of the most enduring but non-attributed pieces of writing advice ever given. He wrote in his 1916 book On the Art of Writing, "Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it — whole-heartedly — and delete it before sending your manuscript to press: Murder your darlings." Now a popular catchphrase among editors especially, "murder your darlings" admonishes writers to refrain from being too precious about their prose and to trust in the values of simplicity and efficiency. It's the birthday of French satirist, philosopher, and social revolutionary François-Marie Arouet, better known as Voltaire (books by this author), born in Paris (1694). The son of an influential lawyer, Voltaire from an early age showed little interest in toeing the line or respecting authority. His father's attempts to remove him from the bad influence of freethinkers and libertines — periodically sending him abroad and promising that the next trip would be to prison — had little effect. In fact, his father hadn't needed to threaten jail time; others followed through on the idea soon enough. Voltaire was just 21 when he was expelled from Paris for writing a satirical poem about the decadence at Versailles; within months of his return he offended another member of the royal family, which landed Voltaire in the Bastille. He was reportedly delighted, having visited a friend there many times, and hoped he would not be set free before completing some work. His wish was granted, and he wrote his first play, Oedipe, behind bars. The tragedy was a great success, and it helped establish his career in the theater. It was there, several years later, where his biting wit got Voltaire into trouble yet again with a nobleman. This time his cleverness was repaid with a beating and a direct order from the king to be thrown back in the Bastille. Voltaire secured his release by promising to leave the country altogether. He fled to England, where his involvement with the country's leading intellectuals helped shape his future philosophy. Upon his return to France in 1733, Voltaire wrote Letters Concerning the English Nation, an ironic criticism of the French religious and political establishment. This time, the book's publisher was sent to the Bastille, and Voltaire hightailed it to Lorraine, where he lived and wrote for the next 15 years, until the death of his mistress, when he began yet another cycle of relocating, offending someone in power, and fleeing. He returned to his hometown of Paris only months before he died, in 1778, a hero among the common people. Voltaire was not as logical or systematic a philosopher as most in the Age of Reason, which is in part what made his writing the most influential. His were not the standard philosophical treatises, but instead relied heavily on satire and humor to make his case, and used forms like fiction, poetry, and plays to reach a broad audience, despite being widely censored and banned. Voltaire's views on religion, for example — that Judaism and Christianity were essentially corrupt and superstitious, and that any cosmic Designer or Creator was very possibly amoral — were radically polarizing, but he expressed them with such wit and irony that his writing was immensely popular. (Some consider Voltaire the founder of modern anti-Semitism because of his arguments against Judaism, which were cited to prevent Jews from becoming citizens during the French Revolution.) The novel Candide , Voltaire's most famous work, argues against the prevailing philosophy of the time: that this is the best of all possible worlds, and that everything that happens is ultimately for the best. The book's laughably naïve protagonist, Candide, trusts his corrupt and insufferable teacher despite every imaginable evil, believing that it must all be for the best despite all appearances, until at last he retreats to spend the rest of his life tending his garden. Looking on the bright side was simply an excuse for those in power to remain in power, Voltaire argued — a way to ignore injustice and shirk responsibility. Voltaire said, "If God did not exist, man would have to invent him." He said, "As long as people believe in absurdities they will continue to commit atrocities." It's the birthday of author Isaac Bashevis Singer (books by this author), born in Leoncin, Poland, in 1904 — or is likely his birthday; Singer long claimed it was several months previous, but that was probably a fabrication he invented to avoid the draft. He came from a family of rabbis — his father, as well his maternal grandfather — and grew up in a Jewish quarter of Warsaw. Although he broke away from his Orthodox upbringing and immigrated to the United States in 1935, he composed his dozens of short-story collections and novels, his memoirs and many children's books, almost exclusively in Yiddish — and did so on a Yiddish typewriter that was no longer manufactured by the '70s. Most of his work became known from its English version, which he translated, edited, and referred to as the "second original" — like his short story "Yentl the Yeshiva Boy," which Barbra Streisand adapted for an Oscar-winning film that Singer himself despised, in part because of its happy, hopeful ending. When Singer received the Nobel Prize in 1978, he delivered part of his acceptance speech in Yiddish, and said, "Yiddish has not yet said its last word. It contains treasures that have not yet been revealed to the eyes of the world." It's the birthday of writer and director Harold Ramis , born in Chicago in 1944. One of the least-recognized but most influential screenwriters of the last century, Ramis co-wrote of some of America's most beloved comedies, including National Lampoon's Animal House (1978), Caddyshack (1980), Stripes(1981), Ghostbusters (1984), Groundhog Day (1993), and Analyze This (1999). Ramis is lauded for a sense of humor that rejected the slick, packaged Hollywood comedies of the past and channeled the anger and disaffection of his generation at the country's sacred institutions, like fraternities, country clubs, and the Army. Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.®

Visit from the Greefs (Lois, 82, & Carl, 93) and Ginny McCool, 84, (born the year of the Stock Market crash in 1929) on this Thursday, 21 November, 2013. 

20 November 2013: Wednesday ... did not feel well to start the day today but managed, slept through most of morning with a few calls to the TV room ... dad's oxygenator delivered ... Dancer in the spotlight ... I wrote out my first bills with parents' checking account ...

19 November 2013: Tuesday, the 93rd birthday of Carl Greeff, dad's resurrection (diet Ginger Ale in the middle of the night & eating cream of wheat on his own) ... day cooler, patchy clouds, sun arising photo of Dancer ...

Dad zeroing in on whiskers around his lip.

18 November 2013: Monday, my 57th birthday and what a glorious day it's been, a true springlike day ... but dad's winter is upon him and he's had a rough day ...

This morning he had been calling for me, he said, for an hour, from his bed where he couldn't right himself. 

Is it a gift? (I like to start posts this way but it might be appropriate on my as Jez described it, "Coming-To-The-Earth-Day"). WE are both listening to Robert Schumann's Piano Concerto in A minor, Opus 54 at the same time. I just finished listening to a fellow November 18er, none other than the famous conductor Eugene Ormandy (b. 1899), longtime director of the Philadelphia Orchestra, and his recording with Rudolf Serkin in the mid 50s (about the time I was born) on the radio, WRTI out of Temple University in Philly.
My father, resting, listens to the recording he thinks is the best interpretation of the work: Ivan Moravec and the Czech Philharmonic conducted by Vaclav Neumann. Here is the YouTube link:

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=z2Z4BAaMhg4&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dz2Z4BAaMhg4

     
Dad in the TV room listening to the broadcast on the left on YouTube,
and me, on the first floor, in the kitchen, listening to the recording on
the right as a celebration of Eugene Ormandy's 114th birthday. 

As dad snores behind me at 4:05 p.m. on my 57th birthday, I believe that I have made it over the hump of despair and am looking at these end days in a more pragmatic, less emotional light. He could not feed himself today and he's been in bed, all day, and the hospice nurse is coming this late afternoon to possibly catheterize him since he could not produce any urine, although he felt a need, into the urinal earlier. Mom had walked the corridor, scaled the steps and was on the portable oxygen while she watched. (I had told her earlier that dad was in a steep decline and perhaps it was time to begin to start saying our goodbyes and try to be with him as much as possible).

I have been home, all day, and just recently got out of my gift pajama bottoms from Liz and into my torn-kneed jeans, a steal, literally from a Doug order from L.L. Beans back in 2010 when I came in a hurry to be with dad when he fell and hurt his knee and needed medical attention and then rehab and then I stayed through his knee replacement surgery that late summer. It was a long 7 months and I was not at ease with myself. They were long days but now they go well, thanks in large part to my social media contacts through Facebook and the fact that I am now here to stay for the "duration" and I am planning ahead for the funeral and what lies ahead for my mother and myself.

I have joined the local UU Society of Mill Creek and am just in hog heaven over the wonderful choir and the people I have met on social occasions and the developing friendships with Linda Lucero and others in the congregation. This is all good but I need a job and I need to feel worth by earning a salary or doing serious, committed volunteer work.

I had a wonderful conversation with Nick today ... broken up by a call from dad and an extended period of listening/watching the wonderful YouTube tape of Benedetti ... and the door bell rang and I thought, possibly, Delaware Hospice, but it was the irrepressible Marli Stam-Schouten and her meals and her extensive bag of goodies. She is amazing. Came up and spoke with mom but we did not bother the slumbering, solidly, father. He is out cold and still is as I type this note at 5:21 p.m., Marli's cabbage casserole warming in the oven (first time I have ever used it in the decades that I have lived in this home) at 400 degrees for about one hour, according to her directions. And I follow them to the letter as she is a former cook for Tony Graziano at the Fair Hill Inn, where she was introduced to dad these many years ago.

Marli greets mom with some of the Dutch treats that she brought on my 57th birthday, Monday afternoon.

 
Some of the goodies that Marli brought on my birthday.

17 November 2013: Sunday ... UUSMC extraordinary choir and its director performed today as Liz made ready to head back to Milford, Connecticut ... Mom T. came by to visit ...

16 November 2013: Saturday ... he needed help sitting up in the bed, I wept in a call to Doug, played "Four Last Songs" and wrote a "gift" post to my dad on FB ... extensive responses

An addendum for yesterday's post: Liz bought a bed for Dancer and my gracious did she take to it like a duck to water. She loved it from the get go. Thus, this image that I took last night when I put her to bed:

Here it comes, it's lengthy and the comments are tear jerking and oh so caring. I am so fortunate to have such FB friends who want to share with me in my time of need.

I called Doug and shed tears and I talked to a hospice care nurse on duty who gave me pause and support and told me that he wasn't ready yet. He'd eaten and he was conversant, but we did have a bath, which I suggested after he shaved (and he chastised me for not helping him with it ... I had to get mom her breakfast), but I tried to shave him in the bath as I washed his back and I unfortunately caught his chin and we spent a good chunk of time with the styptic pencil to staunch the flow, which we did, but I got to shampoo his little hair and then use the shaving bowl to pour water over his head, repeatedly. He accepted it -- I think, gratefully, as I am sure it felt nice.

Would it be a gift for my father to die on my birthday? I have no idea, but I don't want him to suffer and after reading the immense, calming beauty of the poems that Richard Strauss set to music at age 84, I feel, well, maybe not better but working toward peace. That's what I want my dad to have ... peace.

And that would be the greatest gift imaginable.

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• Jennifer Hicks, Jane Altman Page, Stacy Hunnicutt Heath and 22 others like this.
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  Claudia Boldt McIntyre This must be so hard! But I agree, loved ones often hang on because we are not willing to let them go. Peace sounds like what they deserve after a long lived life, especially when in pain!

  6 hours ago · Edited · Unlike · 3
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  Rudy Nyhoff Thank you Claudia ... your words strike a chord of compassion and concern.

  6 hours ago · Like · 1
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  Lyn Hammond Dennison Thinking of you and your mom and dad as you approach this transition.

  6 hours ago via mobile · Unlike · 1
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  Mary Evelyn Lewis I feel the same way about my dad. Even though both my parents are in a nursing home and sometimes don't even know each other, I think he is holding on because he thinks he has to "take care" of mother. Heartbreaking.

  6 hours ago · Unlike · 1
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  Cindy Gooding Cotler Rudy, My Dad died on my birthday, with me by his side, and although I may not be as philosophical as you are, I look at it as though it was just one more thing that brought us closer together. We had a great father - daughter relationship and I see it as the beautiful "icing on the cake". I wish your dad peace.

  5 hours ago via mobile · Unlike · 2
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  Rudy Nyhoff Thank you Cindy ... we are sharing, as I type this response to your wonderful words, the "Four Last Songs" by Strauss song by Renee Fleming. He is calm and enjoying the music. Thanks again.

  5 hours ago · Like · 1
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  Susan Louth "Please God, take Dr. Nyhoff into Your gentle hands and relieve him of this pain. As he has done for so many of Your children, we beg You for Your mercy on this ever giving Soul." Amen. Much love and prayers to the Nyhoff family.

  5 hours ago via mobile · Unlike · 1
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  Rudy Nyhoff That is so sweet and soothing as the voice of Renee Fleming soars in the final song of Strauss' "Four Last Songs" and my dad hums to the melody.

  5 hours ago · Like · 2
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  Karen Shields Godspeed, Dr. Nyhoff.

  5 hours ago · Unlike · 2
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  Rudy Nyhoff Thank you Karen ... he is at peace as he listens and talks about Strauss' thoughts in his final work ... not to be too dramatic, he is still with us and as the song closes with the magical sound of the flutes ... he says "gorgeous".

  5 hours ago · Like · 2
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  Karen Shields Full of Grace.

  5 hours ago · Unlike · 1
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  Don Edwards Sometimes we forget that they often are waiting for our permission. It was especially true with both of Jan's parents. It's exhausting and painful for both loved ones and the person needing the permission. There are lots of ways to say it.

  5 hours ago · Unlike · 2
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  Rudy Nyhoff Thanks Don ... he has mine, wholeheartedly.

  5 hours ago · Like
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  Regina DePace Claudia is so right about loved ones hanging on for us. On my mother's last day we were all called to the ER, the doctor was explaining what they could do that might work (but probably wouldn't). My mother is a nurse, and I now realize that she went through having a tube in her neck that afternoon because of the look on my face when the doctor asked her if she wanted to do it or just let things happen naturally. She would not give up because she did not want to let us down. The strongest person I will ever know.

  4 hours ago · Unlike · 2
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  Rudy Nyhoff Thank you for sharing that Regina. I'm certain it was such a soul-searching decision but knowing that your mother was a fighter makes the decision all the more affecting.

  4 hours ago · Like · 1
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  Sue Peterson Smith The sweetest thing is that, although you struggle through this, your hopes are purely for your dad and not for yourself. You are a blessing to your parents in so many ways.

  4 hours ago via mobile · Unlike · 3
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  Margaret Sargent Meyers My thoughts are with you, Rudy. I was by my father's side when he died, and it was a true blessing and a privilege to be with him through that process. Peace be with you and your family.

  4 hours ago via mobile · Unlike · 2
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  Pat DeLuca Thornton Wishing peace for you, your dad and your mom.

  3 hours ago via mobile · Unlike · 1
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  Christina Johanningmeier Your thoughts have been a gift to all of us, Rudy. Your grace is inspiring. Wishing peace for you and your parents.

  3 hours ago via mobile · Unlike · 1
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  Bob Radke I couldn't think of anything more to add to the thoughts of these good friends of yours. You are a strong and loving son. God bless you and your family.

  3 hours ago via mobile · Unlike · 1
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  Patti Steen-Carnevale Rudy thoughts and prayers are with you and your family. May God Bless you all.

  3 hours ago · Unlike · 1
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  Charla Larrimore Your parents have been blessed to have you in their lives. May the love you share give you strength and comfort.

  3 hours ago · Unlike · 1
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  Harriet C. Brantley What a tough time you are going through. I'm so sorry. It is difficult to know what is coming next. I did want you to know that Peggy Williams has just been admitted to the brand new Althimers Unit at Brandon Wylde. Her condition has deteriorated rapidly in the last few months. Another story of sadness and love. Blessings to you.

  3 hours ago · Unlike · 1
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  Rudy Nyhoff So many blessings and mentions of God (and I use the upper case purposefully in this response to utter and total love shown by my FB friends) to an "agnostic humanist" and his avowedly "atheist" father and yet, I feel no animus at all, only the love of fellow human beings, caring for another person they may never have met. Bless you, all of you, for your divine thoughts.

  3 hours ago · Like · 5
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  Regina DePace I love that term "agnostic humanist" Never quite know how to describe myself to others.

  2 hours ago · Unlike · 1
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  Rudy Nyhoff You are so kind Harriet, a more "true blue" FB friend could not be imagined. You take a real interest in my posts and thus, in me, and I am honored. So sorry to hear about your friend Peggy but with support like yours, I would bet that her loved ones are equally strengthened by your care and loving compassion.

  2 hours ago · Like
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  Cindy Aiman Stimeck Thinking of you and your family. I was given the gift of being with my dad during his final hours. Knowing he was comfortable was such a good feeling for me to have and hold close. It was just the two of us. Twenty two years earlier mom realized that there was not going to be a miracle for her. My birthday was four days later. She never told me any if this. A dear friend if hers told me later that she didn't want to 'leave' prior to that specific day thinking only of me. What a special mom! I last saw her on my birthday, at the hospital. The call came the next morning. I would have stayed all night had I known. Of course she didn't want that for me. Her journey was a long one. 
  So glad your dad is having a peaceful, music and live filled journey. Hoping you feel love and peace surrounding you, too.

  2 hours ago via mobile · Unlike · 1
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  Barry Garman You refer to the "Four Last Songs?" What sublime settings!

  2 hours ago · Unlike · 1
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  Rudy Nyhoff They are welling, dear Cindy, my tear ducts at your amazing sharing. Your mom, I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER for her absolute and utter love of all living things. She was such a generous and beautiful spirit. And being with your dad, the lover of our winged companions and the model railroad enthusiast, such a reserved but still passionate person. Regarding that feeling of love and peace from you and so many who have shared in this post, yes, it is present, powerfully present and as Elisabeth Schartzkopf sings Mozart and dad rests, eyes closed, on the couch, I realize that I have to change the record. Darn these LPs ... thank you for your thoughts, they are so, so meaningful, a gift for the ages.

  2 hours ago · Like
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  Stacy Hunnicutt Heath Praying for peace for you and your parents.

  2 hours ago via mobile · Unlike · 1
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  Ann Mitchell Thrash Prayers for you and your family, Rudy!

  2 hours ago · Unlike · 1
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  Loyd Dillon What a tender and moving tribute to your dad, Rudy...and therefore to YOU. You are being a good and loving son. Peace.

  about an hour ago · Unlike · 1
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  Rudy Nyhoff Thank you Loyd ... coming from you, well, enough said.

  38 minutes ago · Like · 1

From the Wikipedia link to the "Four Last Songs", the poems and their translations:

1. "Frühling"[edit]

("Spring") (Text: Hermann Hesse)

In dämmrigen Grüften träumte ich lang von deinen Bäumen und blauen Lüften, Von deinem Duft und Vogelsang. Nun liegst du erschlossen In Gleiß und Zier von Licht übergossen wie ein Wunder vor mir. Du kennst mich wieder, du lockst mich zart, es zittert durch all meine Glieder deine selige Gegenwart!

In shadowy crypts I dreamt long of your trees and blue skies, of your fragrance and birdsong. Now you appear in all your finery, drenched in light like a miracle before me. You recognize me, you entice me tenderly. All my limbs tremble at your blessed presence!

Composed: July 20, 1948

2. "September"[edit]

(Text: Hermann Hesse)

Der Garten trauert, kühl sinkt in die Blumen der Regen. Der Sommer schauert still seinem Ende entgegen. Golden tropft Blatt um Blatt nieder vom hohen Akazienbaum. Sommer lächelt erstaunt und matt In den sterbenden Gartentraum. Lange noch bei den Rosen bleibt er stehn, sehnt sich nach Ruh. Langsam tut er die müdgeword'nen Augen zu.

The garden is in mourning. Cool rain seeps into the flowers. Summertime shudders, quietly awaiting his end. Golden leaf after leaf falls from the tall acacia tree. Summer smiles, astonished and feeble, at his dying dream of a garden. For just a while he tarries beside the roses, yearning for repose. Slowly he closes his weary eyes.

Composed: September 20, 1948

3. "Beim Schlafengehen"[edit]

("Going to sleep") (Text: Hermann Hesse)

Nun der Tag mich müd gemacht, soll mein sehnliches Verlangen freundlich die gestirnte Nacht wie ein müdes Kind empfangen. Hände, laßt von allem Tun Stirn, vergiß du alles Denken, Alle meine Sinne nun wollen sich in Schlummer senken. Und die Seele unbewacht will in freien Flügen schweben, um im Zauberkreis der Nacht tief und tausendfach zu leben.

Now that I am wearied of the day, my ardent desire shall happily receive the starry night like a sleepy child. Hands, stop all your work. Brow, forget all your thinking. All my senses now yearn to sink into slumber. And my unfettered soul wishes to soar up freely into night's magic sphere to live there deeply and thousandfold.

Composed: August 4, 1948

4. "Im Abendrot"[edit]

("At sunset") (Text: Joseph von Eichendorff)

Wir sind durch Not und Freude gegangen Hand in Hand; vom Wandern ruhen wir nun überm stillen Land. Rings sich die Täler neigen, es dunkelt schon die Luft. Zwei Lerchen nur noch steigen nachträumend in den Duft. Tritt her und laß sie schwirren, bald ist es Schlafenszeit. Daß wir uns nicht verirren in dieser Einsamkeit. O weiter, stiller Friede! So tief im Abendrot. Wie sind wir wandermüde-- Ist dies etwa der Tod?

We have through sorrow and joy gone hand in hand; From our wanderings, let's now rest in this quiet land. Around us, the valleys bow as the sun goes down. Two larks soar upwards dreamily into the light air. Come close, and let them fly. Soon it will be time for sleep. Let's not lose our way in this solitude. O vast, tranquil peace, so deep in the evening's glow! How weary we are of wandering--- Is this perhaps death?

Composed: May 6, 1948